#chamois is a different thing

[campfiretaxidriver]

Also briefly forgot the word chamois and was trying to google by searching for like. “Types of long sleeve shirts” “another word for flannel style shirts”. And it’s never been so fucking obvious to me that google fundamentally doesn’t work anymore. You search for that second one, it’s nothing but pages of fucking ads. I don’t want your stupid fucking fake ass not even made of flannel flannels. I want a similar style shirt based on the description. Google needs to be taken to “grannys big farm Vermont” because my lord this search engine is dead

[two-calicos-in-a-trenchcoat]

I FOUND THE TAMARIND SODA AND THE CHAMOY SAUCE

THE APP WAS NOT LYING AFTER ALL

[vaspider]

Okay, let's try this without the errors and casual domestic abuse references and classism/racism!

All of the below may be worn "because I like how they look." When I say what they're worn for, I mean the intended practical intention of their design.

This is a compression tee or workout tee. They are usually made out of synthetic materials for moisture-wicking purposes. They are worn for exercise or workouts, to draw sweat away from the skin.

This is a muscle tank. It is worn for working out (lifting weights, most often) or showing off one's muscles.

This is a sleeveless tee. Note the different sizes of the armholes. This is pretty much just a fashion statement, two tickets to the gun show, etc. but sometimes worn at the gym.

This is an A-shirt, ribbed knit tank, or fitted knit tank. In the US it may colloquially be called a "wifebeater," but that's classist, racist, and fucking gross, so knock it off.

Originally intended as an undershirt, may be worn as a primary shirt. Still worn as an undershirt by many men/mascs.

This is a fitted tee. They come in crew necks (pictured) and v-necks, typically. These also started as undershirts and are often still worn as same, but now are often worn as casual shirts as well. The difference between one intended as a casual shirt and one intended as an undershirt is mostly just fabric weight.

This is a tee shirt, also known as a heavyweight tee (a reference to fabric weight), loose-fit tee, or unisex tee. Intended as casual wear.

This is a polo shirt. Usually worn fitted and tucked in as shown, unless being worn with shorts. This is a "dress casual" sort of shirt, the kind of thing a person might wear to a semi-nice dinner out with family during the summer, but it's also part of the work uniforms of a lot of working-class people now, so.

This is a Henley or y-neck. Usually 3-5 buttons at the neck and made of cotton knit. This started as underwear too - a warm layer for winter - and is still used that way, often layered with camp shirts, chamois shirts or flannels. Also worn alone. These are pretty common chores/work shirts in my experience.

This is a camp shirt or work shirt. It is made of broadcloth, denim, canvas, or another sturdy material. Worn either as an outer layer unbuttoned over a tee, tank or henley, or if it's a nice shirt in good shape you can button it up and tuck it in and get away with wearing it to a semi-casual thing, like a weekday dinner with friends or an event at church/synagogue which isn't a service, like a potluck or a meeting.

These can often be bought lined or quilted and used as a light jacket. I used these for throwing on real quick when going to bring in wood so the wood wouldn't chew up my forearms.

Now THIS is a flannel. The difference is this is made out of flannel.

Everything I said above applies to this, except flannel shirts are more "casual" than a nice camp shirt bc the material is softer.

Flannel. Shirts. Don't. Have. To. Be. Plaid. A lot of them are, but I own/owned plenty of solid color flannel shirts. I don't care for these as much for chores bc the soft material means stuff is more likely to poke through, but they're great for layering.

I'm out of pictures so hang on, adding more.

[satorusugurugurl]

Hi, congrats on 2k followers! Can you do the margaritas prompt with Nanami for your event?

Spicy Margarita!

Summary: Marie’s Summer Fest prompt: margaritas

Pairing: Nanami Kento x AFAB!Reader

Warnings: alcohol consumption, buzzed sex, both parties are consenting, unprotected, sex, couch, sex, rough sex

Word Count: 1,776

A/N: thank you Nonnie!! A few of my mutuals know that I have a weakness for spicy margaritas or margaritas in general! I have been known to order commissions from time to time after consuming many margaritas on Friday nights! So this one came naturally to me!

One of the many things you loved about your husband was the fact that he was a foodie. Both of you enjoyed going out and having dinner, trying new restaurants, foods, and drinks. Especially when you were together on the weekends. While eating at a new Mexican restaurant one weekend, you found your favorite alcoholic beverage—a spicy mango margarita with Chamoy and tajin sugar-salt rim.

The drink was the perfect combination of salty, spicy, and sweet. If you could dive into the sweet, fruity frozen cocktail and swim in it, you would. It was your all-time favorite in the entire world.

It was until the restaurant shut down because the owner moved back to Mexico. That was truly a sad day when you and Nana saw the building was empty on a Saturday night. You cried over losing your favorite fruity cocktail but tried to find the next best one you could. Your journey was very disappointing because every restaurant you ate at didn't come close to making a tasty margarita. The drinks you had tasted were either too expensive or were just mediocre. Eventually, your poor heart couldn’t take the mourning any longer of trying to find the next best margarita out there. So you found yourself opting for the next best thing: Korean plum wine.

Soon, the memory of that tasty margarita would become nothing more than a memory. A fond one that was full of laughter and smiles. Until you came home from work on a hot summer day, only to be greeted by the sound of a blender entering the kitchen instead of your husband's soothing voice. Following the sound, you sauntered into the kitchen, freezing in your tracks as you stared at the blender's bright orange, frozen concoction. Your husband was rimming a glass and sticky red mix before rubbing it on a plate full of sugar.

“Ken?” upon hearing your voice, your husband turned to smile, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

“Welcome home, Love.” you watched as Nanami poured the contents of the blender into one of the rimmed glasses. “Here you go. Thank you for your hard work this week.”

Your mouth began to water as you brought the glass up to your mouth. After taking a long sip, the second spicy liquid hit your tongue. Your eyes snapped wide open. Your Margarita! Your sweet husband somehow managed to make your favorite drink. The sound of your happy moans leaving your mouth was music to your husband‘s ears.

“Kento! This is delicious!” you took another sip, eyes rolling back into your skull at the sweetness that envelops your taste buds. “How did you even manage to make it this perfect?”

“Trial and error.” emotions to a few other glasses on the counter. “I made these on the rocks to taste test until I perfected it. I blended it all once I knew I had the right measurements of everything.”

Along the counter were six glasses half full of orange liquid. You placed your frozen margarita down before trying one of the other drinks. The ice clinked in the glass as you brought your mouth tasting it. It was just as good as the frozen one he had handed you! You could tell there was something different about it; though this one had less spicy tequila, but it was still mouth-watering good!

“Mmm, it's so good, Ken!” Nanami took one of the five remaining cups and downed its liquids, humming at the delicious taste with less mango puree.

“Yes, you’re right, it is good.”

Not wanting to waste a single drop of the tasty drinks, you and your husband downed his six experiments before taking on the pitcher next. It was safe to say both of you were pretty buzzed when the last drops of the margarita were gone. And as the liquid seemed to warm your blood, you had an undying need to have your husband inside of you.

The thing about tequila was that it never left you feeling hungover, but it made you insanely horny.

So it was no surprise to your husband when you pulled your clothes off. The tequila left a certain glowly hue around your husband, fueling your hungry desire. Nanami was feeling the same. A warm, tingly sensation ran down his back as he leaned back against the couch, watching your eyes play with lust as you began hugging his sweats down. His hand gently reached around the back of your head, stroking your hair softly as you straddled his hips.

“I want you.”

“You do?”

“Mhmm~!”

Your tequila-laced breath moved in with his own, the smell of alcohol flooding your senses as Nanami gently gripped your hips with both his hands.

“Good, I need you too.” Nanami’s lips pressed against yours as he began bucking his hips up against you, needing to do nothing more than bury himself inside of you.

Which was how you found yourself in your current position, pressed into the couch cushions as you are back into you from behind. You cried out whimpers, leaving your mouth as the pillows muffled some of your sounds while you rocked shamelessly back against your husband’s cock. Nanami grunted, tilting his head back as he lost himself in the way that your pussy squeezed him.

His hand slapped firmly against your ass, massaging it roughly. “Fuck you're so damn tight!” he gripped the fat of your ass, forcing you to fuck yourself back against him harder.

“K-Ke—Kento!” you breathlessly whimpered, looking back over your shoulder at the crazed look in his eyes as he focused on the site of his dick disappearing inside of you. With your ass against him, his cock began to shimmer with your wet sticky arousal. “Nngh!”

He slammed the head of his cock firmly against your cervix, making your eyes roll back as your head fell forward, face buried in the cushions. Your sweet moans were muffled until Nanami wrapped his hand around your hair as if you were his tie and lifted your head out of the cushions. Those sweet little cries that left your mouth filled the living room, bouncing off the walls from how loud you were.

“Don’t you even think about holding back those sounds. I want to hear you.” He tugged your hair tighter, lifting your head higher. From the grip he had on your head, your back arched deeper, sticking your ass up higher, forcing his cock deeper inside of you. “Nngh fuck—mmph— yes, that’s my good girl taking my cock like a good little slut.”

“Haaah! Ah~ ah~ fuck! Fuuuck Kento!”

The couch creaked under your weight as Nanani began thrusting harder into you, slamming his hips so hard against your own that your ass rippled under the force. You were filled to the ultimate brim, his tip kissing your cervix, pressing deeper into you. You could feel him in your womb, leaving you crying, tears streaming down your cheeks from the oversensitivity as pure white hot pleasure rushing through your veins.

“Mmm~ that’s right, that’s my good little slut, crying over how good she feels.” Nanami kissed your shoulder blades before forcing your head back into a throw pillow. “Now be a good little cum slut, and squirt all over my cock.”

The slow lazy thrusts were completely halted as Nanami pulled all the way out, his tip catching on the ring of your tight entrance before he set a brutal fucking pace. He slammed into you and made you cry into the pillow, tears staining it, proof of how good and sensitive you felt things, thanks to the alcohol in your system.

But it wasn’t just the tequila that made you feel like this. It was the unfiltered love that you had for the man who was making you feel so good. He went above and beyond, making your favorite drink. Something that you had pretty much given up on our tasting again. But your husband had done the impossible. He had spent time, effort, and resources concocting that perfect drink to make you happy.

So, of course, you were crying tears of joy as Nanami fucked you so good. Consistently proving that he was the man you wanted to spend your entire life with. It only took three of that deep hard thrust, where his head rubbed and brushed against your g-spot perfectly before ramming into your cervix with a force that left you reeling as you came hard, squirting all over his cock all over the sofa, making a mess.

Your husband didn’t take long to follow you over the edge, hands gripping your hips and his large hands holding steady as he filled your cunt with his seed. The sensation of the spurts of hot white sticky cum filling you made you moan in pure pleasure as you let out muffled cries of your husband’s name into the pillow beneath you. Once Nanami’s cock stopped throbbing. He gently pulled it out of you, helping you sit back against him as his cum began leaking out of your pussy.

His lips gently pressed against your cheek as he ran his hand back over your head, pushing your hair out of your face. You turned slightly towards him, pressing your lips against his, and just as he began to smile at you, you started rocking your hips slowly against him, his face twisting up with pleasure and fear as you moved so fast he barely saw you. One second he was sitting up, holding you in his arms, and the next, he was forced down on the couch while you straddled his hips, hovering over his cock, while your combined cum drilled all over his crotch.

At that moment when he swears he could see a hearts in your pupils. He suddenly remembers the second reason behind your undying love of those spicy margaritas. Not only did it make you horny, but it fueled your already high sex drive. Swallowing hard Nanami watched as you lined his cock up with your pussy. He was in for a very long night. Not that he was complaining about it.

Forever Tag List:

@darkstarlight82 @pandoness @nealeart @simp-plague @sugurubabe @chilichopsticks @reap3erslov3

Summer Fest Tag List:

@typicalife-101

[leveloneandup]

U.S. Soccer World Champion Tobin Heath on Her Love of Cycling

What happens when a two-time Olympic gold medalist, two-time FIFA World Cup Champion, and U.S. Women’s National Soccer Team member decides to take up cycling? For one thing, the spandex really throw her off at first.

But that didn’t stop Tobin Heath from falling in love with life on two wheels, first at the spin studio rehabbing an injury, then on the roads around Los Angeles, and finally, riding around with the Canyon//SRAM team as they did a reconnaissance ride of stage two of the Tour de France Femmes. She even hosted interviews with pros like Demi Vollering and Kasia Niewiadoma with Strava during the Tour.

We wanted to hear how Heath found herself fully committed to the bike life, what she learned from the pros, and how she believes that the more we watch women's bike racing, the better on the bike we can become. Here are her top tips when it comes to getting started with cycling.

Ride With Others

“Until I did the ride with Canyon//SRAM, I had done most of my riding alone,” Heath says. “I realized on that ride that it’s amazing to just feel like part of a team. I play a team sport, obviously, so I’m used to putting on the uniform and getting into that team setting, so even putting on the team kit felt really natural for me. I do think it helps you become a better rider when you can ride with other people—and they don’t have to be pros.”

Try Before You Buy

Buying your first bike can be incredibly intimidating, especially if you’re not sure what kind of riding you really want to do. Road? Gravel? Mountain bike? Basic commuting around town? It may be helpful to borrow a bike from a similar-sized friend, hit up demo days at local bike shops, or even spend the money to rent a couple of different bikes to test out what type of biking feels fun to you.

That’s what Heath did: When she decided to try riding outside, she asked a friend if she could borrow her gravel bike to test out in the mountains around Santa Monica, California.

A few rides later, and she was hooked—but she was happy she tested the bike before committing. “It’s an expensive sport and the gear is really intense when you first get started!” she says. “I was thankful that I was able to test it out before I fully bought in.”

Find Your Local Community

“That’s one of the most special parts about cycling: the community,” Heath says. “It’s such a community-focused sport. In Los Angeles, there are so many clubs and groups and rides that you can jump into and meet new people if you don’t already know other cyclists, and even if you don’t always want to ride with a group, it’s a great way to get started since you can find out about the best spots to ride and ask tons of questions.”

While she’s not sticking to any specific training plan or considering turning pro on the bike anytime soon, Heath now rides a few times a week, mixing indoor and outdoor rides, as well as solo and group rides depending on her hectic travel schedule.

Ride Outside

While Heath started riding indoors as a way to rehab a soccer injury, she fell in love with cycling when she got outside. “Getting outdoors that just was the game changer,” she says. “I remember the first time I came home from a three-hour ride in the mountains, and my partner was just like, ‘I haven’t seen you look that happy in a long time.’ That feeling of freedom was just something that I couldn’t get from riding inside.”

Buy a Chamois

New cyclists may feel a little sheepish donning a full spandex kit, but Heath is here to tell you that it is a game-changer. “It’s so funny, I remember looking at other people wearing cycling kits and thinking it was really silly to wear that if you’re not a pro. I just assumed it wasn’t necessary. And then I got a cycling kit and I understood,” Heath laughs. “Wearing the kit obviously is super functional when you’re riding, so you can put stuff in your jersey pockets and the saddle is much more comfortable with the padded shorts—you wouldn’t survive a long ride without it—but it also changed the way I saw myself as a cyclist. It makes you feel fast.”

Share Your Progress

Your journey matters more than you think. Heath has become a big fan of Strava in recent months—it serves as an online version of a community, allows you to track your own progress on the bike, and lets you see how people similar to you (or the top pros) are training.

“When I started riding, I was so inspired by seeing what other riders were doing,” she says. “I find that if you see it, you want to do it. And I love seeing all different levels of riders sharing what they’re doing, because I think that helps motivate even more people. A lot of people, especially women, will see what the pros are doing and feel like it’s not achievable, because they can’t visualize themselves training like that. But if they can see someone who looks like them posting rides, they see that it’s possible.”

Watch Women’s Cycling to Get Better

While watching a race like the Tour de France Femmes avec Zwift is simply fun and entertaining, you can also watch it for some valuable tips, says Heath. Look closely at how the riders set themselves up to take a corner smoothly, or how close they’re drafting each other. Check out how they’re positioning their bodies to maximize power output on the climbs.

While you may not be as vast as Vollering or Niewiadoma, you can still learn a lot from them. “Not only is it going to inspire you to go out and ride, you’re going to learn a lot about cycling just by being a fan of the sport,” Heath says.

Seriously, Ride With Friends

“When I first started, the women I knew who rode were serious riders,” says Heath. “They kept inviting me out to ride, and I would say, ‘No, I’m not ready yet.’ But I was ready and they absolutely would have made space for me even if I wasn’t as fast. Cycling is super inclusive if you want to be part of a community. And if the worst case is that you’re left behind on a hill, who cares? Even if you start a ride with friends and split up part way through, it’s much more fun and you really do get better when you have those other women around you.”

[freeuselandonorris]

would simply expire to read your take on mechanophilia, free choice pairing but i feel like it fits mark?? <3

🙏 thank you r one thing about me is that if i am prompted to write carfucking i will. really run with it.

mark webber/his porsche 918 spyder. one interesting thing about these cars is they have a top pipe exhaust design, where the exhaust pipes are either side of the rear window instead of at the floor.

Maybe he’s a silly, sentimental old fool, but Mark loves his cars. More than some people, if he’s honest with himself, although he’s sensible enough not to admit that in public. It’s not that unusual, in his line of work. They’re all obsessives, to some extent. They all love their cars.

It’s just that for Mark, it’s physical.

He spends time with them all. Runs his hands over the sensual curve of a headlamp, down the arc of a door panel. Presses his stomach against the 997 Turbo S, smoothing his cheek against the spotless cool of the window architecture. He’s half-hard already, nudged up against the seam of his jeans. He breathes a cloud of mist across the pristine enamelled surface, wipes it with the cuff of his fleece.

The Spyder waits for him, resplendent in red with her Salzburg livery glowing faintly in the dim light. Mark’s cock twitches as eagerly as it had for any woman he’s ever bedded.

“Hello, beauty,” he murmurs, reaching out to touch her bonnet.

He’s doing the thing properly today. The weather’s been fine and dry, no rain or muddy splashes to mar her paintwork or dirty the windscreen. Took her out for a spin after lunch. She’s warm, still.

Mark groans, lets his hips roll forward. His jeans are digging in now. He burrows his hand beneath the hem of his fleece, pops the first button on his jeans, then the second. His cock flexes as the cool air hits him through his boxers.

This is almost the best bit. The thrill as he glances back to check the garage door is locked, cups himself through his boxers, showing the heft of his cock to his waiting car. It makes him feel like a dirty flasher, somehow, showing himself off like this as the Spyder waits to take whatever he gives her.

There’s a sticky wet patch over his cockhead already. He’d been horny just driving her, letting the rumble of the engine soak through his tensed thighs and tickle the soft skin behind his balls. Foreplay, his hand curved around the gearstick, rubbing the smooth shaft while he idled at a traffic light.

He tucks a thumb beneath the waistband of his boxers, tugging them over his cock. It bounces jauntily once it’s freed, sticking right out from his opened jeans.

“There you go, girl,” Mark says, soft. “That’s what you want, isn’t it?”

Mortifying, really, but Mark’s always talked to his cars. Why should it be any different now?

He cups himself in one hand, steps in close. Presses the spongy head against the unforgiving edge of the door trim, tracing the aerodynamic curves and undulations. There’s a chamois in his back pocket to clean things up after. He’s prepared.

His cock fits perfectly into the depression meant for his fingers to unlatch the door. He rubs himself against the smooth dip, jacking himself until a few droplets smear across the pristine surface. Anointment complete, he moves on to the air inlet notched above the wheel trim, pushing his cock into the small gap so hard it hurts, faintly. He’s never been afraid of the pain his cars can cause.

He’s breathing fast already, thighs shaking and hands fumbling. The perils of middle age. He’s not got quite the endurance he might once have enjoyed; less still when he’s with his favourites. He needs to be canny about it now, spend his limited pleasure only on the parts of his girl most worthy of worship.

He gets to his knees. His jeans are a bit tight for this, really, but he likes to stay fully dressed for this.

It’s a terrible angle, but if he shuffles sideways, he can rub the length of his cock, more or less, against the channel that runs along the bottom of the door. He’s come into this channel more times than he can count, watching his semen paint the deep red white.

But that’s not what he wants today.

He fumbles the condom out of his back pocket with uncooperative fingers. It’s heartbreaking, really, that he has to suit up for this bit. He’s wanked about it endlessly, imagining his seed working its way inside her, mingling with petrol and engine coolant. But he can’t risk messing up her insides, never mind the health of his own manhood.

He stands on wobbly legs, walks his way around to the back of her. She’s resplendent, open and waiting for him as he toes off his shoes.

The biggest act of sacrilege is when he climbs on top of her. Every time, he’s terrified he’s going to leave scratches, or worse. But she’s tough. She can take it. That’s why he loves her.

He’d wanted to fuck her from the minute he saw her. The twin exhaust pipes mounted on the rear assembly, three or four feet off the ground, stirred him the same way a dirty magazine would. There’s something obscene about her, holes open to the world. She wants it.

It takes a bit of awkward manoeuvring until he’s in position, but once he’s settled into place, it’s like he’s made to be on top of her. Knees nestled into her dips and curves, socked feet braced against the rear spoiler.

She’s hot inside when he slides into the waiting exhaust pipe. He breathes out, shuddery and grateful, resting his forehead against the curve of her roof. The condom is lubed, and he slips in right to the hilt without resistance, the machined edge pressing into his swollen balls.

“Oh, girl,” Mark breathes, and presses his mouth to cool metal. She tastes of wax and metal.

He moves his hips, careful, and she groans beneath him. Her suspension bounces as he fucks her.

He presses his cheek to the wet patch his mouth had left, traces her body with his hands. He fits perfectly inside her, like she was built to take him. Cold exterior, hot as any wet cunt inside, a secret space meant for him to worship.

It doesn’t last long, but she doesn’t mock him for it, doesn’t sigh and make a barbed remark. He gasps sweet nothings into her grilles, drives his hips into her as it builds and builds until he’s cresting, emptying himself inside her.

As he comes, he prays the condom snags on some poorly machined burr of steel and splits, spilling his tribute into her, but of course there isn’t, and it doesn’t. She’s too well-made for that.

[creepypasta-fan-page]

“Ice-scream„

-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~- -~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-

-:Jeff the killer: Mango ice cream is his go to. He usually puts Chamoy in it. Masky thinks that is absolutely disgusting. Now Jeff goes out of his way to make sure he eats it when Masky is in the Manor.

-:Eyeless jack: Jack is a Cherry Garcia guy. He doesn’t like chocolate or super sweet sugary things so the sweet fruit ice cream flavors are his favorite.

-:Laughing jack: Cookies n cream. He can’t help the fact that he has to stick to his aesthetic. He also may just really like the Oreos in the ice cream…

-:Jane the killer: Orange sherbet ice cream. She prefers popsicles but some sherbet every once in a while is nice.

-:Sally Williams: Chocolate! She really likes the taste and it’s been her favorite since she was a baby. It was also the first ice cream flavor she ever tried.

-:BEN drowned: BEN is an average discord MOD. Mint chocolate chip. He thinks it makes up for not brushing his teeth.

-:Slenderman: He doesn’t eat ice cream. He eats kids. But he prefers the ones that haven’t gotten a vaccine.

-:Masky MH:Like the old man he is, pistachio. Literally no one understands why he likes it. It was just a popular flavor when he was growing up and he grew accustomed to it.

-:Hoodie (MH): He likes salted caramel flavored. Bonus points if there are caramel chunks in it. He also gets annoyed when people pronounce it “cara-Mel” and not “car-Mel”

-:Ticci Toby: he’s a slut for coffee flavored ice cream. He loves the smell and isn’t aloud to have coffee so it’s a win-win for him.

-:Clockwork: Clockwork was raised in the outskirts. She can’t help it that Rocky Road is her favorite. It has multiple different flavors packed inside, who wouldn’t love that?

-:Nina the killer: Neopolitan. She either mixes all three flavors or eats them individually.

-:KageKao: Matcha. Since he is Japanese he grew up eating a lot of matcha stuff. He prefers the strong matcha over the sweetened.

-:Bloody Painter: Oh how he loves some blueberry ice cream. He also only eats ice cream in those chocolate dipped cones.

-:X- virus: Our neighborhood science freak loves ube flavored stuff. That purple potatoe flavor just gets him everytime.

-**Special~

-:Lane the Lurker: Lane kinda gives me moose track vibes. The vanilla ice cream with crushed Reese’s and fudge? Sign him up.

Lane the Lurker is an OC by @raythekiller ❕

-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-

[canines-crown]

Y'all we need to TALK

Do you remember when I first questioned goats AGES ago, together with deer? And I posted a lot about it? Well, before I started questioning domestic goats... I suspected a different animal.

The chamois

I stopped questioning it after a while but now it's BACK and it's really strong... Like... I never completely stopped questioning goats, it's just that there always seemed to be something off about them as a kintype-

Two years ago a friend of mine said that if I were an animal I'd be a chamois and that made me so so so so happy??? I didn't know what shifts were back then, but it definitely made me shifty... Huge species euphoria-

Idk man I've been thinking about these guys so much... I imagined myself as one of them and it made me so happy I could barley fall asleep- Everything seems to fit- The size, the appearance, their winter and summer coats...

Idk... The only thing that's sorta throwing me off the chamois is that they really like the cold, something that I tend to despise. But then again... What if I had a thick coat to keep me warm...?

Idk that's just so me?? I jush see myself in them???? HHHhhhhHh

I'm gonna do more research into other goats but... Yeah... Guys. I might be a chamois idk man

[141wh0re]

Foodie Adventures

Kyle Garrick strikes me as the most adventurous of the 141. My personal hc for this, beautiful, beautiful man is that he's a foodie through and through. And you cannot convince me otherwise.

Kyle is the type to travel and completely immerse himself in the culture surrounding him, so it's no surprise that when downtime becomes available, you naturally gravitate to exploring with him.

He'd happily venture off with you in Japan to find a quaint little place where you can enjoy Nagashi Somen, exchanging laughs each time one of you fails to catch the noodles from the bamboo slide with the chopsticks. But his ultimate weakness is the steamed Gyoza.

You can find him in Mexico carrying a big ass Gomichela, topped with gummy bears, chili-coated watermelon sours, and chamoy on the rim, in one hand, and the other carrying a plate of tortas.

Or he'll be dancing with you to live street music in Turkiye, after enjoying Turska kava, and the process of watching the vendor boil it in the sand.

Better yet, catch him in Greece eating Dolmades and Spanakopita.

Anyways, my point is, this man is down to try anything and everything that comes to mind, no matter how different or bizarre, he's open to trying it at least once.

(He's especially a sucker for desserts.)

Idk, man. I just kinda wanna travel the world with a beautiful man, who knows a thing or two about good food, and isn't scared to find the greatest hole in the wall restaurant.

[uswnt5]

https://www.bicycling.com/culture/a62265997/tobin-heath-soccer-to-cycling/?taid=66fc394ac67ef00001b3ed67&utm_campaign=trueanthem&utm_medium=social&utm_source=twitter

U.S. Soccer World Champion Tobin Heath on Her Love of Cycling

Molly Hurford

What happens when a two-time Olympic gold medalist, two-time FIFA World Cup Champion, and U.S. Women’s National Soccer Team member decides to take up cycling? For one thing, the spandex really throw her off at first.

But that didn’t stop Tobin Heath from falling in love with life on two wheels, first at the spin studio rehabbing an injury, then on the roads around Los Angeles, and finally, riding around with the Canyon//SRAM team as they did a reconnaissance ride of stage two of the Tour de France Femmes. She even hosted interviews with pros like Demi Vollering and Kasia Niewiadoma with Strava during the Tour.

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We wanted to hear how Heath found herself fully committed to the bike life, what she learned from the pros, and how she believes that the more we watch women's bike racing, the better on the bike we can become. Here are her top tips when it comes to getting started with cycling.

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Ride With Others

“Until I did the ride with Canyon//SRAM, I had done most of my riding alone,” Heath says. “I realized on that ride that it’s amazing to just feel like part of a team. I play a team sport, obviously, so I’m used to putting on the uniform and getting into that team setting, so even putting on the team kit felt really natural for me. I do think it helps you become a better rider when you can ride with other people—and they don’t have to be pros.”

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Try Before You Buy

Buying your first bike can be incredibly intimidating, especially if you’re not sure what kind of riding you really want to do. Road? Gravel? Mountain bike? Basic commuting around town? It may be helpful to borrow a bike from a similar-sized friend, hit up demo days at local bike shops, or even spend the money to rent a couple of different bikes to test out what type of biking feels fun to you.

That’s what Heath did: When she decided to try riding outside, she asked a friend if she could borrow her gravel bike to test out in the mountains around Santa Monica, California.

A few rides later, and she was hooked—but she was happy she tested the bike before committing. “It’s an expensive sport and the gear is really intense when you first get started!” she says. “I was thankful that I was able to test it out before I fully bought in.”

Find Your Local Community

“That’s one of the most special parts about cycling: the community,” Heath says. “It’s such a community-focused sport. In Los Angeles, there are so many clubs and groups and rides that you can jump into and meet new people if you don’t already know other cyclists, and even if you don’t always want to ride with a group, it’s a great way to get started since you can find out about the best spots to ride and ask tons of questions.”

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While she’s not sticking to any specific training plan or considering turning pro on the bike anytime soon, Heath now rides a few times a week, mixing indoor and outdoor rides, as well as solo and group rides depending on her hectic travel schedule.

Ride Outside

While Heath started riding indoors as a way to rehab a soccer injury, she fell in love with cycling when she got outside. “Getting outdoors that just was the game changer,” she says. “I remember the first time I came home from a three-hour ride in the mountains, and my partner was just like, ‘I haven’t seen you look that happy in a long time.’ That feeling of freedom was just something that I couldn’t get from riding inside.”

Buy a Chamois

New cyclists may feel a little sheepish donning a full spandex kit, but Heath is here to tell you that it is a game-changer. “It’s so funny, I remember looking at other people wearing cycling kits and thinking it was really silly to wear that if you’re not a pro. I just assumed it wasn’t necessary. And then I got a cycling kit and I understood,” Heath laughs. “Wearing the kit obviously is super functional when you’re riding, so you can put stuff in your jersey pockets and the saddle is much more comfortable with the padded shorts—you wouldn’t survive a long ride without it—but it also changed the way I saw myself as a cyclist. It makes you feel fast.”

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Share Your Progress

Your journey matters more than you think. Heath has become a big fan of Strava in recent months—it serves as an online version of a community, allows you to track your own progress on the bike, and lets you see how people similar to you (or the top pros) are training.

“When I started riding, I was so inspired by seeing what other riders were doing,” she says. “I find that if you see it, you want to do it. And I love seeing all different levels of riders sharing what they’re doing, because I think that helps motivate even more people. A lot of people, especially women, will see what the pros are doing and feel like it’s not achievable, because they can’t visualize themselves training like that. But if they can see someone who looks like them posting rides, they see that it’s possible.”

Watch Women’s Cycling to Get Better

While watching a race like the Tour de France Femmes avec Zwift is simply fun and entertaining, you can also watch it for some valuable tips, says Heath. Look closely at how the riders set themselves up to take a corner smoothly, or how close they’re drafting each other. Check out how they’re positioning their bodies to maximize power output on the climbs.

While you may not be as vast as Vollering or Niewiadoma, you can still learn a lot from them. “Not only is it going to inspire you to go out and ride, you’re going to learn a lot about cycling just by being a fan of the sport,” Heath says.

Seriously, Ride With Friends

“When I first started, the women I knew who rode were serious riders,” says Heath. “They kept inviting me out to ride, and I would say, ‘No, I’m not ready yet.’ But I was ready and they absolutely would have made space for me even if I wasn’t as fast. Cycling is super inclusive if you want to be part of a community. And if the worst case is that you’re left behind on a hill, who cares? Even if you start a ride with friends and split up part way through, it’s much more fun and you really do get better when you have those other women around you.”

this is a hilarious copy and paste!

[theredengineapologist]

It was a lovely day on the Island of Sodor. A new cafe had just opened up. It sold variety of different teas with milk and cream. That may not sound very different from other cafes on the island, but what made this establishment special was that some of the teas also had tiny, squishy balls inside. The humans called it boba.

James didn't understand what the tiny, squishy balls were. But he knew that Edward liked tea. And if the place was popular, that means the tea must be good. So when life on the railway was a little less busy, and he and Edward had some time off, James decided to ask Edward out on a date.

2x5 shippers, come get your food! ❤💙I've been wanting to draw these two going out on a date for some time now, and I decided to draw them going to a boba cafe. I had a super fun time designing their outfits (drawing them in trendy clothes was honestly my primary reason for drawing this lol), and I also based their drinks off of ones from a real-life boba cafe I enjoy.

James's drink is a mango smoothie with Tajin and chamoy. There were other red drinks I could have gone with, but James hits me as someone who likes a sweet/spicy flavor combination.

Edward's drink is a sweet Jasmine green tea with cream. Much simpler, but I think that's how Edward likes his tea (and honestly, many other things too).

I imagine after their date at the cafe, James and Edward end up stopping by an antique shop, where James gets to watch Edward light up at all the antique silverware they have in stock. And in turn, James looks at him with heart eyes because he loves his Old Iron very, very much.

Bonus Alt Version Under the Cut (James without sunglasses, so that you can see his makeup!)

[sidhewrites]

My New Year’s resolution this year is to be brave and try new foods. Whenever I’m at the grocery store I am going to try to get a new snack or fruit of some kind and do a lot of self encouragement to tell myself I’m not a bad person if I don’t like it and it ends up being food waste

So far I’ve tried

Berry yogurt (ok!)

Strawberry banana yogurt (bad…)

Banana Nutella crepes (not things I like on their own but together? Really good!!)

A different brand of macaroni than my same food (not as good but its dollar cheaper so it’s worth it)

And honestly looking at how much I’ve tried in the past 3 weeks alone makes me feel really proud of myself!!

I’m trying to hype myself up and try dragon fruit, cantaloupe with tajin and chamoy, and street corn (elote?) from one of the countless carts around town.

[crybabytoy59]

A window in time….

As She opened the door I was greeted by the most natural smile an instant warmth that put me at ease, She was very tall dressed  in a black mini skirt a corset & black boots, looking a ray of beautiful Dominance I knew this would be a very special day...

My trouble was I simply had no idea how special this day was to become ...

In her lovely home she spoke to me softly and with true genuine warmth as I was quite nervous ! Even though this was my second visit we had chatted online over both my stories and my inner submissive feelings to be used as a babyslave…

She put me at great ease, as I relaxed enveloped in her now encircling web !

Following her up the stair to her quiet room.

I sat down at the dresser & could see it was prepared for my arrival…Auntie then spoke to me..

“Now little one strip for Auntie Lottie Sweetpee.”

I did putting my clothes on a hanger…

As I turned she had taken a pink disposable from my bag she instructed me to bring with the items inside to be at the ready for her.

As I put the pink disposable on she went to the playroom returning with a smile she had my pink rubber pants in her hand ! These I found on a fetish site they were thick rubber in white with a Baby Dummy on the front and cute rainbow at the side, they were high waisted and wide thigh cuffs..

“Hold Auntie Lotties shoulders and step in Babyslave….Clever girlie…my my how cuite ! Sit down and handies behind you !”

She put mittens on me that linked together holding my hands behind me now ! As I started to feel both submissive but also vulnerable…

“Now Madam let’s you and I have a wee chat..Last time was a nice wee play but that’s not who really lives within you is it Babyslave? (I shook my head) Clever girlie tell Auntie Lottie who lives inside you? “

(she took my nipples teasing them ) 

Tell Auntie Lottie sweetpee”

I fell into her spell…

“Am a babyslave Auntie Lottie who wants to be used and controlled”

She teased a little harder …

“Yes you are but what kind of baby are you sweetpee?”

I knew what she wanted of me … 

“A Crybaby Auntie Lottie”

…She pinched my nipples to a gasp !

“Clever girlie indeed you are so with that in mind let’s ask the big question you know your Auntie is going to ask…Look up at Auntie Lottie …Clever girlie Auntie loves Obedience…So will Auntie give you a safeword Crybaby?”

I took a deep breath tearing up “No Auntie Lottie”

“Clever girlie but loudly for Auntie ! ..”

I barked it out as she smiled at my submission..

“Clever Baby girlie you know Auntie has such a big day ahead for you Crybabies going to come out to Play sweetpee !…look forward and keep still !”

She set about doing my makeup like a China doll ! Then put a pink wig on me followed by a pink maids uniform !

“Yes Crybaby you’re going to serve us like the Clever Baby girlie Auntie Lottie knows you want to be… (She whispered into my ear !)

If not ? Well that’s a different matter Babyslave as you will find things will get Very unpleasant for you am afraid”

I was physically shaking now as she put the maids dress on me followed by tights and Mary janes …

“Right Crybaby Play time sweetpee ! (I went to walk forward but she stopped me ) 

Auntie almost forgot sweetpee ! Sit back down !”

She put a puppy pad on the counter? Then pulled a cloth off a small pink bucket that had been on the counter ..

“Open Wide headie forward over the pad Crybaby !”

As I did she picked up a soft kid leather chamois, putting it into the bucket ?..

Then started feeding it into my cheeks each side ! It was wet & hot ?…As she worked it in she was hollowing the Center…

Next picking up a small jar she poured something into my mouth then packed the remaining chamois into the void ! 

“Bite down on my gifts sweetpee !..Clever Baby girlie!..That’s just a wee taste of what’s  ahead today Auntie Lottie’s cute Potty Toy !”

I swallowed the salty fluid now running to the back of my throat ! Whimpering aloud..

Auntie Lottie put a face harness on me with a leather mouth panel inside was a rubber oval that sealed over my lips ! The outer panel had a Crome valve that was one way !..

“Much better that keep you nice and Quiet for us Babyslave ...

No am afraid silly tears won’t stop this now Madam nothing will Stand up  !..

Follow me it’s Punishment Time for you ! ..

Tell Auntie are you scared ?..(I nodded) Clever girlie You have good reason to be scared Crybaby!!!”...Thwack ! Move !”

I was marched to the playroom…

[lowcallyfruity]

🍴🥺👉👈

SHOOPY!!! OKAY-

TO ME. YOU REMIND ME OF ELOTE PREPARADO.

AOUFH THIS IS SO GOOD…. Idk to me you remind of ‘spicy’ food… fiery but at the same time really nice… like yayy ^_^ also very sweet and savory… like idk

Idk this is one of my favorite foods… I love eating it… it’s so fucking good it fills me up and oaushdjssj

👍👍👍 you’re so cool Shoopy

BONUS!!!!

YUU SHI!!! Yuu shi reminds me of a mangonada!!! (Specifically the one with mango slices , bc there’s a version that has like mango slushee)

She reminds me of it because she’s so gaslight gatekeep girlboss… morally gray… and I support women’s rights and wrongs. Mangonadas, depending on how you make them can be very spicy.,, but because of the mango slices they’re also very sweet.. but also have that.. tangy? Mango taste… like yknow when mangos aren’t fully sweet….

JOCIA!!!!

Jocia reminds me of these little candy cups… baisically we take and fill it with Mexican candy…. The candies vary from spicy, sweet and sour… then we cover it chamoy… these cups can also be filled with other things along with candy… like peanuts or chips..fruits… but it commonly has candy and mango…

I think these are so her because, she’s very sweet, but she also has that ‘delinquent’ side to her…. Aoufhhhh <3 and that’s the spice- the little kick <3

AOUGH SHE REMINDS ME OF FRUIT CUPS TOO!!! WHICH IS LIKE THE CANDY CUPS BUT ITS JUST DIFFERENT TYPES OF FRUIT WITH TAJIN AND CHAMOY <33 ALSO ALSOOO. WE HAVE THIS CANDY AND ITS AN APPLE COVERED IN CHAMOY/tamarindo🤤🤤🤤

[anabdaniels]

Flufftober 2023 with Agent Whiskey - Day 10- Shinning shoes

Paring: Agent Whiskey x Female Reader

Word counting: 400

Rating: General audiences

As it happened most of the time, you got a bit carried away while organizing the bedroom. You said to yourself it’ll be just a quick look at what shoes needed a more attentive cleaning, but, when you realized, you were sitting on the floor, surrounded by a mountain of yours and Jack’s shoes and boots. The clean ones quickly were put back in their place, same thing with the ones that just needed a quick dust removal, then you started to take a more careful look at the others, and separating a few pairs: that pre-historical boots Jack insisted that still usable to work around the ranch, even that its soles were almost gone; a pair of your Louboutin scarpins that had a scratch in one of the heels and you had to take to the cobbler to fix; two forgot pairs of social shoes that were probably from when Jack was on his 20s and would certainly disintegrate if ever used again. After making sure that there was nothing more to be taken away from the closet, you couldn’t help but start to polish the shoes that needed such care.

Your attention moved from the heel shoe on your hand when you noticed Jack getting in with a pile of clean clothes and putting them on the bed, then he approached you, sitting next to you on the floor and raising one eyebrow when saw his old pair of boots put aside.

“I hope you ain’t planning to get rid of my boots.” He tried to sound serious, but his soft expression betrayed him.

“I’m actually considering sending them to a museum, it’s not every day you see a pair of boots from the Triassic period.” You raised your eyebrows while applying more shoe polishing on the shoe you were holding. He chuckled while grabbing the chamois cloth next to you and one of the shoes that already were with shoe polishing on them, starting to buff it.

“You have a few heels older than my boots and I ain’t judging you.” He mocked with his attention on what he was doing.

“Yes, I do, but the difference is that my shoes aren’t on the decomposing process.” You answered calmly.

“Alright, ma’am, you may have a good point here.” He shook his head with a slight smile and grabbed another shoe to buff.

Flufftober masterlist

[lupismaris]

The Opening Act of Spring- a Black Sails Fic. Chapter 3

The Ranger’s have a castle above the clouds, the delta bayou’s favorite undead son hasn’t changed much despite appearances, and we meet the patriarch of The Walrus- one of the beloved queer bars in west Brooklyn- Hal Gates. 

The condo The Rangers shared on West End ave was high up in a shiny new building, overlooking the Hudson river and the west skyline of Manhattan. Silver wasn’t surprised that his sister had opted for a sleek home with floor to ceiling windows and polished wood floors, she had always day dreamed about a place above the clouds, untouchable like the men and women they conned for eating money. And now, as he and Anne stepped out of the private elevator, it seemed as if her dreams of that life, to a point, had come true. Of course the life time of suffering and blood that had gone into it could hardly been denied, but as with all things Max did, no one would know it. Grace and Elegance masked all, by careful design.

Silver whistled at the well lit space, kicking off his shoes at the door. Sunlight was starting to spill into the open concept living and dining room. The lime washed walls were decorated with elegant pieces of art, contemporary and colorful to contrast the neutral tones of the condo itself, the furniture mid-century modern with its rich honey toned wood and brass metal accents. House plants and vases of flowers, well loved and flourishing, were tucked into every sensible corner and open surface, bringing life into an otherwise sterile home, one that Silver would have expected to see in a high end magazine review.

“She’ll be in the studio, through there,” Anne said, nodding to a room past the kitchen. She handed over the bouquet of Irises. “Give these to her. I’m gonna make sure Chaz is up for work.”

“Sure, thanks, by the way-”

She waved it off and disappeared down the dim hallway.

“Right. Good talk.”

The studio had, as expected, the best lighting in the whole condo. It was a corner unit and the studio sat right at the corner, able to scrape together whatever sunlight available at whatever time of day. Silver had to guess that Max’s bedroom was graced with either the next best natural light, or the best light fixture money could buy to mimic it. The room was filled with various dress forms and metal figures, each draped in different fabrics that would, in time, become cocktail dresses and gowns. Two work benches were littered with supplies, pages of sketches and two sewing machines, boxes of sexing tools, pens and pencils and drafting tools, shelves covered in bolts of lush fabrics in jewel tones and soft neutrals. All that was what Silver expected to find, the heart and soul of his sister’s enterprise laid bare.

But over by the windows, where Max was seated, stood an easel and canvas, with several half finished canvases of varying sizes leaning against the glass awaiting their turn. A small table attended to Max’s right, carrying a tray of oil pastels and a cloth for her hands, a pair of chamois for blending, and her morning cappuccino long forgotten, its foam clinging to the sides of the porcelain bowl.

His sister had always wanted to take up the finer arts, or so she had told him, but their lives had never allowed them the time. Too much running, too many lies, too many masks, and whats more, gutter rats like them had more important things to worry about than the delicate curve of a shadow on the page or how to blend charcoal, didn’t they?

Silver stood there silently for a few moments, watching as Max blended the soft peach of sunlight into the clouds she was attempting to capture, the view from her window shifting ever so slightly so that her canvas was a perfect dream of the Morning sky. Her dark curls, coiled more tightly than his own, were tied up high on her head with a silk scarf, the rich green and gold of it reminding Silver of laurels, a perfect contrast to her darker skin.

Of them all, Max’s laurels were most deserved.

“No one likes a ghost in the doorway, mon cher,” she said over her shoulder, taking up a robin’s egg blue pastel.

“I’d disagree but I’d hate to ruin so lovely a morning-”

Her laughter was as sharp as a jaybird’s call, joyful and just a little mocking. “Oh you’re exhausting. Come on then, you’re already half an hour late as it is you cad.” 

Silver felt himself smile, his first honest smile since landing at JFK, and let himself enter the room properly. Max set down her pastels and wiped her hands, twisting on the stool to face him. Her lounge set, knit leggings and loose tank top of bone white, looked soft and well loved. She wore no make up, the only colour on her cheeks the stray smear of blue pastel along her cheek bone from a misplaced finger, and the only jewelry Silver could see was the delicate gold bracelet he had given her years before after their first big score.

And a simple gold diamond ring on her left ring finger.

“Well now when did that happen?” Silver asked with some astonishment. He’d expected a phone call if not a photo if Anne had finally popped the question after years and years of domestic bliss.

“It hasn’t, it’s a place holder,” Max said, though the soft blush in her cheeks meant it still meant the world. “She grew tired of people presuming things, had me pick out something classic until we could custom order something better. You know I wouldn’t choose a diamond for the final product.”

“No you had always been partial to pearls or emeralds, I remember that.” Silver kissed her temple and passed over the irises. “These are from her by the way.”

“Thought as much, you never bring me flowers.”

“No I bring you shiny things worth stupid amounts of money and leave the romantic gestures to your beau.”

Max rolled her eyes and got up to find a vase for the flowers, leaving Silver to poke around the studio like a curious stray cat. “I imagine those gifts are still at your hotel, since you look like shit and Anne said she found you drunk in a bathtub this morning?”

“Mmm it wasn’t my best wake up call I’ll give her that.”

“You don’t drink, mon Cher, I take it Jack’s plan didn’t go as well as he hoped?”

It was a question, but Silver felt the rhetorical tone even with his back turned.

“Did you suggest it to him or did he think it up all on his own like a big kid?”

“Now now don’t be too cross, it could have been worse.”

“How exactly? With Flint gutting me in public? Strangling me in an elevator? Tossing me off a balcony? Or do you have a more romantic kind of murder in mind?” Silver asked dryly, dropping onto the vintage loveseat by the windows.

Max set the vase of Irises on the closest work station and turned to face him with a sigh. “Are you finished feeling sorry for yourself? Or would you like to wallow in self pity for a few more minutes?”

“Few more couldn’t hurt.”

“You’ve had more than enough time I think and I don’t want to hear it.”

Silver pushed his sunglasses up onto his hair and blinked and the sun filled room. “As you wish. I’m just saying it was a dick move. And I’m a little surprised at you, shacking up with Flint after all this. When you were the one who knew before we all did that it was worth it in the end.”

Max crossed her arms and leaned back against the workstation, taking in Silver’s haggard face, bloodshot and shadowed eyes. “More than just a drink then hm?”

“Oh I’m sorry if it was Ellie would you have done better?”

It was cruel and he knew it. His sister’s eyes hardened for a moment as she considered him.

“Yes. Because I did the work you haven’t.”

Silver sighed and turned his gaze to the window.

“I don’t owe you an explanation,” she said after a moment, “You abandoned us. You had the opportunity to stay and have a real chance at something better and you walked away, so what I choose to do in my business ventures is none of your concern, Silver. You gave up that right.”

“Then why ask me here?”

“You abandoning us does not mean we have chosen to abandon you.”

It took effort not to look up as she crossed the room, coming to sit on the love seat next to him.

“Even if you’d rather we did,” She added.

“That- that’s not-” He sighed, turning to her and shaking his head. “I don’t wish that, you know I don’t.”

Max smiled at him and reached up to tuck a few stray curls behind his ear. She said nothing, just let his empty lie hang lifeless in the space between them for a moment, before asking about his flight in from Istanbul.

He had never been able to lie to her, and she had never been able to lie to him, not in any way that had mattered. Little white lies and surprise parties were possible, sure, but when it mattered? Eventually it would unravel, the fibers fraying and thinning as they tried to spin them, faster and faster until they were left empty handed and shamefaced. The only lie that stood was, in a sense, a shared truth- that neither of them had existed before their meeting, that their lives had begun the moment they had met in the back room of a dusty and dirty whore house in some city they pretended to forget the name of. Before that there had been nothing. That was the only lie they would permit.

And maybe it was better that way. Maybe it was better that Max knew Silver was lying when he said he didn’t want to be forgotten, abandoned to his self made misery while she and her lovers built new beautiful lives for themselves in castles on clouds. Because otherwise he’d have to admit it out loud, admit that he wanted to play the martyr and be left to the consequences of his mistakes.

That he didn’t think he deserved a second chance.

Some people didn’t deserve to be saved, right? Didn’t deserve to prove themselves bettered? Maybe, just maybe, he was one of them and the best thing he could do was let that be the case. Especially if it meant he didn’t have to acknowledge that he had in fact made the mistakes in the first place.

But he’d never win that argument with Max, not if she had it in her head that, for whatever reason, he was meant to be a part of their bizarre new lives.

Did he resent her, and the others, a little, for said beautiful new life? Despite it being everything they had bled for all those years? Yes.

Did it make sense? No not even remotely.

He found himself chewing over the thought all afternoon as they had an early lunch, the other Rangers joining them in the dining room. Rackham tried to be a gentleman and offer Silver his one punch to the stomach over drinks-gone-ary, but Silver refused him with a tired laugh.

“Let’s keep a running tally for now,” he said, letting Rackham pull him into a hug. “I’m sure you’ll earn another soon enough. Besides, I think both of us have had our nerves shaken enough over the last twenty four hours-”

Rackham laughed and kissed his cheek as he let him go. “Haven’t we just. There is nothing quite as terrifying as that man stalking you across a room. I thought I’d forgotten that fear but no, no, it has been thoroughly reintroduced to my nightmares after yesterday.”

It had never left Silver’s dreams, the way it felt to have Flint watch him from across the room, move with him, appear suddenly at his side like a phantom.

“You try bein’ in a fuckin kitchen wit’m,” Vane said over his shoulder, his rumbling voice raised slightly to be heard over the rhythmic thud of the knife against the cutting board. “One moment you’re alone gettin’ mise set no body but christ to talk to n’the next he’s there raining hellfire down. If he didn’t announce himself he’d get gutted for scaring a man.”

Rackham sat at the breakfast bar so he could watch Vane cook, “That’s a trait you share darling.”

“Doesn’t mean I gotta like it on him now do I?” Vane asked, feeding Rackham a slice of radish with salted butter.

Silver fought the urge to roll his eyes. They’d become bizarrely domestic and exhausting in their retirement, Rackham smitten in his expensive lounge wear and Vane wearing an apron with his name embroidered on it, putting the finishing touches on a cheese board and salad while the spanakopita finished baking.

It would have been gross, in the way it was for you to see your best friend mack on their new beaus. That is, if Silver wasn’t ultimately struggling with the concept of Vane as a kept house husband who fixed lunch for his roommates and only had a job to keep him out of trouble and wore, of all things, embroidered aprons.

Silver could distinctly remember the day he learned that Vane had removed another man’s head for pissing him off, after all. He had seen the aftermath alongside Max, her ex and the rest of the Guthrie smugglers. It wasn’t something you easily forgot.

Rackham had done the truly impossible. He’d take the wild thing and domesticated it, just enough to fool to world into thinking it had always been so. Silver made a note to never question his capacity for sex, romance, or sheer power of will ever again.

If nothing else, the embroidered apron was going to take a lot of getting used to.

He said as much later that afternoon, relishing the loud burst of laughter that rang out in reply.

“If Jackie hadn’a spent two days makin’ the damn thing-” Vane shook his head, his long hair tossing as he did. “Shoo ain’t catchin me wearin’ another that’s for damn sure. Jackie made it, understand?”

Another park, this time across the bridge, with a stunning view of the river, the sparkling glass and metal skyline of Gotham across the way. Silver had followed Vane to Brooklyn once lunch had finished, Max and Rackham off to a busy afternoon of fittings and model interviews for the summer look book, Anne joining them as she often did. So Vane had found Silver a spare helmet and pulled his vintage Harley out of the private garage, slipping the valet a few bills on their way out of the back entrance in a way that felt very routine, and they made their way to Brooklyn, slicing through traffic.

Silver watched the various pedestrians pass them by, the two of them seated comfortably on an ornate promenade bench, Vane’s bike parked a few feet away on the curb. “Still, considering you used to pitch such a fit about things like that? I distinctly remember you giving Flint so much shit whenever he told you to wear a shirt. Or say please.”

Vane snorted, all sharp teeth as he smiled in amusement. “Mmm but it is fun fuckin with that old queen innit? He cared far too much about respectability when it didn’t right matter n’he knew it, but it made him feel better to scold about it anyhow. Sense of control when it was all falling apart.” He shrugged. “Just cause Jackie get’s me playing nice doesn’t mean I believe it. Just means I believe it enough for his sake, you know? Makes him happy, makes him smile, so I believe in it enough to bring bout that result and keep one foot toeing the line should Jackie forget they don’t play fair. Means, end.”

There was that all encompassing “They” again, alongside a shadow that Silver thought he recognized, of the man who’d burned off his own finger prints at 13, who never quite understood Flint’s need for decorum, but seemed perfectly at home with Silver’s deeply rooted fear of commitment.

“And the means of working for Flint?” he asked when Vane didn’t continue.

“Mmm.”

There was a pause then, as Vane watched the clouds slowly roll in over head. A small, ghost of a smile played on his lips, as if he’d remembered some little joke that Silver wasn’t party to.

“Why I get the feeling you been asking this question all day?” he asked in turn, rolling his head over to look at Silver. “It’s eatin’ you up real bad innit, us tolerating each other again?”

Silver looked away with a sigh. “It doesn’t make sense.”

“Shoo, does anything about any of this? Johnny we stole the world out from under those fuckers and what’d I get in turn?”

On the expressway below the promenade, a truck’s exhaust backfired. Smoke, the smell of burning oil filled the air for a moment as the clouds continued to shift over head, memories taking shape in the altered light as Vane continued.

He hadn’t been there, the day Charles Vane had died. It hadn’t been long after he’d lost his leg and despite a clean amputation and proper antibiotics, his lack of rest had lead to an infection. Silver had been laid up in a safe house for three weeks, during which Vane had been captured on a raid.

“A noose,” Vane continued, “A coffin. If it had gone any different, if a fucker had been a smidge less upset that  afternoon-” he laughed again, a darker, older sound and dropped his head back to look up at the clouds. Silver could see clearly the scar the rope had left, resting where his adams apple should have been, faded slightly with the years but haunting them all the same.

In the small courtyard of Rogers’ largest factory town to fall, Charles Vane had been strung up like the animal the world had thought him to be. Silver had learned later that some small speech had been made, the warden being kind enough, or stupid enough, to give Vane parting words. Whatever was said had been the last bit of fuel for the fire. In the riot that followed, his body went missing.

Silver had never been brave enough to ask him how, whether it had been sheer dumb luck or all part of a grander plan. Something told him that Vane would just level him with that tired, oddly wise look, and just smile, before changing the subject entirely.

“You and Flint tried to kill each other. More than once,” Silver reminded him, trying to change the subject. “Couldn’t agree on anything-”

“Who says that’s changed?” Vane shrugged, getting to his feet and stretching his arms high above his head, cut sleeves of his work tshirt riding up to show the faint edge of old scars long the underside of his pecs. “Said it before, Say it again- ain’t no body making that queen into a trophy but me.”

“Yeah but-”

“’Sides, something healthy bout that if you askin me. We different men, sure, he may be soft, but only I know just how so. Certain kinda intimacy you only get with a man you decide to be the end of, one way or another. Wouldn’ you agree?” Vane’s smile was teasing as he pulled out a cigar from his bag and fished around for his lighter. Silver pulled out his and waved for him to lean in.

Vane did so and held still, lips pulling at the cigar while Sliver lit it, smoke curling around his tanned face. “Thats a kind of love ain’t nothin’ gonna replace. Not comfort, not peace, not gold. Not even sex.”

Their eyes met as Vane pulled back, Silver feeling pinned under a gaze not for the first time that day. It was all he could do to stare back at the gray eyes that shifted behind cigar smoke.

“You used to want comfort, now I think bout it,” he continued, “easy comfort even. Mmm. Now you lookin more like me every day, Johnny. It’s a lean look on you. Pity we never wanted to be the end of each other. Otherwise, I think we’ a been interestin, you and me. Guess I gotta leave that to the old queen.”

Vane patted Silver’s cheek when he didn’t reply and moved around the bench towards his bike. It was time to head to the bar and for Silver to disappear back to Manhattan. That was the safest thing to do.

“Vane.”

“Mm.”

“You’d tell me if he wasn’t retired.”

Vane straddled the bike and puffed at the cigar for a moment. Silver didn’t look back at him.

“If he was out of retirement, I’d be out of retirement. Game’s not fun without that fucker in it.”

That might have been the truest statement he’d heard in the last 24 hours. Silver sighed and nodded, letting his head hang and his body sag into the bench a bit. He listened as Vane kickstarted the old bike, the engine revving to life.

“Make sure ya get home before the sky opens. Don’ want them findin’ ya in the gutter-” came Vane’s shouted goodbye before the roar of the bike echoed away down the street and Silver was again left with the settled ambient sounds of the promenade and the dark clouds building overhead.

*

The patriarch of the Walrus sat in the alley when Vane’s bike pulled up, where he could almost always be found before the happy hour rush began, his heavy form settled comfortably into the old bar chair they kept propped up against the wall. Hal Gates looked up with an unimpressed look, tired eyes peering over the reading glasses that sat on the tip of his nose to read the now forgotten copy of the week’s Brooklyn Daily Eagle that sat on his knee.  

“Bout fuckin’ time you got here,” he said flatly as he watched Vane park his bike with a laugh.

“Shoo I got five minutes n change, can’t fault me for that-” Vane paused to pull out his lighter, which had been in his front picket the whole time, and relight the cigar.

“You know damn well that’s not what I’m talking about you shit. You want to tell me whats got him in a fit this time?”

“Why should I know, boss?” Vane flashed him a sharp smile and climbed off the bike, grabbing his bag from the saddle box.

Gates sighed and pushed himself to his feet, tucking the newspaper under his arm. Vane had a couple inches on him sure, the cocksure attitude that drove some people to the edge, but Gates didn’t need to posture when he closed the space between them. Two steps across the alley and he hummed in tired amusement as Vane watched him expectantly.  

“Because,” Gates said simply, reaching up to take the cigar out of Vane’s mouth, “He’s looking for you.”

With a sharp smile of his own, Gates helped himself to the cigar and returned to his chair. Before Vane could make his no doubt clever remark, or at least follow up on the cigar stealing, the back door to the kitchen flew open.

“Ah, there he is, on cue-” Gates murmured, puffing at the cigar and going back to his paper.

“Now wait a goddamn-” Vane tried to say, as Flint came out of the open door like a wolf from a cage, grabbing him by the front of his shirt. The momentum of his movement had them stumbling backwards, Vane pushing back against him, the two of them half wrestling on their feet.

“Where the fuck is he?” Flint snarled. “Where- So help me Vane I will break your fucking jaw where is he-”

“Fuck is that gonna do- break my jaw ya cunt how is that gonna-”

“I know you’re a part of this Rackham can’t keep shit to himself-”

“Hey what’d I say about ya goin’ for Jackie-”

“Jackie can go to hell unless you tell me where the fuck he is!”

Flint managed to get his ankle around Vane’s, getting him off balance enough to shove him back against the alley wall. He kept one hand in Vane’s shirt while the other closed around Vane’s throat, threatening but not so tight that he couldn’t get the words out.

“Tell me,” he repeated.

“Get fucked.”

“I will make you talk so fucking help me Vane-”

Vane smiled, all top teeth, and pressed into the hand at his throat. “How ya gonna do that hm?”

Flint didn’t move forward, the way Vane’s goading invited him to. He could feel the slightest pressure of Vane’s hand against his stomach, it acted as a warning. Sure enough when he glanced down, Vane’s trusty old butterfly knife was resting against his shirt, the same empty threat as Flint’s hand around his throat. Vane held his gaze with a lazy, hungry smile that called Flint’s bluff with the satisfied smugness of a card shark. Flint hated him in moments like that, hated him deeply. It would have been so easy to tighten his hand and squeeze, but only if it were anyone else. Vane knew just how to make good use of that butterfly knife.

“If you two are quite finished stroking each other off,” Gates said after a moment, “I have a bar to run and happy hour starts in twenty minutes.”

It took a moment, but with a snarl and a huff, Flint shoved Vane against the wall and stormed back inside without another word, leaving Gates puffing at his cigar and watching Vane toy with his butterfly knife.

“So you want me on bar or-” Vane asked.

“Oh no, he will be on bar. He needs to be on a tight leash tonight and I will be holding it, thank you. You keep your head down and behave yourself on the line please or I’m calling Jackie.” Gates folded his paper and stood again, pushing his reading glasses onto his head and gently stubbing out the cigar to save the rest for later. “Do I even want to know what this is all about?”

“Silver’s back in town.”

Gates blinked, then sighed with a decade’s worth of resignation. “My personal twink from hell. Fantastic.”

He stopped Vane just inside the kitchen. “Don’t tell the boys. Not yet, not with Flint so keyed up about it and all. We don’t need it to be a bigger mess that it clearly already is.”

“Shoo, alrigh’ boss.”

“Go on with you then. I’ve got a hell-hound to keep in line tonight.”

Vane’s laughter followed him through the kitchen. Said hell-hound was braced against the darkest corner of the bar, staring into a glass of dark rum.

“Are we talking about this?” Gates asked.

Flint glared at him from the corner of his eye and knocked back the rum. He poured himself another drink and put the bottle away.

“Alright then. You’re on bar with me and Muldoon-” Gates held up a hand as Flint made to argue. “No. I don’t care. This is how it is, am I clear?”

The alternative was, as it was for every member of staff (Gates included) going home for the evening. If Flint went home he’d spend the night driving himself insane or worse, wandering the city, tapping into contacts and allies, trying to eliminate all place where Silver couldn’t be. If he was at their bar he could at least stay tethered to something that felt like reality, at least for now.

“We can talk it over after close tonight,” Gates added softly, resting a hand on Flint’s back, “Figure out a plan if you like. But you know you can’t be in the kitchen with your head in the past.”

After a pause and a slow deep breath, a bit of tension eased out of Flint’s shoulders.

“Fine.”

Gates rubbed his back for a moment. He grabbed the rum bottle again and topped off Flint’s drink, before pouring himself a matching glass. The bar was mostly empty, one high top occupied by someone with a beer and a book, a booth hosting a late lunch date, one regular nursing his aviation at the end of the bar. They could take a moment just the two of them.

“We’ll figure it out, Jamie,” Gates told him, knocking the glasses together. Flint nodded weakly and said nothing, taking up his glass, tapping it gently against the bar top, and downing it with ease.

Across the street, watching the foot traffic and cars pass the brick street front of the Walrus with its custom neon sign and myriad pride flags catching the growing winds, sat a busker. He was a familiar sight on the block, playing his bass guitar under the scaffolded walkway to whatever audience would stop to listen. As the sky opened up and people hid under the scaffolding, his audience grew for a time.

Amongst them, a young man with a camera who was as interested in the bar across the way as he was in the busker’s performance. Silver had to admit he was grateful for the cover, between it and the storm, not a soul from The Walrus, patron or crew, noticed him.

Yes it was risky, even with one of his casual get ups on (you’d be surprised how often people ignored trucker caps and hoodies), and no it wasn’t like he thought Vane or the others were lying.

He just needed to see it for himself, needed to see Flint’s retirement happily ever after with his own eyes for it to seem real. Or so he had thought.

Seeing it in that moment, seeing Flint slip out front for a moment and stand under the awning to have a smoke, his attention fixed wholly on the storm clouds overhead-

It didn’t help. It just sent him running back to Manhattan with his metaphorical tail between his legs.