#hors-contexte

[xxplastic-cubexx]

From the same Storm mini-series 🥹

THE FAM 🥺

[riff-is-on-a-fucking-crisis]

Thanks to a classmate, an Overblox Personality Swap AU was born. (Except the only things that stay the same are their habits and their reputation in the city)

[butts-bouncing-on-the-beltway]

Hi. American. Not gonna do the country's reputation wrt bread any good here so if you were hoping for that, my b yall.

Anyway.

I grew up poor. I grew up "beg flats of unsold/expiring food from the local coop staff after restock day" poor. Food was. Complicated. All the time.

But, and this is very true. The local market would always give us honey, fruit preserves, and those 4 for $1 loaves of white bread, all for free once or twice a month just to help make sure we didn't starve. And what I would do, because I was a child with a dozen food allergies and an undiagnosed restriction eating disorder called "food instable literally since birth", is spread a slice of bread with some honey or fruit preserves, smash it into a breadball, and let it crystalize from the sugars so that I could only tolerate teeny tiny bites without throwing up from how sugary it was, and then would nibble on that throughout the day so that my 1 sandwich could "last"

I. I did not have to put on much honey [aka I was not allowed to, I got 2tbs and my mom CHECKED)

Cannot emphasize enough that when I traveled to europe for with a local poli-sci academic program, I tried this trick several times because they were feeding us basically all "vegetarian" meals [aka meat free, not necessarily vegetarian] and I spent the whole month hypoglycemic because I couldn't get enough protein. I was hoping my disgusting little sandwich balls would help me stay awake and cognitively functional throughout the day.

I simply could not apply enough honey and preserves to make the bread over there do what that 4/$1 loaves always did (and still do although celiac means i don't have to care anymore!!). Like. The amount of sugar in affordable bread (aka the bread that most working class families are buying) in the USA is. It's UNFATHOMABLE.

I need people to realize. The bread there isn't like that. The CHEAP bread in europe would cost $12/loaf here, I know, I've checked based on matching product ingredients across international brands. And like. That hasn't really changed. A LOT of the food in the USA is "nutritionally hollow" in that you can successfully get enough FUEL to survive, but not enough of all the NUTRITION that you need. You would think woth how obsessed with dieting eveyone here is, that would mean something, but instead the constant USA focus on calories in/calories out worsens this, because it teaches people to fear the amount of food they would need to truly nourish themselves, which leaves them feeling increasingly fatigued and "poorly" and which prevents them from being able to maintain their body because they literally are not well enough to like. Maintain muscle mass, range of motion, balance, etc. And then because their bodies are in constant and chronic starvation, their weight is constantly yoyoing responsive to the body being more or less nourished, with weight gain often being the first (although not always final) outcome of adequate nutritional need-meeting for the first time in literal years. So people diet even more!!! Like that isn't what did all this in the first place!!!

I'm sure the biology of all that is way less simple than I made it sound, but like. I have spent so long trying to recover from this, and I *know* I am not the only kid in the states who grew up like that, who still carries that relationship with food.

Lord knows, that in being diagnosed with celiac's, my grocery budget is 3-5× larger these days. And I actually almost never buy gluten-ingredient substitutes. But to try and feed two adults when you CAN buy wheat cost something like $50-$75/wk plus $100/month on meat when I was first living on my own, nothing too fancy, but always ENOUGH. I'm not totally sure my math is right here, but I think with inflation** that same grocery shop [$300-$400/month to feed two adults in the 19-50age bracket] would probably cost about $562

**all inflation numbers used for this math were pulled from here:

But without wheat products, it absolutely does not cost $550-$600/month to feed two adults. There ahas not been a single month in YEARS that I have been able to spend less than $200/week on groceries, and often it looks more like $300-$450, especially if I need any bulk pantry goods like sugar or rice or whatever.

The fact of the matter is, most USA families have historically and still do rely heavily on enriched wheat products to be adequately nourished, and despite this, the vast majority of affordable enriched wheat products do not, in fact, meet nutritional standards for just about anyone. We are a country that is starving to death no matter how much food we actually manage to get into us, and I sometimes think ablut how fundamentally fucked that is given the outcomes (medical, psychological, etc) of pervasive and chronic malnourishment.

Anyway, if you think that because the fancy grocery stores will sell you a $9 loaf of artisan bread made with quality ingredients with exactly 7 slices [1cm-2cm thick] in the whole goddamn bag, that is the same thing as what europeans mean when they say they want to be able to buy bread....uh. well. I hate to say it but this is one of those moments where you were not immune to the propoganda, and that's okay, but I highly recommend learning more about the political landscape of big agro lobbyists and how much of the fuckery killing people ties back to big ag crop subsidies allowing corporations to profit off the starvation of the populus.

Remember that kid too poor for food [me] I described up top? Guess where it lived? In the central california valley where 30% of the food in the country is grown. The coop market we begged groceries from was one of only a handful of independent ag retailers in the valley, because all the family farms got bought up by various national monocrop interests, usually cereals and citrus and stone fruit, but a fair amount of beef/dairy, and chicken/eggs too. You could drive down the highway for literal miles and still be travelling along one giant conglomerate farm.

And yet we were far from the only family who couldn't afford the food grown just down the street from us. Hell, I went to school with and played with a number of kids who spent summers and school breaks and afternoons working the fields with their families, yet those families still couldn't buy the food they tended, grew, and picked with their own hands. It has always been incredible to me that I spent my childhood starving down the street from a dairy farm that owned 3500acres, a citrus grove that supplied Tropicana's entire manufacturing network, and a vineyard that produced 5000bottle yearly batches, all because no one sold at prices that wages could actually buy.

I wanna know who the balls started the rumor that there's no good bread in America. Like I've seen a surprising number of Europeans leave comments on TikTok where they claim that there's nowhere to buy fresh baked bread in the US or that the bread that's available here has so much sugar that it would be considered cake everywhere else in the world. Like I get that people think the food in America is dogshit for a variety of well know reasons (also not true but that's a separate convo) but how did the bread thing in particular start like it's way too specific

[jade-curtiss]

C'est toujours weird quand ça arrive, mais les clients qui font des plaintes pis que la plainte c'est genre "j'ai des préjugés pis d'la mauvaise foi" (dans le contexte ci c'est comme...le dude était profondément agressif et misogyne d'emblée, j'commence à parler, finalement le problème escalade à autre choses, ça débordait tellement j'ai du raccrocher. Y recall pour faire la même shit...so j'le met en attente sinon y va faire ça à répétition, finalement quelqu'un a géré mais aucune idée comment, mais le gars a porté plainte parce-qu'apparament j'lui ai dit que j't'ais pas une "madame" et non le 10 minutes ou c'qui m'envoyais chier personellement parce-qui pensait qui parlait directement à la personne à qui son pétage de coche était dirigé...dude j'te connais pas andjsjsnfjf 😭)

[jules-and-company]

je peux vraiment pas vous donner le contexte pour cette image. mais. seeing his fine thighs was not in my 2023 bingo but boy am i glad it is

[too-much-tma-stuff]

This idea sort of burst out of me like Alien so it's unedited. There will probably be more.

In short, Cas picks up on the fact that Danny is pregnant at a Wayne Gala and have the right idea but the wrong context.

Masterpost

------

Danny was barely holding it together and really he had been for a long time. It had sort of been fun and games at first when he became a hero. Sure his accident had hurt like hell but he'd sort of repressed that and for real? Lunch Lady? Box Ghost? Even Skulker was sort of a joke and he hasn't actually felt threatened. Sneaking around behind his parents backs and sneaking out with his friends had been fun. It had all felt like a game at first, and then somewhere in there things had gotten very real.

He'd known he couldn't count on his family to protect him but they couldn't even see Vlad was a threat. And he felt like he had lost the last of his innocence when he saw the clone Vlad had made of him melt. He hasn't been in time, he had panicked and he had only managed to save a couple by taking them into his own body to shield their still forming cores. Ellie and... should Danny name the other one or would he name himself when he was ready?

He kept touching his stomach over where he could feel the little balls of his mirror children hovering just below his own core. He was so tired all the time as they relied on his energy, he was eating more then ever and he knew his family was worried. He didn't think he could hide this and he couldn't predict when they would emerge. What if they did in front of his parents? They definitely wouldn't react well. And Vlad kept trying to use this against Danny. Promising to look after him and the babies if he was really insisting on carrying them, as if Danny could rip those tiny 'lives' out of himself now.

And no matter how many times he tried to tell his parents that Vlad was bad news, that he creeped Danny out and made him feel unsafe they wouldn't listen! Dad didn't even hear him and mom made sympathetic noises and then told him to bear with it for Jack's sake because he didn't have many friends.

So of course when Vlad had asked if 'Daniel' could accompany him to a gala in Gotham his father had agreed! Even his mother had agreed when Vlad promised it would be educational and safe! And here Danny was, hanging on by a fucking thread in a suit that felt uncomfortably tight around his middle, having just escaped being paraded around as Vlad heir like a particularly expensive watch. He was behind the snack table having piled a plate as high as he could and scarfing it down before Vlad could find him again and scold him for being rude. He hadn't noticed yet that a family of dark haired socialites kept giving him worried looks. A young woman with dark eyes signing frantically to a man with blue eyes and a dimpled frown.

It was the man who slid up carefully next to Danny trying not to startle since he seemed to have genuine food aggression.

"Yeesh kid you seem like you're starving! All those fancy Hors d'oeuvres are fun but not very cooling and I feel like I'd be a poor host if I didn't offer you something more filling! If you'll come me to the kitchen I'm sure our family butler would be happy to whip something up for you?" The man said with an inviting some that did nothing to sooth the way Danny's hackles raised instinctively.

He was about to say no on reflex when he spotted Vlad heading towards them with an expression like a thunder cloud. Danny's back went ridged and the other man followed his gaze with a frown. "You know what ya that sounds great let's go now!" Danny said dropping his half full plate on a nearby tray and dragged the stranger away with him as Vlad shouted after him.

"Daniel come back this instant! Unhand mister Wayne! Daniel this is unacceptable!"

'Mr. Wayne' took over leading them and spirited Danny through a back door as a bubbly blonde intercepted Vlad and a small woman slid in behind them like a shadow.

"So, Danial I assume?" The man asked, amusement crinkling around his eyes as Danny grimaced.

"Mr. Wayne I assume?" Danny returned, unaware of the way one arm was protectively wrapped around his stomach, but the girl noticed. It was Dicks turn to grimace.

"Okay ya, I go by Dick. What about you?"

"Danny," he said not reacting to the name, he'd heard far stranger. "And what about you?" He asked Cas, startling Dick a little because she was doing her 'shadow thing' and not many people would have noticed her.

"That's Cas, she has a hard time talking sometimes," Dick explained as Cas materialized and gave Danny a reassuring smile and wave.

The teen harrumphed but he did follow them down to the kitchen where Alfred was drinking a cup of tea, staying well clear of the foolishness upstairs. "Ah, hello young masters," Alfred he said, glancing between the three with a raised brow. Though the two who knew him could see the way his expression softened when Danny shrunk in on himself. "What can I do for you?"

"Hey Alfred do we have any leftovers from dinner or something filling we can whip up fast? Danny here is too hungry for just the fancy font for upstairs." Dick asked cheerfully.

Alfred raised his eyebrows again and looked at Cas who was standing behind Danny. Glancing at Danny to make sure he wasn't looking she grimaced then touched her stomach and mimed holding an infant.

Alfred's expression turned stormy for just a moment then smoothed. "Of course we do, Why don't you make our guest comfortable and I'll see what I can do. Do you have any allergies young man?" Alfred asked and Danny shook his head mutely.

"You're the best Alfie!" Dick said, hovering a hand over Danny's shoulder rather then actually touching him as he leas him towards the comfortable breakfast nook.

The boy seemed tight lipped and gaunt, his eyes flicking around them as if he expected a threat to pop up at any time. Dick slipped into the booth across from him. Trying to think of the best way to ask this kid how... why, and who hurt him.

Cas has stayed in the kitchen, but not for long. She came to them with a tray of mugs moments later and slipped into the booth next to Danny. Gently she took his hands and pressed the warm mug unto them. He blinked and focused of it, as if on autopilot he lifted it to his lips, Cas keeping a hand on his elbow to steady him as he drank.

The warm comforting drink, and hand on his arm, presence by his side as Cas slid imperceptibly closet and closer till she was pressed against Danny's shoulder, felt like they were taking him apart from the inside. Thawing out the cold numbness he shielded himself behind. Half way through his tea he glanced up, at the worried blue eyes so like Jazz, so worried and warm.

He put down the mug suddenly as a sob shook his body. Cas wrapped her arms around him and pulled him close, cooing comforting wordless little sounds as she let him bury his face into her chest and just sob heaving, exhausting outbursts of repressed emotion.

"Are the babies okay?" She asked and he froze, his breath catching in his throat. She clicked her tongue and rocked him gently. "Okay, okay, not in trouble," she promised.

"They- I don't know, they were so weak, I’m trying, but I don't know if I can keep them alive." Danny sobbed lifting his hands to cover his face.

"The stress can't be helping," Dick pointed out, climbing across the table like it was nothing to sit next to them and rub Danny's back. Danny gave a little hiccupping hysterical laugh. "Do you have support, or like, do you know your options?" He asked awkwardly.

"I'm not getting rid of my babies! I don't care if the man who made them is an obsessive creep who drugged me! I love them they're MINE!" The feral protectiveness seemed to startle Dick even as Cas continued to make soothing sounds.

"Your choice, only yours," she promised. "Have help?"

Danny sniffled and shook his head. "Safe?" Another shake of the head.

"The man who... did this?" Dick asked as delicately as he could. Another hysterical laugh.

"I've tried! I've tried to tell my parents he's a creep, he's dangerous but they don't listen! My dad thinks he hung the fucking stars, mom says he's harmless. They don't believe me! I-I can't tell them about the babies. They'd make me get rid of them or worse! I can't." Danny sobbed and Cas soothed.

"Okay, okay, you don't have to." She promised. "You stay with us, you and babies safe, never have to see him again."

"Ya right. Wait, your serious? What" Danny asked, pulling back and looking at her with wide bloodshot eyes.

"She's very serious young master," Alfred said as he approached making Danny jump. there was a hard set to the old man's jaw and steal in his eyes that left no room for questions as he set a plate of eggs, sausage, and fruit in front of Danny. "Master Bruce has a foster license and is a mandatory reporter. I'm sure once he hears even a fraction of this he will insist you stay. I will prepare a room for you. Am I to assume the man who's shouting demanding your return upstairs is the source of this distress?"

Danny swallowed and nodded, Alfred nodded back and paused to rest a gloved hand gently on Danny's hair before walking away briskly.

"Eat," Cas said, nudging him gently to let go of her. "As much as you want. Still hungry? We raid Tim's secret cereal stash."

"Gasp! You know where it is? You've been holding out on me?!" Dick demanded with exaggerated betrayal and as the two started to banter Danny ate. He was glad of the distraction, of not having the attention on him as he devoured the healthy, and nutritious meal the butler had made for him. It had been a while since he'd had a good home cooked meal, it made his core feel warm and he could feel the two little echoes as his hummed.

The babies were happy too, he didn't believe these people could keep him safe from Vlad really, but this was nice. Maybe he would let them try, get a few more good meals, a respite, and maybe... maybe his parents would finally notice that something was wrong and actually stand up for him?

That was probably wishful thinking but he could hope right? there was no harm in that.

Part 2

[norellenilia]

Mdr je note tout de même que le topic de l'épisode 13 de TO contient une mention qui n'apparaît pas dans les autres : "Merci également de rester respectueux dans vos commentaires." Valait mieux prendre des précautions xD

J'ai juré quand je relis mon avis sur l'épisode 9 de The Origins j'ai l'impression que c'est pas moi qui l'ai écrit tellement il est plein de positivité et d'espoir pour l'avenir JPP

(Soyez cependant assuré-e-s que j'aurais préféré garder cet optimisme pour le reste du jeu :( )

[camisoledadparis]

saga: Soumission & Domination 361

Espagne 2015-3 : Jaime recrutement

Jaime

Donc Jaime a 18ans et rentre en 1ère année de fac de science. C'est un volleyeur (ça s'est vu sur la plage). 1m85, 80Kg de muscles sous une peau imberbe, bronzée et débarrassée de ses quelques poils hors pubis, noir de cheveux, monté 20 x 5 à 5,2 circoncis. Homo depuis sa première expérience sexuelle avec un de ses potes de sport, il a fait son coming-out et sort d'une histoire de près d'un an avec un mec de 20 ans. Il est actif et passif. Son père est médecin et sa mère l'assiste, mais dans le contexte économique actuel et 3 frères et soeurs plus petits, il cherche à participer au financement de ses études et c'est pour ça qui va faire le serveur au mois d'août.

Ernesto déballe son argumentaire. C'est la première fois que je l'entends. Il est bon dans l'exercice. Jaime n'est pas choqué par la proposition. Il faut dire qu'Ernesto amène comme un privilège le fait d'entendre celle-ci. D'ailleurs Jaime est flatté que ce soit lui et pas les autres qu'on ait choisi en premier.

J'insiste sur le côté " sécurité " du travail, suivi médical, pratiques SSR, clients conscient du " haut de gamme " de notre offre de service. Sans minimiser la partie sexuelle des prestations, Ernesto précise qu'il faut aussi être bon dans l'Escort proprement dit.

Là, notre futur collaborateur s'inquiète de son dressing. Peur balayée quand on lui dit que les vêtements spécifiques (costumes, smoking...) sont compris dans le contrat.

Le dernier détail qui pourrait clocher c'est la taille de bites à " héberger " dans son cul. Le XXL n'est pas naturel à tout un chacun.

Quand je l'ai sodomisé, j'étais confortable, mais bien serré aussi. Rires de l'intéressé, le mec qu'il vient de quitter était équipé d'un sexe de 20 x 6.5 et avec lui il n'était que passif.

J'en profite pour dire que nous gérerons la partie professionnelle de sa vie mais pas la partie privée. Le seul truc est de ne pas prendre de risque concernant sa santé, question de respect pour les clients.

Ernesto bat le fer tant qu'il est chaud et je comprends pourquoi quand il nous dit qu'un de nos clients n'est pas " couvert " pour ses vacances le mois prochain. Contrat type de 3 semaines, voyage compris, 1 semaine d'affaires dans la capitale et 2 semaines sur la côte d'azur, le tout pour un salaire net 40 fois supérieur à celui de serveur estival.

Il a un peu de mal à digérer l'information. J'appelle Romain qui lui confirme que c'est du réel. Lui aussi va taffer le mois prochain et qu'entre sa mise aux enchères, ses prestations hebdomadaires et le " travail " d'été, il se fera cette première année plus qu'un cadre supérieur moyen.

Je n'avais pas pensé que ce serait aussi sa première prestation dans la société. J'en parle à Ernesto qui avait lui aussi zappé le truc. Il corrige aussitôt la proposition et l'assure pouvoir obtenir plutôt du 80 à 100 fois. Il est scié.

Ernesto lui propose d'aller le lendemain à Barcelone à son bureau. Il accepte et nous retournons avec les autres. Ses potes essayent de lui tirer les vers du nez pour savoir ce qui nous avait retenu tous les trois, mais il se tait.

21h, nous dînons tous ensemble, nos visiteurs ayant accepté l'invitation. Nous aidons Paco pour le service. C'est surtout Jésus qui fait les aller et retour avec la cuisine. Allez savoir pourquoi ! Le rosé glacé est de mise et sans nous en apercevoir, nous sommes tous un peu " partis " à la fin du repas.

Jaime me prend à part et me demande si je veux qu'il plante son cul sur la mégabite de Paco pour nous montrer ses capacités. Je lui roule une pelle. Il est gentil le gamin. Je lui dis que je lui fais confiance et que s'il prend ses quartiers à la villa, ça arrivera bien assez tôt. Il me serre dans ses bras et me dit qu'il a trop de chance cette année. Il a eu son " Bac ", il a largué son mec et nous arrivons avec la solution à ses problèmes de financement. Il va même économiser le camping. Quand il me dit cela, il éclate de rire et me dit qu'il vient de se rendre compte que c'est rien maintenant. Et puis ses deux amis ont besoin de son cofinancement de l'emplacement de leur tente.

La soirée se prolonge. Entre cafés, papotages, caresses diverses mais encore softs et passages dans l'eau pour nous rafraichir, la nuit s'avance et nos amis acceptent de rester. Traverser une partie de la ville à moitié bourré, pour rejoindre les matelas durs de leur tente... Ça convient bien aux habitants de la villa qui espéraient bien une deuxième partie de sexe.

Je me fais les hollandais. Culs blanc mais fougue toute méditerranéenne. En alternance avec PH et Ernesto, nous saturons leurs trous de nos coups de bites impérieux. Quand nous les laissons pour tester d'autres " abris ", ils sont pris en charge par Ludovic et Hervé. Pas de temps morts !

Alors que je cherche un plan, j'entends Jaime qui m'appelle. En levrette devant Paco, il se fait ramoner le conduit par ses 23cm épais. Au moins on ne pourra pas dire qu'il n'a pas de suite dans les idées. Je m'approche roule un patin rapide à Paco avant de lui demander ses impressions. Je n'arrive à lui tirer qu'un " bon, trop bon". Je m'aplatis, retrouve les lèvres et la langue de ma dernière conquête. Il arrive à me glisser un " t'as vu, je peux prendre lourd " entre deux brassages de langues. Je me coule entre ses bras et kpote sa bite que le limage de sa rondelle ne semble pas faire débander. Je me retourne et, sur le dos cette fois, je recule jusqu'à ce qu'il me plante. Dans cette position, on peut se rouler un patin tout en menant nos petites affaires et Paco aussi. Ce dernier devine que j'ai un peu de mal à garder mes reins suspendus sous Jaime. Il nous propose de migrer vers la table basse proche. C'est mieux. Je suis couchée dessus sur le dos, Jaime à genoux entre mes cuisses est juste à la bonne hauteur pour m'enculer et Paco, accroupi, les mains accrochées à ses épaules reprend son labourage en règle.

La bite de Jaime est très efficace. En fonction des coups de rein qu'il reçoit, il arrive à modifier ceux qu'ils m'envoient dans le cul. Sans que je lui en parle, il me dit que c'est ce genre de plan qui lui avait manqué avec Pedro (son ex).

Il arrive à me faire jouir sans que j'aie besoin de me branler. Les passages et chocs répétés de son gland sur ma prostate suffisent à déclencher mon orgasme. Quand, lors de chacune de mes éjaculations, je stoppe net sa progression, il monte en pression et, à son tour, jute mais dans sa kpote. Ricochet suivant, c'est Paco qui gueule en larguant sa sauce.

Il est 4h30 quand on s'endort.

J+2

Réveils à 11h. Je suis dans notre grand lit avec Ludovic, Ernesto, PH et Jaime. Il y a aussi João et Romain à l'autre bout.

J'enfile un maillot. Ça réveille Jaime qui se lève à son tour. Sans bruit nous allons à la cuisine. Les portes des chambres sont grandes ouvertes et on voit qui a dormis avec qui. Mon Marc a encore dans ses bras Baz alors qu'Hervé s'est endormi avec Rubén. Plus loin Arvid et Gaz ont l'air d'avoir fait plus que dormir dans les bras l'un de l'autre vu la pagaille des draps.

Quand on déboule dans la cuisine, le spectacle est revigorant. Pour au moins la deuxième fois, Jesus est planté par Paco. Torse sur la table de la cuisine, il pousse de tous petits gémissements pour ne pas réveiller toute la maison. Paco va pour se retirer et nous servir le café mais je le prends de vitesse et lui dis de finir son petit Jesus.

Avec Jaime, on sirote notre café en commentant leur baise. Enfin c'est surtout Jaime qui entreprend Jesus. Il rigole car ce dernier le traitait de fou quand il se faisait Pedro et sa grosse bite. Là, Jesus se prend bien plus gros et long et il voit bien que ça donne aussi du plaisir les grosses bites. On mate encore quelques instants. C'est intéressant ce qu'une grande différence de physique permet comme positions. Paco exhibe ses gros muscles avec des portés sur bite athlétiques. Jesus n'en peut plus de se faire ramoner. Il finit par jouir, les jambes serrées autour de la taille de Paco, accroché à son cou. On le voit mordre dans le deltoïde et y laisser la marque de ses dents pour ne pas hurler son plaisir alors que son jus coule de leurs abdos compressés.

On les laisse pour se mettre au soleil sur la terrasse. Lunette sur les yeux, nous synthétisons de la vitamine D.

Les autres occupants de la maison arrivent en ordre dispersé. Certains la tête dans le cul, d'autres quasiment frais et dispo !

Je profite que tout le monde soit là pour prévenir qu'avec Ernesto et Jaime nous allons en début d'après-midi à Barcelone. Arvid nous demande de l'emmener aussi. Les autres décident de rester. Nous embarquons donc dans une des trois voitures de location et traçons au nord. Ernesto conduit. Il dépose Arvid devant sa coloc avec la promesse de ce dernier de revenir nous voir (il a notre adresse et nos n° de téléphones) surtout que les grosses partouzes sont encore à venir.

Puis on file vers le bord de mer. Vers le Bario de Barceloneta où Ernesto vient d'acquérir pas trop cher, au nom de la société, un vieil immeuble de 2 étages où il a implanté les bureaux et son appartement. L'extérieur est encore à refaire mais l'intérieur est nickel. Jaime est impressionné par l'endroit. Comme au blockhaus, Ernesto a réalisé une frise avec les photos de ses Escorts en maillot Addicted (chez moi ils sont en Aussiebum). J'ai beau connaitre mes employés, les voir les uns à côté des autres, je remarque une plus grande disparité de physiques. Jaime a du mal à décrocher ses yeux. Il nous dit reconnaitre trois mecs. Il n'aurait jamais pensé que leur aisance financière venait de ce taf. Quelque part ça le rassure.

On monte son dossier. Ernesto lui donne l'adresse des boutiques dans lesquelles il devra aller s'habiller. Il téléphone au labo d'analyse pour les prévenir que nous passerions plus tard. Il en profite pour appeler son client. Alors que ça sonne, il pousse le dossier du mec devant Jaime. Je l'ouvre et on voit le mec en photo. Il est en maillot de bain. Dans les 45ans, bien fait, on voit que le contenu de son slip est lourd et pourtant il ne bande pas ! Je regarde Jaime, il me dit que ça va il avait craint un mec gras, chauve et repoussant.

Nous entendons la conversation téléphonique. Ernesto explique qu'il lui a trouvé un escort pour le mois d'août. Le mec est ravi, il lui explique aussi que c'est une nouvelle entrée dans la société donc il devine ce qu'il va lui demander. Réponse du client " je sais comment ça marche mais là tu ne vas pas me faire des enchères j'en ai besoin ".

Ernesto l'assure qu'il le lui réserve mais qu'il va falloir qu'il soit généreux tout seul. Le client comprend et annonce le chiffre d'un résultat d'enchères normales. C'est ce que lui fait remarquer Ernesto qui lui rappelle qu'il va avoir son gars 3 semaines en 7j/7 et 24h/24.

 A mes côtés, Jaime est sans voix. Je tempère en lui disant que le chiffre discuté est le salaire brut. Qu'il n'en aura que 55% net (le reste ce sont les charges 35% et la marge de la boite).

C'est limite s'il ne tombe pas dans les pommes quand le client propose 1 fois et demie sa première offre. J'opine de la tête et Ernesto confirme notre accord puis raccroche.

Jaime me roule un patin de la mort avant de faire pareil à Ernesto. Il est trop content. Son mois d'août qui s'annonçait sympa mais peu rémunérateur s'est transformé en vacances en France avec salaire de ouf.

Je lui demande si avec ses parents ça ne posera pas de problème. Ernesto annonce qu'officiellement, il émargera en tant que " secrétaire particulier ". Il dit que ce sera OK. Je pense aussi à la drogue, à Saint Tropez, ça ne doit pas manquer. Jaime me rassure que s'il avait dû tomber là-dedans, ce serait déjà fait vu la facilité pour trouver de la cocaïne aussi bien à Barcelone qu'à Sitgès. J'en profite pour souligner que nos escorts sont tous " propres " concernant les drogues et le tabac. Question de respect du client.

Quand on repart, on passe au labo. Le prélèvement dure 5mn et les résultats lui seront communiqués sous 48H comme en France. Nous sommes de retour à 18h. La villa est quasi vide. Marc et Hervé nous préviennent que les jeunes sont sur la plage et qu'eux attendent notre agent immobilier et son petit copain qui vont passer la soirée avec nous.

On enfile nos maillots, un short par-dessus. On prend la voiture et descendons à la plage.

Facilement on retrouve le petit groupe qui squatte un filet de volley. Les deux potes de Jaime l'assaillent de question. Il coupe court en leur disant qu'il avait profité du fait qu'Ernesto et moi dévions aller à Barcelone pour aller voir ses parents.

On entre dans le jeu. Une partie décousue mais acharnée, un plongeons dans la mer et on discute de la soirée. Les deux hollandais ont entendu parler d'une teuf et comptent y aller tout comme Rubén. La triplette souhaiterait les accompagner. Je demande plus de renseignement sur qui organise quoi. J'ai pas confiance et Ludovic non plus.

Après 5mn à nous faire la tête, ils admettent que nous ne sommes que le troisième jour d'un séjour de 21, donc ils ont le temps.

João me prend à part et me dit que si je veux, il pourra " encadrer " les petits au besoin.

En attendant nous remontons à la villa sans les " fêtards ". Dans la voiture où nous sommes tous entassés (10 !! y'en a 2 dans le coffre du C4 Picasso) Jaime console les jeunes en leur assurant que cette fête c'était plutôt souleries et défonce que baises et plaisirs. Il avait été à la précédente organisée par le même mec et s'était barré tôt avec Arvid qu'il avait rencontré là-bas pour la première fois.

Jardinier

~~

~~

~~

[pink-noah]

commenting on your recent post, you know what they say:

Save a horse, ride a cowb— …wait a minute.

(too shy to hop off anon but your art is so tasty i am eating it like a stray animal and running away with the scraps in my mouth /pos)

But in this case is a hors— AHEM,,,,i mean,,,,Hi anon!

Context

(ONE DAY!! I NEED KNOW WHO ARE YOU ANON!!)

[withgaby]

De l'autre côté du miroir

Aujourd’hui, je voulais vous parler d’une scène en particulier de la série Pluto (2024), mais avant une petite mise en contexte.

Ai-oon se fait passer pour sa jumelle, Ob-oom, auprès de May, sa petite amie secrète et aveugle afin de découvrir si elle a un lien avec l’accident de voiture qui a laissé sa sœur dans le coma le soir de ses noces avec un autre homme.

Même si May est mise hors de cause, Ai-oon continue de se faire passer pour sa sœur, car elle a développé de forts sentiments pour elle.

Dans l’épisode 7, Lors d’un évènement, l’ex petite amie de de May, Ploy, confie à Ai-oon que May ne l’a jamais vraiment aimé, car elle n’a jamais pu oublier la première personne dont elle est tombée amoureuse. A ce moment-là de l’histoire, nous, nous savons que May sait que ce n’est pas Ob-oom qui partage sa vie ces dernières semaines et qu’il s’agit de Ai-oon. Un flashback au début de l’épisode nous dévoilait que May a rencontré son premier amour au planétarium, une adolescente venue à son secours portant un uniforme au nom de Ob-oom, mais déjà à l’époque il s’agissait de Ai-oon se faisant passer pour sa sœur (on ne va pas aborder le schéma qui se dessine).

Bien évidemment, Ai-oon n’a aucun souvenir de cette rencontre. Pour elle, leur première rencontre remonte à quelques semaines où elle a commencé à se faire passer pour sa sœur. Rencontre où elles ont échangé un baiser passionné, le seul jusqu’à présent, baiser qui fera naitre les sentiments qui ne cessent de grandir d’Ai-oon pour May.

Petite note avant de continuer parce que c’est important pour la suite, en Thaïlandais, lorsqu’on parle, on nomme souvent les personnes, même soi-même. Plus clairement, au lieu de dire « je t’aime », Ai-oon dirait « Ai-oon aime May ».

Ploy explique à Ai-oon,  qu’elle appelle Ob-oom (oui parce que tout le monde est censé la prendre pour sa sœur jumelle) : « May a montré à tout le monde que c’est Ob-oom qu’elle aime. » Une Ob-oom qu’elle décrit comme belle, élégante et courageuse.

A savoir qu’Ai-oon s’est toujours considérée comme la mauvaise jumelle, elle a grandi dans l’ombre de sa sœur plus belle, plus intelligente, plus courageuse. Alors, quand Ploy lui dit cela, elle voudrait pouvoir y croire, mais ne peut prendre ces attributs pour elle.

Ai-oon observe son reflet dans un grand miroir, ce qu’elle y voit d’abord, c’est sa sœur, parce qu’elle joue son rôle, porte des vêtements qu’elle porterait, aime sa petite amie. Elle se souvient que tous les mots d'amour, toutes les marques d'affections de May ne sont pas pour elle, mais pour Ob-oom.

Son reflet dans le miroir change, Ai-oon s’y voit, médiocre dans sa tenue de tous les jours, une personne qu’elle ne pense pas être à la hauteur de l’amour de May. Malgré tout, Ai-oon ne peut pas renoncer à ce qu’elle vit avec May, parce que cet amour, même s’il n’est pas pour elle, la porte. Elle se sent plus forte, plus importante, plus aimer que jamais lorsqu’elle est auprès d’elle.

Nous arrivons à la scène dont je voulais vous parler.

Plus tard, May et Ai-oon sont dans la salle de bain de l'hôtel où elles séjournent. May se rend compte qu’Ai-oon a ramené des bougies parfumées parce qu'elle sait que la chaleur et l'odeur lui permettent de s'orienter dans la pièce (et ça c'est trop mignon). Elle lui dit que grâce à elle, elle a l'impression de voir de nouveau et à Ai-oon de répondre qu'elle se sent une meilleure personne en sa présence.

May continue en disant "Voici mon Ob-oom, belle, brillante et courageuse." Ai-oon n'en dit rien, mais on voit sur son visage que c'est dur à entendre pour elle.

Elles se rapprochent, la caméra recule et se décale, elle ne filme plus directement Ai-oon et May, mais leur reflet dans le miroir. Ce que nous montre la mise en scène, ce n'est pas une scène d'amour entre May et Ob-oom, mais une scène d'amour entre May et Ai-oon. Alors qu'elles s'enlacent, Ai-oon hésite, est-ce vraiment une bonne idée ? May est tout ce qu'elle a toujours voulu, elle remplit son cœur, mais May ne lui appartient pas, elle est la petite amie de sa sœur.

Ai-oon dit "J'aime May". On notera qu’elle ne se nomme pas parce qu’elle ne parle pas en tant qu’Ob-oom, elle dévoile ce qu'il y a de plus sincère en elle. Lorsque May commence à répondre « May aime… », Ai-oon l’embrasse sans lui laisser le temps de finir sa déclaration, parce qu’elle ne veut pas entendre le prénom de sa sœur à cet instant. (Je pense qu’elle aurait pu dire « May aime Ai-oon », je le rappelle, elle sait qui elle tient dans ses bras et à ce moment précis, on ne voit que le reflet dans le miroir).

Quand Ai-oon et May s’embrassent pour la première fois depuis le baiser qu’elles ont échangé à leur rencontre. Ai-oon porte May et la fait s’asseoir sur le meuble, dos au miroir. Ce qui fait qu'on voit à la fois le couple Ai-oon/May et le couple May/Ob-oom avec May comme pont entre les deux facettes de Ai-oon qui se font face.

Ai-oon demande à May pourquoi elle l'aime, toujours sans se nommer, alors que le cadre se resserre sur May et Ob-oom, la réalité pour Ai-oon et non le reflet qu’elle habite.

May : "j'aime Ob-oom... Tu es mon premier amour, Ob-oom. May est tombée amoureuse de Ob-oom au premier regard."

C’est un électrochoc pour Ai-oon puisque pour elle, May était déjà aveugle lors de leur rencontre, c’est bien Ob-oom qu’elle aime.

Elle repousse May, la caméra s'éloigne, on voit à nouveau le couple et leur reflet dans le miroir. May essaie de retenir Ai-oon, mais elle se défait de son étreinte.

May "Ob-oom ?"

Ai-oon "Je suis désolée May"

Le cadre change une nouvelle fois, on voit le reflet de Ai-oon, le reflet du dos de May, la May réelle, mais Ob-oom n’est plus dans le cadre. Ai-oon dit qu’elle a besoin de prendre l’air et elle s’en va.

Peut-être que j’extrapole, mais je trouve que cette scène retranscrit très bien toute la dissonance qui se joue pour Ai-oon et la complexité de la situation dans laquelle elle ne fait que s’enfoncer au fur et à mesure des épisodes.

[thebusylilbee]

" Après 2024, 2030 sera-t-elle une nouvelle année olympique en France ? Le Comité international olympique (CIO) a désigné mercredi 24 juillet les Alpes françaises comme site organisateur des Jeux olympiques d’hiver. Après plusieurs semaines d’incertitude liée à l’actuelle vacance du pouvoir, c’est une victoire pour Emmanuel Macron qui a défendu personnellement la candidature de la France devant le comité mercredi 24 juillet au matin. 

Le CIO conditionne néanmoins la validation définitive de ce projet à la présentation des garanties financières et juridiques par lesquelles le pays hôte s’engage à couvrir les éventuels déficits de l’événement et à livrer les équipements en temps voulu. [...]

À quarante-huit heures de la cérémonie d’ouverture de Paris 2024, le sujet des Jeux d’hiver apparaît lointain. C’est pourtant maintenant qu’il faut s’en préoccuper, tant qu’il est encore temps de les arrêter. Coûts financiers, flou budgétaire, impact environnemental et verrou dans un modèle économique mortifère pour l’écosystème alpin : les problèmes posés par d’éventuels JO dans les Alpes sont nombreux et sérieux.

Si les plans climat et les schémas bas-carbone adoptés tant bien que mal par nos institutions ont un sens, si le souci budgétaire affiché par l’exécutif est réel, le projet de JO 2030 devrait être remis en question. Mettre en suspens la candidature et offrir aux citoyennes et citoyens la possibilité de se prononcer sur sa pertinence serait un signe de santé démocratique.

Ce serait aussi un geste de confiance envers la population, trop peu consultée sur les grands projets. Ceux-ci engagent pourtant les habitant·es, riverain·es et contribuables pour des années dans des trajectoires souvent polluantes et coûteuses.

Un demi-milliard de dépenses publiques

Le budget de fonctionnement annoncé pour les JO d’hiver s’établit à 2 milliards d’euros, selon le rapport du mois de juin de la commission de futur hôte – document qui comprend l’analyse du projet par un jury désigné par le CIO.

Cette enveloppe représenterait un coût de 462 millions d’euros pour la puissance publique – à partager entre l’État et les régions organisatrices. C’est autant que l’aide exceptionnelle débloquée par le gouvernement en février pour les hôpitaux. Ou que les financements annoncés en 2023 pour le plan logement devant permettre aux personnes sans domicile d’accéder à des solutions de logement pérennes. Ou encore que le fonds annuel de rénovation du bâti scolaire. C’est donc beaucoup d’argent, surtout dans le contexte du plan d’économie de 10 milliards d’euros décidé par Bruno Le Maire en février 2024.

Est-ce le meilleur usage à faire des subsides publics ? La question est d’autant plus pertinente que le montant à débourser sera en réalité sans doute beaucoup plus élevé : 2,4 milliards d’euros au total, pour une dotation publique comprise entre 800 et 900 millions d’euros, selon un rapport de l’Inspection générale des finances non publié, mais cité par le media La Lettre. Matignon, qui a commandé ce rapport, n’a pas répondu aux questions de Mediapart.

Une forte contribution de l’État

Dans le détail, les quelques informations publiques sur le volet budgétaire de cette candidature interrogent. La part de financement public, autour de 23 %, est beaucoup plus élevée que dans les dossiers d’autres pays, a remarqué Delphine Larat, membre du collectif No JO : 0 % pour la Suède pour les JO de 2026 – et retoqué de ce fait, 4 % pour l’Italie, 6 % pour la Chine (2022), 14 % pour le Kazakhstan (2022). Le montant et la part de provisions pour imprévus sont également « hors norme », autour de 258 millions d’euros pour la France, ajoute-t-elle.

Or les économistes des infrastructures ont bien documenté la sous-estimation systématique du coût des JO, dont les budgets ne prennent pas en compte tout un ensemble de dépenses plus ou moins cachées : les exonérations fiscales (nombreuses), les dépenses de sécurité ou de transports publics, etc.

Les rapporteurs de la commission de futur hôte s’inquiètent d’ailleurs à plusieurs reprises de la soutenabilité financière du projet, citant la construction des villages olympiques et d’une patinoire à Nice (Alpes-Maritimes).

Constructions massives dans les Alpes

Tout en promettant de « s’attaquer aux conséquences du changement climatique », le dossier des JO 2030 prévoit des constructions massives. Pas moins de cinq villages olympiques sont annoncés, avec 700 lits en projet au Grand-Bornand (Haute-Savoie), 700 supplémentaires à Bozel (Savoie), 1 500 à Nice – où la patinoire pourrait coûter 50 millions d’euros. Celle-ci pourrait prendre place sur des terrains destinés initialement à construire des logements sociaux. Et le projet serait particulièrement énergivore compte tenu du climat méditerranéen de la ville – un choix baroque pour des Jeux d’hiver.

Un « réseau routier olympique » devra par ailleurs être mis en place, notamment pour pallier les routes « étroites » dans les zones de montagne. L’empreinte carbone de l’ensemble est estimé entre 700 000 et 800 000 tonnes équivalent CO2 – sans aucun élément pour le vérifier –, soit autant que la consommation annuelle moyenne de 80 000 personnes en France.

Avec le réchauffement des températures, la neige tient de moins en moins en petite et moyenne montagne. Lors de l’édition 2022 de la Coupe du monde de biathlon au Grand-Bornand, en Haute-Savoie, elle a dû être livrée par camion avant la tenue des épreuves. Comment imaginer que la situation sera différente en 2030 ? Les canons à neige et retenues collinaires sont très consommatrices en eau, et, de ce fait, remis en cause par les défenseurs des écosystèmes. En 2022, la justice a suspendu l’autorisation d’une retenue d’altitude à La Clusaz, en Haute-Savoie, que la mairie voulait construire pour produire de la neige artificielle. C’est l’un des lieux choisis pour les JO de 2030.

Opacité antidémocratique

En l’absence de consultation et de référendum sur la tenue de JO d’hiver en France en 2030, il n’y a pas eu d’information correcte du public : le budget n’est pas publié en détail et le dossier de candidature n’est pas consultable en ligne. La clé de répartition entre État et régions n’est pas connue. Il n’y a pas eu d’étude alternative à la construction des nouvelles infrastructures, ni de contre-expertise du budget présenté par la France.

Avoir des JO dans les Alpes en 2030 « serait formidable pour inventer le modèle de Jeux d’hiver de demain qui doit être plus durable, qui doit s’adapter aux changements climatiques », a encore déclaré Emmanuel Macron au JT de France 2. Le chef de l’État semble se tromper de priorité : plutôt que le business olympique, c’est la montagne, son milieu naturel et les personnes qui y vivent qui doivent être défendus pour avoir une chance de perdurer.

La bonne question à poser est simple : cela est-il compatible avec des JO d’hiver ? Car, au vu des investissements nécessaires, ils enfermeraient ces territoires en plein bouleversement climatique dans un modèle touristique inadapté et dépassé.

Jade Lindgaard "

[jade-curtiss]

Ok mais y vo tu aller a okinawa tu seul (ça serait ben drole et assez normal (nooon c'pas sketchy snskdkskaak) mais comme de toute les places à aller, au moins y devrais se débrouiller vu son nom sur ses cartes slsldlslslslaflfls)

[wyleong]

Homonym

"Lor" in this context gives a defeated tone, like an "oh well".

"Hwaah" is like the commonly used "fuiyo" popularized by Uncle Roger, as in being impressed.

"Hor" is a chinese equivalent of "isn't it". But of course, it sounds like something else in English.

"Aduh" is Malay for "ouch"

[amandacanwrite]

Ohhh, can I play? I just ate one of these so the word is peaches 🍑 x

Alright -cracks knuckes- MINORS DNI with the following snippet. This is a little bit from the beginning of my Peaky Blinders meets Fae Court Politics book called Of Foxes and Follies.

Context: Rheannon is a girl with a mountain of debt owed to one of the most notorious street gang bosses, The Half-Blind Barber. She is the type to steal from Peter to pay Paul, sneaking into soirees uninvited and stealing from guests who are too tipsy to notice when a necklace is slipped off their neck, or an earring is nabbed off their table.

Only when she crashes a party hosted by a notorious gangster known as The Magpie she is quickly caught and invited to his parlor for a game of cards. The wager? If she wins, he gets his priceless timepiece, if he wins, he gets a dance.

This scene takes place shortly after his winning hand, but Rheannon isn't ready to give up her prize quite yet. Hope you enjoy!!

...But I also couldn’t deny the enticing nature of him, even if he would only use me and throw me away, I couldn’t deny the pull he had over me.   

We went into the next series of steps at the music picked up in tempo and Cilean spun me again. It was all going just fine; just as easy as it had been before, when my shoe caught something slick on the floor and I lost my footing.   

Cilean didn’t miss a beat, he quickly caught me and kept me from humiliating myself by falling back on my own arse. I looked back to where I’d slipped as he took me out of the path of the other dancers and balked at what I saw.   

I’d expected a discarded hors d’oeuvre, or perhaps a misplaced handkerchief. Instead, what I saw was something entirely shocking.   

It was a pool of blood, red as spider lilies against the ivory marble floors.   

Or at least it had been when I caught the slickness of it with my foot, now it appeared as a streaking, pink mess on the white tile of the floor. I inhaled to ask about it, but Cilean was already leading me away from the dance floor.   

“Careful, darling,” he said. “Should we take a step outside? It’s getting a little stuffy in here, isn’t it?”  

“S-sure,” I said. “W-wait, hold on a minute.”  

“You want another dance?” he asked, looking at me, his brows raised.   

“Th--What I just saw on the floor. That was blood,” I said. “I slipped in someone else’s blood.”  

“You really do need some air,” he said, smirking back at me. “Why would there be blood on the dance floor?”  

“Hell if I should know, but I know what I saw,” I said.   

“You saw some red liquid on the floor? Do you know how many casks of wine I keep in my cellar, Miss Todd?” he asked. “I promise you it wasn’t blood.”  

I pressed my mouth and looked back at the floor again as he led me away, but whatever mess I’d slipped in was either hastily cleaned up or blocked from my view by the dozens of spinning dancers on the floor. I wanted to argue with him more, but I worried I truly was wrong about what I’d seen. I didn’t want to appear as if I was delusional.   

So, I followed, feeling a bit uneasy about the strangeness of things I’d seen since I’d gotten here. How did I wind up at the card table of The Magpie himself? How was I now frolicking with him through his hallways.  

“Where exactly are you taking me?” I asked.   

“Why would you want for me to ruin the surprise?”  

“I’m not entirely sure a surprise from you would be something I’d like to willingly walk into,” I said.   

“A little late to be worried, isn’t it?” he asked.   

“Touche,” I said as I let myself get carried away in his undertow.  

Finally, he came to a nondescript door, a plain wooden one with hardly any embellishments of note, aside from an ornate handle attached to twine—a servant’s bell.  

“Are you taking me to the servant’s quarters?” I asked.   

“Easiest way to get out of doors,” he said looking back at me. “Do you have some sort of objection to taking the back way?”  

“Only if it’s because you mean to hide me from someone,” I snipped. “Perhaps you didn’t invite me and perhaps I am not the kind of girl you like to cavort with, but I have enough stubborn pride to refuse the indignity of sneaking around like some kind of dirty little secret.”  

He pushed the door open and led me into the corridor. It was dark and smelled of food. I could only imagine it was from all of the dishes that had been carried through the small, poorly ventilated space. He took a few more steps before I dug in my heels and brought us to a stop.   

I had expected him to sigh, to gripe about me being a prude or an annoyance. To try and shame me for thinking that someone like me could ever think that someone as wealthy and handsome as he was could see me as anything more than a spirited tryst in the stables. I could handle it, I was ready to give him an earful of exactly what I thought about that.   

But he didn’t sigh and he didn’t gripe. He didn’t yank his hand away to leave me and sulk. No, he did quite the opposite. I could see the outline of him only faintly in the dark corridor as he crowded me. He stepped into my space so quickly that I had no choice but to give way, backing one step, then another. As soon as my back brushed against the wallpaper, his hands were on me.   

My waist, my thigh, my back. My heart leapt into my throat, and I heard my own shocked gasp fall out of my mouth. Finally, he cupped the side of my face in his hand. It still smelled of tobacco from his pipe, I could smell his sweat and how it mingled with the fragrance of his aftershave and the pleasant earthiness of whatever cologne he was wearing.   

His nose brushed along the edge of mine and I hitched in a shaky breath.   

“Do you think, sweet Rheanon, that I would let anyone dare make me feel ashamed in my endeavors with a woman?” he asked.   

Somehow, his voice had dropped even lower than his already natural baritone. His voice rumbled in his chest like rolling thunder, and just like real thunder, I could feel the weight of that sound in the very marrow of my bones.   

“Is there a problem with wanting a bit of privacy?” he continued, his warm breath cloying, brushing across my lips. “Then again, maybe that’s something you like, hm?”  

“Like?” I asked, my head fuzzy. “What do I like?”  

“Do you like the risk of getting caught? Do you like the rush of knowing that any moment now, my butler could walk through that door—or one of the chambermaids—or one of my guests. Does your heart race when you think of what they’ll see as the light spills into the hallway?”  

He hefted me up into his arms with such speed that I shouted out in surprise. He pressed me against the wall, every line of his chest and abdomen melding with my own. When the skirt of my gown got in his way, he pushed it up so that it bunched and bustled around my hips, only the thin fabric of my shift and my undergarments remaining between us.    

One of his fingers snagged the strap of my garter belt and tugged, pressing the fabric of my stockings against my inner thigh.   

“What will they think when they see me like this, Rheannon?” He asked as his hand coursed up the curve of my thigh, his fingers digging into the soft flesh. “With your beautiful thighs wrapped around my waist, with my hand curved around this...”  

He cupped the swell of my backside before kneading wantonly, “...this perfect peach of an ass you have?”  

“Y-you’ve...you’re misinterpreting--” I mumbled. “It’s not that I’m some kind of...exhibitionist.”  

“Am I?” he asked. “Then why are you so breathless, lass?”  

Cruel. He was a cruel and sadistic man to subject me to this. He was a cat playing with his food. It was enough to make me want to box his ears.   

“Are you just going to torture me and make me feel like a deviant, or are you going to shut up and kiss me?” I said, sounding far less angry than I’d been trying for.   

“I’m not sure—did you leave your manners somewhere?” he asked, an edge coming to his smile that I could see even in the dark. “Is that how you ask for something that you want?”  

I couldn’t tell if I was flustered or furious. He truly wanted to play with me.   

“Oh, you really didn’t like that, did you?” he asked.   

“Does being patronizing usually work for you?” I said.   

“Lass, I don’t typically have to work for anything when it comes to my romantic exploits,” he said. “Usually women and men alike are clamoring for my attention.”  

“Sorry to disappoint you,” I said. “If you wanted an ass pat, you should have asked one of your invitees to join you.”  

“I’m not disappointed,” he said, smoothing his hand up the front of me, brushing over my breast before grasping my chin in a firm hand. “You’re the most fun I’ve had in ages.”  

Then, despite my refusal to beg and my prickly griping, Cilean closed the distance between us and kissed me.   

I had been expecting his mouth to be hard on mine with the sort of quiet command that rolled off of him in waves. I’d expected a clash of tongue and teeth, I’d expected biting and mis-matched trajectories.   

What I got instead was something entirely different.   

His hand was tight where he grasped my chin, but his lips were feather soft as they closed on mine. It was hard to describe how it made me feel. The brush of his lips was so sweet and light that it pulled me in, the tender brush a siren’s song seducing me.   

My eyes fluttered closed as I surrendered to it, his hand on my chin releasing its grasp before ghosting gently up the curve of my jaw and slipping into my hair.   

The kiss ended, but he didn’t part from me. He still held me against the wall without a single hint of discomfort or exertion, our noses still touched. I opened my eyes and found him watching me.   

This close, I could see the beautiful curve of his long lashes backlit by some distant moonglow deeper in the servant’s quarters. His eyes flickered as they stared into mine, then dropped to my lips.   

“What is it?” I asked in a whisper.   

His eyes met mine again, dark and desirous. There was something else in that stare, some emotion I couldn’t identify. I tried to read it, but before I could discern anything he closed that small distance and kissed me again. His mouth seized my lower lip, a faint suction pulling it between his teeth that only barely brushed against the tender flesh there. His tongue swept in deftly, teasing the opening of my mouth and asking to be invited within.   

The skin on the back of my neck blazed and burned like I had a fever. His thumb brushed down the side of my neck in a sloping line, pressing against my pulse point. He huffed a sound of amusement through his nose and I knew he could feel my heart hammering like a hare’s in my neck.   

How embarrassing. He’d barely started to kiss me and I was already as wound up as a virgin the first time she pinked her knees with her sweetheart. He seemed to know exactly what he was doing to me—well enough that he felt satisfied to smile into the kiss as he deepened it—well enough that he didn’t even need to say anything to make me feel plenty self-conscious about it.   

His tongue, like the rest of his mouth, was unintrusive in its pursuit of mine. I was used to Eian and the other boys; the clumsy tangle of tongues that tasted of stale ale and hastily hand-rolled cigarettes, the hurried and frantic nature of their desire as they pawed at me.   

Cilean kissed me like a connoisseur enjoyed a fine vintage. He took his time, tasted me slowly, savored me. His full lips were slick and pillow soft, his tongue, despite the smoke and drink he’d been consuming, tasted of summer-ripe berries and honey licked off of sticky fingers. I felt like I was melting in the palms of his hands, like I’d rather die than kiss any other man than this one standing before me.   

I reached out my hand for his chest, wanting desperately to feel his body. I wanted to undress him, to taste more than his mouth, to taste his skin, his sweat, his blood. I wanted to bleed for him. I wanted to give him anything he would have from me. I no longer cared about the strange things I’d seen—the group sex, the blood on the dance floor, his strangely silent minions—I’d do anything if only he would stay close to me.   

I coursed my hand over his chest. He gave a low hum that rumbled through my body.  

I was so pleased to hear that sweet sound come out of him, so happy to make him feel good. I brushed my hand higher, sliding in a trajectory toward his neck where I hoped to twist my fingers in his dark, thick curls.  

But I felt something cold on my skin as I reached the seam of his shirt collar. Cool and metallic. A golden chain.   

My eyes fluttered open and it was as if a spell had been broken. I remembered all at once who I was, why I’d come here, the exact nature of the predicament I was in.   

I’d come here to steal, to settle my debts and move on with my life with my new found freedom. I’d come here to swipe a few worthwhile pieces to pawn them off so I could give the money to The Barber. Sure, I’d played along with Ciliean to this point—with The Magpie. But’d gotten in over my head. I’d let him beat me at cards, let him charm me with a few dances, and now I’d fallen in too deep with him.   

I knew where kissing like this ended up.   

Gods—what had I been thinking? What would Eian think if he came to my flat tomorrow and I wasn’t there. How hurt would he be to know that I’d fallen in bed with another man the very same day I promised to give him a chance to court me.   

There was only one way I could justify something so egregious, and I was in the perfect position to follow through on it.   

I made sure to keep the pace he was setting for us, I made sure to seem as lost in his kiss as I had been mere seconds before, and I got to work.   

If anything, this was going to be easier than the usual conquest. When I pickpocketed, I always had to find some reason to bump into someone, find some reason that my hands wound up on their body. Sometimes it was a spilled glass of wine, other times it was manufactured clumsiness. But I wouldn’t have to do anything like that now. I had more than enough reason to have my hands on him—to even be a little heavy handed.   

The trick to a good pickpocket was sleight of hand and misdirection. It wasn’t enough just to steal from drunkards—even drunks could tell when something was missing if you were too quick and careless with the theft. The key was to make your mark think the watch was still on their wrist, the necklace still around their throat, the earrings still looped in their lobes.   

Gold was heavy so when it came to Cilean. I’d have to find a way to keep the illusion of weight in his coat’s interior pocket as long as I could.  

But I knew he was perceptive. I couldn’t be sloppy, not when he had me pressed against the wall with his hand on my throat. If I was going to steal the pocket watch, I’d need to replace it with something else.   

It was a risky move, but I could only hope that he wouldn’t recognize what I left with him—that I could sneak out of the party as soon as I got the watch and that he’d continue to get so drunk that he wouldn’t even remember this strange little tryst we were engaging in. I reached down with my still-free hand and slipped my brooch out of the sash I was wearing. I was practiced enough with it to do it with one hand and to do it quickly enough that the movement hadn’t been noticed.   

I passed the beetle brooch into my other hand, hiding the swap with a covetous stroke from his stomach to his neck, then back down again where I let my hand pull on the chain, adding tension on it—pulling it taut so that, if there was any difference in weight between my jeweled brooch and the gold watch in his pocket, it could be written off as my hand leaving the chain.   

From there, it was simple. A slip here, a slide there, a little pluck and the watch and chain was in my hand.   

I was suddenly glad for the humiliating racing of my heart earlier, because it was the perfect cover for how my heart was hammering in my chest now. There was nothing like the thrill of a good score, and this one was by far my largest catch.   

I made a gesture like I was trying to reach back against the wall to steady myself and hid the watch down the back of my dress, hooking the chain on the neckline and letting is slide into my corset, already stretched and displaced from all of the dancing and kissing.   

It was a haphazard place to put it, but it would have to do until I could get myself away from The Magpie.   

With my winnings secured, I broke from the kiss and made a good show of panting.  

He cupped my face as I let my head loll and my lashes flutter.   

“Alright, lass?” he asked, his voice husky and warm. “Have I need to grab the smelling salts?”  

“Mmn--” I said, making my voice syrupy and dreamy. “I could use a bit of fresh air.” I gently played with his silky bow tie. “Maybe we could go back into your gardens? Lie down under the stars for a spell? Have a sip of water before we...”  

I bit my lower lip, finding it soft and swollen from kissing. “Carry on? With our diversions?”  

His eyes crinkled with mirth, though his own swollen lips just barely twitched at the corners. He brushed the edge of his nose against mine once more, taking a deep breath in. “You are turning out to be quite diverting, indeed, my little vixen,” he said.   

I giggled, trying to keep my mind clear about me as, even now, the threat of being ensorcelled once more by his enigmatic charm and his skilled lips loomed in front of me. Truth be told, I would have loved to learn what a man who could kiss me breathless could do with the rest of my body; to see what his fingers and his hips could do for me.  

More concerningly than that, was that I craved the opportunity to please him.   

To be called a vixen, his vixen, was almost as intoxicating as the kiss. I wanted to know what he’d say to me while I rocked and ground along the length of his shaft, wanted to watch the adorable tension men always got in their jaw when they were ready to lose all control and spill into me.   

But I couldn’t get distracted. I couldn’t indulge—for plenty of reasons.   

“Well,” he said after a few breaths passed between us. “Let us get you some air and some water, shall we, Darling?”   

[coeluvr]

REGARDING THIS^ I might be wrong but,,,

Hunter fans: calm hor🦵

Helios fans: calm feral

Vincent fans: feral hor🦵

Just from what I observed LMAO (ngl it depends on the context of situations C:)

Hmm, I think Hunter and Vincent are switched. The more heartbreak there is the louder they get. 🫣 but yeah depends on situations lmao.

[erkhyan]

“Encore une fois, tous les genres sont bons, hors le genre ennuyeux.”  — Voltaire.

In English: “Once again, all genres are good, except for the boring genre.”

But can be read out of context as: “Once again, all genders are good, except for the boring gender.”