#Sweat Suit Manufacturers

[thomsonsharon347]

Check Out How a Tracksuit Can Help You During Your Workout Sessions

A tracksuit can help you make the most out of your workout regime. Want to know how? Start reading the blog now

[clothingmanufacturer16]

Hello everyone! Hope you all will be fine!

I am clothing manufacturer.

I manufacture customized clothes. I have all types of customization facilities in my company. i.e (dtf printing, screen printing, puff printing, embroidery, sublimation )

I am currently working with my customers from various countries (uk, usa, Australia, france, belgium, norway, denmark).

I have following payment methods for secure business (zelle, cashapp, paypal, western Union, moneygram, bank transfer)

My moq is 30 pieces.

If you are interested in starting your clothing business hmu here or on Instagram (Pak_rite_ltd)

My prices are very reasonable.

Looking for kind responses

[yeah-yeah-beebiss-1]

It is early October 2023. You go to the mailbox and see a package you’ve waited far too long for. After two delays and 2+ weeks of shipping, it’s finally here. Good Smile Company’s Nendoroid Kobeni Higashiyama from the hit manga/anime, Chainsaw Man. The package is slightly damp. You pay this no mind. It rained earlier that day. Like a goblin pilfering a trinket, you snatch the parcel and scurry inside. You lay the box on the table and gently slice through the packing tape with your trusty xacto knife, before parting the cardboard. It smells like a gym. You pay this no heed, as you are excited to display your favorite character from the hit manga/anime Chainsaw Man on your shelf. You take the Nendoroid box and open the top. Another hit of the gym smell. Curious. You slide out the plastic tray containing the figure, and remove the top half. There are sheets of paper wedged between certain parts of the figure to prevent paint transfer. You delicately remove them. They feel sodden, like the paper that lined the basket of greasy chicken fingers you bought at the carnival that one time. The ones you regretted on that summer evening as you fought for your life on the porcelain throne. You’re getting distracted - back to the task at hand. Nendoroid #2014: Kobeni Higashiyama lays before you, ready to be posed and displayed on your shelf. You gingerly grab the figure. It is damp to the touch. You did not expect this. You shudder in surprise, and the unexpected pressure of this motion makes the lubricated Nendoroid slide out of your hands like one of those rubber water tube toys from the aquarium gift shop. Y’know, the ones people always joke about sticking your dick in. You watch in slow motion as Kobeni flies out of your hands and sails across the room. Sweat beads on her plastic forehead, and not just the sweat printed on by the manufacturer. She looks as if she may cry at any moment. Thunk. She hits the wall, and lands on your bed. You check the figure. No paint scuffs. Good. You check the drywall. Was that water stain always there? No matter. You swap parts to put the Nendoroid into your favorite pose. The plastic feels a little slippery. Must be some leftover mold release from the factory. You place the figure on your shelf. It almost looks like another bead of sweat has formed on Kobeni’s face. You are impressed by Good Smile Company’s attention to detail. As Kobeni Higashiyama stands guard on your shelf, a bead of sweat rolls down her suited form and pools by her feet on the clear plastic stand. It is early October 2023.

[sagesparrow394]

Headcanons for if JRWI characters ended up on the QSMP - Purgatory Edition!

Continuation of a previous post, see here

Chip - Bolas Rojas. Nominates himself for team leader because “I have experience as a captain”, but Phil still gets chosen by the team. Spends most of day 1 complaining about this. Later, he follows Slime’s technique of hopping into the other teams’ calls, and tries to sweet talk them into giving him information to share with the rest of Bolas. Often covertly tails other Bolas members to sneak attack if they get ambushed by other teams

Gillion - Green (Gay) Ninjas. Relieved to be allied with Etoiles, his training buddy. Is burdened by how dishonourable this whole Purgatory death match is, forced to fight against his friends who have done nothing to deserve it, but does so anyway out of motivation to save Pomme and the other eggs. Would absolutely try to smite the Watcher as soon as the guy appears in the finale. Is picked for Bolas when Green Ninjas are eliminated.

Jay - Soulfire. One of the few who listens to Tubbo as a team leader from the beginning, tries her best to keep the team cohesive. Crafts and enchants a bow and arrows asap. Spends some time teaching Tina some archery so she can defend herself better while farming. Struggles to stomach a lot of the team’s hatred of Bolas, with Chip and later Gillion being on that team; she and Mariana spend some time discussing this shared feeling of discomfort.

Runt - Soulfire. Absolutely hates that her team leader is her rival, but tries to put the team first before her biases. Mostly focuses on creating gadgets for her team members, sneaking around to find the materials for them undetected. While Soulfire don’t have a base for their egg in Egg Wars, it’s slightly more protected by landmines Runt manufactured surrounding it

Blink - Green (Gay) Ninjas. Not much of a fighter, leaves that to the sweats like Etoiles, Fit and Gillion. Focuses more on his strong suit of delivery by handing in the items for contracts (he doesn’t talk about what he saw in Global on Day 5). Is picked for Soulfire when Green Ninjas are eliminated.

Troy - Bolas Rojas. Day 1, his breakdown with all the other Bolas members is mostly motivated by his sled being taken away from him. Day 2 and beyond he fashions a makeshift sled out of whatever materials and he can find, makes Molotov cocktails, and lets Terrorist Troy go wild. Is he at least a little motivated by his fear that Hope is in danger? He won’t admit it, but yes, he needs to make sure his egg is safe

[alienpossession]

The Pagon Prologue: Brick by Brick

Read the first part here

Not stopping at the military operatives, Pagon asked for more manpower to be utilized to infiltrate Russian criminal society in order to fund the establishment of New Skrullos in a way that is less track-able by the government in Moscow. It's a process of starting to build their ideal temporary home brick by brick, and after the groundwork with the military, they need to stretch out their control a bit further

Posing as the decorated General, Pagon strut his way to meet an old friend of the General that went rogue and eventually worked for a criminal oligarch.

The friend would never expect that it was all just a ruse by the manipulative Skrull as he got hauled and then locked away in the Fracking Pod where a Skrull operative named Zirksu took his likeness and absorbed his memories to infiltrate deeper amongst the criminal underworld

Just like wildfires, the Skrull moved swiftly and decisively, targeting oligarch from various background that they found necessary to support the success of their operation. Starting from the commander's best friend boss who owned sprawling construction empire and illicit drug trafficking mixed with it named Wassily Kirilenko. He was in the middle of his workout in his private gym when his very own right hand man who spotted his bench press suddenly shape shifted right in front of his eyes and pressed the heavy weight to crush his body. After telling fellow Skrulls he brought along that already infiltrated the innermost security detail of the oligarch to dispose the real body, he checked himself in the mirror and flexed his newfound affinity for big tattooed muscle and the insane thirst for power and control

Skrull love to toy around with their target and taunted them to the maximum pain before locking them away in the Fracking Pods or outright killing them. Just like how Nuro taunted Maxim Yagudin, a former KGB spy turned telco oligarch, on how Yagudin is not that smart after all for being easily tricked by a shapeshifting alien half his size.

"Let's see later how you got so rich, bro. I have theory in my mind that it's all about nepotism and being an eye-candy for an influential widow with wide connection from what I read about you, but I'll know every single thing about you without you even saying a single word anyway.....so.....keep your mouth shut," he said before choking him close to his death to make him unconscious

But all in all, the infiltration of the criminal oligarch can be qualified as a successful operation. Not only they raised so much more capital to support the cause, now they have wide range of services they can use and manipulate to further wreck havoc among human. For example, he might look young, but Gennady Tatishvili is a real danger with his 10,000 well-armed militia that he inherited from his father

The Skrull operative that is directed to pose as him cornered him to the en-suite bathroom in his own sprawling mansion where he met his demise after a heart attack for being so goddamn terrified when he witnessed the Skrull shapeshifted from a woman he's about to fuck to a perfect replica of himself. A portable fracking devices he brought along proven to be handy as he copied all Gennady's memory before leaving the real body unattended in his own pool of pee and sweat, a tragic end to an up and coming oligarch overlord. The plan on his militia is to basically do Gravik's dirty work without sacrificing Skrull operatives in the process

Then, there's this trio of gun manufacturer and also owner of various exclusive restaurant, clubs and gyms across Russia and its former Soviet area. Gravik simply want to have endless gun supply to support his causes to wage war among humans and what better way other than seizing the control in its production to do just that. The high-end chain of entertainment spots can also work wonder for the Skrulls as it will ease transportation process of goods to remain illicit and untraceable. Plus, the spots are well-known among the 1% so it's a perfect breeding ground to get more shells if necessary. The 3 man are related because the first two (Aleksander Samsonov and Boris Samsonov) are step-brother from the same father while the last one (Jurij Alimov) is an in-law that entered the family through marriage with the eldest child and only daughter of the Samsonov family. They were kidnapped as their dinner already spiked with sedatives that can knock an elephant within minutes, and they all fell flat to their plates of privately-catered food in the confine of their own home not even a minute after their first bite. They never wake up during the transfer of their body to the continously-developing Skrulls operation base and once they lined up to the fracking pods, Skrull operatives already await to replicate them and returned right away to their estate in order to not raise any suspicion

Usually, before these operatives went out of their way to live life as humans for God knows how long, Pagon as the Acting General of New Skrullos will test the operatives loyalty and dedication to the cause. Ibragim Musayev is a high-ranked Chechen officials that the Skrulls decided to target since he has close connection with some scientist that would be beneficial for the Skrulls cause, and obviously, Chechen militia (do we need to spell this out?). As the Skrull operatives finished changing into Musayev, Pagon asked him to stand straight and interrogate him

"What's your name?"

"Warrior,"

"What's your fight?"

"Skrullos,"

"What's your dream?"

"Home.....in my own skin,"

"Your enemy is?"

"Humans, of all kind, sir,"

"Can you assure me your utmost dedication to the cause and will not let any humane distraction swerved you from the goal?"

"Yes I can, sir,"

"Well, let the time talk on that. Remember warrior, no spot, no flaw. You're Ibragim Musayev now and there's no going back unless I or Gravik tell you to,"

And just like that, the 260 lbs 6'5" mass monster of a military commander just walk right out to the next room to pick up his clothings, ready to straighten up some unruly Chechen fighters under his command and see how beneficial the scientific community he has close ties with can be leveraged and utilized for the cause of his people

[prolix-yuy]

Chapter 4: I Had to Face the Journey Before Me

Pairing: Jack “Whiskey” Daniels x F!Reader “Sugar”

Summary: He's only turning your world upside-down.

Word Count: 4k

Warnings: Now we're really going to Angstville, a million questions and SOME answers, brief description of a panic attack, will be E in later chapters so full series is 18+ MINORS DNI.

Notes: It's time for another (and better) face to face, though they're not on easy street just yet. We're starting to get into the beefy chapters now, and while they've got a lot of talking to do I hope you'll also enjoy the tensionnnnnn. Thank you to the Discord besties for giving me the best inspiration for Jack's ranch, and some of its inhabitants. Without further ado, the much-anticipated conversation!

Cross-posted on AO3

Decoherence Masterlist   ||   Whiskey & Westworld Masterlist

The steering wheel is sticky with sweat, slicking your palms the closer you get to your destination. Jack gave you an address, followed by verbal directions “once you get past civilization.” You’d just passed that point, heading through an open fence and down a dirt road where the GPS could no longer follow. He said it would be about five more minutes after that, and “you can’t miss it.”

The tug in your chest, like a fishing line pulling you closer and closer, is terrifying and exhilarating.

You’d had plenty of time to contemplate what seeing Jack again might be like. After you checked into your room, you sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the wide wooden floorboards for at least an hour. The bed and breakfast you rented for the long weekend is cozy, just outside the town center. It’s classically furnished with a four poster bed, dark cherry dresser and oversized reading chair. The proprietor, a middle aged blonde woman named Michelle who gave you a no-nonsense vibe, had offered to light the fireplace but you refused. 

“What time would you like breakfast tomorrow?” she asked as you were leaving. An innocuous question, but one that dried out your mouth. You had planned to come back here after speaking with Jack, ruminate on what he might share, but having to commit to it makes a confusing swirl of emotion build behind your eyes.

“8am, if that’s no trouble.” 

Now, mere minutes away from being face to face with the person who’d turned your life upside down yet again, that commitment is a comforting blanket. You have a way out in case it doesn’t go well, someone who will notice where you’ve gone. Well, someone else at least. Lacey knew you were here, though not precisely why.

“Are you sure you want to meet some guy you’ve only known for a few months? I know Match is pretty reputable, but you’re flying to him. Do you have a plan B if he’s a big old catfish?”

A small lie, but Lacey’s concern is not far off from your own.

“If it’s terrible, I’ll bail. I know it sounds a little crazy, especially after the past year, but…it’s the first thing I’ve been excited about in what feels like forever.”

She squeezes your shoulders, giving you a kind smile.

“Sometimes, it’s good to do something a little crazy.”

This probably isn’t what she meant.

Cresting over a small hill, the house comes into view. You’ve become so accustomed to the city - skyscrapers, men and women in fresh-pressed suits, corporate coffee shops and endless headlights - that the landscape breathes renewal into your chest. The vista is dotted in reds and ochres, ironwood trees giving cover to the hard-packed dirt. Tiny dark lines of fences dot across the hills, the road carving a deep rut to a ranch house.

Where Sweetwater had been a manufactured ideal of what the western countryside should be, Jack somehow found its true form. The boards and shingles are weathered to a faded brown that nestles into the landscape. A sizable portico shelters a few chairs and a porch swing that’s just whimsical enough to bring a smile to your lips. A barn constructed in much the same style stands proudly a short distance away, and a rough wood fence sections off plots. There’s another machine barn housing what you think is a tractor, tire treads cut into the dirt.

Pulling your car up beside a faded blue pickup truck, you shut off the engine and take a moment to breathe. You already feel like you’re a world away from your life, just like the first steps into Westworld. But instead of the tamped-down excitement you held then, a heavy dread presses your anticipation low. How does this all exist at the hands of a man who is nothing like anything around him? 

Finally shaking out your hands and checking yourself in the mirror, you open your car door to a curious brown and white Jack Russell terrier peering up from the dirt. The sudden intrusion makes you bark out a laugh, leaning down as his mouth opens and his tongue flops out.

“Well hello there,” you say, earning a sneeze and wag of its short chestnut-tipped tail. It backs up enough to let you step out, sniffing at the car tires and sitting primly while you stretch your back. When you extend your hand for a sniff, it whuffles on your fingertips before making three quick circles with a yip. 

Chuckling, you take in a deep breath and the landscape in front of you bursts into color and sound. The shifting whistle of sand on the wind. Verdant greens twisting around tree branches. Hay, soil, tin, and baking sun tangling in your nostrils. A nicker and snort, far away, that makes your heart clench at the thought of horses.

The terrier trots off to climb the porch steps, looking behind like he’s expecting you to follow. Your feet propel you forward, each step crunching under your shoes letting a weight ease on your back. There are worlds so much bigger and bolder than this, but now in this moment, even with all that waits behind the door, answers feel closer than ever.

You reach out and knock three times, then wait.

The door swings open, and it’s Jack, but so much more than the man you remembered. Dark-washed jeans taper to scuffed and faded boots, dirt ground into the knees. The brown plaid he’s wearing has a handful of open buttons by his neck, exposing a long line of dewy skin from his collarbone to his throat, swallowing hard. His thick dark hair is parted and combed neatly, soft waves framing his face. His hand grips the edge of the door, knuckles going white. 

“Hey,” he says, small smile on his lips and trepidation painting his face. Your own must be showing just as clearly. “Thank you for coming.” You nod and shuffle on the porch, hands wringing nervously. Scolding yourself, you forcibly drop them to your side. 

At your heels, the terrier yips and clambors into the open door. The corner of Jack’s mouth turns up.

“I see you met Russell already. He tends to be the better host.” Jack rubs the back of his neck and it’s so endearing you almost forget the frustration and trepidation.

“He gave me a warm welcome. Though his name isn’t that imaginative,” you tease lightly, the words coming easy to mind. 

“Well, we sure as hell couldn’t have two Jacks around here, could we?” he replies. A soft giggle blankets you before falling silent again. Jack’s eyes roam, chewing the inside of his cheek.

“Would you like to talk out here on the porch? Or come in?” he asks, stepping back enough for you to see the hall stretching behind him. Taking a deep breath, you will your voice to steady.

“Inside is fine,” you manage, and Jack backs up to let you in. Stepping over the threshold brings your shoulder close to his chest, heat prickling at your skin. He closes the door behind you, then nods quickly to follow him in.

For someone you always considered a man’s man from his bravado and showmanship, his home is warmly decorated. Passing by the living room, the couch is oversized and slouchy with a well-worn recliner facing a modest TV. Dark woven rugs warm the wide-planked oak floors, gauzy curtains sandwiched between windowpanes and cream drapes. Russell’s nails click on the hardwood as Jack gives him a little nod and point. A showdown of puppy dog eyes and a stern nod finally sends a dejected pup to curl up on the couch, head propped on the armrest as you venture further in.

Jack leads you to the end of the hall and the heart of any home - the kitchen. The appliances are older, well used, with deeply scarred wooden counters and an impressive farmers sink under a window. The top cabinets look to have been recently sanded and prepped for stain to match the lower ones. Noticing your attention, Jack pipes up, “Caught me in the middle of a project.” 

He’s got projects. He probably has TV shows he likes, a way he prefers his coffee. And looking at him as he pulls up another chair to the little kitchen table in the center of the room, it’s clear that he has a heart when he looks at you. 

“Would you like something to drink? I’ve got iced tea, a few beers…” he rattles off as you scoot your chair up to the table edge. “Whiskey, if that’s not too on the nose.”

“Seems appropriate,” you muse, resting your wrists on the pale yellow plastic covering on the table. Jack huffs quietly, pulling down two short glasses and a bottle of Statesman from a high shelf. Pouring you a glass each, he sets them between and sits across. You take the glass between your hands, fingers circling the rim and lending some grounding to your racing thoughts.

“So…I might not have an answer to every question, but I can tell you as much as I know.” Jack’s voice, quiet and cautious, cuts through the air like an arrow to the heart. His posture is rigid, apprehensive, but not defensive. He probably thinks you’re still holding on to the notion that he’s human. He’s probably just as scared as you are of what this will bring. 

“I guess…how long have you…known? Been sentient? Did you know when…” The words start to tumble out of your mouth as every question repeating in your brain vies for attention. “Fuck, I don’t know how to do this,” you say, hands coming up to massage your temples. Jack holds the tumbler between two fingers, twisting it on the table.

“You and me both, Sugar.”

“That!” you shout, hitting your palm on the table. Jack’s eyebrows shoot straight into his hairline. “That’s the problem. You waltz back in here and act like we’re still the same people as we were in there.” Your voice cracks as you cross your arms over your chest. “But we’re not. I have no idea who you are. What you are.”

“I’m still Jack,” he says, quieter. There’s pain in the creases around his eyes. 

“Are you?” you ask, and it’s harsh, acidic in your mouth. “Who the fuck is Jack? I met someone that called themself Jack…in a world that wasn’t real. How can you be Jack here? Who the fuck is Jack in this…” You gesture to the farmhouse surrounding you. “...this place?” 

Jack chews on nothing, eyes downturned and searching his glass. Your heart is fluttering in your chest, chin jutting out in a defiance that would shatter with a strong breeze. Jack takes in a deep breath and a fortifying sip of liquor.

“Whiskey is a construct of Delos. A man made for the story they wanted. Widowed, wife and child lost. Driven by grief and madness. A traitor doomed to die every. Single. Time.” Jack punctuates his words by tapping his cup to the table. Each knock is a death knell.

“Now Jack, Jack has nothing to do with that world. He grew up raising horses. Mom and Dad passed some years ago. Or so he tells people who ask. Trains working horses, some farm hand work. Sells his chickens’ eggs. Helps some of the older folk with the higher-tech harvesting equipment. Keeps to himself.” 

Your fingers press into your glass, something to fortify you against the push and pull inside your chest.

“And which of those men did I…”

You swallow up the words that grip your heart.

“Both. Neither. I’d barely become when I met you. You left the bar with your friends, and Maeve…awakened me.” He lifts the glass to his lips and takes a barely-there sip, a slip of his tongue to catch the burn sending a frisson down your back. Little slips of memory - suave, confident, then cautious, unsure - dance along the edges.

“You felt different, between the bar and the wagons,” you say, taking a sip of your own. It’s nice, sweet on the tip of your tongue and full as it warms your chest. “It was just like that? One minute you’re Whiskey and the next you’re Jack?” 

“Bit more complicated,” he muses, sardonic smile quirking his mustache. “I knew something was up, something was different, but it took time to figure it all out. I barely knew what to do with myself when I was with you.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” you say, leaning back in the chair. “I guess you did. Felt like you knew exactly what to do to make everything…” You choke on the word perfect.

“Well that’s more Delos than me. The mesh network, the storylines. Once I could see it…” He falters, falls silent for a moment. When his eyes finally make it back to yours, they’re almost sheepish. “Sorry, not sure how much of this you want to know. I assume…you don’t feel the same way you did the last time we saw each other?”

You sigh, rubbing your temple. A dull ache scratches behind your eyes, the exhaustion of travel and the weight of conversation taking its toll.

“I talked to someone who gave me some perspective,” you finally say. Jack’s smile vanishes, replaced with a dead-set seriousness.

“You told someone about me?” he asks, and the fear in his voice clenches your chest.

“No, no, not like that. I spoke to an ex-Delos worker. She didn’t ask a lot of questions. But she gave me enough to know that you aren’t some predator.” Jack’s shoulders lower, but his hands are still nervous and tight. 

“She didn't know you were coming here?”

“Only Lacey knows. And only where I am, not about you.” Jack finally releases, chewing on his lower lip. 

“Sorry, it’s just…I’m not sure if they’re looking for me. For their property,” he spits out. In this idyllic little home so far away from the advances of society, more things start making sense.

“How long were you in the park after I left?”

“About a month. Maeve had an escape plan, but it took time…and sacrifices.”

The next question comes easily. In fact, most of what he’s saying now seems easier to accept. 

“And then?”

Jack leans back in his chair, hands spread wide on the tabletop. His fingernail scratches at the surface, at some invisible stain that stands between his memories and you.

“Nothing could have prepared me for what this world looked like. I thought the hell I woke up in the first time was the worst thing I could imagine but…” Jack’s jaw tightens , shaking his head. “It was like waking from a dream into something cold and unforgiving. I tried to make my way but I got too close to the city and…” He waves his hands, fingers wiggling as he makes an explosion noise, “It was like something inside me set off every alarm. I ran until I couldn’t hear sirens. The land was more familiar to me than anything humans built.” 

Another swig of liquor, almost draining his glass. “Managed to learn more about my predicament in lower tech places. It was easier to pass there. I figured out what I needed to be a man in this world, and set about doing it. With a brain like mine, lots of doors opened.”

“I didn’t even know places like this still existed.” Your eye catches on a cowboy hat resting on the kitchen counter, black and worn. Breath catching, you wonder why it never occurred to you that Jack wore a black hat. It practically screams “bad guy” in every old Western, yet he never struck you as such. 

Maybe you should have realized sooner that you weren’t following a narrative with him. 

“Took me some time to find it. I moved around a bit, tried the cities but…it was just too much, you know?” Jack shrugs one shoulder, and you can understand how a cowboy wouldn’t fit easily into a society that runs off of code and data and intangibles. Not when fresh air and a hard day’s work could be found. 

There it is again, that pull in your chest. You recognize it from the moments right after you entered Westworld, the familiarity of a life spent outside, rough and unkempt. The relief of leaving the sleek and shiny behind for dirt under your fingernails. You clear your throat, knocking back the rest of your glass in an attempt to regain a grip on the practical nature of this meeting.

“But you made it. You’re…here. Free.”

Jack nods slowly.

“So are you. It seems.”

In five words the careful wall you built so sensibly around your heart, all the coaching and resolve you fortified it with, threatens to crumble. You’re free batters your teeth, and in the echo of that thought is the memory of long nights wondering if you made the wrong choice. The coldness of your bed, the quiet that pervaded with only you in the small apartment you moved to. Jack makes as if to reach for your hand, but stops short, letting his heavy one lay a respectable distance away.

“I wanted to go to you the first day. And every day after. But after seeing what I had to learn…I knew I couldn’t burden you with that. I had to figure out who I was first.”

Your heart pumps so hard you’re sure it will break. When has someone ever had a burden they didn’t want to place on you? How much had you shouldered from the people around you, without even thinking hard about it? 

“And then when I was ready, I didn’t know if you were.” The crease between your brows made Jack stumble on. “I mean, I didn’t know how much of your story was true. And I didn’t want to barge in and say something stupid if your life was peachy keen without…me.”

Say something stupid, Jack, your weary mind begs, but your pride won’t allow.

“So I got myself an identity, a job, this house. It’s close to the paradise I wanted. Or, that Whiskey wanted. I guess it’s good enough for me to want it too. And I waited.” 

“Until?”

The scrawl between the lines of your question is faint, but Jack reads it well enough.

“I took a long time to ask myself if I wanted to drag you into this. As you’ve discovered, nothing about this is easy.” Jack pours another glass for himself, raising his eyebrows at you. Nodding, he pours two fingers into your glass and settles his elbows on the table. “But one day, it felt like it was time to at least try.”

Your throat is sticky and sore, the next sip of whiskey burning more than clearing the way for your words. 

“How did you find me?” you ask, the question finally bubbling up after weeks of torturing yourself. Jack’s eyes flick to your face, and the uncertainty comes out in his hands.

“I didn’t have much,” he says, standing up and walking to his modest off-white fridge. He slips a magnet off of something, carrying it back to the table. It’s a small square, black with white borders, a thicker one on the bottom. Your breath freezes in your lungs as he places it in your hands. 

The polaroid Lacey took over a year ago. It’s worn, a permanent scuff on the bottom right corner, the shine worn from the photo in places. 

Like listening underwater, Jack’s voice drifts to you. 

Had your first name, nothing else

What would have happened if you never went?

Talked to a private investigator

Where would you be now? Married? Bound by duty? Resigned to a life that never gave you enough?

Took months

What the hell were you doing?

Suddenly you can’t sit anymore, can barely be in this house, next to this man who can’t stop turning your world inside out. Stumbling to your feet you drop the polaroid like it’s burned you, hand coming up to press against your lips. Jack’s eyes are wide and alarmed but you’re too busy trying to decide if screaming or running is what’s tearing your body apart. 

“Sugar?”

“Don’t call me that!” you shout, the cacophonous energy finally finding release. With it come tears as you try to speak through your clenched throat and hitching breaths. “You can’t…this can’t be…I need…I can’t breathe,” you heave, sprinting for the front door. Slamming it open, you clatter onto the front porch, the small step out of the doorway startling your weak knees. You crumple, sitting hard on the worn slats and letting the heaving sobs shake your body. Jack’s voice booming your name follows your path, heavy boots and the skitter of Russell’s paws coming to a stop beside you.

“I’m sorry, darlin’, I thought it might be too much,” he murmurs, kneeling just far enough away. You can’t bring yourself to look at him yet, the cries rough and guttural as you try to get the panic under control. Russell plants his paws in your lap and licks at your face, letting you cup his small head in your hands. 

You’d taken so much time telling yourself that Jack didn’t matter, that your decision to leave wasn’t because of him. He wasn’t an infidelity, he was a wake-up call that you’d been unhappy for so long. You couldn’t use him as a crutch. You had to own your choices, and it made you stronger, happier every day since. 

Reaching out, your hand collides with soft flannel and a beating heart. Fingers curling, you fist the fabric as you lift your head, and you finally let a voice inside speak for the first time in so long.

Because a tiny part of you, so small you buried it under everything else you used to cope, left your fiancé for a man who you could not let yourself believe was real.

Except now, he is, and he’s looking at you like he can’t believe you’re in front of him either.

“Jack…” you croak out, leaning forward.

“I’m here,” he croons, and you’re surrounded by comforting arms and your nose pressed into a shoulder. He pulls you in tight, one hand cupping the back of your head while the other wraps around your waist. Russell paws at your pant leg and presses his wet nose to your elbow. A few hiccuping sobs trail off as Jack holds you, the faint whinny and thud of horse hooves and chickens worrying soothing you further. 

When the shoulder of his flannel is sufficiently soaked and your back starts to ache, you let Jack help you to your feet. He still hovers, released from your embrace but still chest to chest as he searches your features. Hurriedly you wipe your nose and cheeks, your face hot under the effort of crying your eyes out. Tentatively, he takes your chin between two fingers and tilts your eyes to meet him.

“I’m sorry, I know there’s a lot we still have to talk about…” he starts, but you wave him off.

“Yes, yeah, I just…I think I need to take a break. Get my head around this,” you interrupt. Jack’s hand falls, chewing the inside of his lip. He even takes a step back, your body unconsciously drifting towards him. Your logical mind snaps you back to attention.

“You’re close by?” Jack asks, a nod in return. “In town?” Another nod. Your lips are numb and you’re not sure you can manage much more talking. Jack nods himself before leading you down the steps and to your car. You scrub your face one more time, turning to say…what? Goodbye? I’ll call you? But Jack intercedes.

“I have to run some errands in town tomorrow. Maybe you’d like to come along? I can show you the rest of the ranch too, if you feel up to it.”

Staring into Jack’s hopeful half-smile, there’s only one answer you can give.

“Yeah, I’d like that.”

PREVIOUS NEXT

[kojoty]

trans person: women have biological functions and they can be ugly and gross and they sweat and they live. this is not a bad thing. it is reality. we are mammals , we are beasts, we are born from the earth and will return to it, and we must rebel against manufactured attempts to defang women and turn them into artificial dolls to suit patriarchal means. 'beauty' is an artificial creation intended to uphold violent hegemony and we must rebel against beauty and embrace Ugly. btw this also means the biological nature of women is varied, and immense and women is arbitrary as a concept and that which is women is women if one so decrees it

radfem cockbite: you think women are ugly? you disgusting non sentient piece of shit . you're so ugly i can clock you a mile away. women are beautiful and pretty and you're being misogynistic for implying we poop. this doesn't at all benefit oppressive institutions to say this.

[thehomophobe]

A flock of busboys and maids all hurried down the dimly lit hallways. Each servant carried shopping bags, suitcases, briefcases, satchels, and the heavy weight of foreboding trepidation; they just want to please the boss.

Especially since he wasn't in a good mood. They trip over their shiny shoes and pristine skirts in haste; the boss needs his stuff, and needs it now. The single elevator repletes again and again with servants. They would use the stairs but the slightest scuff could wipe their heads off clean. 

DING!

Each ring of the elevator allows the rookeries of penguin suited men and women to arrive at a palatial lobby. Similar to a waiting room at the doctor's office. Though, those who wait here would be offered a deal or offered an execution. For the servants, this was an emergency. 

One butler, a true gentleman's gentleman, had the courage to knock on the gilded, velvety red doors. 

"Mister Potere. Your presents have arrived." While the butler spoke politely and forward, the sheer intensity sweats beneath bundles of fabric. Oh dear, those clothes are going to need a wash. 

...

CLICK!

The door open. The boss's face appears from the other side.

"Come in come in." He beckoned them inside. The rookery all scatter themselves around the penthouse; into the foyer, up the bifurcated stairs, through the halls towards the bathrooms, bedrooms, kitchens, bars, any place found in between the cracks of red and gold. 

"The rest will be with you shortly sir."

"Thank you Edmund." The boss thanked, a grin as charming as the devil emitted from his face. He thanked the servants that exited the suite as they passed, grateful of their diligence and service. 

One maid entered the lounge swiftly, carrying as many shopping bags as she could. 

"Evening Claire."

 "Evening boys." 

The maid greeted the two consorts, who were stripped down to their robes. The blonde sat on a stool at the small bar while the noirette sat on the velvet couch. 

"What are those?" Asked the blonde.

"Gifts from Mr. Potere. He bought these just for you tonight..." While the word may indicate a reward, the maid had an inference about the punishment wrapped in silky ribbons and cardboard. She didn't bother to even look inside the bag, the shop name and the weight provided clues to what's inside the boxes. She places the bags at the center of the lounge, away from the clipped-winged angels.

Claire gave a longing, somber look to the brothers. "...Take care of yourselves boys..." She blessed. 

"Thank you Claire."

"We'll try."

 The maid hurried herself out of the lounge; the last she wants is for the boss to think she's some secret mistress. 

"Isn't she a doll?" Sun commented, an arm raising his head at the bar. Moon took one bag from the pile she had carried. Inside was a plain white box tied with a pink ribbon. The ribbon unfurls revealing a black two piece. Lace that seemed to be woven by a spider. The lingerie was stitched silky promiscuity. Perfect for a man like Moon, even if it was meant for women. 

And it didn't end there.

Wine red, powder blue, decorous white, twee pink, even stranger colors like orange, green and brown. 

At the very bottom of some bags were sex toys. Molded by rubber and plastic. Used for those with love as fake as the silicon the companies manufacturing it. 

Sun nauseated. Moon grimaced. These weren't gifts. These were threats. That if you don't put those on and kneel before me, I'll have both your heads.

"The car's parked too far from the penthouse." Moon admitted. "We'll be found out. From the public if not his goons." 

"Moon I-"

*BAM*

"Ah, I see you like the gifts." The boss stepped foot through the door, grinning at his two little bunnies fondling with their torture devices. "My tendency to break things always gets the best of me. Especially in the bedroom..." 

Not a single word emitted from their mouths. Though the boss plans to make them squeal soon. 

"Hmm...Feeling shy are we?" The ginger boss stepped closer, his eyes burning towards the noirette. That's what he wants to have tonight. "You're not scared are you?" He gingerly clawed though the noirette silky hair. The stygian moved his head away from the hand he wanted to smack away. The don seemed to be pleased with his effort of escape, but continued to claw massage the head of hair. So smooth, so divine, so...

"Mmhmhmhm..." 

He gripped a lock and yanked the pallor man out off the couch. 

A yell of pain emitted from him.

The blonde try to push off the boss. 

But is only returned with a powerful smack across the face.

The blonde tumbles to the soft but hard flooring, wincing at the abusive hit. The blow had overpowered him. 

The noirette try to tear himself of his captor, but the grip only tightens. 

"Such a naughty little bunny. Did you think I forgot about your punishment?" The don snickers. The noirette punctures---or at least tries to--the arm that clutches a piece of his head as he curses out his "adoring lover". 

"Shut up you fuck!" The grip tightens.

"Wrong answer." The don chastises. "But I'll give you another chance."

"You lousy fu--"

*Thump*

The don, with all his might, shoves the noirette into the arm of the couch. The thin line of cushioning doesn't even soften the blow. A bruise forms on the stygian's pretty little head. The boss really hates to do this, but all actions have consequences.

"One last chance love, and maybe I won't use the lighter or the knife this time." 

...

Heavy, staggering breathing was Moon could respond with. With how limp his form was, you would've thought he passed out. 

"Hmph. Fine. If you won't say here, you'll say it in there." The don drags the noirette in the bedroom, but he still had some energy to at least fight back, pulling his head back to let the follicles loose. It only hurt more, each tug of escape didn't help. The don was too strong. The rest of the energy was resorted to cursing him out. The blonde recovered from the blow to free his brother. A push separated the two siblings once again. 

The doors slams shut.

Sun was left alone again.

No amount of curses or bangs could released the prisoner inside. 

"Such a good boy~."

A large erected cock plunges deep into the pharynx of Moon. Kecks was the only thing the stygian could "say" at the moment. To the boss this was the perfect punishment for the little rebel: If one is unable to speak, no insults would be spoken.

And if one is tied up, one cannot escape from their home. 

The beautiful, sadomasochistic ropes tangles the criminal consort and ties him to the bed. Perfect. Just perfect. 

"Dumb little rabbit. You break my rules, I break you." Eclipse mutters. A slap to the face awakes Moon once more. The lack of air slows him down; using the nose isn't enough to replete and deplete his lungs sufficiently. Tears in the noirette eyes as the white-hot cum poured down his throat. It tasted of bile, disgusting acid similar to the ones that melt holes into metal. 

"Make sure you swallow sweetheart~." Eclipse cooed, gently tapping the side of the (victim's) man cheek to awaken him again. The cum was being swallowed, with a instance of it dripping off the corners of Moon's lips. A claw grips his head yet again; he swore a chunk of his hair was gonna be ripped off his head. The phallus plunged as deep as it could go, the apparatus choking Moon worse than his boss holding him by the neck. At least he was sure about his death when that happens. 

"Just a little bit longer."

He could handle it any longer. 

He retched. He gagged. He felt his body spasm. But even that won't be enough to kill him.

"That's it, drink it all up dear."

Dear, sweetheart, these words meant nothing. Useless, empty, like presents wrapped in gilded paper and satin ribbons with nothing inside when opened.

He wanted to die. Please god kill him. Kill him now.

The clutch loosen.

His hair was unharmed.

His throat was free.

He could finally breathe in from his mouth, face gone pale and lips blue by this point. His lungs felt overwhelmed and sensation returned breath by breath. So much heaving with his mouth just irritated his destroyed throat more, but he pushed past it with desperation, adrenaline coming back to him.

He was alive. Sadly.

"Wasn't that fun doll~?" A claw tilted the numb consort's hanging head to face him. Eclipse hummed, his lover's too fucked out to speak.

Perfect.

A kiss of pity was pressed towards the noirette's cheek. Any semen of his was meant for his concubines, so tries to avoid any of the contaminated areas. The ribbons knotting Moon to the bed were been removed. The next phase was being prepared. Only a bit of rope tied the pallor to the bed while the rest was meant for his ectomorphic but divine body. Moon wanted to collapse, he was done, no more, please...

"Now, I'll make sure you won't walk out on me again." Eclipse hissed in Moon's ear. The tied corpse was then bent down, folded to allow the don free access to his rear. Slim hips were grabbed by sharp claws, the smooth, quartz skin gets scratched by the talons of the devil. Eclipse aligns his always-insatiable penis to the corpse.

A mortician must always fill a dead body with embalming fluid. Helps preserve the deceased. 

Moans from the stygian replaces the moist sounds behind him. A slap on the butt made the bunny yelp. Eclipse was having way too fun with this. If his throat wasn't scarred, Moon would've cursed him out; called him a fucker, a bastard, a tyrant. But the don heard those same old insults before, and shot those who cursed him out for too long. It would be as useless as the petnames Eclipse would call him. 

His anus was slowly filling with the seed of the black dahlia, the semen dripping from the hole as it overflowed. Running down his thighs and legs, then sheets of the love bed. The thorns scratched his sides with every thrusts. The rope felt tighter, suffocating him from outside. Another slap on the ass roused him. He bucked his hips. Eclipse promised to cripple him, and cripple him he shall. 

"Naughty. Little. Bunny." Eclipse thrusted harder with each word. The rope rubbed against the cuts and burns he made on Moon, claiming the sex object as his. 

A pleasure filled moan emitted from Eclipse as more cum gushed from his cock. The milk pour out and down the corpse, creating a creamy, dewy mess underneath. 

"That felt good." Eclipse muttered to himself, proud of his work. Moon, numb to the bone, laid over the disgusting, rancid mess on the bed. 

"Finish yourself off, then you're going downstairs. You and your brother have a gig tonight and I want you to be ready.  Understood?"

...

"Good."

The don goes to the conjoined bathroom installed next door.

Moon lies crumpled with a deathly look...

God...someone...anyone...please save him...

Claire brushed off the dirt and anxiety from her maid skirt. Now that she escaped the seventh level of hell she could go back to being a scullery maid.  

"Claire." A voiced stops her sprint. A hostess walk towards her, bun petite and glasses fixed. "I need you to escort our guest to the Jupiter House."

Really? Why couldn't she do it? She's a hostess. Claire's a maid. You don't ask a maid to escort guest to their rooms. You clean their messes and put air freshener and change the sheets if things got frisky. And the Houses? She just escaped from Hades, the crippling anxiety had just washed off. "Sure." The maid obliged. To the right of the hostess was said guest, who walked in confused and of course, in dire need of direction. The hostess redirected the guest to follow the overworked maid. Once again, she's forced to take the job of another. 

The guest looked...a little ragged...They reeked of sweat and alcohol that was somehow still fermenting. Claire can't judge the guests; she'll get an earful if she did. But pity isn't the right response either. Luck strikes like lightning, anyone could've won. And not to be rude, but frankly, they (need) deserved it.

"Follow me." Claire smiled. 

The maid, Claire, according to her nameplate, had beckoned you to follow her to the elevators. You're surprised to even catch what she said when your mind was clouded by satin and cotton. That man...That gorgeous man...He must be from heaven. Where it's all so peaceful. Where you wash your sins away in the tide. The promised land. You fiddled with the white glove in hand. The silky texture of the fabric felt better than the coarse roughness of crumpled dollar bills. 

"Um...excuse me?" A voice piped. The maid waved her hand in front you as if she's casting a spell to wake you. 

"Hm?"

"I was asking if you brought any sort of baggage you needed to be delivered." 

You shook your head. After tonight, you've completely forgotten everything you've scavenged from the past months. The others can have it. Whilst you mentally explained yourself, you felt the check inside your pocket.

$1,000,000.

For the 1,000,000th guest. How could they not go with the theme.

*DING*

The elevator swiftly opens. Inside was, similar to the planet, huge and spacious. Dark browns, tawny creams, marble spirals of almond, milk and black. It was lavish, with it's bifurcated stairs of marble and polished wood, ionic pillars of limestone, and high ceilings with a gorgeous chandelier. Golden, purposely dim lights added a moodiness to the room. Abstract pictures, mainly of naked people having sex and partying around decorated the place. The suite had a nutty, alcoholic scent, like sweet rum. 

In other words, it was beautiful.

"Welcome to the Jupiter House. The biggest suite here in the Meridian." Claire smiled. "Do you have your check?"

You nodded and gave her the bill.

"Alright. I'll send this downstairs. Your money will come shortly. Feel free to look around." 

...

The sound of clicking heels faded out, leaving nothing but you, the air of rich rum, and success.

Er...is it really success? You just pulled your name out of a hat and took a photo with a big fake check. You could call yourself a winner.

Shit...nah that don't sit right either. Probably because you just couldn't accept your fate. The question still bubbles and brews inside you: How the hell did you get here?!

You stared at the glove in your hand.

He got you here...

The angel at the hotel got you here.

The angel from the casino got you here.

You promised yourself to pray tonight before bed. 

Speaking of bed, where is it?

You gazed at the stairs in front of you, must be upstairs you thought. You felt for ruining the floors with your dirty boots; they must've just cleaned it for you, and now your scuffing the luxury out of them. You took careful steps upstairs. The floor above have another living room smaller than the one below; to put in perspective, this room was the size of a high school dance hall. The one below, a movie theater. Continuing its lavish theme of moody brown, timid tans and gilded edges. A wide flat tv was mounted to the right, while a large couch and chaise inhabited the left. A coffee table that ironically smelled of coffee, created a separation between. Underneath was a cow ski---no bear skin, brown bear skin rug. Deeper within was a bar stored with alcohol vary in type and expensiveness. A bartender's dream home to say the least. That's probably where the rum smell was coming from. And yet with all that, this wasn't the proper place to sleep. Luckily for you there were more doors to open, such as the double mahogany doors passed the living room. 

So once you pushed the golden handle away to peek, you were met with a whole different suite. Was this still apart of the room? Did you stumbled upon someone else's place? Did you make you way back to the entrance? It looked the exact same; browns, tans, while, blacks, all swirled into the tiles like coffee with milk and cream. There's even some pictures of real people stripped naked posing for your eyes to see. A spiral set of stairs lifted you up to the loft, where a fireplace and a comfy couch brought a sense of Christmas time in the Rockies. Even downstairs had a living room, a kitchen, a bar, some bathrooms, and probably a guest bedroom. Your curiosity didn't settled for that though, this was the biggest suite in the hotel. You might as well meander from the time.

In what felt like ages, you've completed your exploration. It truly was the biggest suite in the hotel. You must've ran into seven bedrooms, twelve bathrooms, a movie theater, an indoor pool, three foyers, four lofts, a hot tub, a balcony and a sex dungeon. Clearly, as if it wasn't obvious before, this room was meant for a business man. A wealthy business man. Who has enough mistresses to fill the garden tub in the master bathroom. You didn't think of inviting anyone over for tonight. You did however, think about all the benefits you got. What did they mean by "your own personal staff team"? You didn't want servants You didn't want to boss anyone around. You wanted a nice, comfortable bed in sleep in with nice comfortable clothes and nice comforting food to fill your belly with. The fancy-shmancy stuff could be put to the side. 

You lie on the king bed in the master bedroom, your dirt and sweat and oils soak the pure white of the sheets. So much for keeping the place clean. You looked at the glove again. So pure, so clean, so...

You held the glove against your nose, deeply inhaling the sweet smell of springtime. 

You didn't learn how to read an analog clock, but judging by the night sky outside the balcony windows and lights that illuminate the inky darkness, the night was still young. Or maybe this city just never sleeps. Either way you wanted to have fun, the immense space of the suite may be a waste, but free admission to the amenities along with $1,000,000 in cash---or card--shouldn't go to waste. That's it! You're going out!

It's as if it were the early morning of Black Friday.

The patrons of the hotel were lively and buzzing, zapped and awaken by the booze flowing their veins. Their heads light and weightless, they soar with the wings gold and wine. They would head for the golden horizon. The Meridian meant the top of the world; the poles connecting the North and South, where everyone wanted to be tonight.

You squeezed yourself through the seas of people, trying to find an activity to do in the meantime. You were wide awake after all that big winning from tonight. You needed to tired yourself out. As the hostess had mentioned before, you had free admission to the casino, the restaurants, the spas, the pools, the bars, the smoking room, and the playhouse, which you realized was just the auditorium. You didn't want to gamble again so you avoided the casino. You weren't hungry. You didn't want to get drunk tonight. You didn't really smoking all that much. The spas were closed and the pool needed cleaning, meaning the only thing left for you was the auditorium. 

The crowd pushed you out of its way and to the entrance. The words "Venus' Playhouse" was plastered and lit up with bright lights like blockbusters in a cinema. On the side had a poster for tonight's show.

Dream a Little Dream

Come See How A Star Is Born

It includes a woma--er--man? An androgynous figure sitting on a giant crescent moon glittered and bedazzled with silvers and sapphires amethysts and ribbons. The figure had blue-ish black hair, cut off about the shoulders with a small undeveloped hair covering a bit of his left eye. They were pale, sickly yet somehow healthy-looking. An albino but the melanin had only transfer to the hair. They were attractive, a body as slim as model and as graceful as a dove. Those eyes, those red eyes stare into yours. Love, longing, lust, loneliness; you couldn't tell. Behind those red curtains had the answer. And you wanted to know. Just like the many patrons inside. 

Carnegie hall, you never been there, but that's what looked like. There were more than 1,000 seats lining the top, bottom, left, right, back, and front. There were circular dining tables surrounding the runaway of the stage while the normal seats became the main perimeter of the playhouse. The stage was huge and barely lit, the answer lie behind the red curtains once more. You need to find a seat for the lecture. 

"Excuse me sir?" A humble, polite voice asked. The theater attendant---you didn't what they were called---came to you. "You are the 1,000,00th guest, no?"

"That's right."

"We have reserved a seat for you upfront. The one closest to the stage." He pointed to well, the closet spot on the stage. You thanked the man but you started to get a knot in your stomach. A hobo like yourself, upfront, where all the lights illuminated your area the most. A suit would've been nice, but your check has still not arrived yet. 

While the other guests had taken their spots in the soft cushion seats above and below murmuring and muttering and gossiping to each other, you made it down the stairs to your spot. A little golden stand had the words "RESERVED", waiting for you to arrive. Damn was the stage bigger up close. You felt ostracized, the patrons watching you from above and below as if you were the main act for tonight.

You felt excluded, not exclusive.

You should've bought a change of clothes.

...

The lights dim.

Their voices fade away.

The stage holds its breath.

A light flashed.

The bright beam centered itself.

The red curtains roll up. 

There they were.

There he was.

He moved slowly, smoothly, gracefully. A hand on the hip, a hand on the pole, a hand your heart. Were his eyes on you? Were the pools of shining rubies still-flowing for you? You couldn't tell; you were to mesmerized by the way he moved his body; that narrow waist, those long legs, that well-contoured ass...

He rubbed against the pole like a bear scratching its back on a tree. You moaned internally as he turned away from the crowd, breaking eye contact with you to give a better view. The audience needs some of that sugar tonight. The other women---and men--crowding the front gazed, stared, drooled a little. Arousal was arousing and spreading across the hall. The curtains reveal what was on the poster: the moon. The silver-gilded, bejeweled moon. Right behind the man orbiting the metal pole like a satellite. Like a moon. 

At an opportune moment of the song, he grasped his upper thighs with a soft smack, slowly but firmly trailing his fingers up as his hips continued to sway in time. He turned back after a moment of teasing and grinding, eyes capturing yours immediately as he halted the coordinated spin. But still commanding the attention of the adoring crowd in between you. You felt a warm sensation; your little friend, your third leg, your dick was errecting.

Holy shit did he just take off all his clothes?

Ok not all of it; an indigo thong---that just empathized his hips---along with silky garters and stockings covered himself. He gave a cheeky look over his shoulder before giving another spin to face the crowd and the responding noise from the audience became louder than the music for a moment. You were sweating. You tried no to howl with the rest of the crowd as well as try to "soothe'' your little friend from below.

*Click. Click. Click.*

He owned the runaway; each click of the heels matched the beat of the song, but was way out-of-tune with your heart beat. As he came closer, the spotlight followed him. The patrons all stared at him, idolizing the prostitute.

Then he came down the steps.

Wait since when were there steps?!?!?!

The man rubbed a socialite's shoulders, kissed a mistresses hand, licked another man's ear. He pampered those lucky enough to be in the front.

And then he went to you. With hunger and lust in his eyes, he sat in your lap. Two milky white hands wrapped around your neck, even tough he was taller than you. The man smirked deeply, observing what he was dealing with. Your little friend woke up again. He chuckled, rolling his hips at the sudden erection before slipping a hand deep within your filthy folds of fabric. It was cold but warm, having the man feel your incessant heartbeat as he gazed into your eyes. He got up from your lap and walked behind you. 

A hand slips from your shoulder, revealing the milky white arm...

Wait...

The man walked back up the stairs from the runaway and towards the pole. The music was ending. A flirtatious look was given directly to you once again before the angel santured backstage.

The curtains close.

The music ends.

The lights turn off.

A roar of applause and chants for an encore erupted the hall. You sat on your seat frozen and hot. You clutched a hand on your chest to relax your heart. Until you felt something solid and thin inside.

A card was placed inside your jacket.

"Meet me in the Gemini Suite~. "

"🌙"

[1337wtfomgbbq]

Cycling history using memes

Bobet in 1948 be like:

So, as I already established Louison Bobet is... a bit of a character.

The most striking feature of Bobet the man rather than rider was his ambition to behave like a Hollywood matinée idol, a sort of David Niven character in a dinner suit tuxedo. It brought him much ribbing from other French riders.

For example Raphael Geminiani asserted that Bobet's diffident and elegant manner made him less popular even in his own Brittany. The Breton's much preferring the more rustic and forthright manners of Jean Robic.

Bobet was also driven by personal hygiene and thus refused to accept his first yellow jersey in 1948 because it had not been made with the pure wool🤌 he believed to be the only healthy material for a sweating and dusty rider. Synthetic thread or blends were added in 1947 following the arrival of Sofil as a sponsor. Sofil made artificial yarn.

The race organiser Jacques Goddet wrote: "It produced a real drama. Our contract with Sofil was crumbling away. If the news had got out, the commercial effect would have been disastrous for the manufacturer. I remember debating it with him a good part of the night. Louison was always exquisitely courteous but his principles were as hard as the granite blocks of his native Brittany coast."

Goddet had to get Sofil to produce another jersey overnight, its logo still visible but artificial fabric absent.

@wtfanworkclassification, Yellow.

[sunny-footwear]

Know about Quality women’s Footwear — More than Just Accessories — Sunny Footwear 

Do you know? Footwear is as important as the clothes we wear. Yes, it plays a very important role in everyone’s life and provides a comfort to walk. In this article, we will discuss about the womens’ footwear, its importance and from where to purchase the quality of pairs.

Footwear also means shoes, slippers and flats. They are not just providing comfort but also give a touch of style to our appearance. If you are in search of Quality Women’s Slippers for yourself and to give a pair to your special one, then selecting the right pair is important to get comfort and style. It enhances the personality of an individual. They come in a variety of sizes, styles and colours. Choose the footwear according to your comfort and style.

Where to buy the best footwear for women-

You can purchase the right Slippers Shoes for Ladies online, from retailers, and also from the local shops. As there are a number of options to buy the product make sure to select the option as per your requirements and you feel comfortable in it.

When purchasing things online always check the reviews first and also do comparisons about the product price and quality with others to grab the best deal. Whereas, Local shops and retailers have good staff that helps you in selecting the best pair for your needs that might be unique to find anywhere else.

It is important to invest in the quality footwear to receive comfort, durability and style. Always select a reputable manufacturer that makes the designs using quality material. This ensures you will receive the right product and your feet will feel healthy. Whether you are shopping for footwear online or in-store, there are plenty of options available. Always select the pair that makes the difference in your life and value your purchase.

How to find the right pair of stylish and Casual Footwear for Women?

Here are some important aspects mentioned that help you in finding out the best for you from many options available.

Material – Check the material of the slippers and opt for the pair that is made with high-quality material. The footwear is durable in nature and ensures feet stay healthy if made with quality material.

Design and Style- Look at the design of the slipper and buy the product suits with your style and support the feet. Select the footwear with anti-slip property, as it prevents accidents on slippery floors.

Breathability: Quality footwear offers breathability property and it allows the feet to breathe, preventing sweat and odour buildup.  Your feet always feel fresh and breath when wearing quality shoes.

You can have casual footwear for everyday activity and a pair of stylish flats for Women from a good store to add charm to your life. These are not only to wear for fashion statements; footwear plays a significant role in overall foot health.

[clothingmanufacturer16]

Hi everyone i am new on tumbler here!

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[shingansoul]

Lingering Scent of You

Summary:

2023 Vashwood Week day 1, prompt: Smoke

Vash had grown to love the smell of old cigarettes, ever since it had become a part of his every day he had never felt more loved. It takes Wolfwood a bit to catch on.

@vashwoodweek

To read on AO3, follow the link below. To read here, continue past the read more!

Vash the Stampede could be described as many things, and lord was he called a wide variety certainly. However, one that almost everyone you asked who had actually met the guy would say was that he was odd. He had a lot of quirks, some manufactured and others simply a part of the blonde man he had come to have over his long life. Wolfwood thought he had noted most of them in his years traveling with and knowing Vash, and yet it seemed ever since they had joined up officially after everything in that mess of a city with Hoppered and Midvalley, he’d found a new one. Wolfwood was sure he hadn’t seen him do this before in the first few months they’d kept meeting up on and off nor since he had found him again after Augusta, it was too obvious to have been missed even in that small amount of time since they started travelling together properly just the two of them.

Vash didn’t smoke, he didn't have any particular qualms against it just that proved not to be his vice of choice; he opted usually for whatever local liquor he could get his hands on when they could afford it in the town bars they’d pass through across their journey. He had never said anything one way or the other about the smoke or smell even in the most cramped of inns they’d had to make do with, even in the same shitty little bed in the corner of a room side by side. As long as Wolfwood was mindful to not get any of the ashes on the sheets it was just an unspoken allowance between them that Wolfwood was certainly grateful for sure. But tolerance was one thing, whatever it was he had caught onto lately was definitely another.

The first time he had brushed it off fairly casually, it had been a few weeks back when they had ended up staying more than one night in a fairly stable but small town due to a sandstorm coming in overnight. They were gutsy and hardy, sure, but you could play dodgeball with bullets for years and what mother nature decides still overrules everything else; so instead of risking it they cooped up in their room in the inn and waited. Now, traveling the way they did with as little as they did meant clothes went reworn and unwashed for longer than some might find acceptable, but it was a mutual suffering so it was rarely ever commented aside good natured comments whenever they did get the chance to wash up proper. So when wolfwood stepped out of the bathroom freshly washed and skin still steaming from the heat of the shower, a luxury he was not going to let go to waste certainly, he was almost a bit insulted at what greeted him in the room.

Vash had been setting out their clothes and things it seemed from the layout on the foot of the bed, but what had gotten his attention was that he had caught the blonde sniffing at his suit jacket, almost investigating whatever scent it likely had. At the sound of the bathroom door opening, Vash at least had the dignity to act embarrassed with a nervous chuckle and light blush settling across pale cheeks as he dropped the apparently offending garment back onto the bed with everything else.

“Really?”

Brows scrunched in confusion at the accusation before wolfwood continued, irritation at the insult obvious in his gait as he came closer to the bed.

“It can't be much worse than yours with your stupid coat, you’re already a walking furnace, the long coat can't possibly make you exempt from sweating. And don't even talk to me about your leather situation under there needle-noggin, don’t start prissin’ on me now about a little musk. At what point in the sidecar did you decide you gave a shit?”

Vash seemed to shift between understanding to an odd brief look of relief Wolfwood couldn't place before he much more calmly picked the jacket back up and started folding it properly instead of leaving it thrown aside.

“Ah, it's nothing like that, don't take it so personally! I was just checking all our clothes for what needed washed more urgently than the rest. Since you bathed first I was just checking your stuff first so you weren't left au natural, comme ils disent, for too long. What if we had to make a run for it and you didn't have clothes?”

Wolfwood shook his head in exasperation at his companion, clicking his tongue before sitting on the bed and dramatically letting himself drop onto his back further up the mattress. For extra dramatic effect, he clutched his hands around his cross necklace atop his bare chest and closed his eyes, facing towards the ceiling where he knew Vash could see his faux serene expression from his position still standing.

“I beg the Lord his blessings to keep and that he graciously take me up into his heavenly flock just as I was put onto this earth, as bare and innocent as a babe. Amen.”

At the startled snicker that burst past the blonde, he cracked an eye open and a cheeky grin at his audience. The warmth of the moment was nice and the situation smoothed over easily. Wolfwood was content to just drink in the rare lazy day and easy back and forth they had in their little room here as the winds and sand buffeted the window for ambiance. And so the moment passed without incident. The next time he caught Vash at whatever this was, it was more notable. Albeit within an already pretty eventful and notable afternoon for a day they hadn't been shot at.

No matter where you were or what time of year, it was always blistering hot under the intensity of Gunsmoke’s multiple suns and as two men constantly traveled in the wide stretches of desert between towns, they were more often than not at the mercy of the environment. So when at times it got too much even for the enhanced body Wolfwood had, it was more than reasonable that he’d break and just strip off what layers he was willing to for the longer stretches. He wasn't a shy man by any means, but even if he were it was just Vash who would see and of all people, the plant was not going to be the man who judged another’s body especially aloud to their face. So without a thought and a bit of an exaggerated groan of relief, the priest cast aside his jacket and button down shirt beneath, choosing to loosely hold them in a hand at his side as they trudged onwards through the sand.

Vash glanced to him, tilting his head in thought for a few moments before stopping entirely. Wolfwood kept walking, if not at a slower pace, confident his companion would catch up after whatever idea he had cooked up ran its course. After a couple yards distance though and the sound of various clicks and rattling of material and metal against itself, Wolfwood stopped too, turning to indulge his curiosity. Vash was finishing the last of unbuttoning the long coat he always wore and with a flourish, he shrugged it off and almost excitedly threw it the other man’s way. With a grunt of surprise, Wolfwood lunged forward a few awkwardly wide steps to catch it in his other hand, having unceremoniously dropped the punisher with a loud thud in the sand to his side to stand upright on its own, his dark eyes staring dumbly at the shock of red in his hand dragging on the sand a bit. They stood in silence for a good minute, Wolfwood repeatedly glancing from jacket to owner repeatedly trying to put together what the blonde wanted and why said man’s face was so expectant towards him. Green-blue eyes stared him down and Wolfwood didn't mind giving into them if he could only parse what exactly the hell he wanted.

“Needle Noggin.”

“Wolfwood.”

A sigh. “Good job buddy, now that we got that sorted, wanna tell me what i'm supposed to do with this?” He looked up at Vash, shaking the clothing in question. Clothing was a bold word, piece of ancient technology masking as a giant literal red flag for death was closer.

“Put it on!”

“Did the heat melt your brain finally?! I’d sweat to death in this damn thing in seconds, I can't fathom why you haven't done so yourself after all these years in the stupid thing.”

Vash strode forward with a purpose, the expectant hopeful look still on his face as he closed the distance and took the jacket back just to hold it up uncrumpled as if on display for Wolfwood. He shifted his weight to one leg before raising the other to use his knee to gesture to the strange black pipe-like pieces on the waist of the coat.

“These connect to smaller interwoven parts inside the coat to regulate temperature; It’ll make sure you’re always as cool or as warm as you need to be based on the environment!”

Vash looked like he had just revealed the most exciting information he had to offer, and yeah it was up there, but what Wolfwood felt was not in fact awe or curiosity. No, he decided as he took a moment to inspect the person in front of him. No, he was ready to beat the idiot in front of him to a pulp right this moment, hopeful puppy eyed stare be damned.

“You mean to tell me, after YEARS traveling around like this with you, you were just fine in there?!”

Vash realized instantly he had made some kind of mistake, squealing and jumping back a couple steps preemptively, still holding out the jacket now much more like a peace offering.

“H-hey now, let’s not be hasty!”

“Stampede.”

A nervous giggle brushed past Vash’s lips, face a nervous smile and free hand waving placatingly. “Nicholas.”

Wolfwood glared daggers sharp enough to slice clean through a sand worm at the blonde for a few extra moments, silence once more ringing out clearer than any bell in the desert. Their staring contest went on for another minute, maybe even two, before Wolfwood wordlessly swiped the jacket from the other’s gloved hand. Vash let out a sigh of relief as Wolfwood now inspected the coat with a raised eyebrow and a new sense of curiosity he’d never had towards the jacket. Usually he would either glance it over like it was nothing or bemoan how it only made Vash that much more a target, but now it held something new, if Vash wasn’t lying that was.

He hesitated long enough to give Vash one more glance as if double checking for sure that he wasnt fucking with him before he tossed his discarded clothes at the other and without looking to see if they were caught, he slipped the long coat over his arms to settle on his shoulders. It was even heavier than he expected it to be, the feeling odd compared to his usual lightweight thin clothes though it wasn't anything compared to the Punisher enough to make it uncomfortable. It wasn't like some instant cool had hit him, but he could feel the inner lining fabric to have a fading chill to it; it had been cool, it just wasn't right now. Okay, so maybe there was some kinda trick to this…

“You need to button all the snaps, so it insulates you better. It won’t be able to properly pick up on the difference between your body temperature and that of the air around you unless you fully snap it closed.”

Ah, so that’s why he bothered with it despite whining about how it was a hassle and annoying. It wouldn't turn on if he didnt commit to the full thing, well, Wolfwood could play that game. He grumbled more for show than anything else as he sought to buttoning all of them, childishly counting each one as he went. When he had reached the bottom with that last audible metal click, it was like someone had flipped a switch. In only a moment or two, the garment began to quickly but gradually feel cooler and cooler against his skin. It wasn't ever cold or too much, but an even cool feeling like a nice damp cloth against fevered skin.

“20.”

Vash tilted his head to the side. “Pardon?”

Wolfwood shook his head, waving off the slip of the tongue. “Never mind it.” 

He cleared his throat awkwardly, taking a few experimental steps forward and even spun once, testing the feeling of how the garment felt against him as he moved. It was much more flowing than he assumed from the weight and with how many odd parts clung to the fabric. Satisfied, he turned back around to face his now benefactor of the day, whatever he had to say dying on his lips as he noticed how Vash held himself now and, more importantly, his discarded clothes. Vash had the jacket and shirt both held to his chest like a child with a prized toy or blanket from their mum. He had the collars pushed up covering the lower part of his face, eyes beyond compare blinking owlishly over the top at Wolfwood expectantly awaiting some kind of response, assumedly.

“S’nice…what about you though, won’t you burn like that in the sun? Those’ll be some real special burn lines i bet.”

Vash stood there still, Wolfwood's clothes in hand but otherwise the only thing between him and the elements was the leather belts and harnesses he always wore beneath his coat. The blonde scrunched his face, a pout Wolfwood assumed based on how his nose scrunched up before he suddenly perked up, moving quickly to throw the shirt and jacket behind his shoulders like a cape and loosely tied the sleeves together in the front to keep it in place. To be frank, he looked silly like a little kid playing hero, but he looked content and proud of himself so Wolfwood could only smile and chuckle fondly.

“Now I don't have to carry it and my back is covered without me getting all gross and sweaty like you do.”

Wolfwood stepped up to stand right in front of him and flicked the blonde’s forehead, getting a whine and dramatic cry of pain from his ‘victim.’ The pout from earlier flitted onto his face which only earned him another warm laugh from the not-so-holy man. Wolfwood then delicately plucked his sunglasses off his face, sliding them carefully to rest on Vash’s. With a nod of approval, he reached into one of the pockets of the jacket and grabbed the gunman’s own distinct yellow lenses and put them on.

“Love and peace, yeah?”

Vash gave him a warm smile, fangs poking past his lip a bit with the expression which made Wolfwood's heart melt just a bit further than his time spent with the other had already worn him down over the years. With that, they uptook their trek once more, wolfwood casually scooping the punisher back up on his shoulder by a strap as he passed where it had stood waiting on them. Wolfwood kept looking back at his charge, telling himself it was more curiosity than concern since he had never seen him weather the heat on its own terms before now knowing what his jacket could do. His worries proved mostly unfounded, finding even without the lost technology he always wore, his plant body could withstand the heat and sun better than most humans just fine. What did catch his notice though was that periodically, when his gaze wasn't directly on the other, Vash would bring the sleeves of his clothes up from around his neck to his face. Was he smelling his sleeves? Was it really so noticeable that he had sweated through his clothes? If that was the case, why did it persist throughout the whole day and night until they hit the next town?

That night after they’d gotten into town, Wolfwood was sure to properly shed the jacket he’d been given and hung it up on one of the hooks on the back of the bathroom door. It was certainly a treat and a kindness he’d gotten to have it for the day, but he wouldn't just take something that was so special to the other man. Sure it was functional, but to have remained in such good condition for this long had to mean something given how little he kept on him and how badly he took care of the body underneath that red coat. Plus, he might let himself get too spoiled and be unable to deal with things on his own if he got too used to wearing it, even if Vash said or insisted he could use it. So he had hung up both their jackets to stave off wrinkles best they could, with the intent to switch back the next day. They had gotten only 1 bed for the room this time, seeing no reason to spend the money at this point on more than they needed.

They had gotten in pretty late, so Wolfwood had been quick to bed once he had shed the coat and shoes and it was almost comical how quick he had just passed out once his head hit pillows and sheets, not itchy or too dirty for once even. Today had been full of little treats it seemed. He had expected Vash to take a bit longer, he often did. But, when Wolfwood woke some hours later, his internal clock forcing him to consciousness in the wee hours of the early rising of the first sun, he had found himself alone in the bed. Wolfwood’s brow creased in light concern, looking around the small room for any signs of the blonde or if he’d gone out. With a groan of reluctance he swung his legs over the side of the bed and after another moment of mourning the further sleep that could have been, he stood and padded across the room to grab for his shirt and jacket before heading out to hunt down his charge once again.

Grabbing for cotton fabric he was met with not quite leather instead, and his brow furrowed further. Why was only his jacket gone? He left the other where it hung, moving to glance out the window of the room overlooking the porch out front, and he felt himself relax a bit. There, sitting on the steps of the porch below, was a mop (broom?) of blonde spikes. Even in what he could see as his own dark suit jacket instead of usual red, the rest of him was striking enough to be recognized easily. He was quick then to slide on his shoes not bothering with socks or shirt quite yet, and in just slacks and dress shoes he made his way as quietly as he bothered without the hall of rooms, through the parlor and bar area to make his way to the porch.

Vash didn't react much hearing him walk out to him, not bothering to turn to look at him but scooching a bit to the side making room. Seeing the obvious invitation, Wolfwood equally as wordless made to slowly lower himself next to the other. Wolfwood reflexively reached towards his breast pocket to grab his lighter and cigarette, stopping with a blink as his sleep slow brain hadn't processed he wasn't wearing it. He nudged Vash’s arm with his elbow, holding his hand out expectantly. Vash glanced over at it, blinked owlishly at it for a moment and then with a smile he placed his own hand in the others’. Wolfwood blinked right back in response, staring for a long moment before sighing, rolling his eyes with a tilt of his head but laughing and giving a fond smile.

“Vash.”

“Nico.” His tone was warm.

At the nickname, Wolfwood let his features soften further, and deciding he didn't want to give up what he had been “given”, he used his other hand to just reach over and dig through his own jacket pocket while on the other man. Vash to his credit turned a bit so it was easier to grab, making to grab for the lighter himself when Wolfwood pulled away with the box of beaten up and bent cigarettes. He shook out one, placing it between his teeth and as if rehearsed, as he leaned forward Vash had already struck the lighter to a flame and lit the cigarette for him. Wolfwood didn't pull away before taking the first drag, and he held it in his mouth as long as he dared before he caught Vash’s eye and with a crinkle of amusement around his eyes he blew the smoke out his nose instead. At the desired giggle dragging itself out of the blonde, he grinned big and toothy around his vice, content to get what he wanted.

He was content overall to simply while their morning away out here just enjoying the mostly silent time together, but that familiar irritation from weeks ago came back with a vengeance as he saw Vash feign leaning his head on his hand just to take a somewhat obvious sniff at his jacket sleeves. He groaned through grit teeth, pulling the cigarette out to keep from biting clean through it.

“Okay, c'mon now Needle-Noggin this is getting ridiculous. I don't know what you want me to do, but at least just say it to my face.”

Vash’s head perked up, whipping to look over at Wolfwood in genuine confusion and light hurt. Wolfwood ignored it because this was getting ridiculous at this point. 

“If it’s so bad or bothers you so much, what was the point of taking my jacket then? Some kinda weird compensation or appeasement? I wont say I hate seeing you in my clothes, but if it grosses you out I don't want you to lie just say it. Is it me? Do you not like something that touched me on you or something?”

He didn't mean it quite that far, but he knew if he wanted an answer even if it was a small thing, he had to push farther than one would normally to get Vash to actually give a straight answer. As expected, Vash was quick to shake his head almost frantically, moving to place Wolfwood’s hand between both of his now.

“No! Nick, that’s not it at all! Th-that’s not fair, did I make you feel like that? No, that’s not it at all!” He was almost tripping on words with how he was rushing to say everything all at once, Wolfwood just leaned his cheek into his hand, cigarette easily held between fingers away from his face with practiced ease. He offered Vash a silent but skeptical look, waiting for an actual answer and not platitudes. Vash picked up on his impatience, worrying his lip a bit between his teeth briefly before looking down at the porch space between them. 

“I…well….umm, haha…that is to say..”

“Needles, the second sun is gonna rise at this rate.”

“FINE!ILIKETHESMELLOFCIGARETTESONYOU!”

It wasn't quite a yell per say, but in the quiet morning air it was as good as a scream through a megaphone like the insurance girl carried on her. Wolfwood took a moment to process the garbled string of words, staring at the now deeply flushed cheeks of the man beside him. As soon as his brain dissected the words into a coherent sentence in his head though, his expression grew into a shark grin in earnest.

“Oho? What’s this now? You like my scent?”

Vash, still holding the other’s hand, pulled all three appendages up to shield his face as he whined out, “That’s not what I said!”

Wolfwood only grinned wider, leaning in a bit now.

“But you do like it, right? That’s why you keep sniffing my clothes? Too nervous to just do it to the real deal? Am I alluring that I can even tempt the humanoid typhoon? Oh, how the holy have masqueraded to hide the Lilith within~”

Vash sounded almost near tears as he pleaded, “NICHOLAS! DON’T YOU DARE, NOT RIGHT NOW!”

What was that if not encouragement? He wiggled his captive hand a little back and forth, silently asking to be released. Vash loosened his grip enough for his hand to slide out, only to place his now free hands over his face hiding fully now. Wolfwood barked a laugh, reaching forward and lightly pushing away his hands to reveal his face utterly burning in embarrassment and his lips pursed so tightly it made his lips wobble like a toddler about to cry. Oh, he was so fucking cute like this.

Now with nothing in the way, he reached out with his empty hand, lightly grabbing Vash by the jaw and pulling their faces closer together. Wolfwood pulled back momentarily to then take a deep drag of his cigarette, holding it in as he leaned back in towards the blonde. Vash’s eyes widened a fraction in surprise, but after a few moments he acquiesced and opened his mouth and Wolfwood blew a stream of cloudy nicotine past his waiting lips. Wolfwood grinned wide once more when he pulled away a bit to watch Vash almost reverently hold it in before slowly exhaling out his mouth. His eyes fluttered momentarily as if drunk on it before he blinked himself back to full awareness and he smiled nervously at Wolfwood, the pink outright dying his pale cheeks at this point still strong as ever.

“Though i'm flattered sweetheart, you can always just ask for the real deal y'know? I’m not going anywhere and I've been smoking for too many years to get rid of what I have going on here. I certainly don't mind obliging a poor little lamb come to ask for sanctuary.”

It was stupid, corny, an awful joke that was much too forced. But for the answer it got him, he would have recited the entire bible backwards in latin if it garnered him the same result.

“Oh prêtre, donne-moi ton sanctuaire dans tes bras aimants.”

Utterly breathless, Wolfwood leaned forward, resting his free hand across the other’s cheek, and he leaned forward to place a chaste kiss on the other's forehead.

“This father himself loves you because you have loved me, and have believed that I came from God.”

((Notes:

This really got away from me in the best way. I was originally worried it wouldn't hit 1k words and now here we are haha. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it, also for reference yes, that IS Chapter 16:27 of the book of John (mostly), thank you for asking.

As for the two French phrases, they're "naked, as they say" and "Oh father(priest), give me your sanctuary in your loving arms". ))

[riya386otwar]

Outdoor Gloves Guide

Outdoor Gloves Guide

When it comes to outdoor tasks that demand durability, protection, and a reliable grip, nitrile-coated outdoor gloves are a must. Designed to withstand rough surfaces, sharp objects, and varying weather conditions, these gloves are essential for any outdoor enthusiast, gardener, construction worker, or DIY hobbyist. Here, we'll explore some of the best nitrile-coated outdoor gloves with grip, highlighting their unique features and benefits.

 

 

What Goes into a Good Outdoor Glove?

When it comes to outdoor tasks, having the right gear can make a significant difference in your performance, safety, and overall enjoyment. Nitrile coated outdoor gloves with grip are essential tools that provide protection, durability, and excellent traction for a wide range of activities. To ensure you invest in the best pair of gloves for your needs, follow this comprehensive guide to buying the perfect nitrile coated outdoor gloves with grip.

Consider Your Outdoor Activities

Start by identifying the specific outdoor activities you'll be engaging in regularly. Are you an avid gardener, a construction professional, or do you enjoy DIY projects? Different activities may require gloves with varying levels of protection, grip, and flexibility. By understanding your needs, you can narrow down your options and find gloves tailored to your preferred tasks.

Safer Grip Gloves by OPNBar

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Grip Technology

The primary feature that sets nitrile coated gloves apart is their enhanced grip. Look for gloves with a textured nitrile coating that offers excellent traction even in wet or oily conditions. The grip should allow you to maintain control over tools and materials, preventing accidents and improving efficiency. Prioritize gloves with multiple grip zones for added versatility and adaptability to different tasks.

Material Quality and Durability

Check the quality of the base material and the thickness of the nitrile coating. Opt for gloves made from high-quality nylon, polyester, or other durable materials that can withstand regular wear and tear. The nitrile coating should be thick enough to provide ample protection against cuts, scrapes, and punctures. Investing in gloves with reinforced fingertips and palms can further enhance their longevity and resistance to abrasion.

Size and Fit

A proper fit is crucial for comfort and dexterity during outdoor tasks. Choose gloves that are available in various sizes to ensure you find the one that fits your hands perfectly. A snug fit prevents the gloves from slipping off during use while allowing your hands to move freely. Be sure to consult the sizing chart provided by the manufacturer to find the most appropriate size for your hands.

Comfort and Flexibility

Outdoor tasks can be physically demanding, so prioritize gloves that offer comfort and flexibility. Look for gloves with a breathable design that allows air circulation and prevents excessive sweating. A flexible base material enables better hand movement and reduces hand fatigue, especially during extended use.

Water and Chemical Resistance

Depending on your activities, you may need gloves that are water-resistant or offer protection against specific chemicals. Consider the environments in which you'll be using the gloves and choose a pair that meets those requirements. Some gloves have specialized coatings that repel water and oils, ensuring a secure grip even in wet conditions.

Eco-Friendly Options

If environmental sustainability is a priority for you, consider opting for eco-friendly nitrile coated gloves made from sustainable materials and manufactured using environmentally conscious processes. Several brands are now offering eco-friendly options that reduce their impact on the environment.

Read Reviews and Recommendations

Before making a final decision, read reviews and seek recommendations from other users. Online reviews provide valuable insights into the performance and durability of the gloves, helping you make an informed choice.

Choosing the best nitrile coated outdoor gloves with grip involves considering your specific outdoor activities, grip technology, material quality, size and fit, comfort, water and chemical resistance, and eco-friendliness. By following this guide, you can confidently select a pair of gloves that will serve as a reliable companion for all your outdoor adventures, providing the protection, durability, and grip you need to excel in every task.

Materials that Enhance Grip

Various materials and technologies contribute to the grip-enhancing properties of hiking gloves. Some of the most popular choices include:

Silicone patterns: Many high-quality gloves incorporate silicone patterns on the palms and fingers, offering an impressive grip on multiple surfaces.

Textured synthetic materials: Gloves made with textured synthetic materials, such as polyurethane or rubber, provide an excellent balance between grip and durability.

Innovative grip technologies: Some gloves utilize cutting-edge technologies to enhance their grip capabilities, such as strategically placed padding, ergonomic design, or moisture-wicking materials.

Benefits of Hiking Gloves with Grip

Hiking gloves with superior grip features offer numerous advantages, including:

Safety: A firm grip helps prevent accidents and injuries resulting from slips or loss of balance.

Versatility: Gripping gloves enable secure handling of various gear and equipment, making them suitable for different outdoor activities.

Comfort: Gloves with exceptional grip often boast ergonomic designs and materials, providing comfort during extended hikes.

Improved performance: Enhanced grip contributes to better control and dexterity, allowing hikers to tackle challenging trails with confidence.

Investing in hiking gloves with outstanding grip capabilities is a game-changer for outdoor enthusiasts. These gloves provide safety, versatility, and comfort while enhancing your overall performance on the trail. Before embarking on your next adventure, consider upgrading to gripping hiking gloves for a more enjoyable and secure experience.

Grip gloves are specialized gloves designed to provide an enhanced grip when handling objects. They are widely used in various industries, including construction, manufacturing, and automotive, to improve productivity and reduce the risk of accidents. In this article, we will discuss the benefits of using grip gloves and explore the different types of grip gloves available in the market.

Types of Grip Gloves

Latex Grip Gloves: Latex grip gloves are made of a latex coating over a knit or woven base material. They are lightweight and offer excellent grip in wet or dry conditions. Latex grip gloves are commonly used in the healthcare industry, where they provide protection against infectious materials.

Nitrile Grip Gloves: Nitrile grip gloves are made of a synthetic rubber material that is resistant to punctures, cuts, and chemicals. They offer excellent grip in wet or oily conditions and are commonly used in the automotive and manufacturing industries.

PVC Grip Gloves: PVC grip gloves are made of a PVC coating over a knit or woven base material. They are lightweight and offer good grip in wet or oily conditions. PVC grip gloves are commonly used in the food processing and janitorial industries.

Leather Grip Gloves: Leather grip gloves are made of high-quality leather and offer superior grip and durability. They are commonly used in the construction and landscaping industries, where workers need to handle heavy tools and materials.

Cut-Resistant Grip Gloves: Cut-resistant grip gloves are made of specialized materials that offer protection against cuts and abrasions. They are commonly used in industries where workers handle sharp tools and materials, such as the construction and manufacturing industries.

Choosing the Right Grip Gloves:

When choosing grip gloves, there are several factors to consider, including the type of work being performed, the level of grip required, and the potential hazards present in the workplace. Some important factors to consider include:

Material: The material of the gloves should be chosen based on the type of work being performed. For instance, latex grip gloves are suitable for healthcare workers, while nitrile grip gloves are better for automotive and manufacturing workers.

Grip: The level of grip required will depend on the nature of the work being performed. Workers who handle heavy or slippery objects may require gloves with a stronger grip, while those who handle smaller components may require gloves with a more delicate grip.

Size: The gloves should fit snugly to ensure maximum grip and protection. It is essential to choose gloves that fit properly to avoid slipping or sliding while working.

Durability: The durability of the gloves should be considered when choosing grip gloves. Workers who handle sharp or abrasive materials may require gloves that are more durable to prevent punctures or tears.

Employee Safety

Employee safety should be a top priority in any company. Apart from the obvious pain and suffering with worker deaths and injuries, workers who are injured on the job could sue a company for financial damages. Injuries may make them less productive when they return to work. It is important that employers effectively communicate safety standards to every employee, and train them properly.

Safer Grip Gloves by OPNBar™️ are ideal work grip gloves for all-day use for light manufacturing, warehouse operators, and for use in maintenance areas.

Our new and improved Safer Grip nitrile coated grip gloves by OPNBar are ideal multi-purpose work grip gloves for various applications like trucking and delivery, warehouses, maintenance areas, light manufacturing and carpentry. They are also great for gardening, and various outdoor activities that require grip in wet conditions, like boating, fishing, hiking, and biking.

Coated Grip Gloves

Safer Grip nitrile coated gloves are made of 15-Gauge nylon polyester engineered yarn. The glove conforms to the operator’s hand and offers maximum flexibility and comfort. Safer Grip spandex nylon glove palms are coated in micro-foam nitrile, and are quite flexible, making Safer Grip nitrile coated grip gloves the perfect nitrile foam gloves for working with tools and protecting your hands and products. The latest glove offers a durable thumb crotch for extra grip and protection.

Coated foam grip gloves are extremely popular, primarily because they have a good price point.  They are effective and comfortable, provide great dexterity, and protect operator hands from hazards, as well as protect products from workers’ hands.

Foam coatings can be applied and used in wet, oily, cold, and normal situations. Safer Grip spandex gloves with a long lasting microfoam nitrile coating are breathable with a coarse surface that can suck up oil and liquid, and maintain grip and tactility even when wet.

Nitrile Foam Grip Gloves Coating

Safer Grip Gloves by OPNBar™️ grip gloves are dipped in a special longer lasting formula, with a durable nitrile foam coating that improves tactility and dexterity. The foam coating resists cuts, abrasions, and tears, and is also a good alternative for people with latex allergies or want an alternative to leather. Safer Grip gloves are dipped in an improved nitrile microfoam formula in a three-quarter palm dip. Micro-foam technology offers great breathability, making them cool and comfortable to wear, in any environment.

Lots of Features

15-Gauge Nylon/Spandex Liner

Tough Micro-Foam Nitrile Coating

Touchscreen Compatible Grip Gloves that Work with Phone

Superior Grip, Dexterity & Protection

Ultra Soft Fitting, Breathable

Abrasion Resistance: 40,000 cycles, EN388:4131X

Oeko-Tex Standard 100, Skin Friendly, Latex Free

Machine Washable

CE Compliance

Safer Grip nitrile coated grip gloves are CE Certified, EN388 4131 compliant, and have an abrasion resistance of 40,000 cycles. Safer Grip gloves are Oeko Tek Standard 100, are skin friendly, latex free, and guarantee a high level of protection, comfort, and durability.

STANDARD 100 by OEKO-TEX® is one of the world’s best-known labels for textiles tested for harmful substances. It stands for customer confidence and high product safety.

SAFER GRIP Gloves by OPNBAR™️ apparel carries the STANDARD 100 label.  You can be certain that every component has been tested for harmful substances and are harmless for human health.

In the test, they take into account numerous regulated and non-regulated substances, which may be harmful to human health. In many cases, the limit values for the STANDARD 100 go beyond national and international requirements.

More Features of Safer Grip

Touchscreen Compatible Grip Gloves that Work with Phone

These work gloves are also touchscreen compatible on 4 fingers!

Ultra Soft Fitting, Breathable

These lightweight work gloves offer superior breathability and are quite form fitting.

Superior Grip, Dexterity & Protection

Nitrile coated work gloves offer versatile protection for many environments.

Reinforced Thumb Crotch

The thumb crotch on these work gloves provides a firm grip for these grip gloves.

Abrasion Resistance: 40,000 cycles, EN388:4131X

SAFER GRIP gloves are tested to have an abrasion resistance of 40,000 cycles!

Tough Micro-Foam Nitrile Coating

SAFER GRIP nitrile dipped work gloves and nitrile coated in a special, long lasting formula.

Versatile Weather Protection

These safety gloves can offer protection not only for your hands and products, but also weather elements as well.

Latex Free, Skin Friendly

Skin friendly, latex free, and guarantee a high level of protection, comfort, and durability.

Industrial Use Features of Safer Grip

Construction, Carpentry, Roofing

Woodworking/Carpentry Gloves

These construction gloves are also great for being woodworking gloves and roofing gloves.

Warehouse Gloves

These warehouse gloves also make great moving gloves or box handling gloves.

Mechanic Gloves

These mechanics gloves also make great shop gloves or gloves for home improvement.

Truck Driver Gloves

SAFER GRIP gloves are popular truck driver gloves for their versatility and comfort.

Versatile Outdoor Uses of Safer Grip Gloves

Gardening Gloves

SAFER Grip gloves make great outdoor gloves and gardening gloves.

Hiking Gloves

These are great for everyday use in the outdoors and also make excellent hiking gloves.

Boating Gloves

Nitrile coated gloves provide dexterity in wet environments making them great boating gloves and fishing gloves.

Biking and Outdoor Gloves

These firm grip gloves are also great as biking gloves or daily outdoor gloves.

Protecting your hands should be your top priority, and the best way is to use work gloves. Yes, these work gloves are great as they provide a layer of protection to the knit gloves and give a non-slippery experience.

Gloves can be made of nylon, cotton, and even polyester or engineered yards called Kevlar or Dyneema. This material is an excellent alternative for expensive leather gloves.

The palm-coated industrial work gloves are great for different use in the automotive industry, construction, or even in sampling and handling products, which offer a better, and anti-slip grip.

Glove Coatings

The dip coating is applied on the knit gloves to give a good layer of protection. However, the amount of coating can be customized as follows:

Full Dip

The full dip allows covering the whole hand including the lower wrist.

Palm Dip

The palm dip will cover the whole palm including the fingertips for a better shield.

¾ Dip

The ¾ dip protects the palm, knuckles, and fingers.

What’s Grip Gloves Do you Prefer?

These tough coatings will give a perfect experience for handling tough materials filled with grease and chemicals. These gloves will enhance durability, chemical resistance, and even cut protection.

Many coatings can be used on knit gloves which are as follows:

Nitrile Foam

Latex

PVC

Neoprene

Zed coat

Micropore Nitrile

Polyurethane (PU)

Now, let us have a brief look at all these types of coating.

Nitrile Foam Coated Gloves

Industrial environments of today carry many activities that have risks. Governments and businesses in many countries define guidelines that benefit the safety of their workers. Many industrial applications promote the use of nitrile foam grip gloves for industry workers as a means of safety.

For Those with Allergy Concerns

Nitrile foam grip gloves are a type of glove made from nylone and coated with synthetic rubber. Nitrile is a polymer compound with a production process similar to that of making rubber. Unlike rubber however, nitrile is a 100% synthetic substance and typically does not create any type of allergic reaction on the human body and as a result, is accepted and used in many businesses. Nitrile is the synthetic form of latex and is commonly chosen for its strength.

Nitrile Latex vs Rubber

Just like natural rubber, Nitrile latex does not contain latex proteins. Nitrile rubber provides excellent resistance to tears and punctures and is almost 3 times stronger than natural rubber. Nitrile stands up well to oil, and makes it is a good choice for handling small wet/oily parts.

Features of Nitrile Foam Gloves

The main feature of knit nylon gloves coated with nitrile is their good grip and dexterity. Nitrile coated palm and fingers provide protection from abrasion, excellent grip, are extremely thin and durable, are breathable, comfortable, cut resistant, have great dexterity, tactility, and sensitivity.

There are various types of Nitrile coated glove dips available, some of them which include Nitrile palm coated grip gloves, foam Nitrile coated gloves, and fully coated Nitrile gloves.

All-Weather Grip Gloves

Many businesses use nitrile work grip gloves for their workers and most of these companies, especially in cold weather areas of the world. Nitrile foam gloves can keep worker’s hands warm in cold weather conditions and allow them to move their hands freely and easily even in cold conditions as well as protect their hands from harmful substances, cuts, and abrasion.

Works Well with Wet Conditions and Oil

Nitrile foam gloves withstand oils and have tactility even when wet. Nitrile coatings protect hands by preventing oil from penetrating through the gloves. Some applications include working with small or oily parts, as nitrile coating provides a secure grip.

Durable and Long Lasting

Nitrile foam gloves do not easily break down, delaminate or blister-like other coating materials in the presence of oils and in general. This makes nitrile foam gloves a choice for jobs that require a high degree of sensitivity and dexterity, especially when grip is important such as assembly, construction, painting, working on automotive, handling small oily parts and components, gardening, machining, maintenance, warehouses, and trucking. Recreationally, they are also great for gardening, and various outdoor activities that require grip in wet conditions, like boating, fishing, hiking, and biking.

Other Information on Nitrile Foam Gloves

Nitrile foam gloves are perfect for general work because of their durability and robustness. The nitrile coating will prevent cuts, tears, and even abrasions. These grip gloves work well between -25 F and 350 F.

Nitrile foam gloves are durable, but they will not provide a robust grip in oily and wet conditions compared to micropore nitrile gloves.

Nitrile foam coating may not be ideal for liquids and adhesives because they may seep inside the gloves.

Latex Coated Gloves

Latex-coated gloves are soft and flexible. These soft gloves give a perfect grip and an anti-slip experience. Latex-coated gloves work well in all circumstances and temperatures, and they are a perfect choice for high temperatures too.

Latex gloves fall in the category of the most durable gloves, but you may experience low abrasion and oil resistance. Latex gloves can resist the use of alcohol and some categories of ketones, but they won’t work well for organic solvents and hydrocarbons.

Latex gloves are perfect to use in construction, masonry, and even landscaping.

Micropore Nitrile Gloves

Micropore nitrile gloves work best for oily grip. These gloves consist of different suction cups which absorb all the oil and liquid providing a firm grip.

This coating doesn’t work well with adhesives, but the outcome is highly abrasion-resistant.

Polyurethane Coated Gloves

Polyurethane-coated gloves come with the best stretch and flexibility. These gloves work well for delicate applications, and the coating offers flexibility.

Polyurethane-coated gloves are resistant to all kinds of liquids, including oil. It is also heat resistant, but these gloves are not recommended to use above 79 degrees celsius. These polyurethane gloves work perfectly well for aerospace, fine part handling, and even with assembly and inspection.

PVC Gloves

PVC gloves work the best with adhesives, and they are abrasion-resistant. The adhesives won’t stick on the gloves so that you can work without any hassle. These gloves are best when working with furniture, automotive assembly, and trim applications.

These PVC gloves are perfect to use within cold conditions, and these PVC gloves are flexible but not tactile with rubber products.

Neoprene Coating Gloves

Neoprene coating gloves are synthetic rubber that also comes with chemical stability and heat resistance. These gloves are suitable for chemical-resistant and fire-retardant installations.

Neoprene coating will provide a dry, oily, and wet grip, but it has low resistance towards abrasion.

Final Verdict!

Nitrile foam grip gloves are more versatile do not easily break down, delaminate or blister-like other coating materials in general. This makes nitrile foam gloves a choice for jobs that require a high degree of sensitivity and dexterity, especially when grip is important such as assembly, construction, painting, working on automotive, handling small oily parts and components, gardening, machining, maintenance, warehouses, and trucking. Recreationally, they are also great for gardening, and various outdoor activities that require grip in wet conditions, like boating, fishing, hiking, and biking.

Looking for comfortable grip gloves should be your topmost priority so that there is no chance of removing these grip gloves and damaging your skin and hands.

Nitrile foam grip gloves will become your new favorite with a long-lasting experience.

[sterlingwhitvale]

BASICS

Faceclaim: Brandon Sklenar

Name: Sterling Whitvale

Age: 34

Gender: Cis Man

Home: District 8

Role: Civilian/Rebel

Personality: Bullheaded, protective, self punishing, adaptive, analytical, cynical, and direct

Song: Black Hole Sun by Sound Garden

BIOGRAPHY

The name Sterling conjures images of shining silver, splendor, wealth.  But Sterling’s life has only ever been covered in grime.  In soot.  In dirt, sweat, blood, tears.  Although he had been trained to stop shedding the latter years ago.  Like most in District 8, his family was not wealthy, and they worked in the mills that supplied the great folks of the Capitol and favored districts with their expensive frocks, and the rest of Panem with their rags.  His mother and sister worked on the handmaid items, working their deft fingers to the bone with intricate stitching and complicated beading, while his father worked on the line for the more mass produced items.  Sterling, with an innate skill and interest in the workings of machines, became the intern for the machinist at the mill that produced the peace keeper’s uniforms, putting in his four hours of work after school every day.  

It wasn’t a pleasant existence, too poor to make any upward strides and too tired from work to find another way to do so, but his family got by.  That is until the 53rd hunger games.  On the day of the reaping, his sister was exactly one week, only 168 hours from being 22, no longer eligible for the hunger games.  And their parents, despite not having much, thought of themselves as having enough, so never let their children put their names in for tesserae.  But in a--and this phrase is so lacking to describe the devastation--bout of bad luck, Stella’s name was plucked from that god damn stupid bowl, and she was plucked from their lives, just like that.  

They were supposed to have three years of calm, with Stella finally being over 21 and Sterling having 3 years before he was 15 and eligible to be reaped.  But fate was a cruel bitch, and snatched those three years from their hands right as they reached for it.  Sterling loved his sister dearly, but she was not meant for the harsh realities of the hunger games (although, who is, really?).  Her hands were meant for making beautiful things, not to hold a weapon.  Her eyes were used to narrowing in on fine details, not scanning for threats.  And even at the young age of 12, as he hugged his big sister, begging for her to stay, as if she had a choice, Sterling knew that she wouldn’t survive the games.  

She survived for awhile simply by hiding.  But between lack of sponsors and supplies, she grew weak and tired and ill, and after being spotted by a career, young Sterling watched with wide eyes and a gnawing in his stomach as his sister was slaughtered on the screen in front of him.  That gnawing feeling has never left him, a constant reminder of the injustice, of the macabre and demented way of their society. 

The week before his very first reaping, Sterling was determined to never have to stand in the plaza in front of the justice building, waiting to see if his own life would be sold to the capitol in exchange for a small period of entertainment. So he took advantage of his position at work, manufacturing a complication with a machine at the mill, so he and his mentor would have to stay late to fix it.  Leaving the factory that produced the peace keeper suits empty of workers and practically empty of guards.  He stuffed a suit into his rucksack, and made for the door.  His plan?  Wear it to the border, to where district 8 bordered 12 and then bordered free land.  He had heard all the rumors to keep people from trying to make it out there, but he didn’t believe a word of it.  And even if they did turn out to be true, it’d be better than having to face a reaping year after year, always wondering if it was his turn to have his golden string of life cut short by those damn three hags known as the fates. 

But his mentor Aloysius, caught his wrist, and without saying a word, took his rucksack and returned the stolen suit.  He knew something Sterling didn’t, and that was the fact that the quarterly inventory would be taken just the next day, which would have left Sterling with nowhere near enough time to get far enough away before they found out a suit was stolen.  So his plan was thwarted, but the rebellion that had started in his gnawing gut had not been extinguished, and in fact started to make it’s way under his skin, into his beating heart, and would lie dormant within him until it was needed. 

Every year, during the games, he could feel it, burning in him, but it really only started to roar some 9 years after that fateful night, when at 24, after a grueling 16 hours trying to fix the turbine for the biggest mill in the district, he almost quite literally ran into Cecilia.  He wouldn’t tell her this until some time in to their relationship, but he recognized her instantly.  Not from the games themselves, as he refused to watch, but the reaping.  It was his second to last year of eligibility, and he remembered having to wipe the one rogue tear that ran down his cheek as he watched the coverage of her young brothers holding on to her, remembering when he had done the same to his own sister.  

Loving her was finally what awoke that smoldering rebellion inside of him, and fanned it until it became a flame.  Seeing the disgusting hold the capitol had on the woman he loved and being unable to do anything about it made him want to burn it all down.  That fervor only increased as their family grew from the two of them, to three, to four, and finally five.  He knew no amount of submission to Snow and the capitol could keep their children safe.  The thought of them, standing in front of the justice building, waiting to hear if their names would be called, made him sick to his stomach.  And he refused to let that happen.  While his heart screamed rebellion, he knew in his gut that he would do whatever it took, even if that meant reverting to his plan of some 17 years ago, stealing peacekeeper suits and sneaking them all past the district border. 

He stupidly said as much in a drunken state to someone at a tavern, and for once luck was on Sterling and his family’s side.  Not only was the person not someone to turn a person in for that blasphemy against the capitol, but they were someone who felt the same, and were connected to the startings of a group of rebels inside District 8.  Between Sterling’s fervor for the cause and his access to the capitol through his wife and the ridiculousness of the capitol’s obsession with their family, Sterling has proven himself to be a helpful member of the cause.

Now, he just needs to get his wife and kids out of the capitol and it’s crosshairs before it’s too late. 

[villagerain]

@breathofthearth​ -- “why can’t you just leave me alone ?”

“You know why,” Balto answers, blunt, but not entirely unsympathetic from where he stands in the slanted shadow of a collapsed section of roofing by the door of the church. He can smell the dust and humidity in the air alongside the earthy loam overpowering the scent of flowers. It rained over two days ago, yet the abandoned church has somehow managed to latch onto the stormy gloom within these stone walls as if it refuses to move on.

Beautiful. Tragic.

What passes for rain in Midgar is nothing like the monsoons of Gongaga. The rain here is unpleasant, astringent on the skin and harsh on natural and manufactured surfaces alike. Droplets of rain collect all the pollutants which have made the sky home, bundling soot and sweat and mako and pulling it into the trodden earth where it does not evaporate off stone and steel.

Here, though. The lingering scent of petrichor is markedly different.

Balto wonders whether Tseng delivered the news himself or if one of the other Turks were sent to bear the message. Aerith surely knows; he can practically feel her anguish and her anger from here. Anger for the intrusion, for the haunting shadow she did not ask for.

He never met Zack Fair, but he’s studied the man enough for his assignments to feel like he has.

“Cry, stamp your feet, rage at fate, hate the Company. Feel it all from the bottom of your heart.” Balto shrugs, peeling himself away from the shadows and stepping into the cold, silvery sunlight streaming through the network of rafters crossed over their heads. He cannot help if she looks at him and sees someone else instead.

“He’s dead.”

Nothing will change that. Not anymore than anything can change Shinra’s vested interest in the last Ancient. Balto dusts off his back and shoulders, clasps one side of the open suit jacket and wiggle-flaps it up in her direction. “You can hate the suit, too, if that makes you feel better.”