#car parts buyers

[coridallasmultipass]

I am once again begging online shop payment processing companies to allow me to enter a separate name for shipping and separate name for billing!!

It's the same address, I'm just trans and have not legally changed my personal name, but I still prefer to receive mail as my preferred name! Like it's literally my professional name, I do business as my preferred name.

Annoying as fuck, and I don't want to chance my bank rejecting the payment (though I'm sure someone at my bank has put a note to allow it on my account by now, since I've contacted them a couple times before when I realized too late that the billing section didn't let me input another "address/name" section, and they said the payment was fine in those cases.)

Anyway, legal name changes should be free and non-advertised for everyone. Tbh, you should get a free name change every time you file your taxes on time as an incentive for good citizen behaviour. Once I am elected pres-

[carremovalservice]

Junk Car Removal Auckland Prices: Turning Trash into Cash

Junk car removal is a service that many people in Auckland rely on when they have an old or damaged vehicle they no longer want. Whether it’s due to an accident, mechanical failure, or simply wanting to free up space in the garage, junk car removal services offer a convenient solution. In this article, we’ll delve into the process of junk car removal in Auckland Prices, explore the factors that influence pricing, and provide tips for getting the best deal.

Source link: Junk Car Removal Auckland Prices: Turning Trash into Cash

Free Backlinks: -

https://medium.com/@carremovals0/effortlessly-sell-your-used-car-in-auckland-2504d09f2717

https://www.tumblr.com/japanesecarremoval/755437105165058048/effortlessly-sell-your-used-car-in-auckland?source=share

https://waad.powerappsportals.com/en-US/forums/general-discussion/eda316a7-003d-ef11-a81d-000d3a2f9cb9

https://synergyanimalproducts.com/farmers-helping-farmers-discussion-board/about-members/expert-auckland-car-wreckers-offering-top-cash-for-vehicles/

https://app.screencast.com/uiZZgBIAT5y3R

https://www.imagevenue.com/ME18PDJN

[rheajmoss08]

Why North York Residents Choose Our Scrap Car Removal Services Over the Rest

Scrap car removal has become a crucial service in North York, where residents seek efficient and environmentally responsible ways to dispose of their old vehicles. As, we understand the unique needs of North York residents when it comes to parting ways with their vehicles. In this article, we will explore the reasons why North York residents consistently choose our scrap car removal services in North York over the rest.

Introduction

The landscape of North York, with its diverse neighborhoods and bustling urban life, has seen a growing demand for responsible and reliable scrap car removal services. In this competitive industry, our company stands out as a preferred choice for North York residents looking to dispose of their vehicles seamlessly.

The Need for Scrap Car Removal

Many North York residents find themselves with old, non-functional vehicles that occupy valuable space in their driveways. The need for scrap car removal arises from a desire to declutter, create space, and contribute to environmental sustainability. Responsible disposal of cars ensures that hazardous materials are handled appropriately, reducing the ecological impact of automotive waste.

Our Expertise in Scrap Car Removal

The scrap car removal in North York  industry Our company, dedicated to serving the community, has honed its expertise in providing top-notch scrap car removal services in North york.

Convenience and Efficiency

One of the primary reasons North York residents choose our services is the unparalleled convenience and efficiency we offer. Scheduling scrap car removal is a straightforward process, designed to minimize the hassle for our clients. Unlike some competitors, our focus on efficiency means prompt pickup and removal, ensuring a hassle-free experience for our customers.

Environmental Responsibility

Our commitment to environmental responsibility sets us apart. We recognize the ecological impact of automotive waste and have implemented practices to minimize our footprint. Choosing our services means choosing a company that prioritizes sustainability in the disposal of scrap cars.

The Financial Incentive: Cash for Junk Cars

For North York residents, the financial incentive is a significant factor in choosing our scrap car removal services. The financial benefit that comes with parting ways with an old vehicle. We understand the value that even a scrap car holds, offering competitive cash deals to our clients.

Transparent Pricing

Transparency in pricing is a cornerstone of our services. North York residents appreciate our commitment to providing clear and competitive quotations. We believe in fair valuations, ensuring that our clients understand the breakdown of the pricing based on the condition of their vehicles.

Customer Testimonials

Real success stories from North York residents who have chosen our services contribute to our reputation. Customer testimonials highlight positive experiences, building trust among potential clients. The satisfaction of our customers speaks volumes about the quality of our scrap car removal services in North york.

The Team Behind the Scenes

Our dedicated team plays a crucial role in making our scrap car removal services in North York exceptional. With expertise in the industry and a commitment to customer satisfaction, our team ensures that the process is smooth, efficient, and tailored to meet the unique needs of our clients.

Advantages of Choosing Our Services

North York residents consistently choose our scrap car removal services for several reasons. From transparent pricing to efficient removal processes, our services offer unique advantages that set us apart from the competition. The convenience, environmental responsibility, and financial incentives contribute to the overall appeal of choosing our company.

The Impact on the Community

Our services extend beyond individual transactions, positively impacting the North York community. Job creation and support for local businesses involved in the scrap car removal and recycling processes make choosing our services a community-centric decision.

Overcoming Common Misconceptions

In the competitive landscape of scrap car removal, misconceptions can deter potential clients. We address and debunk common myths, providing clarity on aspects that might have been misunderstood. Educating our clients is a key part of our customer-centric approach.

Customer-Centric Approach

Our customer-centric approach is a defining aspect of why North York residents choose our services. Communication, responsiveness, and a focus on meeting individual needs contribute to a positive and stress-free experience for our clients.

Conclusion

In conclusion, our scrap car removal services have become the go-to choice for North York residents seeking a seamless and rewarding solution. From the convenience of scheduling to our commitment to environmental responsibility, we offer a comprehensive package that aligns with the unique needs of the North York community.

[prettieinpink]

BUDGETING + SAVING MONEY FOR TEENS 𐙚

For many of us, we are entering an age when we can work casual jobs such as retail or fast food. It’s not a lot of money that we receive, depending on how often you get paid, but it can go a long way in the long term. 

In this post, I’ll be discussing how to budget for your needs/wants and save money for future goals. 

CREATING GOALS, you may want to save a certain amount of money in a time frame, want to make a big purchase (like a car) or buy everything off your wishlist. It is entirely up to you what your goals are, so I can’t say too much. However, the more specific it is, the better.

HOW MUCH? Determine how much money you need to save to achieve your goal. In total, and monthly. 

There are three types of saving goals that may apply to you;

Short-term goals >1 year (outings, latest gadget, buying your cart)

Medium-term goals 1-2 years (road trips, shopping spree)

Long-term goals 2-4 years (higher education, car)

It’s very important to set a realistic time frame, as teens we don’t get paid much and we also don’t work as much. You don’t want to overwhelm yourself as well, as it takes patience and self-control to achieve these goals.

NO LOOONG-TERM GOALS! This may sound aggressive, but any money that just sits in your account for years on end is dead money. Even though the amount of money is increasing, its value is slowly decreasing. Keep your goals achievable within a time frame of less than four years. It's much more useful if this money is put into some type of investment instead. 

CREATING A BUDGET

Calculate how much money you receive every month, and how much money you spend every month. 

You have two types of expenses. Fixed and variable. Fixed are any expenses required in your day-to-day life or it’s an amount of money that doesn’t change e.g. subscriptions or transportation costs. Variable costs are expenses that may fluctuate, like food, or any other recreational activities. 

Record the average you’re spending monthly with these two categories. 

There are many ways people choose to budget, but you have to choose a system that works for you.

Work out how much money you need to save each month to achieve your goal.

However, for anyone who’s starting in budgeting, I would say to allocate your costs using a percentage system. Your percentages for each category are going to differ from mine; e.g. 60% = savings, 20% = wants, 20% needs. Make sure it reflects the end goal. 

Track your progress. This is the major part of budgeting, you want to be recording and regularly reviewing how much money you’re spending and comparing it to how much you’re earning. It allows for space to reflect on the flow of your money like if some purchases are worth it, if you’re impulsively spending, or if you’re frequently withdrawing money from your savings. 

Adjust if needed. Maybe you want to put more money in savings and less into wants, or you want to put more into wants and less into needs. 

SAVING TIPS

SAY NO! This is probably my biggest struggle at the moment, but say no to things that will cause you to go off track. Whether its outings, getting fast-food or anything similar, say no. You have to be firm with your financial boundaries, as these opportunities will always arise again. 

RESTRICT IMPULSIVE SPENDING. We all have our moments when we see a product and we instantly think ‘I’ve got to have this’. Giving in once or twice is okay, but it shouldn’t become a habit at all. Its unnecessary spending (most of the time!) and leads to buyers remorse. 

IS IT WORTH IT? Always remember to work out which products you’re getting the most value out of. 

PAYING FOR THE NAME, a lot of brands will cut down on quality to save a few dollars, so essentially the customer is only paying for the name of that brand. Just because a store is more expensive, doesn’t mean its better.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Cars bricked by bankrupt EV company will stay bricked

On OCTOBER 23 at 7PM, I'll be in DECATUR, presenting my novel THE BEZZLE at EAGLE EYE BOOKS.

There are few phrases in the modern lexicon more accursed than "software-based car," and yet, this is how the failed EV maker Fisker billed its products, which retailed for $40-70k in the few short years before the company collapsed, shut down its servers, and degraded all those "software-based cars":

https://insideevs.com/news/723669/fisker-inc-bankruptcy-chapter-11-official/

Fisker billed itself as a "capital light" manufacturer, meaning that it didn't particularly make anything – rather, it "designed" cars that other companies built, allowing Fisker to focus on "experience," which is where the "software-based car" comes in. Virtually every subsystem in a Fisker car needs (or rather, needed) to periodically connect with its servers, either for regular operations or diagnostics and repair, creating frequent problems with brakes, airbags, shifting, battery management, locking and unlocking the doors:

https://www.businessinsider.com/fisker-owners-worry-about-vehicles-working-bankruptcy-2024-4

Since Fisker's bankruptcy, people with even minor problems with their Fisker EVs have found themselves owning expensive, inert lumps of conflict minerals and auto-loan debt; as one Fisker owner described it, "It's literally a lawn ornament right now":

https://www.businessinsider.com/fisker-owners-describe-chaos-to-keep-cars-running-after-bankruptcy-2024-7

This is, in many ways, typical Internet-of-Shit nonsense, but it's compounded by Fisker's capital light, all-outsource model, which led to extremely unreliable vehicles that have been plagued by recalls. The bankrupt company has proposed that vehicle owners should have to pay cash for these recalls, in order to reserve the company's capital for its creditors – a plan that is clearly illegal:

https://www.veritaglobal.net/fisker/document/2411390241007000000000005

This isn't even the first time Fisker has done this! Ten years ago, founder Henrik Fisker started another EV company called Fisker Automotive, which went bankrupt in 2014, leaving the company's "Karma" (no, really) long-range EVs (which were unreliable and prone to bursting into flames) in limbo:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fisker_Karma

Which raises the question: why did investors reward Fisker's initial incompetence by piling in for a second attempt? I think the answer lies in the very factor that has made Fisker's failure so hard on its customers: the "software-based car." Investors love the sound of a "software-based car" because they understand that a gadget that is connected to the cloud is ripe for rent-extraction, because with software comes a bundle of "IP rights" that let the company control its customers, critics and competitors:

https://locusmag.com/2020/09/cory-doctorow-ip/

A "software-based car" gets to mobilize the state to enforce its "IP," which allows it to force its customers to use authorized mechanics (who can, in turn, be price-gouged for licensing and diagnostic tools). "IP" can be used to shut down manufacturers of third party parts. "IP" allows manufacturers to revoke features that came with your car and charge you a monthly subscription fee for them. All sorts of features can be sold as downloadable content, and clawed back when title to the car changes hands, so that the new owners have to buy them again. "Software based cars" are easier to repo, making them perfect for the subprime auto-lending industry. And of course, "software-based cars" can gather much more surveillance data on drivers, which can be sold to sleazy, unregulated data-brokers:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/07/24/rent-to-pwn/#kitt-is-a-demon

Unsurprisingly, there's a large number of Fisker cars that never sold, which the bankruptcy estate is seeking a buyer for. For a minute there, it looked like they'd found one: American Lease, which was looking to acquire the deadstock Fiskers for use as leased fleet cars. But now that deal seems dead, because no one can figure out how to restart Fisker's servers, and these vehicles are bricks without server access:

https://techcrunch.com/2024/10/08/fisker-bankruptcy-hits-major-speed-bump-as-fleet-sale-is-now-in-question/

It's hard to say why the company's servers are so intransigent, but there's a clue in the chaotic way that the company wound down its affairs. The company's final days sound like a scene from the last days of the German Democratic Republic, with apparats from the failing state charging about in chaos, without any plans for keeping things running:

https://www.washingtonpost.com/opinions/2023/03/07/east-germany-stasi-surveillance-documents/

As it imploded, Fisker cycled through a string of Chief Financial officers, losing track of millions of dollars at a time:

https://techcrunch.com/2024/05/31/fisker-collapse-investigation-ev-ocean-suv-henrik-geeta/

When Fisker's landlord regained possession of its HQ, they found "complete disarray," including improperly stored drums of toxic waste:

https://techcrunch.com/2024/10/05/fiskers-hq-abandoned-in-complete-disarray-with-apparent-hazardous-waste-clay-models-left-behind/

And while Fisker's implosion is particularly messy, the fact that it landed in bankruptcy is entirely unexceptional. Most businesses fail (eventually) and most startups fail (quickly). Despite this, businesses – even those in heavily regulated sectors like automotive regulation – are allowed to design products and undertake operations that are not designed to outlast the (likely short-lived) company.

After the 2008 crisis and the collapse of financial institutions like Lehman Brothers, finance regulators acquired a renewed interest in succession planning. Lehman consisted of over 6,000 separate corporate entities, each one representing a bid to evade regulation and/or taxation. Unwinding that complex hairball took years, during which the entities that entrusted Lehman with their funds – pensions, charitable institutions, etc – were unable to access their money.

To avoid repeats of this catastrophe, regulators began to insist that banks produce "living wills" – plans for unwinding their affairs in the event of catastrophe. They had to undertake "stress tests" that simulated a wind-down as planned, both to make sure the plan worked and to estimate how long it would take to execute. Then banks were required to set aside sufficient capital to keep the lights on while the plan ran on.

This regulation has been indifferently enforced. Banks spent the intervening years insisting that they are capable of prudently self-regulating without all this interference, something they continue to insist upon even after the Silicon Valley Bank collapse:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/03/15/mon-dieu-les-guillotines/#ceci-nes-pas-une-bailout

The fact that the rules haven't been enforced tells us nothing about whether the rules would work if they were enforced. A string of high-profile bankruptcies of companies who had no succession plans and whose collapse stands to materially harm large numbers of people tells us that something has to be done about this.

Take 23andme, the creepy genomics company that enticed millions of people into sending them their genetic material (even if you aren't a 23andme customer, they probably have most of your genome, thanks to relatives who sent in cheek-swabs). 23andme is now bankrupt, and its bankruptcy estate is shopping for a buyer who'd like to commercially exploit all that juicy genetic data, even if that is to the detriment of the people it came from. What's more, the bankruptcy estate is refusing to destroy samples from people who want to opt out of this future sale:

https://bourniquelaw.com/2024/10/09/data-23-and-me/

On a smaller scale, there's Juicebox, a company that makes EV chargers, who are exiting the North American market and shutting down their servers, killing the advanced functionality that customers paid extra for when they chose a Juicebox product:

https://www.theverge.com/2024/10/2/24260316/juicebox-ev-chargers-enel-x-way-closing-discontinued-app

I actually owned a Juicebox, which ultimately caught fire and melted down, either due to a manufacturing defect or to the criminal ineptitude of Treeium, the worst solar installers in Southern California (or both):

https://pluralistic.net/2024/01/27/here-comes-the-sun-king/#sign-here

Projects like Juice Rescue are trying to reverse-engineer the Juicebox server infrastructure and build an alternative:

https://juice-rescue.org/

This would be much simpler if Juicebox's manufacturer, Enel X Way, had been required to file a living will that explained how its customers would go on enjoying their property when and if the company discontinued support, exited the market, or went bankrupt.

That might be a big lift for every little tech startup (though it would be superior than trying to get justice after the company fails). But in regulated sectors like automotive manufacture or genomic analysis, a regulation that says, "Either design your products and services to fail safely, or escrow enough cash to keep the lights on for the duration of an orderly wind-down in the event that you shut down" would be perfectly reasonable. Companies could make "software based cars" but the more "software based" the car was, the more funds they'd have to escrow to transition their servers when they shut down (and the lest capital they'd have to build the car).

Such a rule should be in addition to more muscular rules simply banning the most abusive practices, like the Oregon state Right to Repair bill, which bans the "parts pairing" that makes repairing a Fisker car so onerous:

https://www.theverge.com/2024/3/27/24097042/right-to-repair-law-oregon-sb1596-parts-pairing-tina-kotek-signed

Or the Illinois state biometric privacy law, which strictly limits the use of the kind of genomic data that 23andme collected:

https://www.ilga.gov/legislation/ilcs/ilcs3.asp?ActID=3004

Failing to take action on these abusive practices is dangerous – and not just to the people who get burned by them. Every time a genomics research project turns into a privacy nightmare, that salts the earth for future medical research, making it much harder to conduct population-scale research, which can be carried out in privacy-preserving ways, and which pays huge scientific dividends that we all benefit from:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/10/01/the-palantir-will-see-you-now/#public-private-partnership

Just as Fisker's outrageous ripoff will make life harder for good cleantech companies:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/06/26/unplanned-obsolescence/#better-micetraps

If people are convinced that new, climate-friendly tech is a cesspool of grift and extraction, it will punish those firms that are making routine, breathtaking, exciting (and extremely vital) breakthroughs:

https://www.euronews.com/green/2024/10/08/norways-national-football-stadium-has-the-worlds-largest-vertical-solar-roof-how-does-it-w

Tor Books as just published two new, free LITTLE BROTHER stories: VIGILANT, about creepy surveillance in distance education; and SPILL, about oil pipelines and indigenous landback.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/10/10/software-based-car/#based

[idkdudethisisntpermanent]

Over the Limit

jenna ortega x female reader

part i | part ii | part iii | part iv | part v

summary: In a town divided between two rival street racing crews, you’re caught between your cousin’s crew, the Sinners and Jenna, a mysterious girl from the Vipers who’s more than just a pretty face. Both of you need something from each other, but as the stakes rise, you’re left wondering: what makes your heart race more— the thrill of the competition or the girl who’s impossible to ignore?

word count: 6.7k

A very special thank you to @ortegalvr for giving me the very much needed nudge to start moving my work to Tumblr. And to @cobaltperun for being so patient and thoroughly answering all my questions, essentially giving me (a Tumblr noob) a dummies guide to Tumblr. Appreciate you both!

————

Why is it that some of the best feel goods in life can just as easily kill you if you indulge in it too much?

Alcohol, drugs, illegal driving... love?

Fortunately for you, you only indulge in only one of those.

There's just something so satisfying about watching your car pick up speed; watching the little arm on the speed gauge reach it's full potential.  If cars are able to reach those speeds then they should, it's a fact of the matter.  And when you're surrounded by cars all your life and the only reason you have a livelihood is because of those three thousand pounds of steel, you're bound to make some fun out of it.

You push down on the accelerator with more pressure, reaching speeds of almost 180 km/hour when you see the flashing blue and red lights in the rear view mirror.

The feds.

"Took them longer than usual." you thought out loud.

Now there could be two reasons they're after you. The obvious, speeding.  But then there's also the fact that you stole the beauty you're driving from the town's richest neighbourhood, Summer Valley.

Of course stealing it is not enough for you, so you made some tweaks here and there in the garage so this ride could be even more illegal than it already is, and now you're selling it to an off the grid buyer.

Escaping the police wasn't something new, it's become routinely. You'd be more concerned if the cops weren't on your tail during a delivery.

You make a sharp turn right into a short alleyway marking the start of this high speed chase.

Being the exceptional mechanic that you are, your work on this car has given it a larger than usual turn radius which allowed the turn to be much smoother, giving you a good head start.

"Why are these fuckers in the middle of road!" You yelled panickily, upon seeing the herd of people in front of you.

You don't know when people decided to ditch the sidewalks and walk in the middle of the road, but clearly, you missed the memo.  You were forced to sound the horn a few times, and luckily the pedestrians were responsive and didn't cause you to lose your lead on the cop, but it may have alerted them—if you were lucky enough to lose them in the first place.

Once you finally got out of the alleyway, your phone started ringing, stealing your focus from the dark road in front of you to glance down at your phone for a millisecond.

Anton. Your cousin.

Anton Y/l/n. Your older cousin of three years. He was an impulsive firecracker that has the tendency to rope you into his shenanigans, not deliberately of course.  Despite his flaws he'd do anything for family. You like to joke around and call him Dom Toretto, and those jokes have only gotten worse after he buzzed his head after an unfortunate grease spillage accident that was entirely his and your fault.

That five letter name is the most anxiety inducing noun known to man in your books and everytime you answer the older guy's call, you feel as if your gambling your mental health.  He could either be calling to tell you about a huge car gig that he scored for you both or that he owes a million dollar debt.

You legit never know.

You groan and answer the call, putting it on speaker and tossing the phone to the passenger seat.

"What now?" you yell over the sounds of acceleration and police sirens.

"Come to Chester and Dan's lane." He says straight to the point, not questioning the noises he hears on your end of the phone. "After your delivery of course." At this point he's used to his little cousin getting chased down by the cops too.

"What's happening at Chester and Dan?" You ask looking at the side view mirror, squinting at the piercing blue and red flashes.

"Sinners are doing a couple rounds before the big race tomorrow. Join us, it'll be fun."

You sigh at your cousin's billionth attempt to get you acquainted with the Sinners. He's been trying ever since he first started as a general member of the club to now, the leader of the street race club.

"We'll see, I'm kind of in the middle of something," you shout over the sound of the tires screeching from a sharp turn you just made.

"Ugh! I'm not gullible like the other fucks in your life. Don't 'we'll see' me thinking it'll keep me satisfied and off your back for a while."

"I'm busy."

"Just step on the gas you pussy, going past two hundred won't kill you."

With a roll of your eyes, you think that you've entertained Anton's wishes enough and hung up the phone with the determination to lose the cops and deliver the 1969 Ford Mustang you're driving in one piece.

Twenty minutes later, a handful full of sharp turns later and momentarily stopping to let a group of duckling cross the street, you were finally at your destination.

"Car looks good to me," the off the grid buyer who introduced himself as John said with an approving nod after surveying the vintage black vehicle for quite some time.

You let out a breath.  You've made your fair share of deliveries over the years, and just like Anton's calls, you never know the type of customer you're gonna get.

Some customers complain about the price of parts, or a scratch on the car that doesn't exist or they go back on their word and attempt to haggle the price to something ridiculous.

"Nice work kid," John says handing you the promised amount you both settled on a couple weeks prior.  You didn't have to count the stash of cash to know that all of it was there.

"Finally," you sigh, smiling at the wad of cash in your hands and running your thumb along the bills, walking towards the direction of home.

Suddenly a car pulls up. "Give me the cash or give me your life. Your choice." Before you can register the words, you're met with the barrel of a pistol pointed at you through an unrolled passenger side window.

You knew you weren't a fighter nor were you confrontational. Even though you grew up in the tougher parts of the town, your brain is what got you out of your predicaments. If you were a fighter you wouldn't be spending your life stealing, fixing and selling cars.

Laughter interrupted you from handing over the cash.  Confused, you focus on the face holding the glock, and all previous thoughts disappeared and was now replaced with relief and anger.

"What the fuck Anton!" you angrily say, hopping into the passenger seat of the car next to your laughing cousin.

You knew better than to question the fact that your cousin had a gun. When you're the leader of a street race club, you need protection. Especially when all the other club owners own a gun, and fights always break out.

"You should've seen your face," he slips out in his fit of laughter, beginning to drive off as his cousin settles in his car.

"I thought you were street smart, you know better than to walk around this time flaunting your cash."

"I can handle myself, but yeah I should've been more careful. I was just a little excited finally getting paid," You admit, recalling the rut you've recently been in and the struggles you and your mother have recently been facing to make ends meet.

Anton acknowledges the response, "You know you could always ask me for help?

"My mom wouldn't take it."

Anton let's out a loud sigh, "No offense dude, but I don't get your mom's deal.  She acts as if I'm the reason our dads are dead."

You wince at the mention of your dead fathers.  Sometimes you wonder how Anton could talk about this stuff so easily.  "You just resemble Uncle so much, and to be fair you are following the same path as him."

Anton's father and yours, who were brothers, founded the Sinner's Race Club.  Anton's dad had always been your father's right-hand man in races, often riding in the passenger seat.  During a high-stakes race meant to settle a territory dispute, the brakes on your father's car failed, and both men were pronounced dead at the scene.

Since then, your mom understandably kept you away from cars, Anton, and anything related to the race club. She forbade you from getting a driver's license and doesn't even know you have one. Hiding it wasn't difficult, though, given that your family has more pressing expenses than a car.

"Alright, we're here," Your cousin announces, snapping you out of your thoughts. "I still think you should show up tomorrow. Sleep on it."

You step out of the car, once Anton puts the money you made from your sale in a spare backpack he had. So your mom wouldn't ask questions.

"How was your shift?" your mom asks from the couch as you walk through the door.

"Fine, just sore from lifting all those boxes," you lie smoothly.

"Hmm, get to bed early tonight."

As you head toward your room, her voice calls out again. "Oh, and Y/n," she says, making you turn back. "That better not have been Anton dropping you off."

You stay silent and head to bed, unsure of what tomorrow will bring.

————

"How the hell does your mom not catch on? She really thinks some warehouse gig's got you pullin' in forty grand at a time?"

You wipe the sweat of your brow, while you grab a car wrench. "She doesn't know I make that much, I help pay the rent and get food on our table. The rest I save."

"Smart. So, what's the big plan? Get outta Brimstone? Buy yourself a mansion in Summer Valley?" Mason sneers condescendingly.

This morning, you woke up to a text from Anton that convinced you to at least help prep the cars for tonight's big race, even if you don't plan on showing up. Now, you find yourself at the Brimstone Sinner's garage, the garage where you do your car modifications which sits at the edge of Sinner territory.

The place is buzzing with other club members scattered around, working on various cars. You, Anton, and—unfortunately—Mason, a friend of Anton's, who somehow wormed his way into the conversation, are huddled by the main cars, making sure they're in prime condition for the race.

"Ay! Stop distracting my best mechanic!" Anton shouts over the hood of the car to Mason.

Before you knew it you were rolling under the car via the creeper to work on the underside of the car. As you were finishing up you suddenly heard the garage go dead silent, but you didn't know why since your view was limited.

You hear Anton break the silence, "You got some fucking nerve walking into my garage asshat."

As you were lying on your back you could see about one foot from the ground up. You couldn't see who it was, but you could tell where they were from. The grey Dior dunks paired with the most unfashionable pants ever told you everything you needed to know.

Someone from Summer Valley is here.

Then came the laugh. That short, arrogant chuckle, the kind that practically exhaled wealth. Privilege. The very thing you despised.

"Just wanted to see you pussies before you lose all your dignity—oh and your garage. I'm already imagining what I'm gonna do with the place," the voice laughs again.

The conversation around you fades as your mind fixates on a single phrase. Lose the garage? Your hand curls into a tight fist, knuckles turning white. Did your dumbass cousin actually gamble the garage for tonight's race?

You try to focus your hearing, trying to see if anyone else is upset by the fact. But it's silent, they're unfazed, indifferent to the fact that Anton—the club's supposed leader—might have just wagered the club's most valuable asset. Property. You let out a sharp exhale. This is exactly what you couldn't stand about racers. They're all thrill-seeking junkies who only care about going fast. Does no one else here realize the gravity of losing this garage?

Anton snaps you back to reality. "Percy you ain't riding tonight if you're dead. Now get the fuck out before you catch a bullet."

Percy.

Leader of the Summer Valley Vipers. Just another privileged trust fund brat, bored one summer, who saw that the kids on the wrong side of the tracks had a race club and wanted in. So formed his own club. For the Vipers, racing was a hobby. For anyone from Brimstone? It was survival.

Once the obnoxious figure in those ridiculous pants left the garage, you rolled out from under the car, wiping grease from your hands. A quick glance around told you that everyone had already returned to their tasks, like the tense exchange with the Viper hadn't even happened.

Jaw clenched, you stomped over to Anton and gave him a firm nudge—just hard enough to make your frustration clear. "What the hell, Ant?"

Anton, mid-conversation with Madison—one of the club's members—turned to face you, exhaling a cloud of smoke. His brow furrowed in confusion. "What?"

"What? Seriously?" you snap. "What was Pissy going on about, losing the garage?"

He let out a long, drawn-out sigh before flicking the ash off his cigarette. "Relax, Y/n. It's just to raise the stakes, nothing serious."

"Nothing serious?" you say, mirroring his words once again. "This is my fucking livelihood, I can't live without this garage Ant? Where else am I going to fix cars?!"

Anton calmy takes one last drag, puts out his cigarette, and gestures for you to follow him outside of the garage, away from the rest of the club members.

Once you were outside Anton wasted no time in getting to the point.

"I'm only gonna say this once, Y/n. Don't ever talk to me like that in front of my people again. I run this crew."

His gaze softened slightly as he added, "I know we're family, but out here, I gotta be their leader. You get me?"

You nod understanding the politics of running a club like this. It wasn't simple and it wasn't like Anton was being rude to you.

"Now kid, listen to me very closely." Anton starts, his eyes narrowing, words firm.

You hated when he called you "kid," and Anton damn well knew it.  He was only three years older, but you decided to bite your tongue this time, sensing he had something important to say.

"You don't take risks," he said, his voice steady.

You opened your mouth to cut him off, but he quickly held up a hand, his words rushing out before you could get a word in. "—hold on, let me finish! I know you think stealing cars, making illegal mods, and dodging the feds is risky—and yeah, it is... for most people. But not for you. You're too good at it. It's not a risk when you know you're always gonna pull it off. You're in your comfort zone. You don't even flinch anymore."

You crossed your arms, shaking your head. "I don't need the gamble, Ant. Why would I put myself in a position to lose something—everything?"

"But why wouldn't you?" Anton fires back passionately.

For a moment neither of you say anything.

"That's the problem, Y/n," he said finally, his voice low. "You don't take real risks anymore because you're afraid to lose. But sometimes... you gotta lose something to really win. You know what I'm saying?"

You frowned, not fully understanding. "What's that even supposed to mean? I'm not trying to play some high-stakes game just for the thrill of it."

"That's not what I'm talking about, kid. I'm saying there's more to life than just getting by. You can't just keep doing the same shit because it's easy and familiar.  You gotta challenge yourself, push yourself outta that comfort zone. That's where the real reward is."

You shifted uncomfortably, not liking where the conversation was headed. "So what, you want me to throw myself into danger for no reason? What are you really getting at, Ant?"

His gaze stayed steady, not backing down. "I'm talking about the garage. Everything we've built. If you keep playing it safe, we'll stay small. But if we take some risks?  We could grow this into something huge, we could run the city, Y/n."

His words hung in the air, heavy. You hesitated, feeling the pressure. "And what's the catch?"

A slow smirk crept onto his face as he leaned in. "The catch is, we go all in, or we lose it all."

Your head shook slightly, confused and uneasy. Anton sounded insane right now, with all this talk of taking over the city. "I don't know," you muttered, your voice wavering.

"I'm not saying you have to. Maybe this," he said, gesturing around the garage and the cars. "...isn't your thing, and that's fine. But you've got to find what is. What's your purpose, your drive Y/n/n? What makes your heart race? What's worth risking everything for?"

————

"Just get home safe, and grab me a pack of cigarettes on your way," your mom says, her tone casual.  You exhale, relieved she let you leave without too many questions.

After your talk with Anton, and spending hours tuning up cars for the race, you head home, but your mind lingers on what your cousin said earlier.  His words hit deeper than you care to admit—he was right.  You've been stuck in your comfort zone for far too long, and you can't even remember the last time you did something that pushed your boundaries.

So, here you are, lying to your mom about getting called in for a late night shift when in reality, you're on your way to the race between the Sinners and Vipers.

Anton was practically beaming when you told him you were finally coming to the race.  He couldn't wait to give you a ride to the track.

"Took me, what—six years?  Finally got you to show up," Anton shakes his head, laughing as you slide into the passenger seat.

You ignore his teasing, cutting straight to the point.  "You nervous?"

"Nah, fuck no. Pussy's a trash driver—he's got nothing on me."

Your eyes widen.  "Wait, this is a title race?"

You didn't realize the leaders of both clubs were squaring off tonight.  A title race meant more than bragging rights—both sides were gambling big, this race could mean life or death for both clubs.

You were about to ask what else Anton had on the line besides the garage, but the car suddenly surged forward, the burst of speed nearly throwing you out of your seat.

"What the hell! Slow down!" you shout, gripping the armrest tightly.

"Relax, I'm not even hitting two hundred yet—"

The older driver begins to roll his windows up, a sign that he wants to go even faster. The world outside blurred as the engine roared, drowning out the sound of your pulse hammering in your ears.

"Anton. Stop." Your voice is steady, firmer than ever leaving no room for argument.

The driver sighs, gradually slowing the car down to legal road limits.  "You need to get over it eventually Y/n."

Those were the last words said for the remainder of the ride, you didn't want to argue with your cousin before he has one of the biggest races of his life. He knew why you were antsy with the going beyond a certain speed limit. He knew. Of course, he knew. The crash. The speed. The helplessness you felt back then. You gritted your teeth, willing yourself not to dwell on it, not to bring it up again.

You finally pull into the track, and your eyes widen in awe. It's like you were stepping onto the movie set of Fast and Furious. The area is packed with custom cars, their paint jobs gleaming under the glow of neon lights and street lamps, unique to fit the personality of each driver. Engines roar and rev, filling the air with a pulse that matches the energy of the crowd. People are everywhere—leaning against cars, laughing, shouting over the music blasting from speakers.

The race course itself stretches down a wide, abandoned road, littered with warehouses and graffiti-covered walls. Smoke drifts in the air from burning rubber, and the smell of gasoline is thick. You can feel the intensity of the competition buzzing in the air. This wasn't just a race—it was a spectacle, alive with adrenaline and danger.

Anton slowly turns into beneath a large abandoned overpass that you've often heard was a hotspot for racers and ragers. You pan your eyes across the windshield and immediately spot the rival race crews: a sea of black jackets to the right and a wall of red to the left, each group eyeing each other with the tension only moments from snapping.

You were so caught up in the moment you didn't even notice Anton turn the volume up as he played I Don't Fuck with You by Big Sean while rolling past the Viper's crew. Typical Anton—always stirring the pot. The Vipers glared but didn't act, clearly aware of who you were. You both look at each other and laugh as you join the rest of your crew a bit further into the underpass.

As your cousin parks the car he grabs something from the back seat and tosses it onto your lap—a black leather jacket.

You stared at it for a moment.  The design was unmistakable. A large, detailed skull with flames rising behind it, symbolizing both danger and speed. The club's name, Sinners, arched above the skull in bold gothic, tattoo-style font. The club your father founded. The legacy you never wanted.

Your chest tightened as you ran your fingers over the smooth leather. Putting it on would be more than just an outfit choice—it would be an open declaration of association. Your mom would kill you if she ever found out.

Sensing your hesitation, Anton laughed. "Relax, I can see the steam coming out of your head from here. You don't have to wear it, alright? Just throw it over your shoulder or something. People need to know who you're with, that's all."

With that, you both stepped out of the car, and the cheers erupted. They were loud, wild, and unmistakably for Anton—he was their leader. But as the energy surged through the crowd, you couldn't help but wonder if a few of those cheers were meant for you. After all, it was your first time showing up to a race.

As you slipped into the crowd, a few familiar faces greeted you with nods and casual grins, clearly surprised to see you here.  You exchanged small talk with some of the members, their conversations a mix of race gossip, bets, and tales of past victories. The atmosphere was charged with excitement, but as the minutes ticked by, you felt the need to break away, the noise and energy overwhelming you.

Stepping out from the cluster of people, you wandered toward the edge of the underpass, taking in the scene.  The place was massive—graffiti-streaked pillars towering above, just like the one you were leaning against.

You took this moment to observe the Vipers. You've always had the displeasure of seeing the odd one or two while you were out doing your runs, but this is the first time you've seen the entire crew together. Your eyes land on a certain member. Percy. The only one that had a leader patch on the right sleeve of his jacket, an absurd attempt to assert dominance. You laugh at how lame this guy is. Anton exudes leader, he didn't need a patch on his sleeve reminding everyone he is one.

As you continue making your observations about the Vipers, from the corner of your eye, you noticed movement—someone else seeking the same kind of quiet as you. You glanced over, and there she was, leaning against the opposite side of the same pillar as you. The roar of engines and the blaring music made it easy to miss each other until now.

She was alone, her red jacket slung casually over her arm, a cigarette between her fingers. The contrast of her dark hair against the dim lighting made her stand out even more, and for a moment, she hadn't noticed you.

You tried not to stare, but there was something magnetic about her presence—like the calm before a storm. She flicked her eyes in your direction and froze, her gaze locking onto yours as if she wasn't expecting company either.

She glanced up at the black jacket draped over your shoulder, then at her own red one, casually slung over her arm. With a raised eyebrow and a playful smirk, she broke the silence.

"Guess neither of us is feeling the uniform tonight, huh?" she said, flicking ash from her cigarette, her voice low and surprisingly soft.

Of course her voice had to be the sexiest thing you've ever heard. You remained silent, not because you wanted to, but you didn't know how to respond. This is the first time you've ever spoken to a Viper—a hot Viper at that. You didn't know how to interact with a pretty girl, let alone someone who should be your sworn rival.

"Didn't think anyone else would find this spot," she sighs, not sure if she was saying it to you or outloud to herself.

You pushed off the pillar slightly, offering a small shrug. "Needed a breather."

She smirked, exhaling smoke slowly. "Yeah? Thought you Sinners thrived on chaos."

You glanced at the jacket hanging over your shoulder, then back at her. "Guess I'm not like the others." You weren't going to explain to a stranger that you technically aren't a Sinner but you also are.

She raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Clearly." There was a pause, then she gave you a once-over, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at her lips. "So, what's a Sinner doing hiding out here, away from the action?"

You crossed your arms, feeling the pull of the conversation. "Could ask you the same thing. Vipers don't usually stray from their pack."

She let out a soft laugh, the sound almost lost in the night air. "Maybe I needed a break from all the posturing. You know how it is."

Posturing. What an interesting way to put it you thought to yourself. She wasn't wrong,  but it was an oddly honest thing to bring up barely thirty seconds into the conversation. As intrigued as you are, you're also cautious.

You glanced her over in return, taking in her outfit—black combat boots, short black shorts, and a plain white tee, almost identical to the one you were wearing. It was shocking to see a girl from Summer Valley dressed so simply. But the simplicity suited her. She didn't need to be extravagant to stand out, if it wasn't for the jacket on her arm, you would've totally mistaken her for a flag girl, the ones who countdown the race. You've always heard that they're the most beautiful girls on the track, but clearly it wasn't the case tonight.

Your eyes met again, and something unspoken hung in the air between you. Two people from rival crews, both stepping away from the world that defined them.

She held your gaze. You didn't know what it was behind those intense brown eyes. Hatred, curiosity, attraction, a cry for help? You couldn't tell, but you also didn't want to define it. Defining it may mean having to look away. And you didn't want that.  Maybe she didn't either, you doubt she would force herself to stay here with you if she didn't want to.

The universe however, had other plans. The voice of one of the flag girls crackled through the megaphone, cutting through the tension. "The big day is finally here!" The rest of her corny speech faded into the background as your focus remained on the girl in front of you.  She tore her eyes from yours, sighed, and glanced back at her club.

"I have to go.  See you around, Greaser."

"Greaser?" you echoed, raising a brow.

She smirked, giving you a slow, deliberate once-over before turning away.

As much as you wanted to watch her walk away, curiosity tugged at you, pulling your gaze down.  You glanced at yourself and chuckled softly—faded blue jeans, white tee, and a black leather jacket.  Yeah, you did kind of look like a greaser tonight.

But then you saw it.  A grease stain on your shirt.  You chuckled softly. So that's why.

You decided it was time to head back to your group. You return a bit more upbeat than when you'd left. As you approached, you noticed Anton climbing into the car you'd been working on earlier with the crew gathered around, wishing him luck before the race. That's when he spotted you at the edge of the crowd and waved you over. The group parted, and soon you were standing face to face with Anton.

"You look happy. Having fun?" he shouted over the roar of his engine and Percy's nearby.

"It's been pretty cool," you replied with a shrug, nodding along—though it wasn't the race itself you were enjoying, but who it had brought here.

Anton hummed in approval before dapping you up and pulling you into a quick hug. "I'll see you in a bit," he grinned, hyping up his team one last time before sliding into the driver's seat, Mason settling into the passenger side.

As Anton shut his door, your eyes drifted to the car next to his. You watched Percy with his crew, their energy almost a mirror of your own. But then you saw something that left you utterly confused.

The mystery girl. She was on her tiptoes, arms wrapped around Percy's neck in a hug that felt way too intimate for your liking.

Is she his girl?  Disgusting. More thoughts crept in, but you quickly shut it down. She was a Viper, and you'd only talked to her for ten minutes. You didn't get to feel some type of way about it. She was just...intriguing. Nothing more.

You shook your head, trying to dispel the thoughts. Focus on the race, focus on Anton. You told yourself.

You take a step back and settle in a spot between Madison and Hunter as the flag girls strutted to the front of the starting line, their boots clicking against the asphalt. One girl raised a checkered flag high, her red lips curled into a seductive smile as she glanced at both drivers. The other girl held the megaphone to her lips.

"Racers, are you ready?!" Her voice echoed across the lot, the engines revving in response.

"Three!"

"Two!"

"One!" Time seemed to slow. The crowd held its breath, and for a split second all that existed was the hum of engines, the gleam of metal, and the flashing lights.

Then, with a flick of her wrist, the flag girl swung the checkered flag down, and the cars exploded off the line.

Anton's car launched forward, while Percy's stayed right on his tail, neck and neck. The crowd erupted into cheers, the sheer speed of the cars leaving only a blur of metal behind them as they tore down the street.

With the cars gone you had nothing left to distract you from your thoughts. What were you genuinely doing here, you ask yourself.

Your eyes wandered back to the spot where you had last seen her. That girl—the one who had slipped into your mind with just a few words and a lingering look. Now, with Percy racing down the track, she stood with another Viper. This one was taller, with short hair, and they were both laughing, completely at ease with each other.

You laugh in disbelief shaking your head. This didn't seem like posturing to you, she seemed like she had fit right in. But again you catch yourself thinking, why were you even upset? She never said she hated her crew, she never said anything that implied she was like you, and now you wonder if you interpreted your interaction with her to something you wanted it to be rather than what it actually was.

The thought crept in, unwelcome. Maybe you were projecting your own loneliness, your desire to feel seen, onto someone who didn't even feel the same way. Someone who was just passing time in a moment. She was a Viper, fully a part of this world, while you were just an outsider passing through.

You turned to Madison and Hunter. "I'm gonna grab a drink. You guys want anything?"

They shook their heads, and you made your way to one of the cars stocked with drinks in the trunk. You opted for a soda rather than a beer.

You leaned against the car, slowly sipping your soda and trying to clear your head. The night had taken a strange turn—what started as excitement was now muddy with emotions you weren't sure how to handle. The hum of conversation and the occasional laughter from nearby crews were the only sounds cutting through the noise in your mind.

Then, suddenly, the atmosphere shifted.

It was subtle at first, a ripple of unease passing through the crowd. You heard hushed whispers and saw people glancing toward the far end of the lot. Then, like a wave crashing down, the sound of sirens pierced the night.

"Cops!" someone yelled, and the panic spread like wildfire.

People scrambled in every direction, grabbing their things and sprinting for their cars. Engines roared to life, and tires screeched as racers and spectators alike tried to escape before the police descended on the scene.

You tossed your soda to the ground, adrenaline surging through you as you looked around for Madison and Hunter, but they were already sprinting towards the opposite direction with the rest of the crew. You turned to follow, but something made you stop.

She wasn't moving.

In the chaos, you spotted her standing in the middle of the lot, frozen, her eyes wide but not making any attempt to run.  She wasn't panicked—she looked more...indifferent, like the flashing red and blue lights didn't mean anything to her.

Without thinking, you darted towards her. Your heart pounded in your chest as you weaved through the fleeing crowd, the sound of sirens growing louder by the second. When you reached her, you didn't hesitate—you grabbed her arm and pulled her.

"Come on!" you shouted over the noise, but she barely reacted, her feet stumbling as you dragged her away from the open lot.

You didn't stop until you reached the mouth of a narrow alleyway between two buildings. You pulled her into the shadows, pressing your back against the wall as you caught your breath. She was in front of you, calm in a way that made no sense considering the chaos unfolding behind you.

She gazed at you, a hint of amusement in her eyes as she was catching her breath. "You didn't have to do that, you know."

You shot her a look, exasperated. "You're welcome."

The distant sound of police radios crackled through the air as you both stood in silence, waiting for the madness to pass.

"You really should be more careful," you said, trying to break the silence. "It's not safe out there, especially with the cops around."

She shrugged, a faint smile playing on her lips. "I guess I'm just used to it. But I appreciate the concern."

You couldn't help but feel a mix of admiration and curiosity. "So, what do you usually do in moments like this? Just... stand around?"

Her laughter was light, almost melodic. "Well, not exactly. Usually, I'd just blend in and keep my head down. But you've thrown a bit of a wrench in that plan."

"Is that a bad thing?" you asked, intrigued.

"Not necessarily," she replied, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "But it's definitely unexpected."

You took a step closer, feeling the distance between you narrow. "And here I thought I was just being a good Samaritan."

"Good Samaritan, huh?" She raised an eyebrow, playful yet cautious. "Seems like you might be getting in over your head, then."

"Maybe I like the thrill," you shot back, trying to keep the mood light. But beneath the banter, you both knew the stakes were higher than either of you wanted to admit.

"Well, be careful what you wish for," she said softly, her expression shifting momentarily to something more serious. "Not everything is as exciting as it seems."

You paused, trying to decipher her words. There was a depth to her that hinted at more than she was letting on. But before you could ask, she turned her gaze back to the alley,

Your phone suddenly dinged, breaking the tension. You glanced at it and saw a message from Mason.

"Seems like the cops cut the race short. Your crew lives to see another day."

You chuckled, but she didn't respond, just watching you with her doe eyes. You thought about what it would be like to give in.

But just then, the light caught her wrist, glinting off the expensive bracelet she wore.  The sight of it sent a jolt through you—a stark reminder that she was from Summer Valley, a Viper, and probably a handful you couldn't handle.

The realization hit hard, and you felt a rush of uncertainty. She was part of a world you didn't want to dive into, no matter how intriguing she might be.

You decide to walk off, out of the alley.

"Hey! Where are you going?" she called out, jogging to catch up.

"Home. The cops seem to be gone," you replied, keeping your tone light, words short.

The brown-eyed girl looked confused, she thought you were building a connection. Now you were suddenly dismissive, leaving without a word, and you could see her trying to process it.

"...Wait, um..." she stammered, hesitating as if searching for the right words.

You turned back, sensing the moment hanging between you.  You had a feeling you knew what she was going to say, and a knot formed in your stomach.

You took a step back, breaking the spell. "I really should go," you said, your voice firm, not giving her a chance to speak. You turned away, leaving her standing there, a mixture of confusion and disappointment on her face.

With that, you turned and walked deeper into the night. You could feel her watching you, but you kept moving, the weight of your decision heavy in your chest. But telling her your name would mean chaos.

As you navigated the alley, Anton's words echoed in your mind. "Maybe this isn't your thing, and that's fine. But you've got to find what is. What's your purpose, your drive? What makes your heart race? What's worth risking everything for?"

You were sure it wasn't her. As much as you felt a connection, you couldn't get further involved with the race world. She was just a pretty girl you met, and seemed to have some semblance of intellectuality. You know how this ends and its not pretty. You had responsibilities waiting at home—your mom counting on you, the weight of family expectations pressing down like a heavy fog.  You had to figure things out on your own, even if it meant leaving her behind.

You can't just be the calculated person that you are and then immediately start taking risks because your cousin told you to. This was your nature. Careful.

Still, a part of you wondered if the real risk was not in chasing the girl but in denying yourself the chance to discover what could truly make your heart race.

next chapter

[hometoursandotherstuff]

Who doesn't love a perfectly preserved time capsule? This 1968 beauty in Rockford, IL is like stepping back in time. 4bds, 4ba, $450K.

The small entrance has tiled flooring to protect the carpet that runs all through the house.

Why is it always green? This was a dramatic home when it was new- stone fireplace, sunken living room, and wrought iron railings were the height of fashion.

The living area is huge. Note the large stone bench matching the fireplace and the cornice boards that discreetly hide the unsightly curtain rods.

The fireplace stone continues and has a huge mirror. In the corner is shelving and 2 steps up to the dining room.

The dining room has dated curtains that the buyer will inherit. I love the kitty-corner table. That was a common placement in mid-century style.

Next comes the kitchen. Actually, they must've updated it b/c I don't think that 2-tone cabinets were a thing yet. But, the ditzy, small, busy print of the wallpaper with matching shades was definitely the style. Note the original avocado dishwasher and dust shelving above the upper cabinetry, that was later replaced by soffits.

Wait a minute, I'm seeing props here- there's a new dishwasher and new ovens, but they kept the old avocado ones. I wonder if they work or, if it's just nostalgia. There are also 2 cooktops. Wow, they really preserved everything.

Look at the green glass.

Large laundry room off the kitchen.

Oh, look, an avocado washer/dryer set. This is amazing. And, look at the old sink. I hope someone who loves it, buys it, b/c it was so lovingly cared for.

Nice large everyday dining area has a pony wall separating the family room. So much green everywhere. I wonder if this set came that way or if they painted it.

Another stone fireplace flanked by shelving. Knotty pine walls, and folding shutter doors- all fashions of the past. I can't believe that they have the Colonial furniture that was so popular at the time. Even though it was all the rage, you don't see it around anymore. According to the listing, there is going to be an estate sale, so this furniture will be available.

The primary bedroom is pretty big. Geez, there's carpeting everywhere and some of it is looking gnarly.

It has an en-suite, which is unusual. Look at that fancy cabinet. Green laminate counter, too.

This bedroom is also pretty big. Look at the consummate girl's white bedroom furniture of the mid-century.

The den has a big old map probably with countries that don' t even exist anymore.

More bedrooms on the 2nd fl.

Oh, look at that! A hope chest! They were popular for a teenage girl to receive as a gift. Then, she would put in blankets, etc., in the hopes of one day getting married and using them. I can't get over the historic furniture in this place.

And, then they've got a big family room up here. Wow, this house has so much furniture and tchotchkes.

Winter? No problem. Just set the lawn furniture up in the basement.

There's also a finished part of the basement. This is a craft room, and there is also a canning room.

Look at the antique freezer on the right. This place is a museum.

This part of the basement isn't finished even though it has a brick fireplace. No matter, they still used it as a family room, anyway.

According to the listing, this is a 2 car garage, called a "cottage garage," b/c I guess it looks like a residence.

This cool log cabin on the property is used as a playhouse, according to the listing.

Yeah, but look at it, it's really a residence.

There's a lot of land, 3.50 acres.

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/6151-Newburg-Rd-Rockford-IL-61108/5537324_zpid/

[dreamwritesimagines]

The Eye of the Hurricane [12] - Chase

A.N: Here’s the new chapter my loves! ❤️ Thank you so much for your wonderful feedback, you made my day! ❤️I hope you’ll like this chapter as well and please don’t forget to tell me what you think! ❤️

Summary: Some car rides aren’t relaxing.

Word Count: 3200

Pairing: MobBoss!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: Violence, death, guns, crime, blood, explicit language. This is an AU, friendly reminder that I don’t condone any of the actions depicted on this story and please read with care.

Series Masterlist

You hummed a song as you walked through the luxurious duplex penthouse, following the real estate agent who looked thrilled to be there.

“The skyline is absolutely gorgeous as you can see,” she said. “And just letting you know, I already have three very interested buyers—”

“They’ll wait,” you stated calmly and she paused for a moment, then smiled at you.

“Of course!” she said. “Just—you know, just a fun fact! Anyway, this floor has an open kitchen and two guest bedrooms, a bathroom…”

“Two guest rooms?”

“One of which could be turned into a nursery,” she said and winked at you. “Or you could hire me when it’s time for a family home.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” you said with a weary smile, “but let’s just take that off the table for the moment.”

She held up her hands.

“And the upstairs has the primary bedroom suite with its own breathtaking terrace of course, the master bathroom and two walk in closets. Perfect for a newlywed couple if you ask me!”

You nodded your head. “Are the windows bulletproof?”

She blinked a couple of times.

“…I doubt it?” she said. “But we’re on the 50th floor.”

“And surrounded by other 50 floor skyscrapers,” you said and heaved a sigh. “That’s fine, we’ll get it fixed if we decide on this one.”

 “Would you like to see the terrace?” she motioned and before you could say anything, you heard footsteps coming closer and you looked over your shoulder to see Bucky stepping into the apartment.

“Hi gorgeous,” he said and approached you to press a kiss on top of your head, then turned to the real estate agent. “Viola. It's a pleasure to see you again.”

“Oh the pleasure is all mine Mr. Barnes,” she said with a giggle, a smile lighting up her face and you looked between them, raising your brows.

“Would you give us a moment while we check the terrace please, Viola?” you asked as you pulled Bucky by his vibranium arm to the huge sliding glass doors, then stepped outside.

Dear God, the skyline was absolutely gorgeous.

“So,” Bucky said. “What do you think?”

You clicked your tongue. “Before I answer that, I have a quick question.”

“Hm?”

“Did you fuck our real estate agent?”

He tilted his head, furrowing his brows together. “What?”

You shrugged your shoulders. “Well because she got all flustered and smiley, and if you did it’s totally fine but it’s gonna be a little awkward honestly—”

“I didn’t!” he said. “She helped with Becca’s apartment, that’s how we know each other.”

“You own multiple skyscrapers in this part of the town and you needed a real estate agent?”

“Do I look like I am personally handling any of the buildings I own?” he asked and you rolled your eyes.

“Fine, fine…” you said. “So why were you late again? You were supposed to be here half an hour ago.”

“My mom dropped by the office,” he said with a shrug of his shoulders and you frowned.

“Why?”

“She wants us to reconsider the guest list.”

“You mean she wants us to invite more people?” you asked and he nodded his head.

“Yup. Good for business, apparently.”

“The guest list and the seating chart are already finished,” you said and he sat down on the nearest sofa which looked so comfortable from where you were standing.

“I mean, would inviting more people hurt?”  

“Yeah Bucky, it would hurt my head,” you said as you glanced at the fireplace in the corner of the terrace, then flung yourself on the armchair across from the sofa. “Winnifred is such a boy mom.”

“Oh come on,” he said with a small laugh. “She loves you.”

“Uh huh, until our divorce.”

He paused for a moment, then cleared his throat.

“I’m kind of convinced your father might actually shoot me when we announce our divorce, so...”

“He won’t shoot you,” you told him, waving a hand in the air. “That being said, we’re not inviting more people.”

“I told her the same thing, that’s why it took me half an hour to convince her,” he said, leaning back to shoot you a mischievous grin. “But I think she’ll get over it if we promise to name our firstborn daughter after her.”

You hummed. “You can get a fish.”

“A fish?”

“A tankful of them, you can name all of them after your family members,” you said and sat up straighter. “So, the apartment?”

“I’m good with it if you are,” he said and stole a look at the windows. “I don’t know shit about this building though, are the windows bulletproof?”  

“I asked the same thing, she said probably not.”

“It’s fine, we can get that fixed,” he said and you felt a smile curling your lips, then kicked at his shoe with yours.

“Come on,” you said as you got up from the armchair. “We should take a look at upstairs, apparently the terrace there is breathtaking as well.”

                                                 *

Apart from the fact that it only had two guest rooms, the penthouse was absolutely perfect. You figured since you were going to get a divorce, you didn’t really need multiple guest rooms at this point, and you were pretty sure you were going to use one of them as an armory anyway.

Before you would meet Becca and Leila for dinner, your father had asked you for lunch together so after you were done at the penthouse -your new home, you reminded yourself- you made your way to the familiar skyscraper of your father’s company, but then checked your wristwatch and pursed your lips together.

You were half an hour early, and you really didn’t feel like seeing Ian any more than necessary.

You took a look at the café across from the skyscraper and lingered there for a moment, then approached there and sat down at a table. The waitress came to you to take your order and you ordered a latte before pulling out your phone to text Becca about the penthouse, but before you could send all the photos, someone pulled the chair across from yours to sit down, making your head snap up.

“Romanoff?” you squeaked out, staring at the beautiful redhead and she gave you a calm smile.

“Natasha is fine,” she said. “Do you mind?”

“Not—not at all!” you managed to say, sitting up straighter. Even though Natasha was one of the major player in the city, you two hadn’t really spent any time together just like you and Stark. You knew she was good friends with Steve and sort of friends with Bucky, but other than that, she was mostly a mystery to you.

“I had a meeting with your father,” she said, pointing at the building with her thumb. “Was just leaving when I saw you and I figured I could give you my congratulations about the wedding.”

“Ah,” you said, nodding fervently. “Thanks. I um—I really appreciate it.”

“Quite the fast wedding though,” she pointed out, making you gulp.

“Yeah we figured, you know, we’ve known each other for all our lives.”

“Right,” she said. “Of course. So are you going to take over right after the wedding then?”

Your eyes widened and you gawked at her while the waitress brought your coffee, and turned to her.

“Could I get you anything?”

“No thank you, I won’t stay for long,” Natasha said and the waitress walked away as you cleared your throat.

“Um, I—” you stammered. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Her gaze was almost reprimanding as if you were trying to make her believe the table in front of her didn’t exist. You knew she was smart, no one who wasn’t smart would be able to survive at the top in this business for so long, but you had been hoping that you weren’t that obvious at the very least.

“I’m asking because if you’re going to do it at the wedding, I’m going to eat something beforehand,” she pointed out. “Considering your idiot cousin is not going to just let that happen, if bullets start flying…”

“What makes you think I want to take over?”

She let out a small laugh.

“Oh come on,” she said. “I never took you as naïve, the least you could do is return the favor. Not to mention, if you want me on your side when the time comes, you’re going to have to cut the bullshit.”

“And if that were true,” you said after a beat. “If I wanted to take over, what would be your opinion?”

She hummed.

“Well,” she trailed off. “For starters, you would make a better business partner than Ian, so you have that going for you.”  

“But…?”

“But you have no field experience,” she pointed out. “And practically zero support in the family.”

“I don’t necessarily need family support to take over,” you said. “It’s happened before. Most people follow power, no matter who holds it.”

“And the experience?”

“I have the training,” you said. “I’ll prove myself, I know very well that I have to.”

She arched a brow, then let a small smile curl her lips.

“Not to mention I’d keep the truce after taking over,” you said. “You can’t say the same thing for Ian.”

“Not very subtle, that one,” she murmured and you licked your lips.

“How did you know though?” you asked. “That I wanted it?”

She rolled her eyes.

“Your father has two starving dogs and only one steak,” she said. “Doesn’t take a genius, really. I told Clint about it way before you and Bucky got engaged.”

You huffed out a laugh and she pushed her chair back, then stood up.

“I mean you do have the training so you know how it ends, don’t you?” she asked. “One of you will have to tear the other’s throat out.”

That made you swallow thickly and you nodded your head, your teeth clenched together. She kept your gaze in hers for a couple of seconds, then shrugged her shoulders.

“Good luck,” she said calmly and walked away from you to get into her car, and you slid a little in your chair, your heart pounding in your chest.

“Thanks,” you muttered. “Good talk.”

                                             *

You had sent your bodyguards away for the night considering Becca already had hers who would accompany you to the nightclub. She had insisted on driving her car on the way there and you had a strong feeling that it was her way of showing Leila there was nothing to be intimidated about the business or her place in it, and that she could adapt to the civilian life just fine.

Love made people do all sorts of things, apparently.

Becca’s bodyguards’ car was following you as you leaned your head on the window, making yourself comfortable in the backseat and you took a look at your phone, then cleared your throat.

“Do you guys think I should text Ethan?”

Becca frowned at you from the rearview mirror before turning her attention on the road and Leila turned sideways in the passenger seat so that she could see you better.

“Do you want to?”

“I mean I feel like I should,” you said. “Technically, the guy took a bullet for me.”

Becca let out a noise of disagreement. “The guy took a bullet while you were there, it’s not the same thing.”

“He wouldn’t have got shot if I weren’t there though,” you pointed out and Leila hummed.

“I mean he’s gonna have to get over the fact that you’re in love with someone else and getting married,” she said. “If you’re friends…”

“We are.”

“You were only friends because he was hoping it would turn into a relationship,” Becca sang in a teasing manner and you rolled your eyes at her.

“I actually like spending time with him though,” you said. “I don’t know, I can’t help feel a bit guilty because—”

You were interrupted when a police car turned the corner to get in between you and Becca’s bodyguards’ car and flashed its headlights, signaling at you to pull over. Becca’s eyes snapped up to yours in the rearview mirror as your stomach dropped and you sat up straighter while Leila looked over her shoulder.

“Babe, they’re telling us to pull over.”

Becca’s jaw clenched before she cleared her throat while you unbuckled your seatbelt.

“Do you mind changing seats with Y/N, my love?”

“Why?”

“Because that’s not the police,” you told her. “No police in this city ever stops us.”

“What do you—” she started but let out a scream when another car hit Becca’s bodyguards car from the side, making it stop as the bullets started flying. Becca reached out to make her duck and you looked back, letting out a curse.

“Leila, the car is bulletproof,” Becca said, her voice calm as if there weren’t bullets hitting the car. “It’s all going to be fine, I just need you to change seats with Y/N.”

“O—okay…” Leila stammered and pushed herself through the small gap between her and Becca’s seat to reach the backseat, and you squeezed at her arm.

“Nothing will happen to you, just keep your head down,” you assured her and pulled your gun from your purse, then got on the passenger seat, adrenaline running through your veins.

“HYDRA?”

“Has to be,” Becca said as she sped up the car, swirling the car left and right so that some of the bullets wouldn’t hit it. “What are you thinking?”

You checked the GPS on the screen. “Sam’s territory.”

“Alright,” she muttered as she found and touched his name on the screen while you counted the bullets that seemed to be endless with the way they were raining on the car.

“Sooner or later that motherfucker is gonna have to change the magazine—”

“Hi Becca,” Sam’s voice reached the car. “Um, why am I hearing gunshots?”

Becca swirled the car on the road again. “HYDRA is following us, I’m in the car with Y/N and Leila.”

“What?!”

“It’s fine, Bucky made sure the car was bulletproof the day I bought it,” Becca added. “Listen, Sam I’m sharing my location with you, we’re like two minutes away from your territory and HYDRA’s men are right behind us so we can’t turn back—”

“I’m sending the cars and calling Buck,” Sam said and Becca hung up the phone as you opened the car window, then leaned out of the window and fired the shot at the man’s hand when he slid the next magazine into the gun, making him let out a yell. You quickly got back in and huffed out a breath.

“They have a bulletproof car as well but that should slow them down for a couple of seconds,” you muttered and turned to look at Leila who was still covering her head, curled up on the backseat.

“Leila?” Becca said. “Talk to me.”

“I—I think I’m fine?” Leila replied, her voice shaking. “Jesus Christ…”

“I’m really sorry about this,” Becca said and Leila shook her head.

“It’s not your fault Becca.”

The bullets started hitting the car again and you gritted your teeth, then checked the GPS again while Becca stepped on the accelerator.

“Babe, remember how you asked why the truce was so important in this city?” she asked Leila. “This is why.”

The moment your car entered Sam’s territory, two cars coming from the opposite direction turned their headlights on and wheezed past you, surrounding the car behind you. Becca pulled over and let out a breath, closing her eyes for a moment before she reached out to hold your hand to squeeze it.

“You okay?”

“Mm hm,” you said, your heart still beating in your ears as your phone started vibrating on the backseat. “You?”

“Peachy,” she said as she unbuckled her seatbelt, and touched Leila’s back. “Leila?”

Even you could tell that Leila was shaken up but she raised her head and wiped at her eyes, sniffling.

“I’m okay,” she rasped out. “Is it safe now?”

“Yeah,” Becca said. “I—Leila, I’m incredibly sorry for this…”

“Not your fault,” Leila said, her voice still trembling even if she tried to smile. “And I’m fine. We’re all fine.”

“I’ll give you guys a minute,” you managed to say and grabbed your phone before you stepped out of the car. Bucky’s name was flashing on the screen and you took a deep breath, then answered it and took it to your ear.

“Becca is fine,” you said. “Leila too. Sam’s people are here.”

There was a second of silence on the other side of the line before you heard Bucky letting out a relieved breath.

“Sweetheart?” he said, his voice gentle. “Are you alright?”

You bit inside your cheek, still trying to get rid of the fear churning your insides.

“Mm hm.”

“Did you get hurt?”

“No, I shot one of them in the hand,” you said, your eyes falling on the three HYDRA men Sam’s people had dragged out of the car. The sight of one of them still holding onto his bleeding hand made the anger rush through your system so fast that it made your head spin, your vision going red.

Attacking you was one thing but attacking your friends and putting them in danger was another.

And you were not going to let that happen.

“Good job,” Bucky said softly as if trying to calm you down. “I’m on my way, alright?”

“Uh huh,” you said and hung up as you gripped your gun tighter, then pushed the phone into your pocket to make your way to the crowd. Sam’s people all turned to you before one of them stepped closer and you tried to focus through the blinding anger, dragging your gaze from the captives to her.

“Ma’am,” she said, stretching out her hand so that you could shake it with your free hand. “My name is Aubrey. Mr. Wilson let us know about what happened, he is on his way here. Is everyone in the car alright?”

“Yeah,” you said through frozen lips. “Thank you Aubrey. I really appreciate it.”

“Of course,” she said and you walked past her to get closer to HYDRA’s men. The one who was cradling his bloody hand glared at you, then spat at the ground.

“Doesn’t matter where you take us, I’ll die before I speak,” he growled and you arched a brow, then shrugged your shoulders calmly as if fury wasn't pounding in your head.

“Happy to follow your schedule buddy.”

You raised your gun and fired it right between his eyes, his lifeless body hitting the ground as the loud shot echoed through the road. Aubrey raised her brows and exchanged glances with one of her men while you lowered the gun and wiped the blood off your face.

“I’ll be over there until my fiancé gets here,” you said, motioning at the direction of Becca’s car. “Thanks again.”

 With that, you made your way to the car and jumped to sit on the trunk so that you wouldn’t interrupt Becca and Leila’s conversation. You put the gun beside you with a sigh, then crossed your legs and leaned back on your palms, adrenaline still roaring through you.

“Great,” you murmured, turning your gaze up to the sky. “Here goes my night I guess.”

Chapter 13

[wheelsgoroundincircles]

𝟏𝟗𝟔𝟔 𝐀𝐌𝐂 𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐧 𝟑𝟐𝟕

𝟏𝟗𝟔𝟔 𝐀𝐌𝐂 𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐧 𝟑𝟐𝟕

𝟏𝟗𝟔𝟔 𝐀𝐌𝐂 𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐧 𝟑𝟐𝟕

The 1966 AMC Marlin 327 is a distinctive fastback coupe, blending style and performance with a unique design that set it apart from other cars of its era. Produced by American Motors Corporation (AMC), the Marlin was known for its bold, sweeping roofline and sporty appearance. Under the hood, the 1966 model came equipped with a 327 cubic inch (5.4-liter) V8 engine, providing up to 270 horsepower, which delivered strong performance and made it competitive in the muscle car market.

The Marlin's design emphasized a sleek, aerodynamic profile, with a long hood, fastback rear, and wide stance. Inside, it offered a comfortable and well-appointed interior with seating for four and a focus on driver comfort. The 1966 AMC Marlin 327 was part of AMC’s effort to compete with larger automakers, offering something unique for buyers who wanted both performance and a standout design. Today, it remains a rare and sought-after classic.

[kiwi-on-ice]

Sugar daddy headcannons with Ashe, Hanzo, Sombra and Lifeweaver with fem!reader

Word count: 1.2k

Warnings: dom/sub dynamics present in some, sex toys, just general filth

Notes: Listen, sometimes a girl just needs someone to pay them to be pretty, okay? Just some silly headcannons of the characters I think would spend the most money on their partners.

Ashe:

Oh baby, she’s the DEFINITION of a sugar daddy. Nothing on earth can stop her from spoiling you.

New clothes, new nails, new accessories, new car, new hairstyle…all bought without a second thought and a slap on your ass. I mean if you’re gonna be the special doll of the leader of the deadlock gang, you’re gonna have to look the part.

Especially if she’s planning on having you sit on her lap during a meeting. Wants your nails done and a new dress on you so everyone can look on in jealousy that you’re hers.

Yes that also extends to lingerie. She’s gonna buy you the most expensive types, with different colours, textures, everything. Typically as a present, an apology for when she goes away for one of her heists or a business meeting.

But it doesn’t stop there, she’ll get you anything just to keep you happy. Any nerdy interest you have, or food you’ve always wanted to try. She’s a generous woman with her money, but only for you.

And hey…maybe she does expect a little sugar in return, but it’s not like you’re complaining. When she’s deep in your cunt, strap pounding away as she groans, buying one that stimulates her clit the more she thrusts into you.

Definitely the type to coo at you “awe baby, you bein’ good for me? For your sugar daddy? Gonna give me some sugar so I keep spoilin’ your fine ass?” while you’re gasping for air at how good she’s railing you.

Yeah she ain’t calling herself a sugar mommy, no no she’s your sugar daddy, and you know your place.

Hanzo:

Yeah he’s definitely into being a sugar daddy for you, especially while he was still part of the shimada clan.

He’s a busy man, and a busy man needs some stress relief. So having a pretty thing like you certainly helps those urges after a shitty day.

Kinda nonchalant about spoiling you, tossing you a wad of cash and demanding you to get something pretty to wear tonight, or to get your nails redone after one chipped off.

He doesn’t spend a lot of money, so he might as well spend it on you, if you’re good that is. Stay well behaved and don’t mouth off and you’ll get rewarded.

Always has a catch though. If he pays to get your nails done, he always wants a demonstration that night of how they look. Which almost always involves your pretty fingers wrapped around his dick, while he gets out a gruff “they look nice angel” as you pump him.

Or if he buys you a new car, so he tests how good you can drive it by fingering you while you drive around some backroads. After all, if he’s gonna buy you a pretty car, gotta make sure you won’t crash it and wreck it, right?

But hey if your pussy gushing around his skilled fingers means you have to stop the car, he can think of another way of proving you deserve the vehicle, which is how you’ll find yourself bent over the seats with his cock in your mouth.

The man is always buying you lingerie, because those are gonna be your permanent underwear now. Every time you undress, he expects to see one of the pretty sets he got you, so he can peel them off himself. Sometimes if you go to a formal event, his hand may go wandering up your dress to feel the material of your panties to make sure.

Definitely isn’t into being called a sugar daddy though (father issues and all that), so best stick to sir.

Sombra:

Another serial lingerie buyer. Loves hacking into your online wish lists to get you things, but lingerie is her fav. Yes she will be buying purple sets the same colour as her hair.

Also gonna buy you bodysuits too, lace ones with matching stockings and garters; all of it. She’ll leave it in a nicely packaged box on your bed (and mostly likely watch your reaction through the cameras she had you install in your house)

She’ll make you send her pictures and videos of you in the clothes she buys, will save it to her phone’s folder titled ‘my investment💜’. If she’s feeling in a particular mood, she’ll text you instructions on what she wants you do to in the videos, like how to touch yourself or what to say.

But she’s not shy about buying you anything that you want, or more importantly anything she thinks you need. This includes the best electronics on the market, phones, laptops, headphones, tablets, anything. All encrypted of course, the only person who should be able to hack into your stuff is her.

She might tease you by calling herself your sugar mommy, but not with a serious tone. She knows that you’re more to her than just a sugar baby. And she knows that it’s not just her money that keeps you around, you’re addicted to her.

And she proves it, by having you sit in the apartment she pays for, in your pretty purple lingerie she got you, bouncing up and down on a dildo she sent you, in front of your new phone as she watches from her computer set-up, a smirk on her face at how obedient you are. And hey, if her fingers find themselves on her aching clit, who’s gonna stop her?

Lifeweaver:

Nghhhhhh I’m going feral. You know this man has money, if his family's wealth is anything to go by. And he’s gonna be spoiling you to death.

Honestly it turns him on to buy you the finest things in life, especially if you aren’t used to such luxuries. Just watching your eyes light up at what he’s bought you, at what he knows you deserve, has his dick rock hard.

He’ll most likely get you jewellery the most, the finest he can of course. And he obviously takes note of your preferences; if you only wear silver, the silver it shall be, or if you only wear gold, that’s what you’ll have on your neck and fingers and ears.

If it’s a necklace he’s bought you, he’ll insist on putting it on for you. Securing it around your neck, he’ll lean in to press kisses along the back of you neck and shoulder, worshiping you. If he’s bought you a ring, he’ll kiss from your knuckle up your arm, spurred on by your giggles.

Nothing is too much for you, even if you’re too shy to ask for what you want. If he sees your eyes lingering on a particular bag or necklace or outfit, he’ll make a note to get it for you later.

Will insist you try everything on for him that night too, your pretty dresses and tops and skirts and leggings. Will have you do a twirl so his eyes can roam your entire form, before giving you the sweetest, most indulgent compliments.

And then you’ll probably find yourself sat on his plush bed in front of the mirror, as he’s on his knees eating you out like a man starved. Murmuring against mouthfuls of your cunt to look at how pretty you are in the mirror. Instructing you to repeat it, to tell him that you deserve the best things and that you’re the prettiest girl in the world as you gush on his tongue.

Definitely does not like the term sugar daddy, as it implies he’s only buying you things with the expectation of sex. But I mean, if you really want to call him daddy, he’d do anything to make you feel good.

[reasonsforhope]

"Lead is a neurotoxin; it causes premature deaths and lifelong negative effects. It’s said “there is no safe level of lead exposure” — as far as we know, any lead causes damage, and it just gets worse the more exposure there is.

After a 20-year, worldwide campaign, in 2021 Algeria became the final country to end leaded gasoline in cars — something the US phased out in 1996. That should make a huge difference to environmental lead levels. But lots of sources remain, from car batteries to ceramics...

Bangladesh phased out leaded gasoline in the 1990s. But high blood lead levels have remained. Why? When researchers Stephen Luby and Jenny Forsyth, doing work in rural Bangladesh, tried to isolate the source, it turned out to be a surprising one: lead-adulterated turmeric.

Turmeric, a spice in common use for cooking in South Asia and beyond, is yellow, and adding a pigment made of lead chromate makes for bright, vibrant colors — and better sales. Buyers of the adulterated turmeric were slowly being poisoned...

But there’s also good news: A recent paper studying lead in turmeric in Bangladesh found that researchers and the Bangladeshi government appear to have driven lead out of the turmeric business in Bangladesh.

How Bangladesh got serious about lead poisoning

The researchers who’d isolated turmeric as the primary cause of high blood lead levels —working for the nonprofit International Center for Diarrheal Disease Research, Bangladesh — went to meet with government officials. They collected samples nationwide and published a 2019 follow-up paper on the extent of the problem. Bangladesh’s Food Safety Authority got involved.

They settled on a two-part approach, starting with an education campaign to warn people about the dangers of lead. Once people had been warned that lead adulteration was illegal, they followed up with raids to analyze turmeric and fine sellers who were selling adulterated products.

They posted tens of thousands of fliers informing people about the risks of lead. They got coverage in the news. And then they swept through the markets with X-ray fluorescence analyzers, which detect lead. They seized contaminated products and fined sellers.

According to the study released earlier this month, this worked spectacularly well. “The proportion of market turmeric samples containing detectable lead decreased from 47 percent pre-intervention in 2019 to 0 percent in 2021,” the study found. And the vanishing of lead from turmeric had an immediate and dramatic effect on blood lead levels in the affected populations, too: “Blood lead levels dropped a median of 30 percent.”

The researchers who helped make that result happen are gearing up for similar campaigns in other areas where spices are adulterated.

The power of problem-solving

...When the Food Safety Authority showed up at the market and started issuing fines for lead adulteration, it stopped being a savvy business move to add lead. Purchasers who were accustomed to unnatural lead-colored turmeric learned how to recognize non-adulterated turmeric. And so lead went from ubiquitous to nearly nonexistent in the space of just a few years.

That’s a better world for everyone, from turmeric wholesalers to vulnerable kids — all purchased at a shockingly low price. The paper published this month concludes, “with credible information, appropriate technology, and good enough governance, the adulteration of spices can be stopped.”

There’s still a lot more to be done. India, like Bangladesh, has widespread adulteration of turmeric. And safety testing will have to remain vigilant to prevent lead in Bangladesh from creeping back into the spice supply.

But for all those caveats, it’s rare to see such fast, decisive action on a major health problem — and impressive to see it immediately rewarded with such a dramatic improvement in blood lead levels and health outcomes. It’s a reminder that things can change, and can change very quickly, as long as people care, and as long as they act."

-via Vox, September 20, 2023

[mentally-gone002]

secret escape

part 3! here is part 1 and part 2

summary: reader stays over at steve’s house… that’s it…

warnings: some 18+ activities😏, p in v (unprotected… PLS WRAP B4 YOU TAP), some swearing

a/n: OKAY SOOOOO FIRST TIME EVER WRITING SMUTTTT!!!!! (pls lmk if it sucks ass lmaoooo😭) but once again like in part 2, my wifey poo helped me through this entire fic and i’m so proud of her for all of this so once again a big thank you to her for making this possible!!!!

———————————————————————

“can you cover for me tonight?” dustin burst into his sisters room without a knock. she lurched forwards in surprise, griping the phone in her hand tightly. 

“can i call you back?” she asked who she was calling before dropping the phone down onto the receiver. “don’t you know how to knock?” she asked in annoyance. 

he rolled his eyes. “can you or not?” his question made her eyebrows furrow in confusion. he sighed and reminded her. “i need you to cover for me.” 

she shook her head. “no, because i’m already going somewhere tonight.” dustin groaned in disbelief. “what would you need me to cover for you for anyway? it’s not like you have a girlfriend.” she wondered. 

dustin looked away as he bit his tongue at the interrogation. “my friends want to go see dune, but ms. buyers won’t let will go, so we’re sneaking out to see it.” he explained quickly, checking over his shoulder a few times to make sure their mom wouldn’t overhear. 

his sister scoffed and rolled her eyes. “sounds fun, but again, i can’t because i’m going out.” 

“with who?” he inquired with arms crossed over his chest. 

she looked away with an accompanied shrug. “tiffany, from school.” her reply was uttered without any eye contact which meant she was lying. “i’m staying at her house because i need girl time.” 

dustin nodded with a blank stare. he hummed before saying, “sure, tiffany.” he didn’t buy any of what she said. “does tiffany know she’ll be covering for you? because i know you’re going see steve.” 

she stared at him with wide eyes. “am not! also why can’t you just go see dune tomorrow night?” 

“you so are going to see him!” dustin countered, walking closer to try and boost his chances of making her cave. he knew she was easily intimidated, he just didn’t know if he could intimidate her. “and we can’t go see dune tomorrow night because tonight’s the last night it’s playing.” 

she rolled her eyes in exhaustion. “dustin… i’m sorry but i can’t cover for you.” she murmured while her hands ran over her face as an attempt on wiping away her annoyance. 

her brother kept standing there for a few seconds, his mind was racing for a new angle on this. “i’ll tell mom you were making out with steve in his car when you went to the arcade with me last week!” 

her eyes snapped open. “no you won’t!” she stood up, feeling herself get angry, and nervous. he wouldn’t tell their mom, would he? “that’s blackmail.” she told him. 

he nodded. “i’m aware. and i will tell her if you don’t do this for me.” he said. 

“tell me what?” their mom stepped into the doorway of her bedroom and looked between both her kids, making their bickering come to an abrupt ending followed by tense and awkward silence. she raised her eyebrows as if to say “well?” 

“nothing!” dustin blurted at the same time his sister said, “i’m dating steve harrington!” 

their mom looked shocked from their mingled voices. 

she looked at her daughter first. “did you say you’re dating steve harrington?” she asked. her daughter nodded with fleeting eye contact. she swallowed the lump in her throat and her mom turned to dustin. “can you give us a minute?” 

he nodded and quickly left the room but didn’t go far. he stopped after rounding the corner outside his sisters room and stood against the wall, listening. 

when her mom looked at her she just word vomited. “i’m sorry i didn’t tell you when we first got together! i just remember telling you about how he wasn’t the best guy last year and the year before that, and i just didn’t want you to worry. but he’s changed, mom, he really has.” she felt like crying but resisted, blinking hard to suppress tears that dared to fall. “he’s a really amazing guy.” 

her mom walked to take a seat beside her daughter. “i don’t doubt that, hun.” she comforted, a hand on her daughters back. “i have to hear dustin talk about how great he is at least twice a week.” 

she laughed and looked at her mom. “he does talk about him a lot.” her eyes went back to the floor. “are you okay with me being with him?” 

her mom nodded. “of course i am, as long as you’re being safe and not doing anything crazy with him.” 

“i’m safe and i’m not being crazy, i promise.” she told her mom sincerely, although she wasn’t sure she could keep her promise since her friends and even her own safety was threatened only two months before. 

her mom stood up with a smile and walked to the door. dustin ran down the hall when he heard her approaching his position. “you’re still going to tiffany’s house tonight, right?” she wondered. 

her daughter nodded. “yeah. can i take your car since you’re off work tomorrow?” she asked, hoping she’d say yes. 

“yeah, i don’t see why not. just don’t crash.” she agreed. 

“okay i won’t.” she nodded, standing up to grab the bag she had packed for herself. she left her bedroom and put on her shoes and found the car keys. “i’ll be back tomorrow… afternoon.” she said before walking out the door and to the car.

she wasn’t going to tiffany’s house. of course dustin had known that but he didn’t even say anything as he watched her leave the house. 

she zoned out as she drove, using muscle memory to get to steve’s house. when she parked her heart started beating quickly at the thought of being completely alone for an entire night with her boyfriend. she bit her bottom lip before she left the safety of her car to walk to his front door and knock, waiting for the door to open. she rocked on her heels in anticipation. 

when steve heard a knock on the door he immediately went to open it, letting his eyes fall over her in an instant. he memorized her for the millionth time with a soft grin on his mouth. “hey.” he leaned against the door, walking it open wider so she could go inside. 

it was the first time she’s ever been inside his house so her eyes were wandering over this and that; family photos hanging on the white walls, fancy furniture and the shiny hardwood floors that stretched down the hall.

“wow.” she muttered, drawing an airy laugh from his mouth. “your house is really nice.” she looked at him with a smile. 

he closed the door and walked to her, wrapping an arm around her waist. “you think so?” he wondered. he was so close to her that his soft lips ghosted her temple when he spoke. she nodded as goosebumps rose on her skin and her heartbeat began to speed up due to how close he was to her, and how his soft breath felt against her skin and because of the way his hand would gently squeeze at her waist subconsciously. 

her body turned slowly to face his, so close that if she inhaled enough air both of their chests would touch. she moved her hands, sliding them up his arms until they both stopped on his shoulders, giving her some leverage as she stood on tiptoes to press her lips to his. 

both of steve’s hands found purchase on her waist, his fingers occasionally digging into her skin gently due to how their lips danced together, slipping over each other with mixed saliva. he fought off the ever impending urge to sweep her off her feet and take her to his room, being mindful of how she might not want to even if she showed she did sometimes with the way she squeezed the thighs together or got so close he didn’t even know where she started and where he ended.

she pulled back for a brief second, just to gasp for air that her aching lungs had been screaming for. he was too addicting to pull away from sometimes. she noticed how swollen and kiss bitten his reddening lips were when she fluttered her eyes open. he kept his eyes closed, chest heaving and his hands slid down to her hips and squeezed at her skin once they stopped to settle. she felt her breath hitch and decided to capture his lips again, distracting herself from his touch with even more of him. 

he smiled into her mouth, deciding to slowly swipe his tongue over her bottom lip. he was almost begging to taste her with his heart racing and his mind wandering to places it shouldn’t. 

how does it feel to have all of her?

the thoughts were chased away when she granted him access past her soft lips. 

she gasped slightly when she felt his tongue against her, sliding together and twisting as they kept kissing. she couldn’t help but let a soft moan slip into the air. 

he pulled away, allowing her to breathe. she stared up at his eyes with an almost pleading expression. he smiled gently, moving one hand to caress her face. “c’mon.” he nodded his head to the side towards the carpeted stairs that took them upstairs when he started to lead her up to the second story. her hand squeezed his while she looked around at more pictures on the walls until he pulled her into a bedroom at the end of the hallway. his thumb twisted the lock even though his parents weren’t home. once the lock clicked he strayed away from her side, walking quickly to his dresser and placing a cassette tape into a radio to make music start playing softly. she grinned when he came back to her, his hands back to make her feel whole. he used one hand to bring her lips back to his while the other slowly moved under her shirt. she sighed into the feeling of his warm hand trailing over her bare skin and he smiled, deepening the kiss to let their tongues dance like they were minutes ago. 

she glided her hands up his chest over his shirt to fist the fabric of the collar with a tight grip. she whimpered when he toyed with the bottom of her bra. she felt impatient and he could feel it emanating off of her, so he took advantage of that feeling and walked them both blindly to his mattress. 

“is this okay?” steve whispered, pulling away to which she chased his lips desperately. he smiled at her while sliding a hand over her thigh. her breath was shaking because she was either nervous or excited. he didn’t know which and found her eyes with his. “hey, are you okay?” the question was gentle. 

she nodded, somehow still breathless. “yeah, i’m okay.” she nodded with a smile. she looked like she was drunk just because of his mouth. “i- i want to…” she trailed off meekly with shy eyes. 

steve felt his pants tighten when she said that. he slid his hand further up her thigh and squeezed, loving how her clothed skin felt in his palm. “okay.” he whispered, finding her lips again. 

she sighed into his mouth and let her mind go blank. her hands moved on their own to tangle and tug at his hair and ruin its style into a beautiful mess. 

steve slowly moved his hands to have them grip the bottom of her shirt prior to lifting it up and over her head, which they have to separate for. he tossed the item of clothing aside somewhere far away from them to worry about later. his eyes were glued to her uncovered skin and how it looked in his dim bedroom. “you’re beautiful.” he breathed. 

she rolled her eyes and he started to remove his own shirt, so that she wasn’t the only one lacking a clothing item. when it was off of him she tossed it away like he had with hers. she stared at his chest. his skin was littered with tiny constellations of freckles that she found so pretty on him. she reached out to touch his warm chest as he began moving closer to her with the slow motion of laying her on her back, loving how she looked like an angel against his sheets. 

she kept her eyes on his chest and her hand on his skin snaked around his back. 

steve leaned down, hands holding him up on either side of her head as he attached his lips to her neck to leave slow, open mouthed kisses across her hot skin. the action drew a sudden moan from her unoccupied lips. he smiled because he hasn’t even gotten started. steve pressed his tongue to her skin before closing his lips around a patch of it, pulling it into his mouth to turn it a deep shade of purple and red. 

the action had her back arch away from the mattress slightly with stuttering breaths and a series of whimpers. she tried to press her thighs together to gain some friction where she found the familiar feeling of her core dampening but her legs were stopped by steve’s knee that was between them without her even knowing. he grinned at the way she sighed due to the lack of friction and moved his knee to press against her cunt. she whimpered at the feeling of something finally being between her legs. her hips jutted upwards against his thigh slightly, creating friction. 

he pulled his mouth away from her skin and admired the dark bruise he’d left behind. one of his hands left the spot it occupied beside her head to toy with the trap of her bra. “can i take this off?” he hooked his fingers underneath the strap on her shoulder and then let it snap back onto her skin, making her flinch with a nod. “sit up for me, baby.” steve gently whispered so that he could snake his hand behind her and quickly unclip the garment with one hand. 

it loosened around her shoulders so she turned her shoulders inwards to allow the straps to slip down her arms and have it completely fall away from her. she suddenly felt very exposed as steve stole the item away to toss it away, his eyes glued to her chest with lust in his eyes. she took his face in her hands so that she could connect their lips again, her tongue quickly slipping into his mouth. she pulled him down as she laid back onto her back as steve’s hands wandered, over her waist and then slowly taking a handful of her chest, squeezing her tit in a way that had her gasping in surprise. she wasn’t expecting it to feel that good. 

he chuckled, mouth gently leaving hers to connect back on her neck. he left hot kisses on her skin and sucked the occasional bruise into her skin just to evoke those pretty sounds from her that he was starting to become addicted to hearing. he kissed lower, to her chest, giving her tits some attention because that was also so pretty to him. he was falling for every single part of her without a second thought. 

her head lifted away from the pillow to stare at steve as he ever so slowly kissed lower and lower, nearing the top hem of her jeans. she tried to breathe but the air got stuck when he ultimately settled between her legs. 

“breathe, baby.” he rubbed her thigh with a hand circling around it. she inhaled deeply and exhaled to make him smile and place a kiss just below her navel. “good girl.” he whispered. steve slowly moved his fingers against her jeans, unbuttoning and sliding them down and off her legs. she was now only in her underwear, a sight that he wanted tattooed on the inside of his eyelids forever while he settled back between her thighs. his lips pressed into the insides of both. his hips slowly ground into the mattress as he was becoming more conscious of the strain in his jeans by the minute. he groaned because they felt like a cage to him and if he were still like how he was a year ago they wouldn’t be on, but she’s different and he was doing this for her, not himself. 

she reached down to grab his shoulders in a silent way of telling him to come back up to kiss her. and who was he to deny her of what she wanted? he slowly crawled his way back up to her lips, kissing up her tummy and making her breath shake. she felt deprived of his lips until they were back on hers, a messy thing that made them both moan and sigh into each other. 

“i want you…” she sighed with half lidded eyes and a kiss bitten smile. she was so beautiful with the way her curly hair was fanned out on his pillow and how her body was hot to the touch. she’d tell him it was all his work if he were to ask her why. 

he nodded for a second with one of his hands going between their warm bodies to begin with stripping away the last of his layers. relief washed over his body the moment his jeans slid off of his dick. he shuddered at the thought of being inside her. steve put a hand over her hip, smoothing his fingers over her soft skin as his thumb hooked under the elastic of her underwear. “is it okay if i take these off?” the way he whispered such a simple question made her body resonate with need. she nodded as her eyes stayed on his face. he grinned at the way her hands were repeatedly fisting and then releasing the sheets as a way to distract herself. that simple thing she was doing made him a little needier. his fingers slowly dragged her underwear away and down her legs, teasing her by the speed of it. he made her squirm in anticipation. “you’re so needy, baby.” he kissed her slowly to take her mind away from how his hand slid up the top of her thigh and that both of his legs were between hers, nudging her thighs wider for him. 

he focuses his eyes back to her face, seeing how she breathed deeply and had her eyes closed. “hey, you sure you wanna do this? we can stop if you need to.” his voice was gently laced with concern for her that she thought she could cry because of the sound. 

she nodded her head still. “i’m sure.” he nodded back, both hands placed on either side of her head, the insides of his wrists brushing the tops of her bare shoulders. she lifted her hands to thread her fingers through his soft hair and pull his lips down onto hers. 

he stayed hovering over her with his lips glued to hers before he took one hand between them again to stroke his length and line it up with her entrance. “are you ready?” he asked ghosting his lips over hers as she panted, trying to catch her breath before he steals it away again. she nodded with her bottom lip held between her teeth. 

he kissed the corner of her mouth as he pushed into her and his head dropped into the curve of her shoulder. he couldn’t help but moan into her soft skin at the feeling of her cunt squeezing around him. “fuck… you feel so good.” he groaned, leaving a kiss beneath her ear. 

she gasped when she felt him finally go inside of her. her throat bubbled with airy moans that filled the room as he made slow thrusts in and out of her. she’d never felt like this in her life; head leaning back into soft pillows with her eyes screwed shut with a strange feeling tightening inside her stomach, like a coil. “steve… feels so good.” she slurred and her arms went around his shoulders so that her fingernails could dig into the soft skin of his back. 

he kept his face buried in the curve of her neck, kissing and sucking at her skin as a way of drawing more sounds from her pretty mouth. “y’like this, baby? do i make you feel good?” he asked through a moan, slowly rolling his hips into hers repeatedly. she only nodded with a sigh. he grinned through a groan, knowing he made her feel good by her writhing body beneath his and the beautiful sounds she was making. they would mix with his own sounds of pleasure and bounce off of the walls. 

she arched her back when the tightening cord in her stomach began to become almost too taught to bare. “i’m…” she moaned loudly. “i’m gonna come.” her voice was pitched up in pleasure. her nails were digging into his skin harder than they were before. 

steve sped up his thrusts, knowing he was close behind her. “come for me.” he panted. “i’ve got you, honey.” he assured with a voice so sweet it made her cry out. 

the cord in her stomach snapped, making her fall over the edge, coming around him with a scream. 

steve followed right behind her, hips stuttering as he quickly pulled out with a pained groan to be loosing the amazing feeling of her walls around him. he was loud when he came, shooting ropes of it over her stomach with soft gasps for breath as he searched for her lips. he kissed her once before moving to lay beside her on his stomach. steve had his eyes on her as she breathed heavily, laying on her back motionless. “you okay?” he whispered, propping himself up on an elbow. 

her head turned towards him so their eyes could meet. she nodded. “yeah. that was… amazing.” she sighed in ecstasy, causing a smile to form on his lips. 

———————————————————————

“you okay to drive yourself home?” steve asked in the front doorway, standing with his hands on her hips. she nodded with a lovesick smile. he leaned down to kiss her. when he was pulling away his eyes caught how her shirt wasn’t covering one of the many hickeys he’d left for her. he moved the fabric over it. “i’ll see you later, yeah?” 

she nodded. “yeah, of course.” her lips met his for a final time before she turned on her heels to walk away from the door. 

steve lingered in the doorway, biting his lip. “baby?” he called after her when she was almost to her car. she looked at him with an innocent smile. “i… i love you.” he told her with his heart beating in his ears. he was nervous as she stood still for a second. 

her heart was beating too fast for her to handle so she stood still and waiting for it to calm down before her legs carried her towards him and into his arms. “i love you.” she whispered with her ear to his chest and her arms around his waist. 

he kissed the top of her head with the most adoring grin across his mouth. 

they were in love. 

[emperorsfoot]

So, funny story, my father used to collect model trains and he had a number of milk cars. I also didn’t think they were a real thing for a long time, I thought they were just a funny toy train thing.

Until I went with him to a train show. He was selling some of his milk cars at our booth. This prospective buyer comes up and looks at the milk cars. He points to one and asks if he could look at it more closely. My father pulled on a pair of latex gloves and removed the car from its foam and turns it sit to side so the buyer could see all angles. The buyer then pulls out an archival black and white photo to compare it to the milk car model.

That was when I learned that milkcars were, in fact, a real thing.

(That was also when I learned that model trains were more serious than “haha even grown ups play with toys)

Milk Trains... I laughed at them, thinking it wasn't real, but apparently, they did in fact transport millions of tons of Cow Juice via railway in the 50s.

Action Comics #174 (1954) "The Man Who Shackled Superman!"

Oh yeah, context is that you can mix Kryptonite and Twine to make a super strong string that even Big Boy Blue can't break- but apparently milk will just straight up dissolve the super string. My suggestion is to try that with normal Kryptonite.

[seat-safety-switch]

Recently, I was alerted to the fact that folks are shoving perfectly good playing cards into chunks of plastic and then having those cards valued. That seems like the kind of scam that I would normally be into, but the business is way too crowded. All I know about is cars, and cars already have several "appraisal" scams going on as well. No: where I saw money was in the plastic slab business.

You might not realize this, but making things out of plastic is insanely cheap. It's part of the reason why we're all drowning in little gewgaws and shitty strawberry clamshell containers we can't safely get rid of. Spend a few grand making some moulds, then press cheapo squashed-flat dinosaurs into them for years and years, and sell them at a thousand-times markup.

Me, I don't have "a few grand." I don't even have a grand, most of the time. Actually, I just lied to you (force of habit.) I do have a grand: a Plymouth Grand Voyager with no wheels or suspension. And it's got lots of little enclosed spaces that we could make into low-pressure plastic moulds. After a quick trip to swap some pricetags at the local Hobby Lobby, I was in business pouring huge amounts of high-grade synthetic craft resin into the nether regions of my van. And watching that resin pour right out onto the ground, through the gaping rust holes. Right. Now I remembered why I didn't fix this thing.

Don't worry, though: there's a customer for everything. You see, art buyers are also very interested in speculation that inflates the value of their holdings. And if you wear a different hat when you appraise "modern art in semi-clear epoxy resin," then you can sell that pile of goop on your driveway to someone who surely isn't just using it to launder money for the CIA. Everyone wins! I love the new economy.

[snakeredbirdbatkatana]

How Tim Drake stole the show and lost millions for a good cause..... aka getting laid

Part 1

Now Bruce would like to say he knows his sons pretty well, even as he hears Alfred's voice disagreeing.

He didn't partically want to go to this gala but with Jason returning from the dead formally, and all of his children being in Gotham this was a perfect opportunity to show the Wayne family in all their glory.

As he fixes Damian's bow tie ignoring the reporters vying for his attention.

He hears a gasp.

Before swiftly as if summoned by a light the swarm of reporters leave running toward whoever just appeared.

Pulling up in a car that Bruce couldn't even name if he tried but he is a hundred percent sure isn't aloud on the god damn road.

His third youngest boy who as planned was meeting them here.

Unexpectedly has his arm wrapped around Connor Kent.

Who is wearing a blood red suit, matching perfectly with Tim's all black, but most shocking other than the multi-million dollar car if Jason's hyperventilating can be believed is the blood red diamond in Kent's ear that he's a hundred percent sure cost eight million fucking dollars.

Which was made aware by Selina who was talking about said gem because she was hoping to steal it before it was purchased by a buyer she couldn't track which is an impressive feat which is now explained by the fact that the only one person is better at hiding than a cat and that will always be a bat.

-

Walking in with Rob's arm around his waist after a joyride straight out of a movie he can't help but feel like he's flying and considering he's Superboy that a feat.

"Feeling ok, I know this can be a lot my moon?" Everytime Tim uses that godamn nickname he can't stop the blush it's embarrassing and sweet and flat out insane.

"I'm fine you worrywart, seriously Sunshine", hesitating "So far this is the best night of my life I'm on your arm Tim now show me off I was promised that I would get to see Rich Timmy in all his glory."

He smirks grabbing a thing of champagne from a passing waiter who looks terrified.

"Unless Red your pussing out on me?"

Tim's face twitches a look crossing his face before smoothing out into what Kon can only call his Red Robin smirk deadly, captivating, and always makes Kon a little wet.

"No, after all your on the arm of the richest man in here let me show you what that means."

-

[daryascurse]

𝙲𝙰𝚅𝙴𝙰𝚃 𝙴𝙼𝙿𝚃𝙾𝚁 ── Part I: Caveat Emptor

Love, as Coriolanus Snow had long confirmed, held no value. But lust, lust was worth something. Lust was something more malleable. Lust was a currency of the realm just as money was. And lust could be given, dispensed of, much more freely, with little baggage.

pov : tbsos book compliant, chapters alternate bwn 3rd person coryo, 2nd person reader, AFAB reader, feminine pronouns ❀ tags: sεx work, smuτ, fingering, oraI, (male receiving), finger sucking, praise/ begging ❀ word count: ~6k ❀ ao3 ❀playlist

I have a very strict adult-only interaction policy. Ageless, blank, and clearly minor-run blogs that interact will be blocked. If you have questions about what that means, please read the byf in my pinned post.

Love, as Coriolanus Snow had long confirmed, held as much value as the rocks stuck in the treads of his boots. He rolled his shoe against the carpet, momentarily distracted in an effort to shake free the pebble that jutted unevenly out from the sole and scraped with each step. He didn’t have far to walk these days; he barely had reason to take the trolley. It must have taken only the few steps needed to cross the pavement into the nightclub from the car. But that was just how love was, in his experience, both lived fleetingly and observed from the folly of others. It only took a few careless steps to vex and ruin. 

With another casual but sharp shake of his foot, the errant pebble popped free. 

But lust, lust was worth some thing. Lust was something more malleable. Lust was a currency of the realm just as money was. And lust could be given, dispensed of, much more freely, with little baggage. All that was required of the parties involved was the regular care and discernment of any transaction on the market. Seller liability; buyer beware. Ever since he had cast aside love, it had, in turn, cast a new light on the value of this thing of lust that was somehow its inverse and shadow in one. It did, however, make it harder to look at or even think of Tigris, and so he turned his mind from the clinical analysis of lust to keep these ideas as separate as possible.

The thought of Livia Cardew snuck unbidden into his mind instead, and Coriolanus twitched his foot in irritation again, disguising it as a cautious step downward into the nightclub. It had simply seemed appropriate after dating for two years to invite her to move into one of the newly refurbished penthouse rooms. They shared a bed and little else. She would be awake when he returned, he was sure of it, with crossed arms and an arsenal of sharp words ready to volley from her tongue.

“The night before University graduation, really? Were you out skulking around all night? Do you know what time it is? We have to be on the grounds in only a few hours, and now I’ve had to stay up waiting for you. What is that smell on you?”

He dropped the deposit into the waiting hand of the Avox at the foot of the stairs.

She’d be Livia Snow before the year was out. No, Coriolanus reminded himself. The proposal should be tomorrow, and the wedding at the end of summer. Wouldn’t that be the cherry on top of the cake - the cake, weeping and souring in the June heat - of a beautiful graduation ceremony, where the University would prepare to send off its bright valedictorian? He would take both his diploma and his new title from the hand of Dr. Gaul, and in turn, ask Livia Cardew for her hand as the audience clapped, oohed, and aahed. A new Head Gamemaker, side by side with his new fiancée, would be a fresh angle and nice side plot for the Capitol to be entertained by. Perhaps another celebration for sore losers to focus their energies if the tributes they bet on died too quickly. It would certainly be a busy summer, with a wedding on the heels of the Games, but Coriolanus had decided on the broad strokes of this plan months before. Years, even. Now everything was just filling in the details.

Which is why he frowned at the Avox sweeping aside the thick purple velvet curtain to let him into the private room. Livia was part of that plan, and this room was not a place where any aspect of the plan had any concern. There was business here that Livia Cardew had no place for.

And if she attended to her own business the same way? That was no concern of Coriolanus’s, nor any care of his. They would need one child, just the one, and there was no rush for it yet; and anyway, that could be arranged through means other than the physical. Even though that would mean surrender of some quantity of his DNA, with no guarantee it wouldn’t be intercepted on the path to the intended petri dish…

The wide grin of Dr. Gaul was what came then to his mind, and Coriolanus shook his head vigorously. 

What disturbing thoughts.

It must be the nagging obligation of graduation looming that was poisoning his mind with bizarre visions. But that, still, was for tomorrow. Tonight, he had a hole burning in his pocket, so to speak. It had been a while. 

Too long.

He didn’t come to Pluribus Bell’s nightclub for these purposes. Of course he wouldn’t. Coriolanus didn’t need to think the reasons through, they were merely facts that he had accepted for years now - no, he would never go there, where the music played eternally, where the old man’s smile was still too kind and too knowing, even as Tigris’ lips tightened and her eyes began to dart away from his. And Tigris was another reason why he ordered the car to this, the seediest of nightclubs. He frowned again, bidding away wisps of concept before they could turn to real thought. 

This is probably the last time, Coriolanus realized, as he shrugged off his coat and took his seat in the large leather chair. It was placed conspicuously at the front of the low stage and smelt sharply of disinfectant. He was already high-profile, but there were rakish joys a university student could enjoy innocently enough. Once he graduated, he would lose the cloak of that justification. 

He picked up the glass pane nestled into a side pocket of the chair, and it chirped to life. The lights at the edge of the stage, which was only a foot or so off the ground and wrapped in the same velvet drapery as the rest of the room, lit in a pale, hesitant orange that darkened slowly to red. The tint of the glass panel adjusted with it as Coriolanus scrolled with an idle thumb through the pictures presented to him. All in forcedly promiscuous poses, all arching their backs unnaturally and pursing their lips too zealously to be convincing. He could see, through the digital glow, his fingers curling on the other side of the glass. 

“That one,” he said abruptly, selecting a face without looking too closely at it and handing the pane to the Avox standing silently behind the chair. The face expanded to fill the screen, but Coriolanus turned away before he could see her features fully. In his periphery, the Avox’s head bent in a gesture of assent, before stepping away.

By now, his mind was more skilled at shielding his brain from fully forming certain recognitions, as if he could blind the rhetorical third eye. If he could, he would have driven a stake through it at the first hint of melody that began leaking from the tinny speakers announcing the dancer’s imminent entry. At least the quality here was poor enough that he could distract himself with scornful thoughts of that, of the static and hiccupping interruptions of the sound limping along. And at least he would have a better distraction soon enough.

Another Avox materialized with a tall glass of sparkling copper liquor, but Coriolanus shook his head in refusal, and the shadow retreated. Drinking, he had found early on, only unnecessarily prolonged the transaction - and didn’t help it come to a satisfactory conclusion.

The curtain parted then, and he bit back a grin.

He might have chosen indiscriminately, but his instincts had guided him well. The woman who came weaving out of the heavy drapes was nothing short of beautiful; so much so that Coriolanus caught himself wondering what she was doing here. Whatever she lacked, it was nothing in her appearance. Even her poise had an allure, some exudation that could intoxicate him more than alcohol. Her eyes flashed at him, then lowered, demure, daring to flick up again in a gaze clearly practiced and intended to draw a paying customer in. His body began to lean closer, and he corrected it into a straightening of his posture. 

What about her was so enchanting? The gleeful urge of a pleased grin faded away, and Coriolanus shifted his weight again, adjusting his seat as he watched her. She wore the same as any other girl here - and by that, barely wore a single sheet of silky fabric wound suggestively around her frame. So how was it that it suited her more than any other? Barely a few yards away, with nothing but the air to separate them, she was closer than a finery locked behind a glass display, and he had already purchased her company. What, then, gave him this strange pause before taking what was his?

Well, no matter how captivating she was. Obviously that was part of the wares she marketed, and she was trained in the salesmanship. While he could always appreciate beauty, he was here to instill some training of his own.

That was one of the problems with places like this, and a problem he would have to find a way to avoid in the future. Sitting in a chair, looking up at a woman he paid for as she swayed over him; that never sat right with Coriolanus. Never mind being a woman. That part didn’t matter. It was just a ridiculous concept to pay anyone to look down on you. Besides that, he wanted more than just a passive show with his cock half-fisted in limp fingers. He had seen Festus Creed like that when he’d first introduced Coriolanus to establishments like this. Festus had been pathetically miserable when Persephone dumped him. He’d looked even more pathetic that night when Coriolanus turned his head in the dark crowd of the bar, hoping his friend would have the decency to look abashed or have a jaunty smile, but instead his jaw was slack and pants half-down as he gawked up at the naked ladies on the stage. That incident alone had been what convinced Coriolanus it was worth the money for a private room. More so than potential embarrassment of his own was the disturbing possibility of seeing another man, or woman, looking so foolishly debased, and knowing that that same slimy hand and glassy gaze would the next morning likely be reaching for the same bread in hotel buffet lines or pushing the same elevator buttons as he. The more control Coriolanus could have over his surroundings, the better. 

The customer is always right.

Coriolanus held up a hand, and she paused in her motions, her limbs like water. Truly, beautiful. 

But even if he could appreciate beauty, he could not let it have any power here. He could still feel a small smile on his lips as he spoke. “Come here.”

She took that shallow step down from the stage, and Coriolanus leaned back in the chair. “No,” he said, interrupting her movement again, and his hand moved down in an inviting motion to his lap. “I want you to crawl to me.”

He had to lower her. She hesitated.

“That’s right,” he said, and he felt his lips split in a smile again as she lowered herself to the floor. He watched as she palmed cautiously, one hand forward, then a knee to match. Her hips swayed as she moved. The red light painted her skin in deep contour. “Slower,” he said, and her back dipped in inviting response. Her hips pushed higher. 

Framed like a fucking heart.

Coriolanus shifted in the chair as she drew closer. Every detail about her was perfect, in a way that drove right through him, and made his thighs ache and open in a way that rarely reached him this deeply. The curve of her lip, the sweep of her eyes as she looked up at him again - if lust was a currency, he was ready to spend everything in his account. He swallowed.

She was between his feet, his legs opened to make space for her between them, and she had sat up to rock back on her heels. The fine satin sash that wound around her body wilted suggestively, as if begging him to rip it from her. His fingers itched.

“Would you like to know my name?” she asked, and even through the forced husk of a customer service voice, he could hear that she sounded beautiful, too. 

“I’d like,” Coriolanus said softly, “you to do whatever I ask of you tonight.”

She tightened her eyes and opened her mouth, but Coriolanus cut her off before that harmonious sound could flow from her lips again.

He could affect his voice, too.

“I’m sure you’ve heard other men say that before,” he said, stressing his tone in just the right place and letting it lilt in others. “I’m sure you’ve heard men make requests that you act submissive, or perhaps that you act dominant. These men sit in chairs like this and ask to play along with some fantasy of theirs. But I’m not asking for an act of play-pretend.”

I want you to know your place, he thought, looking at the woman knelt at his feet. He needed it.

She lifted her face, and Coriolanus let himself caress the side of her cheek, his thumb falling to her chin and his fingers closing in a grasp. Her skin was soft. 

“Can you give me what I want?”

“Show me what that is,” she murmured.

She was so evidently good at her job. Coriolanus had identified that immediately, even without needing to hear the snake charm of her voice. But when she finished her sentence, or when he heard what sounded like a natural pause, he turned his thumb up to trap it against her mouth, to keep that enchanting sound from doing its wicked magic. In turn, she let her lips open just wide enough to invite him in. Her tongue teased at the pad of his finger, gentle lashings of the muscle.

A clear acquiescence that she’s following his control.

“Good girl.”

It groaned from him without warning, and his instinct was to physically yank it back. But pulling himself from her wouldn’t retract the words. If anything, it encouraged her. A hand rose to clasp around his, and she pressed closer to his body. Coriolanus leaned forward, his back curving. His knees wanted to tighten around her, urges quickening at his thighs. It should be a concern, came that last whisper of unfogged mind, but Coriolanus closed his eyes, his other hand cupping the other side of her face and fingers lighting at the base of her skull as his free thumb stroked her jaw. Lust was settling faster than it usually did in this little velvet room, but why not enjoy it - one last time?

She looked at him, that carefully crafted demure glance below the silky curtain of her eyelashes. He withdrew his thumb and ran it over her lips, her own saliva glossing across her mouth in a glittering red mirage. The lights seemed to have turned an even richer shade of crimson, bathing the room in black, bronze, scarlet. His thumb shifted clumsily, a streak of silver left at the side of her mouth. She exhaled, the sharpness of breath skating warm across his skin. Coriolanus bent his neck and did something he rarely felt the urge to do in these transactions - he kissed the woman on the mouth. Her lips were chapped at the ministration of his touch, and it somehow bit at something inside him, unlocking a thirst for more, more, to drink from her in a way he hadn’t felt acutely parched for in so long. Her lips pressed gently back at his, as if this, too, was a professional line she didn’t cross often. A benefit reserved for the finest customers, perhaps. And Coriolanus Snow couldn’t imagine many men or women finer than he often visited a place like this . Festus certainly never bothered to shill out for a private room.

When the kiss broke, her hands had crept up to rest on the leather between his knees. Coriolanus saw the motion. His fingers curled at the back of her neck and his hips pushed wider, closer. 

“Go on,” he said, and he heard the huskiness creep into his tone.

She palmed over him and found the fastening of his pants. Below the cage of his elbows, she had begun to slowly tug at his zipper. Coriolanus let go of her almost regrettably. He leaned back and lifted his hips, pushing even further to the edge of the chair, and her hands somehow made the yanking of his pants down his thighs to pool at the floor a graceful motion. 

His cock was already hard, something that he felt no abashment for. Just a testament to the value of the transaction. He couldn’t see her expression as she skated her hands across his inner thighs to situate herself. The touch of her gentle hands made the fine golden dusting of hair prickle in the wake of her movement. Coriolanus stroked a hand along his length as her mouth opened. Once more, and then he urged the tip towards her. Her tongue had lolled from her open lips, and he slapped his cock gently against her.

“Mmh,” he heard her let out, almost involuntarily, and it sent another sharp, hot thrill down his spine. Her fingers wrapped around his to guide his full length into her, and as if to coax him into letting her show him she can do all he would ask of her. And so Coriolanus let go.

Her cheeks hollowed with the first suck, and Coriolanus hissed.

“Ah,” and it was from him that time. He sucked in the inhale as she dragged her tongue along the thick length of the tender vein branching up from the underside of his cock, cradling him in her mouth as her hand settled at the base to anchor herself. Coriolanus felt the muscles in his abdomen and back, wound tight, unwind with each ragged breath from his nose. He slowly fell back, relaxing into the leather embrace of the back of the chair, and his head lolled to the side.

Her mouth was warm, soft, a perfect fit, and Coriolanus pushed his hips up slowly in agreement with the pace she set. It was starting to send rivulets of heat spiking up below his skin, and his elbows rose to fumble at the buttons lining down his shirt, aching to cool off. 

“Look at me,” Coriolanus rasped out, his hands settled at the hem of his shirt and so close to the anxious work of her head. 

She had to almost pull off for that, her lips sliding up and higher from his cock and leaving the sheen of her saliva mixed with the beading precum beginning to leak from him. Drool still shone at the side of her split lips, and her eyes were bright as they rolled up at him. Perhaps an affectation of the profession, an ability to cry dewy tears at will, but, as he grabbed the side of her face, she blinked in a way that was too perfect to be fully an act. 

Coriolanus let his lips curve into a smirk, and as he pushed his hips up to slide his cock back into her mouth, he relished in the muffled moan that choked in her throat. The rhythm began to beat faster, the heels of his palms hard on her cheekbones as he held her in place. The open billow of his shirt fell to his sides, the chisel of his stomach muscles stained crimson in the light tightening with a strain that began pushing through his body in response to the urgency that had built from his loins.

“Oh,” he heard himself say, and he closed his eyes as if to hide from the words he let spill. “Oh, oh, that’s it. Good girl, good, good girl.”

She made another choking whimper that was nearly enough to make him unravel, some coil loosening in his shoulders and tightening again below. 

That might have been enough on any other visit to the velvet room. He would have held her face between his heads, the warmth of her breath enveloping him and her lips closing as he let that sensation within him erupt. When he was spent into her mouth, no matter what she did with that, he would leave a few coins in recognition of her service and pay the remainder of the club’s amount on his way out the door. He would button his coat to the neck and climb into the car, head back to the penthouse, and turn a deaf ear to Livia’s lectures as he readied for bed. But he found an aching in his bones that night - that he wanted more . It was his last night here after all.

Might as well get some bang for his buck, as that prehistoric saying went.

“Oh, oh,” Coriolanus said, and pushed with a gentler strength than he would normally, to ease her off his cock before it was too late. She acquiesced easily, strings of saliva beading out and connecting her to him still as she rocked back on her heels. 

Her eyes were still weeping involuntarily - or, again, perhaps craftily - and she lifted a finger to wipe delicately at their corners. That satin, wound around her like a snake, shifted again, bent dangerously high in the valley between her kneeling thighs. 

“Come here,” Coriolanus breathed before thinking. 

She rose, and he saw it, her foot sway a little unsteadily. Perhaps more than a dance and a suck was something she wasn’t used to either. But she raised a leg around his hips to straddle him, and Coriolanus tugged at the satin. He ran his hands among the smooth length and she shivered under his touch, her eyelids sinking and another “ oh ” sighing from her perfectly parted lips. That, Coriolanus could appreciate, more than the forced falsity of the other women in the glass pane’s catalog. Even if it wasn’t natural, it was a convincing enough act.

As he found the knot at her hip, she reached up to her mouth, rolling each finger across her tongue in turn.

“Can I?” she asked.

Coriolanus raised his eyebrows at her. His fingers were busy on the knot. “Can you what?”

He knew what, and more than that, his body knew what.

“I want to hear you ask it,” he said in gentle facade when she hesitated for just the right amount of time.

“Can I touch you?” she barely whispered.

The light in her eyes shone like rubies in the red room. 

Coriolanus paused, and he thought he would be undone at the heartbeats between the reply. “You can.”

She reached, her fingers wet and dripping red diamonds. He groaned, shuddering forward and letting his head rest on her shoulder, his own fingerwork frozen a minute when she wrapped around his cock. The warmth was back, that snug fit rolling through him as she stroked her fingers up and down. This, this was what the money was truly for, and this is what it was worth; better than his solitary work in the shower where he had to bite back grunts and groans as he spilled down the drain. 

The determination not to do it yet was what gave him the strength to pick the knot free at last, and the satin slithered from her body in one fine sheet. There was a sense of a tug, and he felt that her other hand had fisted at the fabric of his open shirt. Coriolanus shook into the crook of her neck, and his hands pushed at the purchase of her hips.

“Oh!”

It was a yelp, a sign that something in the knead of his hands was more powerful than she was accustomed to, and he squeezed again. 

“Move,” Coriolanus managed. “Move- up.”

She understood, lifting her hips - or perhaps he guided them higher up his lap before he freed his grasp - and her hands found his shoulders then to lean on, audaciously grasping his skin below the splayed shirt collar.

He moved his fingers between her thighs, keeping her from lowering entirely, and she gasped at the sudden contact of his fingers against her cunt. 

“Oh- f-”

He allowed himself a heavy exhale at just how wet she was. That’s something even the best couldn’t fake. He slid his fingers through the folds and pushed two inside at the same time. Her body didn’t even give resistance, that’s how easy it was to swim in her velvet, but her fingernails bit at his shoulder and she choked on another wail as she dropped her head.

It was too sweet.

“I didn’t expect that,” Coriolanus raspsed. The truth came from him impulsively, in a rare moment of abandon. “You got so wet just from putting your mouth on my cock?”

The words sounded dirtier than they should have as they broke from his lips. She sucked in an inhale. 

“Tell me.”

“I - mm hmm.”

He understood the message, but her gentle failure to fully admit it came across as less coy and more smug to his ears. She was no better than he, to refuse filthy words here. He turned his thumb up, pressing to her clit, and then he pressed hard. She gasped again, her inner muscles fluttering over his touch. Coriolanus gave a rub of his thumb, and she pushed her hips forward as if to seek more of the friction. He lifted his touch in denial.

“I said, tell me.”

“Yes,” she said in a whisper. “It - yes , you got me so excited, so, so w- wet.”

The keening confession earned her another gentle circle of his thumb. Her thigh muscles went slack in the hold over his. Before long he could work three fingers into her, massaging at her walls, and when he teased the side of a fourth against her skin, that’s when she broke.

“Plea- please,” and it made him grin again.

“What?”

“Please.”

“Please what?”

She shook her head in agony. “Please, please,” she whispered. “Please fuck me.”

The way she half-wailed drowned out the last of the pathetic music from the speakers, and he found he really liked it.

Coriolanus slipped his fingers out, dragged her wetness down to his cock where her saliva had begun to dry and tack in the arid basement. He urged it up, his other hand locked on her waist to guide her hips.

All she had to do was lower herself to him one more time.

Her hands steadied at his shoulder, and he could feel the head of his cock cresting at her entrance. 

“Good girl.”

Because of how wet she was, he slipped right in, and Coriolanus shuddered. He let go as she sank down, leaning back against the plush leather. He could see the quaver of her limbs as she tried to ease herself. He was barely halfway in and she was visibly shaking at the way he must have started to stretch her. All she could do is moan, quietly, taking slow breaths as she went.

“Oh - ”

He held his hands at her hips and bit back a grating groan. Within him, the tsunami wave was drawing high, higher, almost crested when she finally took all of him in her and was flush against his body. Forget any clumsy fumbling of his cock alone over the shower drain. The one time he and Livia Cardew had tried to find a rhythm in the sheets; no, this urgency was not a rushed one to have the experience over with. This was a ravenous hunger.

She rocked on his lap, Coriolanus moving her with the strength still trained in his arms as his cock dragged inside her, gently tugged with each sway of her body. His fingers curved, dug into her back, unable to settle in just one place as the friction of her body rubbed against his. He could feel the stuttering of her breath as she rode him.

“Mm- fuck -”

“Fuck. You’re so - you’re sucking me right up.” Coriolanus licked at the corner of his mouth. “Good, good girl.”

He let his hand back for a moment and spanked her.

She howled and thrust her hips forward. 

Sweat beaded at his hairline, and he could feel the lines of his face tightening in concentration. His hold hardened, and her chin jerked back, her eyes rolling and lips parted. 

Coriolanus realized suddenly just how much he was holding back, and he thought - what for ? Her delicate grace was so clearly just a professional facade. The way she clawed at him and stuttered her breath, that was real. He was quite good, by now, at identifying fellow liars. She was evidently enjoying it as much as he was. 

Her lithe beauty wouldn't break.

He gripped her hips hard with both hands and thrust his hips up, pounding into her body at an urgent pace. The pleasure was making his muscles tremble. Focusing that strength steaded him, concentrated him on each rolling wave, on that tsunami threatening evermore to break. He squeezed again, spanking her again, and then again, as it made her keen and rock her hips faster. 

“Fuck - t-touch me - please?”

“Hmm?”

“Please,” she said, almost sobbing and her voice hiccuping with each unsteady bounce.

The way she begged made him grit his teeth and focus, and he waited a moment - to tease her, to steady himself - before he let go with one hand, returning his thumb to the space where their bodies met. His skin was sheened with sweat and the shining, crimson-lit trail of her arousal marbling the base of his cock, barely visible with the launches of her body. Coriolanus worked his finger between and felt for a place that made her raise her voice in that delightful way again.

It worked.

She cried out something that, for a moment, didn’t quite make sense to him. “I’m coming!” Coriolanus hadn’t heard those words in a place like this, where she was already here, not these words from a woman, but his body recognized them as soon as she finished her wail. Something in the walls of her cunt tightened, sucking around him, and then throbbed in hot, rushing convulsion. 

“Oh- ”

“Oh, fuck, yes,” Coriolanus said, and it made him shudder at the raw agony he let into his voice. But it was impossible to hide the difference this made, and he withdrew his finger to focus on fucking into her again. 

A half-formed thought flew across his mind, and he pushed his glistening fingers to her lips. “Suck.”

She curled closer to him, one hand still pushing at him for balance, as she clasped the other around his forearm. Coriolanus thrust his fingers into her mouth and groaned as her tongue smacked him clean of her.

His strokes came quicker, faster, rougher, a cacophony of skin and creaking chairs and hot, heavy breaths from two sets of lungs. And without much warning, he threw his head back, throbbing inside her warm cunt, and let loose an anguished cry. She shook as he came, hard, each spurt pushed from him until he felt boneless. The feeling of her still wrapped around him kept him weak.

It was a few moments before her hands slid down his chest, and he managed to tap the side of her hip.

“Alright,” Coriolanus said, and it didn’t sound as casual, as strong as he would have liked. He swallowed, almost moaning when she pulled herself off him, the arid chill of the room prickling over his flushed and sweaty skin. He almost patted his pocket for a handkerchief before remembering it was in the jacket behind him - dangerous, how much this was rattling his mind from the simplest things. Instead of standing yet, he lifted a corner of his shirt to wipe at his face. 

The mismatched sound of laboring breath still filled the room. When Coriolanus looked up, she had sunk to her knees again, drawing the satin sash between her hands to re-wind it around her body. The wild thought seized him, how she would look with his hands binding her with that very sash - perhaps even in his penthouse bed, where he could put her properly on her back, and he had to shake his head to make the fantasy flee.

A very worthy farewell.

He was almost sad to see this part of his life go, and he tipped extremely generously with little hesitation. 

Coriolanus slept sounder than he had in a while, even with Livia prodding at his ribs before the sun fully rose and snarling at him to get ready. Even the curt note left from Tigris at the dining table leaving her clearly insincere regrets, but she didn’t think the Grandma’am had strength enough to muster for the ceremony and they would stay in with Mrs. Plinth, could dampen the strange warmth settled in his chest. It struck him, as he took his place at the head of the graduation line, that this was perhaps satisfaction. Sincere satisfaction in a way that all the little moments of pride through his time at the University had been building to, all tied with a nice little bow. Every want, every need attended to, and more within his reach waiting to be handed to him at the denouement of the ritual. Festus Creed passed him on his way to his seat, clapping him on the shoulder and giving him a childish thumbs up, and Coriolanous let his teeth split in genuine glee at his friend. The weight of the ring box knocked in the pocket of his graduation gown, but even that heaviness was not an anchor, but a sturdy climbing hold. One of the last ones he had to clamber over. He felt like a cat lapping up the last dregs of a rich bowl of cream. 

Livia was somewhere down the line, her pinched face hidden in the sea of matching caps. Coriolanus took the stage to give his valedictorian speech, planning to polish it off with the proposal. As he shuffled his papers, more prop than necessity, he waited for the commencement speaker to finish - some lofty, thin-voiced broadcaster the graduation committee had accepted with the wheedling donation of the Flickerman family - and scanned the rows of his classmates looking for her in preparation of that moment. It struck him how many faces he didn’t recognize. Though the University was small and elite, and while he, of course, was notorious to all, Coriolanus hadn’t spent his years bothering to make new friends or to oogle classmates. Anyone he hadn’t recognized from the Academy was likely some scholarship student from one of the less-prestigious secondary schools at the outskirts of the Capitol, and not worth his time. But here, he was forced with the fact that he would be speaking to a notable statistic of strangers. There was Festus, of course, and Lysistrata in the row behind him. He squinted, looking for Livia.

And then he saw another face he recognized, a face that made him start, lean forward, and almost miss the way the commencement speaker had stepped back and extended his hand to introduce Coriolanus to the podium. 

“...your valedictorian, Coriolanus Snow!”

He rose automatically, the papers beginning to slip between the sweat gathering between his fingers. The anticipatory applause began to rise from the sea of classmates and spectators. 

Except one person wasn’t clapping, a young woman eying him below the brim of her cap. 

That joyous satisfaction alighting his bones began to settle into unease. This, too, was a feeling he recognized as one he hadn’t felt in a while. A very long while. This was the reeling sense of control threatening to slip from his fingers, and he clenched his papers.

Coriolanus still hadn’t found Livia in that crowd. But he did see the woman from the velvet room, waiting, with the rest of his class, to graduate.

Part II: Ferae Naturae