#pool fixtures matches

[enwoso]

Another edition of clumsy Lovie: they’re going on a team walk the morning of a game and it’s been miserable weather so there’s lots of puddles and the ground is slippy and Lovie is running around with Kyra but trips and falls right into a big cold dirty puddle and normally she’d hop back up and say she’s ok but she’s hurt herself is all muddy and embarrassed and she’s screaming out for alessia and she wants to be in dry clothes but obviously not an option with them all being on a walk

MUDDY PUDDLES — alessia russo x child!reader

grumpy masterlist

“be careful lovie!” alessia called out as she watched as you and kyra ran around, the team being on a pre-match walk. much to the teams dismay, the weather not being the nicest. the clouds forming grey and dark as a light drizzle covered the streets of north london.

you were in your own little bubble with kyra chasing you weaving in and out of the puddles as they splashed up your new boots, not hearing an inch of whatever your mummy had just said.

all you could hear was kyra’s chants that she was going to get you as you giggled echoed throughout the park.

“she’s gonna fall- i can see it happening” alessia grumbled as a sigh left her lips, a small chuckle coming from vic at her best friends complaints.

“well tiny is your child so it would make sense-“ vic started as quick side look was given from alessia as she opened her mouth to try and defend herself but alessia knew she had two left feet so whatever she said wouldn’t help her case — if anything probably make it worse.

“lovie’s got those boots on and there massive on her, but she insisted on wearing them” alessia commented as she winced slightly watching you trip but you managed to stay on your feet, somehow.

vic just let another laugh out knowing you were very stubborn something you didn’t get from the blonde as the topic changed to the upcoming international break and the fixtures. alessia making sure her eyes flickered to you running around every few seconds.

the team wondered further along the park on the pre match walk as you and kyra continued your game of chase, alessia and a few others stopping to grab a coffee from a little stall turning her back on you for a few moments.

“um a small flat white please-“ alessia asked the barista as they nodded quickly putting a small take away cup into the machine before going to serve the next girl behind alessia as vic stood close by.

alessia’s coffee was finished fairly quickly but just as the blonde turned around, her coffee cup warming her hands, vic still talking her ear off about the new book she’d been reading. “oh you’ve got to be kidding me“ alessia cut vic off as she watched as you slipped and fell in a stream of water on the footpath. a muddle puddle at that.

“what-.. oh” vic questioned before following alessia’s eye line and seeing you. “you did call it less!” vic smiled hoping to lighten up the mood as a small huff come from the blonde next to her.

your boot being a few inches away from you as you sat in the puddle, kyra yet to realise that you were no longer chasing her and instead sat in pool of muddy water. cursing herself for not getting you to take those stupid boots off your feet that were a two sizes too big for you.

alessia waited, stood still for a moment wondering if you were just going to hop back up like you usually did, chirping a small ‘i’m okay’ but when that didn’t happen that’s when you started to wail.

tears streaming down your face, catching the entire team and probably the entire park’s attention. kyra stopping in her tracks as she winced. alessia passing her coffee which she’d yet to have a sip at to vic to hold.

“lovie, c’mere. it’s okay” your mummy cooed as she held her hand out for you to grab as she pulled you up from the wetness of the puddle, revealing the mess of your clothes you’d made. your sobs still echoing around the park.

you entire bottom half was soaked through as well as half your t-shirt through your rain coat. “mummy i hurt my knee” you said as you bottom lip continued to wobble as mummy walked you back towards the group as she tried to figure out what was going to be the best option right now.

“don’t worry baby, we’ll get you changed as quick as we can” your mummy said softly as you gripped her hand a little tighter, the feeling of your wet clothes was starting to annoy you as they felt sucky and clung to your skin.

“tiny what you like eh!” beth joked as she ruffled you hair as a few giggle came from the team as they took in your soaked form. small little ringlet curls formed in your hair from the rain.

normally you would have laughed with them and said you were a brave girl but you were now cold, wet and had a grazed knee as you clung to the leg for a small hint of warmth from your mummy awaiting her next move.

“i’m gonna have to get her changed somehow, otherwise she’s gonna catch a cold” alessia’s brow furrowing but her car was at least fifteen minutes away and then driving back home was another fifteen on top of that.

“why don’t you just drive to the stadium and get her something from the armoury, i’m sure they’ll have something warm in there for tiny” lotte shrugged knowing it wasn’t long until the game kicked off, it was an idea and alessia didn’t have many so it was probably going to have to do.

“that’s a good idea actually-“ alessia pondered for a minute before deciding that’s what she’ll do, it was the quickest option she had for the time limit she was on. you were a little happier knowing you were a little closer to getting out your wet clothes.

“i’ll meet you guys at the stadium then” alessia smiled as she checked the time on her watch, as the rest of the team nodded.

“less- less your coffee” vic called out, holding up the small coffee cup as if it was a trophy as alessia waved it off not wanting it anymore that and the fact it would most likely to be cold, as vic turned to her teammates wondering if any of them wanted a cold but untouched flat white. all of them grimacing as they shook their heads leaving vic stuck with holding the white takeaway cup.

“lovie, mummy will get a plaster for your sore knee when we get back to the car” your mummy smiled as she lifted you onto her hip, hoping that carrying you back to the car would be a little quicker as you nodded.

“mummy?” you said quietly it almost being a whisper, as your mummy hummed waiting for you to continue. “i get the gunnersaurus onesie?” you asked having seen it in the armoury the last time but mummy said you didn’t need it, so you sadly walked away empty handed from the gunnersaurus onesie.

alessia sighed, part of her knew that was going to happen and the other part of her was hoping you’d forgotten about it, “we’ll see lovie” as your mummy carried on walking towards her car.

[hometoursandotherstuff]

I can't believe that this phenomenal 1888 Victorian in St. Joseph, MO is less than $1m. 4bds, 4ba, 5,062 sq ft, $765k.

The woodwork is incredible and it looks like they used Bradbury & Bradbury wallpaper. These Victorian homes that have the sitting area for waiting guests in the main hallway are pretty cool.

Sunny regular sitting room off to the side has a wonderful fireplace and stained glass. There're also window seats, pocket doors, and leaded glass.

Elegant dining room. The floors in this home are incredible. All of the woodwork is perfectly preserved and the fireplace surrounds have such colorful mosaic tiles.

Look at the rounded wall and window. This leather table looks like a gaming table- would be great for a puzzle. Beautiful fireplace, too.

Glimpse of the stunning vintage 1/2 bath shows several original features.

The kitchen remodel is good, b/c it matches the original wood, but the counter seating around the island throws it off a little.

Coming up the stunning stairs- arches, wood ceiling, carved railings, and a stained glass window.

Wainscoting along the hall to the bedrooms.

The primary bedroom is so beautiful.

And, look at this- a balcony.

This ensuite bath is utterly incredible. The wood, marble, and reproduction fixtures are just superb.

Look at the rounded closet.

Linen closet in the hall.

The black and gold look lovely in this bedroom.

Wait. I recognize this absinthe holder in the home office. I posted this home before. I can't believe it didn't sell, especially for the price. It's a steal.

I also recognize the guest bedroom and bath with the mini sauna. I don't think I could even fit in that thing.

Nice garage. Look at the little door on the end.

The yard is large enough to put in a pool, patio, etc.

The home has beautiful carvings outside.

Lots of trees make the 1.57 acre lot very private.

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/631-Hall-St-Saint-Joseph-MO-64501/110497130_zpid/

[somejazzinthemorning]

tightrope. 07

Pairing: Carlos Sainz x Original Female Character Warnings: Foul language; Word Count: ~11.6K Previous chapter: 06.

The run had completely exhausted me. Steep hills were clearly not my strong point, but I couldn't say the effort wasn't worth it. The line of the horizon fused with whatever lines we’d woven for ourselves, which had divided the two parallel lives we lived away from each other’s gaze.

Although having him around was challenging, I felt lighter. Experiencing the person he had become, mature and adult, but still so him, made me proud and sad in the same measure. Nonetheless, that talk and confrontation were needed. I needed that, to see and listen to that other side of him and learn to trust it. That other side, the version of him that took shape in these last years. Sainz.

It was Sainz that I couldn’t trust. Not Carlos, not Chili as we used to call him. Sainz. The night before, during the match, I had seen a fraction of Carlos when he put his hand on my thigh and made sure I was comfortable with the guests, a fraction of Chili when he got me a beer without me asking, and then a lot of Sainz each time the people around us tried, forcefully and some times even embarrassingly, to get his attention.

It didn’t matter the glimmers of hope that having him around brought me, there was still a barrier. The fall was too big to risk and the rope was held too high. And yet, having him back seemed to offer a glimpse of stability in a life that had become increasingly unsteady.

Rio was leaving, the unpredictability of my career was taking a toll on me and everything else seemed to be constantly shifting. In the midst of all that chaos, the possibility of Carlos staying around was like an anchor that kept me from being swept away.

The fear of getting hurt again was still there, lurking beneath the surface, but for better or for worse, Carlos Sainz had once again become a fixture in my life, and I couldn't help but wonder what the future held for us.

That afternoon, after lunch, I fell asleep near the pool, and my feet dipped in the water.

I woke up to the sound of two loud motors, a distinct sharp noise. They were not cars or jetskis. I sat up and looked around, half of me still battling laziness and sleepiness, another part of me completely annoyed by being woken up by that sound.

Marjorie, who I gathered had been asleep in one of the loungers, grunted while getting up. “What the actual f—” and then her tone shifted, “Hi babe!”

I looked behind me; my brother was standing on the terrace, at the top of the stairs.

“We got two bikes!” Rio proudly announced.

“You got what?” Her ginger hair fell in waves on her back.

“Two bikes, for me and Chili.” He pointed with his thumb to the path leading to the front of the house. “Let’s go for a ride.”

“Weren’t you two supposed to go to the market?”

“Evita, come oooon. We couldn’t let the opportunity escape.” I looked at Marjorie, confused and she was looking at me too, with sleepy eyes and frowned brown. “Andiamo, ragazze!”

Marjorie motioned with her head and I got up from the sponge mattress I’d laid down on the grass. The fabric was hot to the touch. I dragged it to one of the loungers before turning back to my brother who impatiently waited.

“Where did you even find the bikes?” I asked him.

“We rented them.”

I looked up, my hands on the straps of my sandals. Carlos appeared behind Rio, holding what seemed to be two pairs of leather gloves and a white helmet. He passed one of the pairs to my brother and instantly, a childish grin took his features; his eyes glistening like a little kid on a Christmas morning.

“Nice,” he said under his breath.

I made my way up the stairs fixing the creases on my dress, tight but fresh, crocheted in summery clothes. Marjorie and I had spent the early hours of the afternoon on the sea, and then laid down for a nap near the pool, in the shadow of the trees in the garden. My hair, in a braid, was still a bit wet, falling over my shoulder.

“Are you even allowed to ride a bike during summer break?”

Rio looked down at me, and then at Carlos and me again. “Help me here, mate,” he extended his hand to the Spaniard and while Carlos helped him with the strap, he said: “It’s just a bike ride. We need to get his back tomorrow.”

Marjorie turned to the guys and called out, "Carlos?”

I looked over to see my sister-in-law motioning towards me, silently asking for his confirmation. "It's just a ride to the market and back," he reassured me, "relax, just a stroll." I let out a defeated sigh and glanced over to Marjorie, who simply shrugged in response. "The bikes are in front," he informed us.

As I walked towards the front of the house, I saw the bikes and three more helmets parked in the shadow next to Carlos' car. Carlos himself was already getting on his bike, putting on his leather gloves and white helmet, his hair slightly dishevelled but somehow still looking impeccable. Damn him and his hair. He then donned his Ray-Bans.

A couple of steps away, Rio had already started his engine.

Carlos extended the last helmet to me. "Come on. It'll be fun.”

I took the helmet and then his hand, hopping on the bike behind him. A rush of excitement ran through me, though it was tempered with a tinge of nervousness. He placed his right hand on my thigh, the warmth of his skin seeping through mine. He turned his head back to me. "Ready?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be.”

The wind blew through my hair as we rode along the narrow path leading to the main road. I held onto Carlos' waist tightly, feeling the muscles under his shirt tense as we swerved around sharp corners. I let my arms wrap around his waist, my hands meeting each other on his abdomen. We rode in silence for a few minutes, the only sounds being the hum of the engine and the rush of air in my ears. The scent of the sea melded with the smells of oil and rubber, as well as Carlos' cologne. The notes of sandalwood grew more intense with the heat and the sweat.

It didn’t take us long to arrive at the familiar market, planted near a small village bathed by the Mediterranean. Rio and Marjorie had already parked their bike and were waiting for us. Carlos parked next to them.

"Not that bad, huh?" my brother's voice roared over the sound of the engine, approaching us to help me dismount. "Drama queen."

“Not bad.”

“I could get used to this, actually,” Carlos said.

I snorted, undoing the straps of my helmet. “Nah, you couldn’t.”

Carlos took off his helmet, running his fingers through his hair, and I couldn't help but notice the way the sunlight caught the highlights in his hair. “Why not?”

“I think this is the first time I’ve seen you ride a bike.”

“And?” He extended his hand and took my helmet out of my hands.

“If it was not for Rio, you wouldn’t rent it, in the first place. Let alone buy one.”

“Did you hear this?” He asked my brother.

“And she’s right.”

As Carlos chuckled, he reached into his pocket, tucking his gloves away as we strolled towards the bustling market. The sound of waves crashing against the shore grew louder with each step, and the sweet scent of ripe fruit tickled my senses, making my stomach growl in anticipation.

The market was bustling with locals and tourists alike, the stalls selling everything from fruit, to fresh seafood and handmade crafts. The air was thick with the mingling of scents and languages, creating an atmosphere that was full of the Mediterranean's enchanting charm that I missed so dearly.

As we wandered, Rio and Carlos drifted ahead. Meanwhile, Marjorie and I lingered at each stall, taking in the sights and sounds, chatting with the sellers, and breathing in the fragrant aromas. Our organic net bags were already heavy when we found the guy—Rio on his phone, and Carlos hunched over one of the stalls. Marjorie stopped next to Rio, and I walked over to the stall, sneaking in being Carlos.

“Oh, the sign says they’re the sweetest in the market,” I said. Carlos turned to me, holding a small bunch of grapes. I motioned to another stall not too far away, “they all say the same.”

The Spaniard raised the bunch of grapes to the level of his eyes. “They look pretty good to me.”

“But are they the sweetest?” I replied, my tone teasing.

He plucked a grape from the bunch, his grin wide and eyebrows raised playfully. "Let's find out."

A Spanish song that I didn’t know was playing on the radio set over a crate of fruit, and a tired, melancholy whistling could be heard accompanying the melody. I looked around. With his eyes on a newspaper, an old man was sitting on a wooden bench; a coffee stain on the sleeve of his shirt rolled up to his elbows.

“You can’t eat the grapes…” I whispered, my eyes drifting from the old man to the handsome, way younger Spaniard in front of me. Carlos teased me, opening his mouth. I frowned.

“You eat it, then,” he held it out to me. I shook my head. “He won’t go after a lady. Come on.”

I hesitated for a moment, but the whistling continued, and the man seemed too distracted with the news to pay attention to two tourists in his stall. Carlos’ eyes flickered with something I couldn’t quite understand, his expression becoming sterner as I leaned him, grabbed the grape from his pinch and popped it in my mouth.

It burst with flavour, the sweetness tingling on my tongue, making me close my eyes in pleasure. Carlos' grin widened, and he plucked another grape, offering it to me again.

"You know what, the sign might be actually telling the truth.”

“Should I have this one?”

“Hm, hm,” I nodded, reaching for another one, from the small bunch he was holding. He, too, reached for another grape. My eyes drifted from his portrait to his slender fingers, taking their time picking one of the half dozen left in the saturated red bunch.

But instead of hearing a pleasurable hum coming from his lips, the old man’s voice permeated the moment. He was now hobbling over to the stall, eyes flashing with annoyance.

“¡Que cosa! Look at the sign!” The old man harrumphed, pointing to another sign. “No eating before paying!”

“Oh, no, I—”

“Lo siento, señor,” Carlos turned around, interrupting me. “We’re just…”

The old man's eyes widened, and he took both hands to his head. "Ay! Carlos Sainz!" he exclaimed, rushing over to us in fast, unsteady steps. Carlos looked at me, his embarrassment resembled in his shaky grin.

Carlos chuckled, "Yes, that's me."

"My grandson loves you!" The old man beamed, gesturing to a small frame next to the radio, a small boy was smiling in the picture and then shook Carlos’ hand vigorously. "He always wants to watch you on TV. And your father! Your father is a legend." The man looked around. “Is he around by any chance?”

“No, no,” Carlos pointed at me, and then at the couple waiting for us not too far away. “Just the four of us, for today. And let me apologize for the grapes, we’re going to pay for them.”

The old man just waved his hand dismissively, "No, no, it's okay. Keep them!” His voice softened, noticing Carlos wouldn’t accept to take the fruit. “It’s my offer. Please, take them. And take this, too." He then reached behind the stall and pulled out a small basket. His hand, wrinkly and hairy, hovered on top of the fruit. “Do you like figs?”

The bright colours caught my attention. The smell, the colours, the music coming from the radio, so slow and light, stretching through the air. It felt like being trapped in a living painting.

“Eva,” I heard Carlos. I hadn't noticed he was looking at me before. “Do you like figs?” And then, motioned to the old man, waiting for my reply.

“I’m sorry. I do, I love figs.”

The old man's grin widened. “Come close, try one.”

The old man opened it up for me. I took a bite. Soft and juicy, with a delicate sweetness that was almost addictive. As I bit on it, the juice ran down my fingers, creating a thin, sweet, shiny film around my lips and fingers. I couldn't resist licking them, savouring the sweet nectar and the way it clung to my skin. I couldn't help but feel a little self-conscious under Carlos' intense gaze. His eyes bore into me, fixated on the way my lips wrapped around my thumb. It was like he was watching my every move, studying my every expression, trying to decipher my thoughts.

I couldn't help but feel a little flustered under his gaze, but at the same time, I couldn't deny the thrill that ran through me. There was something about the way he looked at me. Intense and magnetic, that sent shivers down my spine.

Carlos cleared his throat, breaking me out of my reverie, and turned to the stall once again.

"Yeah. We will take some figs.”

Wednesday was slow.

Heart beating fast, but reality danced around us at a slow pace.

What can one do when reality tastes like figs and smells like the sea and sandalwood?

It was not just the figs and the sea air, and the cologne. It was not just the Mediterranean light or the aura that so easily takes us over. It was the way he looked at me. The adoring gaze, that I knew from before, but was now tainted by a thin layer of lust, tick enough to cloud my senses and drive me into spirals.

Thursday passed in a breeze; I only saw him for dinner, as he spent all day golfing with the boys. And then came Friday.

Like some other days, we were at home. We spent the day alternating between basking in the sun on the yacht, driving around in jetskis or diving into the crystal-clear water. Easy.

It was easier when we were at home.

The trees and the sea shielded us from reality and for a time we could simply live without worrying about curious eyes or unwelcomed lenses. I liked that. To be locked away from the world in a reality moulded to us, for us.

On top of that, seeing my friends talk in the garden, or joke around in the yacht, wearing swimsuits with a beer in hand, and walking around barefoot not worrying about anything else but the moment, reminded me of the little family we once were. I loved our bubble, where no one was famous and no friendships had been torn apart by distance.

Like I did every day, I texted a photo to my mom — Rio laid in a hammock, with the sea as the background, but this time she texted me back saying she should have accepted Reye’s invitation to spend a few days there. I said she should have, it would have been nice for them.

And then I read the messages Lin and Nicola had left in our group chat, avoiding all the questions about Carlos, because there were a lot of them. And finally, I called Amanda, trying to assure her I was in fact enjoying the vacation and was not locked in the office. I think I spent half an hour talking to her, filling her up on the events of the recent days before my brother interrupted me.

“C’mon. Volleyball,” Rio stood between me and the sun, putting a shadow over me and shielding my skin from the warm kiss of the sun. “Carlos wants to play. Vamos.”

Amanda said goodbye in a hurry, probably after listening to Rio’s voice. I left my phone on the side and sat up on the lounger, facing Rio that was already standing in his blue swimming trunks with an orange and yellow volleyball under his arm.

“And what do I have to do with that?”

“We’re uneven.”

“Well, stay with me and Carlos plays in your place.”

In response to my suggestion, my brother just shrugged and looked behind him at Guillermo, Blanca’s boyfriend, helping Carlos assemble the net. My attention was grabbed by Marjorie, running down the stairs with her ginger hair arranged in a messy french braid and wearing a long shirt over her black swimsuit.

“Eva! C’mon, lass,” she screamed, joining Carlos and Guillermo next to the net.

“Volleyball isn’t played with teams of four!” I screamed back, making Rio sigh again, this time threatening to throw the ball in my direction. I just put both my hands in front of my face, in an instinct to protect myself. “Tell me I’m wrong.”

“DiMaggio versus Sainz,” Carlos screamed from the other side of the garden. The net was set and he was standing next to Marjorie.

“Ah, you traitor,” Blanca interjected, joining her boyfriend on the other side of the net. Ana and Rodrigo joined them too.

Rio looked back at me, his eyebrow raised in a defiant expression and the victorious look of someone who knows that had won a battle. He knew I couldn’t say no, especially now that everybody was ready and waiting for me, and there was an actual challenge. As I went past him, I took the ball from his hands, hearing in response a couple of Italian curse words and a strident laugh from Marjorie.

Carlos, on the other side of the net, smiled at me. “See?” he asked Marjorie. “All it takes is adding a bit of competition and she changes her mind.”

“I won’t forget you’re the enemy, Sainz,” I threw the ball at him. “You serve.”

That didn’t take the smile away from his face. Marjorie ran to her position in front of her husband and I went to her side. I looked at Carlos as he spun the ball in his hands and threw it in the air.

The following moments rolled in slow motion. His arms extended over his head and his hair moved graciously with his jump. With the sound of the impact of his hand on the synthetic leather of the ball, a wave crashed over me. My eyes ventured along the lines of his body; it was inevitable to not admire the way his arms contracted or the way his movement revealed a patch of paler skin, covered with a light brown fuzz, just above the waistband of his shorts.

The lines, the sumptuously curved outlines of him. His body seemed to be sculpted with the sole purpose of making me desire him.

I turned my head to the other side of the net, my eyes following the ball, fully committed to the game, but I couldn’t forget Carlos was there, always two steps away from me. I tried to dodge him every time we got too close, always looking back to be sure I wouldn’t have to feel his sweaty skin against mine.

Every cell of my body buzzed just from that idea.

I wanted it more than I cared to admit.

Even to myself.

In the intervals between points, Marjorie and Rio would kiss or hug each other. In the meantime, Carlos would approach me with a smile and an open hand for a high-five and our eyes would lock. No words, nothing. Just a casual glance and I would feel myself melting inside. Everything else faded in comparison. The conversations, the laughs, the screams and the insults. Each time his eyes landed on me, everything went silent. And I realised a big part of why I enjoyed that little bubble was because Carlos was with me in it and, for the first time in a while, none of us was trying to burst it.

“Last one,” Blanca was the one to call it and, although we had a pretty good advantage, I knew we wanted that last point on our side. “We need to leave in two hours.”

Rodrigo took the ball in his hand and I moved to my place. I could see Blanca on the other side of the net, her hair tied in a messy ponytail. In a couple of seconds, her face became a blur and the screams and the laughs came back in a rush.

“Eva!” Marjorie screamed my name and I knew I was the only one who could reach the ball. I ran to the net, ready to block their move and all of a sudden, a strong grip on both sides of my waist.

Arms extended over my head, hands ready to take the impact and my mind desperately trying to ignore his strong firm hands. The ball fell on the floor on the other side and, quicker than that, I felt my feet on the ground and my back going against Carlos’ chest. Instantly, his arms wrapped around my body, stopping me from falling.

I turned around, my eyes locked with his. My eyes refused to let go of his, my body was unresponsive to anything but the warmth of his embrace. I looked down, at my hands on his chest. I could feel his heartbeat on my digits. His sweat on my palms. Jesus.

I knew he felt it too.

“Good team effort,” he whispered.

Rio screamed victory, I took a step back. The bubble burst.

Carlos turned his back, not before winking at me, and then walked to Marjorie and Rio and I, still trying to recollect myself and drift back to reality, went back to my sun lounger, where my phone and water bottle rested in the shadow. I sat down, had a sip of the water and looked at the group, each individual following their own path. Guillermo and Carlos stayed there to take down the net, I went inside.

The skin of my palms tingled.

Even under the cold brush of the water, I could feel the beating of his heart on my digits and the fire his touch had ignited on my skin. I was down bad, horrendously bad. Not even a cold shower could bring me back on my feet.

Carlos had made his point straight, with words and gestures both.

The brush of his fingers on my arm during the flight. The touch under the table. His piercing gaze. The grip on my waist that afternoon. That was his way of showing it. He would not cross any line, but he was not going to back down.

And I hoped, God, I really hoped, I was reading it right.

I promised myself to make an effort to understand that whatever lines we’d drawn for ourselves weren’t eternal. They were just as ephemeral as every moment we chose to share with each other and so, they were capable of being erased and forgotten.

Dropping my barriers and welcoming the idea of trusting him again wouldn’t be as difficult as forcing him back out once again, now that he’d settled himself under a comfortable light in my mind. He was going back to being Carlos again. The boy next door and my brother’s best friend. Not the cocky, egoistic and overly busy Ferrari driver.

I left the room after being called twice by Rio, the first of all of us to get ready. He’d sit on my bed for a while, waiting for me to get ready and complain about my make-up and the dress I’d chosen. Rio was just like my dad—a fan of simplicity. He even made me spin in front of him, in the dusty pink backless dress, to make sure it wasn’t too revealing for the occasion.

We stopped as soon as we reached the entrance hall, where a portion of the group had already gathered. Guillermo and Rodrigo were already waiting outside, having a casual conversation by the car which keys were already in Blanca's hand. The keys to the other car, the Alfa Romeo Stelvio that Carlos had been driving over the last few days, still remained in the decorative bowl on the console.

“You haven’t decided on the ride, yet?” Rio sounded annoyed, a short sight leaving his lips before sitting next to his wife on the sage chaise lounge in front of the console.

“What’s the deal? Why isn’t Carlos driving?” I asked.

“They are eighteen again,” Marjorie mumbled, slightly irritated.

“We deserve a proper boys’ night,” my brother corrected her, his arm wrapping around Marjorie’s shoulders and giving her a small kiss on the cheek. “Where’s he, anyway?”

“On the phone,” Blanca replied. “We’re late. Do you want to call a cab?”

“No need, I can drive,” I said, walking to the console and taking the keys. “It’s fine.”

My brother and Marjorie followed Ana and Blanca outside, their silhouettes disappearing against the sunlight cast on the driveway. Before entering the car, the older shouted. “The car’s parked in the garage!”

With them outside, Carlos’ voice was clear, echoing in the space. It was easy to find him.

“We need to leave,” his eyes met mine the second I walked through the archway that led to the kitchen. He was putting his phone in the pocket of his dark jeans, standing near a window. “We’re already late.”

“Okay, let’s go, then,” he walked to me, extending his hand in my direction.

“We agreed I was going to drive,” I closed my hand around the keys and he stopped in front of me.

He frowned. “I don’t care. I’m driving.”

I took a deep breath and looked at him before speaking. Bad choice. He had his usual smile on his lips, a sweet smile that in the blink of an eye became a smirk full of meaning. I narrowed my eyes, my grip on the keys getting stronger.

“I do. I’m driving.”

Carlos took a step forward, getting closer to me. I had to raise my head a bit more to maintain eye contact. Annoying bastard. I rolled my eyes at his attempt to make himself look intimidating, or whatever it was he was trying to do.

“Drop it.” He glanced at my hand. “You know I don’t like being driven around, especially in my own car.”

“I’m holding the keys. Unless you take them from me, I’ll be driving.” Carlos didn’t move an inch. “We can stay here until you get tired.”

"Is that a challenge?"

"Try me."

Joder. He relaxed his eyebrows and his smirk grew bigger. The next thing I knew, the air around us was being charged with electricity as his hazel eyes locked onto mine like he was trying to read my soul. God damn you. His sweet, tender gaze had turned into something darker, something so much deeper.

He took another step and, once again, he was dangerously close. This time I wouldn’t mind if he erased all the lines and barriers and dropped all my shields himself. His thumb rubbed the back of my hand. My eyes couldn’t leave his face. I was petrified at the moment, drifting away from all the negative feelings and diving into him. He leaned in and, for a second that seemed to last an eternity, I thought he was going to kiss me.

But he didn’t.

And I had opened my hand, just enough for him to take the key from my hand before I was able to understand what had just happened.

“Don’t worry. I won’t do it,” Carlos’ lips were brushing against my ear. My eyes were open wide, looking into the void. “Learn the lesson the first time.”

He left the kitchen. I just shook my head, my mind completely bereft of everything but the electricity his little move had filled my body with. I took a deep breath and resigned to the fact he had taken the best of me. I would’ve found that funny if I wasn’t completely flustered. Fucking idiot.

                                                        * 

We had been invited to a party by one of Carlos’ friends.

There was a small group waiting for us, from which I recognized a fair share of faces from that night. From the way the group welcomed Carlos, one would think the party had been thrown for him or by him. The host had even reserved him a parking spot on the driveway. Blanca had no such luck; she parked outside, on the road.

The house was not too far away from Costa del Pins and, just like the Sainzes’, it was located on a hillside and offered a nice view of the serene sea, still clear blue and dancing with ease against the rocks. From the driveway, standing next to my brother and Marjorie, I admired the house. My gaze continuously shifted from the building to Carlos, whose attention resided on a blonde girl, Mila, to who we were introduced the night of the match. They seemed to get along well.

For a second, I regretted leaving so early that night.

Just minutes before he had been so close to me that I felt inebriated by his perfume, almost dizzy just from experiencing him so close, and now there he was, walking alongside this girl with too much make-up and a sad sense of fashion.

Jealously doesn’t look pretty on me.

And I was not even sure why I was jealous.

As we walked across the stone path that lead us to the terrace at the back of the house, the music got louder and the voices and laughter became more clear. Rio and Marjorie were too busy with each other, as usual, and Blanca and Ana were talking about something I couldn’t find interest in simply because my eyes couldn’t leave the man walking ahead of us and the blonde on his side.

“Sainz!” The German accent that shouted out was strong. It stole Carlos’ attention and, consecutively, mine. I remembered that face from the night before and quickly realized that the German rally driver a.k.a. The Guy, was our host for the night. “You came, ’migo!”

Of course, Carlos pulled him for a hug, like they hadn't seen each other in forever. Suddenly, everything he did made me angry. Every drop of resentment was coming back. I was jealous and although I was doing everything to look like I wasn’t, I didn’t bother to convince myself otherwise.

“You already know them, no?” Carlos pointed to us. Rio hugged him as well and Marjorie did the same with her usual enthusiasm. Blanca and Ana were more simple – a polite kiss on the cheek was more than enough. Their boyfriends opted for a handshake.

When I approached him, the guy had a smile on his face. His eyes sparkled when I smiled at him too. I kissed his cheeks, once on each side. “I’m Eva.”

“DiMaggio, I remember,” he completed. “If Sainz didn’t steal all of our attention yesterday, I’d have more things to recall about you.”

“He likes the attention,” I think my eyes drifted to the girl for a second. “You’ll get used to it.”

His name hadn’t yet come to my mind. I couldn’t remember much from last night, not even who was the team Real had played against because, as the German said, Carlos had been the only thing I cared to pay attention to.

The guy only chuckled at my comment and patted Sainz on the back. “Call for me if you need anything. I’ll be around.” Then, he turned back to me. “You don’t need to call, I’ll have an eye on you at all times.”

That was a surprise, I’ll admit. The words drew a small laugh and a nod on my part. “I’ll remember that.”

When the guy turned around, Marjorie came up to me. Her ginger hair was tied in a high ponytail that fell over her bare shoulder. She looked at me with a big smile.

“Uwe’s into you!” Uwe. That was his name. Too unusual for me to simply remember. “Be sure to have some fun today.”

“He’s too… German?” I pondered, watching him disappear in the crowd; his shirt, with an awful pattern, disappeared with him.

“He’s quite a character, I know…” she paused. “But you probably won’t see him again, ever.”

That was a good argument, I’ll give her that, but it also reminded me of a certain Italian driver, whose presence had been lingering on my mind since the morning I’d left Imola. I tried not to think about him, which was not that hard considering that Carlos monopolized my attention the last few days, but I couldn’t help thinking about why he didn’t say anything about that poor spectacle in my hotel room.

I knew I would see Pulcini again and it didn’t stop me from anything.

On the other hand, I was pretty drunk that night and tonight I couldn’t even drink half as much. Also, Carlos was right there. If the mere memory of him had made me leave Andreas in a bathroom stall, I couldn’t tell what his presence would provoke. But, to be honest, if the blonde didn’t leave his side, I would probably sleep with Uwe just out of spite.

As I said, jealousy doesn’t look pretty on me.

“This may sound terrible, but I don’t remember all the names from last night. Could you reintroduce me to your friends?” Oh, her voice was annoying. My gaze drifted to her and then to him. Rio, standing next to Carlos was the first to step closer and introduce himself. Carlos made her a favour by introducing the rest of us. “I’m Mila, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” she said in return.

I couldn't do more than just smile before excusing myself and leaving the group. Marjorie walked by my side, accompanying me to the bar on the right side where the guests were talking and swinging to the music.

Everybody seemed to know everybody. During the short walk, Blanca and Ana stopped multiple times to hug a few friends and introduce me and Marjorie to the ones we didn’t yet get to know. The good looks and the expensive perfumes were abundant. It actually seemed like it was the ideal night to have some fun.

An hour had already passed while we sat on the couches near the bar and my feet were already complaining. It surprised me how easy it was to get lost in the small talk, especially when the people around turned out to be more interesting than I thought. I accepted two flutes of champagne. That was plenty to get just loose enough to enjoy the party without getting drunk.

Every time my eyes met Carlos, he was always surrounded by a different small crowd, but the blonde girl was always there, right at his right side. Each time I laid my eyes on them it was a reminder of his status and the rumours that often appeared connected to his name all around social media. They’d gotten worse after Carlos signed for Ferrari and because we hardly saw each other since then, and I refused to say his name or talk about him with his sisters or my brother, there was no way of knowing if those rumours were real or just fabricated lies the fans made to entertain themselves.

Either way, Mia, Mila, or whatever her name was, didn’t leave his side. There was no way of denying that she really wanted his attention all for herself and, unlike the photos that occasionally appeared online, this time I could see them crystal clear. No blur or too much grain.

“Those meetings you’ve been having…” Blanca captured my attention, “work or race-related?”

“Normal work, nothing exciting,” I let her know. Marjorie and Blanca seemed appeased with the answer too. “I’m trying to not worry about racing, just for one week.”

“You deserve a real break,” the younger of the Sainzes took a sip of her drink. “And that includes tonight. I don’t wanna talk about work, especially when we know Eva is having a hard time.”

“No, it’s fine,” I said, my back hitting the soft fabric of the couch. “I haven’t asked you yet,” my attention drifted to Marjorie, looking at me with a confused look on her face. “How are you handling all of this?”

“Oh,” a pause, then a sip. Then, she let the cup meet the mate black coaster placed on the table and played with the napkin at its side. “Not bad.”

I narrowed my eyes. “That means it’s not going well.”

“It’s not bad,” she repeated herself. “These last days have been amazing, I feel like I’m rediscovering my husband. At the same time, it feels like a goodbye, you know?”

Ana and Blanca shared a look. I think they felt displaced. They barely knew Marjorie and the last days didn’t give them enough time to understand the dynamics of her marriage with my brother.

“I mean,” she continued and quickly stopped again, almost like she was analysing what to say, or how to say it. I felt her eyes drifting to the man standing a few feet ahead, leaning to the railing on the other side of the terrace and accompanied by a blonde who was still laughing too much at his words and I quickly understood where the conversation was leading. “Look what the distance did to you and Carlos.”

“Carlos and I were never married. Not even— Don’t go there.”

“Nevertheless,” she kept going, “I have two kids at home and Fabrizio wants to move to Italy. We’re talking about it, but it seems wise to move. At the same time, I see what all of this did to you two and you were not even married,” she rebated my point with the same argument. “It’s hard enough when he travels two weekends in the same month. How am I supposed to deal with having him home for only two weeks a month, if I get those two weeks?”

Fair point.

“We’re married. I’ll miss him, as a husband,” she sighed. “And the babies... you know.”

I blinked, no words left to be spoken. I knew. I didn’t miss Carlos as a husband, nor as a boyfriend, but I’d missed him. In the beginning, those phone calls and facetime sessions made the feeling grow, but the love I felt for him grew at the same rate as the longing. I’d missed him as much as I’d loved him. So I couldn’t picture what the future would be like for Marjorie.

“I don’t know if it helps,” Blanca said, “but our father wasn’t around either. He spent a lot of time away. That didn’t make us love him less.”

Marjorie shrugged. “The only thing I know is that I will never ask him not to go. I know it’s difficult for him too, although it doesn’t look like it.”

A smile tugged the corner of her lips and her eyes travelled across the crowd. My brother was talking and laughing with two guys I recognized from the match the night before. Marjorie looked at him with a warm smile on her lips.

“Trust is important,” I said, “and you both trust and love each other so much it makes me nauseous. You will be fine.”

Trust is important. Trust was everything stopping me from acting, even though my body was ready to betray me and fall into Carlos’ trap. No matter how much I desired Carlos, I couldn’t trust him and that meant we would fall from the tightrope the second I surrendered my body and soul to his arms and warm lips.

“What’s hardest to trust?” Marjorie said, looking at her man, who was now winking at her. She smiled at him, and then turned to me, again. “Him or the people around him?”

She was talking about Rio, and whatever could happen during race weekends, or the eventuality of him moving alone to Italy, but that hit a little close to home.

“Him,” I said. “People won’t do anything he doesn’t let them do. He won’t do anything he doesn’t want to do.”

The blonde, Mila, was touching him. Small pats on his arm to pull his attention back to her, another small pat on his chest while he spoke and she leaned her head back, laughing at whatever he was saying. Another embarrassing show; quite pathetic.

“That’s true,” Ana added. “But you don’t seem like a couple with problems in that regard,” she continued, her hand reaching for the cup filled with white sangria. “Rio is and always was a nice guy, you know it better than us.”

Marjorie was not uncertain about how faithful her husband was; she was scared of the void he would leave behind. The unanswered calls. The postponed encounters. The empty space at dinners and birthday parties. I promised her that I would sleep at hers one or two nights each week to keep her feet warm; she knew I wasn’t joking.

After this conversation reached its natural end, I dragged her to the dance floor. On top of her wearing heels, she complained about not having enough rhythm to dance, or even enough balance. I told her to get another drink, with the excuse that the right amount of alcohol would give her the rhythm she needed. Marjorie found her rhythm and new confidence at the bottom of her fourth drink and I found myself to be less patient than I thought. In need of both resting my feet and taking a break from Marjorie, who was too playful and talkative after those four drinks, I led the group to the couches where the boys were sitting.

Carlos’ blonde had disappeared. Another one had resurged on his side, this time a man—the host.

After almost forcing Marjorie to sit next to Rio and take a break, I went to the bar. One of the two silver foxes serving drinks stopped what he was doing to pay attention to my request. Virgin Mojito, I asked. My insides were asking for more alcohol, especially before my amazing idea of getting my friends drunk, but I knew my limits.

“Quite a character, no?” I didn’t need to look to my right to understand who said these words. I would recognize his voice and accent anywhere.

“You and Marjorie are spending too much time together; she said the same thing.” Carlos put down his tumbler on the counter; the bartender replaced it with another, this one with a thick line of a brownish liquid around a large ice cube. “How many of those did you have?”

“Not enough.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Why do you care?”

I raised an eyebrow. “I don’t wanna drag you from the car to your bed. Marjorie is giving me enough trouble already.”

“Don’t worry about it, Blanca can take me home,” he deadpanned and then, with two sips, Carlos drank the whole thing. I abstained from making any comment. “Don’t look at me like that. I can get drunk once in a while.”

“Where’s your blonde? Did she leave you hanging and now you’re mad about it?” He scowled at me. “Am I wrong? Sorry, my mistake,” I huffed sarcastically. Carlos didn’t say anything. I was getting more annoyed with each second he ignored me. “Can you please stop ignoring my presence? I’m right here.”

“Where she is, is not of your business.”

I tilted my head. “Are you a grumpy drunk? I was hoping for something different.” Carlos looked around, his hand going to his hair and sorting it out. The wind was messing with his hair, but somehow, he still looked handsome. “Or are you just mad?”

“I’m annoyed.”

“Why’s that?” Carlos turned to me, eyes piercing through mine. He bit his lip and then shook his head.

“Go enjoy the party. Our host had a lot of questions about you,” he finally responded. My gaze looked for Uwe, sitting with another group, his rebellious blonde hair falling in front of his eyes. The man didn’t seem to stop in one place for more than two minutes. “I’m sure he doesn’t want to stay a stranger.”

Reverse psychology or what?

“Maybe I will,” I responded offhandedly and took a sip of my drink that I didn’t notice was waiting for me on the counter, drops of condensation staining the coaster of a deeper black. “Enjoy Mia.”

“Mila,” he corrected me, to which I just grinned. He knew I knew her name.

Leaving the bar behind, my feet starting to ache on the heels and my eyes already tired from the strong lights that had replaced the pastel dusky tones of the sunset, I found myself in a dilemma, contemplating what game Carlos was playing.

Marjorie sat on Rio’s lap to give me her place on the couch. She was just another level of clingy when she was drunk and my brother didn’t seem to mind. His hands were around her, holding her close to him. Compared to the other two couples in the group, they were more carefree. The Sainzes were not big fans of PDA.

“I hope that one has alcohol on it,” the enthusiastic and accent-filled voice of our host erupted in our surroundings a few beats later, interrupting a boring conversation about how Rodrigo could improve his golfing skills.

The German driver leaned against the back of the couch in front of me, behind Ana. “Oh, it doesn’t,” I replied. “I’m behaving tonight.”

“Too bad,” the guy winked and Marjorie patted Rio’s shoulder. My brother dragged himself to the end of the couch and moved slightly to the side, creating a little spot for Uwe to sit. He put his beer on the table, next to the fancy glasses filled with drinks of all colours. “Your friend there told me you’re a driver too,” he signalled to Carlos with his head. “In which category?”

“For the last year, I’ve been driving in the Ferrari Challenge. I’m looking at endurance for next year,” his eyes widened and his smile grew a bit more. “I made my debut in WEC last year when a driver got COVID. That was good.”

“That’s interesting,” he said.

Marjorie leaned into me, trying to whisper something to Uwe, but failed and her words came out loud and excited. “She won the championship last week!”

“Ja?! Sainz forgot to mention that,” he looked at me, impressed. Men usually didn’t get this excited when told about my driving skills and just from his reaction, the German scored some points in his favour.

“The first woman to do so!” Marjorie added and I rolled my eyes.

“Marjorie—” I stopped her, but the guy interrupted me.

“What? If the fruit won’t sell itself…” Marjorie said in her defence and the guy nodded in agreement. “Take her dancing, Uwe. She needs some fun.”

I was surprised by her tenacity in ensuring I have some fun tonight. The tall blonde German took my hand and walked in front of me, gently dragging me to the dance floor. My eyes dropped to the floor to be sure my heels would not fail me. When I looked back up to find him, I noticed the height difference. Too German, indeed.

As soon as we approached the small crowd around the DJ, he pulled me close by my waist. His grip was firm and confident and his posture changed the second his fingers found my skin, as if he enjoyed my delicate size and weight. The crowd surrounded us when he stopped, the bodies of the guest shielding us from the eyes of those scattered around the terrace. His hand drifted to my bare back. He felt warm and gentle.

“I hope you enjoy the music,” he whispered as I drowned in his cologne when he leaned against me, so close to my ear I could feel the brush of his lips against the sensitive skin. He smelled of pine and bay – fresh, crisp and masculine. “I’m hoping for some reggaeton.”

I laughed and he grinned back at me. “It’s a better fit for dancing, that’s for sure.” The rhythm of the current music was not bad, but not suited for the contact I knew he was hoping for. He hadn’t let go of me. His warm touch on my lower back kept reminding me of Marjorie’s words. “I hope you get lucky.”

He chucked. “That’s up to you.”

“Don’t step out of line,” I got on my tip-toes and, on the way to his ear, I could feel his breath against my cheek.

The music carried us away, not reggaeton yet, but it had just the pace we needed to dance and explore each other a bit more.

I didn’t feel anything whenever his lips got closer to my skin, not even in anticipation to feel them end all the need for touch and attention. Thinking about it, I didn’t even remember the last time I got laid and that was worrying, to say the least. Even though Uwe was there, making sure I knew he was available, he was not Carlos; in fact, he was Carlos’ polar opposite. Attractive, nonetheless. Blonde, tall, strong. Nice accent. Nice hands. Long, warm fingers. I could go on, I could make a list of this man’s wonders and I knew he would not make me feel half as good as Sainz could.

He bit my earlobe. Hands conducting my waist. I moved a few inches away, the corner of my lips curling into a smile. He tightened the grip around my waist, both his hands holding me close.

“Behave,” I said playfully.

“You can walk away if you want to,” he let go of me and I shook my head in disapproval. His hands met my waist again. The music changed and I chuckled at the familiar sound and so did the crowd, as they quickly started singing. “Dance with me, DiMaggio,” he commanded.

We danced, slowly and easily. I didn’t even know where we were standing, as the music and his touch clouded my mind with nothing but this moment. His fingers kissed my skin in an adoring way, the lyrics to the songs escaping his lips with a funny accent he tried to fight. It made me laugh and correct him on his Spanish more than once.

He turned me around, my back to his chest, his hands on my waist, his touch warm, firm and strong, pushing me to him. The shirt was so thin that his body heat seeped through the fabric and reached the exposed skin of my back. I could feel his strong hands everywhere as we danced some more until the set ended. As the music changed to a more upbeat one, I turned back to him.

During the movement I caught a glimpse of him, alone. A beer in his hand and nothing but the dark sky around him.

“Another drink?” The German’s voice snapped me back to the moment.

My eyes seemed too hard to move, I was stuck there, on him. But then a slimmer silhouette appeared at his side, with blonde hair and a big smile.

I smiled. “No, thanks. I told you. I’m behaving.”

“Hope that’s only regarding the alcohol,” he murmured and he licked his lips.

“Let’s see,” I said as my eyes dropped to his lips and then to the medallion hidden under the fabric of his shirt. “What does it say?”

He noticed what my gaze has fallen upon and he followed it by dropping his forehead closer to mine. “Das Blaue vom Himmel versprechen,” he answered. I turned it around with the help of my fingers.

“The blue of the sky?” I asked, not letting go of the amulet.

“Promise the blue of the sky. It’s a saying. There’s a certain ring to it.” I nodded at the explanation and out of nowhere, his lips crashed against mine.

Harsh and wet. Brutal and aggressive. Ocean and tequila.

Tasted so wrong. So wrong.

Wrong in way too many ways.

The moment awakened the memories of an Italian guy left alone in a bathroom stall and the reasons that had made me leave. He was not Carlos. They were not Carlos. Carlos. My eyes drifted to him, his eyes piercing through the crowd to find mine. Even with his friend’s lips on the skin of my neck and his arms firmly grabbing my ass, I couldn’t find the strength to break the eye contact.

It felt like an out-of-body experience. I could feel every cell of my body reject the man touching me, yet I was locked in a man standing not too far away, not moving, but getting more distant each second.

My look, a shout for help.

His made me burn. No emotion, just a blank expression.

Surprisingly, Uwe didn’t seem to be bothered by the glances Sainz cast in our direction; in fact, I wasn’t even sure if he was aware of them. His attention was focused on me. His hands, his lips, his eyes. Unfortunately for him, I couldn’t reciprocate the devotion.

Every time his eyes dropped to another part of me other than my face, my eyes would go back to the Spaniard on the other side of the crowd, leaning against the fence of the terrace. Alone. He’s alone.

The cast of Carlos' gaze was making me dizzy. Even worse, making me feel guilty. Guilty. His eyes were half-lidded, his hair mussed and his clothes dishevelled. He looked drunk. He was drunk.

And he started walking towards us.

“Eva,” his voice resonated, hoarse and deep as always. The only difference was that his lips were barely moving. “I would like to go home.”

“Already? But we’re all having so much fun, ‘migo,” the German exclaimed. Carlos was unfazed. Uwe’s words seemed to enter one ear and escape from the other, as Carlos didn’t even look at him. I was unsure if he had even listened to his friend.  His gaze was focused on me.

“Eva.”

“Don’t worry, pal, I can take her home,” Uwe offered, his hand falling on Carlos’ shoulder. The Spaniard moved just enough to make the blonde retract his hand.

“Eva, I need you to take me home,” Carlos insisted. I sent an apologetic look to Uwe, whose confused eyes drifted from me to Carlos, repeatedly. I looked over the crowd, my eyes trying to find Blanca. He grabbed my hand. “Take me home.”

For fuck’s sake.

The man was drunk and acting like a fool and yet my body reacted to that gesture, electricity sparkling from the point of contact. I looked at him, directly into his eyes. They were dark, the black of his eyes dripping into the hazel iris. He tensed his jaw.

I turned back to Uwe. My hand on Carlos’. The German nodded at my words and took a step back to let me through the crowd.

“Not what I expected when told you to enjoy the party.”

“Sorry?”

“This,” he motioned to Uwe. I dropped his hand.

“You think I was?”

“Looked like it.”

A frown instantly took over my face, confusion growing inside. I walked to my brother, who was probably as drunk as Carlos, and his girlfriend, who was leaning against the handrail. Rio’s eyes followed Carlos and not me. His lips curled into a smile watching him trying to reach me.

“Land him a hand, ‘Vita. He’s fucked up.”

Of course, I didn’t. My steps led me to Marjorie and I stood next to her, waiting for Carlos to slowly make his way through the crowd. I dared to look down, at the foam the waves created when they kissed the cliff and followed the trails of white foam. The music made it impossible to hear the claps of the waves.

“You’re so wasted, bro!” Rio hailed Carlos when he finished his unstable walk and finally reached us. “Where’s blondie?”

“You should worry about your wife,” Carlos responded and my eyes drifted to Marjorie, frowning at the Spaniard’s comment.

Rio and Marjorie walked in front of us. He was holding her by the waist, saying things in her ear I was sure I didn’t want to listen to. I didn’t try to match my pace to Carlos’, but he made an effort to catch mine. We had to wait for him in the car.

                                                        * 

“Could you please stop?”

Carlos had opened and closed his window three times in the last ten minutes. “It’s hot,” was the excuse he gave when he lowered the glass for the first time. And for why he had closed it a short moment after, he only offered a measly “It’s messing my hair”. After those first times, he repeated the words two times, each time after the annoying noise of the mechanism.

“I’m hot,” he said for the fourth time, the glass going down and the cold night air filling the car. I could feel my skin being taken by goosebumps as the cold air touched my skin.

“I’ll leave you on the side of the road if you close it one more time,” I threatened him.

Marjorie and Rio had fallen asleep five minutes into the drive home and Carlos had sat in silence next to me, watching me drive. My ear drums were still suffering from the loud music of the party, so I was quite enjoying the silence.

“Oh, please don’t,” he said, his voice mildly sarcastic and his eyes avoiding mine. I could see his pupils dilate as he looked at me.

“Just shut up, please,” my eyes didn’t leave the road, which was only lit by the headlights and the street lamps, except to look up at the dark velvety stripes painted in the night sky. “You don’t even look like yourself when you’re drunk,” I mumbled.

“You’re sober and I can say the same.”

“Why?”

“You kissed.” There was a slight pause but I refused to look at the man whose arm, resting on the console, almost touched mine. “You didn’t let me kiss you.”

You didn’t let me kiss you.

I blinked, trying to understand if the words were real and not a fabrication of my tired mind. Does he think I wanted that kiss? I kept my eyes on the road, my grip firm on the steering wheel. I couldn’t think of anything to say.

“D’you like it?” he continued, “Him? The kiss?”

“You’re drunk. We will talk tomorrow,” was all I said. This was not the time or place to talk about anything remotely related to all the feelings and emotions I wanted to repress.

“I’m not that drunk, Eva,” he sighed. A long breath escaped me, not knowing exactly what to do or say to amend the situation.

Again, the imabalance. If on one side I was pissed at him for dragging me out of the party like he owned me and had some kind of sick power over me, I was also thankful to know he still cared. Also, not only he cared but he was jealous of Uwe.

Is this insanity taking over?

You didn’t let me kiss you. Another man's kiss would never make me descend into a weeks-long spiral. I wanted to tell him that. I wanted him to know that I’d been craving him, desiring him, dreaming about him each night since our dinner weeks before.

“You flee my touch. You act like I’m a pervert,” he kept going.

What? I glanced at him from under my lashes, trying to gauge his expression. His stubble framed his face, giving him a vulnerable look that made my heart dance in my chest. The wind was making his hair messier; the untamed dark strands made him look even more vulnerable, yet his words cut deeper than ever. How could he look so fragile and yet sting me out like this?

“I don’t—”

“You do. And now that guy? That guy? D’you really think I don’t notice how you step away from me every time I touch you? Every fucking time, Eva.”

“It’s not like that.” Carlos looked over the window. I peeked in the rearview mirror, hoping I would find Marjorie and Rio still sleeping. They were. “We’ll talk tomorrow.”

“No.” Just no.

But he didn’t speak. For a couple of minutes, silence reigned in the car and a battle happened inside me. So many thoughts and guilt. Resentment and desire in the same measure.

“Tell me what’s it like then.”

“I don’t want to,” I sounded like my two-year-old nieces, for fuck’s sake. I turned into the gate of the residential area.

In the five minutes it took me to drive from the entrance to the residence, Marjorie and Rio woke up and complained two times about how cold the car was. Two times each. I didn’t say a word until I parked the car in the driveway, leaving enough space for Blanca’s.

“You should use the garage,” Carlos complained, dragging himself out of the car. His hand over his abdomen and a funny expression on his face.

“And you should drink less.”

Before I could reach the house, whose door my brother had opened, I heard his room’s door close. They were in a rush. Behind me, Carlos walked slowly. Not that drunk, he said. The man could barely walk in a straight line or have his eyes completely open.

I stood by the door, on the inside of the house and waited for him to go past me so I could lock the door. As he did, he turned to me. One of his hands travelled to the cold skin of my waist, the other to my face, his index finger caressing my cheek.

Warmth and delicacy. He could barely stand straight but his touch was delicate and soft against my skin. Seconds of pure bliss. I felt a silent sigh leaving me and, without realizing it, I took a step back. Like a marionette cut from its strings, my back hit the door frame.

I immediately condemned my body for doing so. He shook his head. “See?”

He left me standing there, my blood rushing inside my veins. The sad look in his eyes and the memory of this touch remained in my mind until I saw his body disappear being a wall. Then I placed my hand on the place he’d touched me, trying to bring back the comfort of his touch. I could feel the leftover warmth on my skin.

I didn’t move until I heard his steps reach the top of the stairs, making sure he would make it upstairs safe. When the sound stopped, probably indicating he had reached his bedroom, I turned away. I walked to the kitchen, searching for a water bottle and a large bowl and then I made my way upstairs.

Upstairs was dark and silent. Rio and Marjorie’s door was closed and even though Carlos had left his open, I couldn’t hear anything. Before walking to his room to check if he was okay and to leave the water and the bowl next to his bed, I left my heels and wallet in my room.

I knocked. Didn’t hear anything. The door was ajar and the silence hurt my ears, still buzzing from the loud music at the party. I peeked inside; an orange hue was talking over the room, coming from the lamps on the bedside tables. Carlos was nowhere to be seen.

When I was about to call his name, I saw a stream of light coming from the bathroom, casting a white line on the dark rug in front of the door, but the silence continued.

I left the bottle and the bowl on the nightstand, where his phone was charging and his wallet was left open, and then turned around to the door from where the light was coming. I couldn’t see much more than the image of his back through the small gap. Although I felt like I was invading his privacy, as I actually was, I let myself enjoy that moment of intimacy.

He was still wearing his jeans. And socks. Green socks.

I would have killed to see him like this.

I heard the splash of the water hitting the porcelain of the sink. My image was reflected in the mirror when he bent down to wash his face and even though I tried to escape his gaze, his reflexes were faster than mine. He turned to me.

“I left water and a bowl on your bedside table,” I said. “Just in case.”

Carlos used a towel to dry his hands and face and walked past me, turning off the bathroom light on his way. Darkness fell into the room, the glow from the lights too low to light up the whole space. He became nothing but shades.

“I’m not a child,” I heard him undo the zipper of his jeans and take them off under the orangy glow. I drifted my gaze to the well-lit water bottle and, made myself read the label, fighting the urge to look at him. “You can go now.”

“You have no right to be mad at me.”

“Now you want to talk,” he deadpanned. The ruffle of the comforter and then a muted thud, his body meeting the bed. “I want to sleep.”

“Have some water first,” mentally, I complimented the choice of low brightness on the lamps. I really didn’t want to see his reaction to my words – his grunt was enough to know he was annoyed. I grabbed the bottle and extended my arm towards him.

He turned to me and the light reached his face faster than my eyes did. The beams outlined his features: the nose,  the lips, the full eyelashes and gave a new sparkle to his eyes. Under the warm tones, he looked peaceful and somewhat delicate, and that wasn’t a word I would naturally use for him.

“I’m not a child,” he repeated his words from before and didn’t take the bottle from my hands.

“Yet you’re behaving like one.”

“Go to bed, Eva.”

“I don’t want you to choke to death on your own vomit.”

His eyes widened, a snort coming from his mouth before his words. “I won’t.”

“You can’t be sure,” I replied and I moved the bottle in front of his face. “Just a sip.”

“Eva,” a sigh and then my hand got lighter. He took the bottle from my hand and I took a step back. It didn’t take long until I heard a satisfied sigh.

“Try to not die,” and with these parting words, I walked away from the bed.

“Eva,” he called my name again and each time he was taking more time with it. Perhaps he was tired, or the alcohol was slowing him down, but my name sounded like music.

The accent. The v on his lips sounded like a b. Soft and tender.

And just like that, I couldn’t resist turning back to look at him. He was a striking silhouette under that stupid orange dim light; shirtless, his head against the headboard and his hair falling on his forehead and at that moment, I understood it was too late to fight the feelings.

“Can we talk tomorrow? You need sleep.”

“When?”

I shrugged. “Any time will do.”

“Eva,” he had his eyes almost closed, his face down on the pillow; my name sounded like a siren call. I wanted to dive in and meet him in bed. “Don’t see him again.”

His soft whisper cut through the silence like thunder.

I got close, just so I could turn off the lights and let him rest, but as I did so, my eyes caught the sight of his tired face. The line of his perfect lashes, the hair ruffled against the pillow, the light kissing his face, making him even more beautiful.

My fingers lingered over the light switch, postponing the gesture that would make him disappear in the dark. I stood next to him for a couple of minutes, staring adoringly at his face and appreciating the tranquillity of his sleep. It didn’t feel wrong, not even for a second.

He had ruined me the moment he brushed his lips against mine and reopened the door where all the what-ifs were stored and left to be forgotten. He set them free and they twirled around me, poking me with all the scenarios I’d made so much effort to forget.

But perhaps I shouldn't forget them. Perhaps I belonged here, at his side, not afraid to look at him and adore his face. Without the weight of the world and its expectations, I could just be here, tracing the lines between the light and the shadows with my eyes, be free to admit I wanted to kiss him right where the light touched him. How much I envied that orange dim light that staked a claim on him before I could.

With a click, all of it vanished into the dark.

I don't even know what to say. First of all, THANK YOU for reading and leaving messages and comments. I can't tell you how much I value every single word you write me. also: virtually hugging all of you sainz girlies. it was tough, today. still hurts. I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Let me know what you think. See you around, Bru 🩷

[stevenbasic]

Growing into the Job, Post 346: A Sunday at Melissa's, p4

The clock was chiming again as the two of us climbed the stairs. Well, she was climbing. I was in her arms. It was, I dunno, nine or something, maybe eleven. I was already exhausted from the morning I’d had. In the past hour I’d found my phone busted, been wrung dry by a hand job into the pool, and - oh yeah - nearly drowned. So, I couldn’t help but take the chance to close my eyes, and  luxuriate in her embrace as she carried me. Melissa was so strong, so confident, and this weekend I’d gotten to a place where I could put my pride aside and more easily accept her comforts. But, as relaxed as I was, the first bell toll caused my eyes to shoot open. It felt like it was ringing for me. 

“Where’s that clock?” I asked, curious. Hearing it from the kitchen earlier, I would have sworn it was in the great room near the stairs. Now that we were on the stairs, it sounded like it could be coming from the kitchen.

“Shhh, don’t worry about the clock,” Melissa hushed me, smiling down at me warmly, strangely. Anyway, she was bringing me back up to the bedroom for a shower, to clean off the chlorine and whatever remnants of last night still clung crusty to me. And, despite the heat of her body, a cold chill still ran down my spine. I needed a warming up. 

Quietly we passed down the open balcony hall that overlooked the great room, through her bedroom and into her en-suite bath. It was done simply but elegantly in creamy stone tiles, with natural light coming in from an overhead skylight. A glass wall separated a walk-in shower from which chrome fixtures and a huge rainhead shower glistened. 

With me still in her arms, she turned on the shower and let the water warm. “Can you stand by yourself?” she asked. 

“I think so,” I answered, without really even considering why she’d asked. Did you expect me to forget how to stand? Walk? Maybe not too unreasonable; I’d apparently just lost the ability to swim.

With great care she placed me down, and stepped me backwards under the deluge from above. My legs actually were shaky but ahhhhh the water was nice, perfectly warm. Patterned marble tiles were underfoot, larger stone ones lining the walls, while a chrome drain whisked water away. Melissa smiled at my obvious pleasure, still wrapped in a figure-hugging white towel and matching turban. She stood just outside the shower stall, on the other side of a low stone threshold. 

“So,” she began, her eyes having already drifted up from my feet, “Do you want to wash yourself or do I get to bathe you?”

“Um,” I started, eyeing the vast selection of gels, shampoos and other assorted bottles and tubes which lined an inset shelf to my left. I was confused by my options and the whiffs I got of her perfume reminded me of how good she was at being a woman, and how inept a man I was. 

Was this pheromone 0001.55.6344.gf, .6388.dd or .6349.gd you were using on me at that moment? Maybe a cocktail? Remind me to ask you later.

 I crossed my hands in front of me, unsure of myself. “Can you help?” I asked. 

“Of course, sweetie,” she beamed, and reached for the handheld spray attachment mounted to the wall. She turned on its water, checked its temperature, and crouched so she could begin to shower my body with its firm spray. “Is this coming out too hard, baby?” she asked, with earnest concern, looking up at me with honest eyes, “I can turn it down if it’s too much.”

“n-no it’s okay,” I answered, glimpsing down between her full breasts. Her towel was tied at the chest, and cleavage jiggled. As if enjoying the attention, she smiled as she adjusted the pressure and temperature making it just that much better. The spray from the shower wand was strong, but felt nice down my chest, up under my arms as she lifted my right wrist, then the left. It felt particularly good when - nnngh - she passed it between my legs, sprayed it up into my nethers. It gave me a jolt of pleasure, the jet pulsing into my scrotum and, goddamn me, I felt a new erection start to swell. The overhead water continued to wash over me as well. 

“Well, tell me if it’s too much,” she said, the evenness in her voice and straight face belying the fact that she was obviously paying special attention to my manhood, exciting it with the handheld spray. She tweaked the water pressure again, adjusted the temperature. 

My cock responded. Oh my god, that feels amazing, even better.

“That okay?” she asked.

“y-y-yes…” I managed, trying to keep from writhing in pleasure.

“You sure?” she pressed, “You seem so sensitive. If you're uncomfortable I can always just sit you up next to the sink, scrub you up with a washcloth instead.”

What, and make me feel even more like a newborn? “N-no I’m fine,” I assured, my cock betraying my thoughts with an excited throb. She proceeded to firmly spritz my whole body with the wand, passing it up my sides, over my arms and legs. Down my chest and belly. My boner was on its way back, at half-swollen mast, gradually growing under the warm attention of her shower and the tingles it brought. It felt great against my cock, as she paid it special service, watching it with curiosity as it  bobbed and swayed slowly hardening further under the pressure. “That feels really nice,” I admitted, suddenly craving her hand, or a mouth. 

With a wry smile she looked up at me before standing, to her full height. Her breasts were right in front of my face. She replaced the spray wand to its wall mount, though water still jetted from its nozzles. I tried to watch her face, read her expression, but my attention was immediately pulled toward her hands as she undid the big knot in her towel, which bound it to her chest. With more than a small amount of drama the towel fell, revealing her naked body. I couldn’t help but groan she was so perfect, her curves so jaw-droppingly stunning. By god her waist was small, her hips so flared. Well-trimmed womanhood lay between the cleft of thick, powerful thighs and legs which would shame a racehorse. Her tummy was softly trim and tanned, navel formed to vertical perfection,  the hint of her abdominals rippling beneath taut, flawless skin. And above, god help me, her breasts hung huge, giant globes just two shades paler than the rest of her, each a firm, ovate melon with large brown nipples, tan aureoles. My eyes looked up into enormous, monumental underboob, and saw the faint pattern of blue veins just under her skin’s surface. She was huge, huge! How tall had she become?! My god, I felt tiny. 

She giggled, amused by my awestruck expression, and pulled the towel from her hair. She shook her dark mane, semi-dry, and looked back down at me. She watched as I backed up as she stepped into the shower. Warm water from the ceiling now flowed over both of us. She reached for a bottle of shampoo, and squeezed some into her hand. With the other, she turned me around, and from behind her hands began rubbing my hair. I could feel her fingers firmly scrubbing my scalp, massaging shampoo into my sodden hair, a lather foaming up. My eyes fluttered under the indulgence of her attention as she worked it into my head, cleaning everything around my ears, rubbing the back of my neck with frothy shampoo.

To rinse, she pulled me back a bit, more fully under the rainhead and began to speak again to me. “So, tell me. How do you feel about our relationship dynamic now?” she asked, shielding my eyes with a hand over my brow, “Hm?”

“Wh-what do you mean?” I asked, water sputtering from my lips. I was a little surprised by the suddenness of her question. 

“Can’t you feel it changing again?” she said plainly, rubbing my hair under the showerfall to clear it of soap. “Because I can,” she continued, as she reached for something else behind her, from the shower shelf. She was squeezing something else from a bottle. “I can feel myself becoming more dominant over you, again. But in a like big mama-bear kinda way.” She was rubbing what sounded like gel between her hands, frothing it up. “And you’re getting more submissive, more dependent on me, weaker.”

“Wow, uh…” I began, not really knowing what to say. Whatever pride I still had, whatever vestiges of male ego and authority still rattled away inside my shattered soul rankled a bit at her suggestions…even though my cock again betrayed me with a throb. Yes, yes, yes. I was in a tough time, in life. Struggling a bit with my health, my sense of self worth. I’d found her, and I’d latched on a bit, I admit, to her strength. She was an entrancing beauty, to boot, young and vibrant, and it had been easy to allow myself to fall into her shadow, to let her establish herself as the stronger partner despite her age. I was content to watch her bloom bigger and bigger and more gorgeous seemingly every day while I seemed to recede. But still, her words stung a bit. “I dunno, about that, real-”

With shower gel in her hands, she’d reached around and grabbed my cock with her left hand. If it wasn’t at full stiffness before, now it certainly was. My voice, stopped in my throat, became little more than a guttural whimper as lightning coursed up my body from her grip. She lathered up my erection, then her  hand passed dutifully under my sac to clean me underneath.

“You were saying..?” she prompted me, a gentle squeeze to my testicles reminding me who was in charge. 

Yeah, uh, nope. I was speechless, struck, and she knew it. My body quivered and quaked, threatened to collapse at the knees as she kept up the pressure on my tender gonads. She held me for a bit and then - pleased by my acquiescent silence - moved her hand back up for a stroke up my shaft.

“Good boy,” she purred.

Her big, slippery left hand worked my cock with slick expertise. She knew exactly how to keep me frozen, paralyzed, quivering at her touch. Her other hand, also slathered with frothy gel, now ran down my backside, under and then up, between the cheeks of my butt. I gasped, flinched, and tried to keep from crying out as she lathered me up in there as well. She ran her hand up and down, in and out, gently but with confident command, as her left hand still stroked my erection. This…that…this was almost too much. I writhed, twisted, and began to pull away from her.

"Ugh, such a squirmy wormy," she said, giggling. I could hear her eyes rolling in mock annoyance, and she gripped my cock tighter, to bring me to heel. "Will you settle down and stop being such a baby?” She paused for a moment, then, gears turning. "Hmm..." she said, a playful smirk brightening her voice, "Forget that. Give in to those urges.” She began to stroke my cock again, and her voice dropped to an indulgent, baby-doll coo. “You can be as much of a baby as you want,” she said, as if now talking to a small child, “I promise mama will take good care of you."

Did she feel me shiver? Did she feel me shake? She heard me whine, for sure, because she began to giggle. While her left kept a grip on my cock her right hand left my butt and she spun me around by the shoulder to push me against the tile of the wall. The stone, for the second, was a shock of cold. Hand still on my shoulder, leaning in over me, Melissa bent me at the knees a bit and then put her right palm on the wall above me. She dropped her shoulder a touch, bringing her huge right breast to bump into my face. 

“Y-you have really big breasts…” I found myself saying, in awe at its size as she pulled it away, just a bit, so I could stare at its tumescence from below. 

“Mmhm I do…” Melissa chuckled, her great, wet, pale breast wobbling with her laughter. It was, my god, maybe twice the size of my head, if not more. She waited for me to continue, to see if I had any other observations, but seemed to be pleased with the quieting effect it had on me. Hypnotizing, isn’t it little man?

Yes. I watched water streaming off it, water running over her shoulder from above, down her breasts, over her nipple in thick rivulets. I saw how her areola was swelling, the little bumps of Montgomery glands forming, her nipple thickening in the warm, warm water.

“oh my god….” I groaned, as I watched the dribbles, rivers.

“Thirsty?” she asked, from above, “Open up.” 

Without a thought I complied, opening my mouth as she continued to stroke my cock below. Like a needy bird I eyed the warm water streaming off of her breast above me.

Adjusting her shoulder scantly, coming in closer, she directed the rivulets onto my face, splashing onto my forehead and eyes, running down my nose and cheeks. She shifted again, and I turned my head to the left, so her wet nipple now dribbled everything right to my open mouth from inches away. I gurgled, and took it, and swallowed.

“There you go, cutie..!” she giggled, and watched as I opened my mouth again for more shower water, warm from the rainhead, warm from her skin. “Drink up, that’s right, drink up…”

I held my mouth open, longer, longer, let it fill, until water bubbled out. Then I closed, gagging a bit into another swallow, warmth down my throat. I swear I tasted her in it, and I reopened. 

She came in closer, dropping, bringing her nipple now right to my lips, to my open mouth. I closed, latching loosely onto her warm nipple, water still coming into my mouth from her areola, I sucked and drank the shower’s water now directly from her breast, from her skin. I swallowed, and gulped, awkwardly and clumsily. She pushed her engorged nipple more into my mouth, gently forcing it open further for me to accept her tit. The water was now dribbling around my lips as I let her push her nipple in. Whatever this was, whatever game she was playing, I was not resisting, I was only letting it happen.

Nipple in my mouth, I lapped at it, I suckled water from it. She took, then, the handheld spray and adjusted the stream’s volume so it gurgled water out rather than sprayed, and layed it atop her right breast, near her shoulder. Water now came down to me in a thicker flow, burbling and bubbling around my mouth, running over my nose and cheeks. She was giggling again, and I was sucking and drinking as best I could, mouthing at her nipple and gargling the warm water from it. It was thick with her pheromones, now I was sure, and instincts inside me made me latch on tighter, not wanting to ever leave this position.

“Oh, Jayyyyheyheyheyheyyyyyy…!” she giggled and purred, cooing down to me, trying her best not to just  give in and squash my face with her tit, “You’re making me feel like a real mommmyyyyyyyyy…” Rather than plaster me with her breast, mush my head into the wall, she wanted to let me keep water-nursing, play-suckling from her. Go, baby, go, drink up, drink up from me. Her giggles had faded, replaced by little groans.

Water flowed into my mouth, when I would come for breath, and it gave me life. I drank, I drank and I suckled and drank. I felt Melissa starting to tremble in arousal above me and it was only then that I realized holy shit holy shit…her hand…her hand…I’m about to come.

I fought it back but nnngh oh my god I was close, it was coming. My hand reached for her, and found her womanhood between her legs. I cupped it, stroked up just once and then she shuddered. All it took was one stroke, fingers already soaked. She had been leaning forward more, now unable to keep her ample tits from plastering my head into the wall, and as I suckled water from her she was coming, orgasming, shaking and pushing me harder into the wall as she groaned. I came, then, too, in a burst and a muffled bark into her tit worried even in my climax that I might both smother and drown. Or I might be head-crushed to a pulp or fall to the floor as my legs trembled and gave out from under me.  The weight of Melissa's chest was really the only thing keeping me standing. My panicked moans resonated through her boobs only increasing her pleasure as her hand continued to move firmly along my shaft. My jism had splashed first against her upper hip and thigh, a pulse, and then another and another and another, each washed down her leg by the water warm flowing down her, around us, down our bodies. 

After a minute, a few wet damp tender moments in which we pleasured one another, my hand on her, hers on me, her breast in my face and nipple in my mouth as our climaxes waned, she pulled me away. Warm water still washed us as we basked in the afterglow, her hair was dark and wet over her shoulders and face. “Oh my God, Jay…” she breathed, chest heaving, looking down at me as if with new eyes. The shower wand had been dropped, forgotten, dangling from the wall on its chrome hose, gurgling out water still.

I looked up at her, blinking shower water from my eyes. I didn’t know how to react, I just looked at her. I was so scared of what this meant for our relationship.

“Stay here,” she said, finally, turning off the water and turning to step from the shower. She was retrieving two huge new, white towels from a rack on the wall. One she draped over my head and shoulders, its long folds reaching well down past my waist, while she dried herself with the other. Motionless I watched her, entranced by both the impressive muscles under her smooth, perfect skin and the soft contours and jiggles of her body’s curves. She finished with herself quickly, and then turned to reach down and place her towel around the one already covering me, wrap them both tightly around my entire body, my arms bound to my sides, until nearly all that showed of me was my face and maybe my feet sticking out the bottom. She then swept me up into her strong arms and carried me into the bedroom.

I know no man can really remember what it was like when he was an infant wrapped in blankets and cradled in his mother's arms. I certainly did not - I barely remembered my mother at all - and yet, completely swaddled in those huge, soft towels and cuddled securely against her naked chest with my head tucked against her strong shoulder, looking up in amazement at those beautiful, larger-than-life features looming so close above my own, that's exactly how I felt. Her smile was wide, warm, benevolent and in that moment I wanted nothing more than to be hers, to be held and loved and cared for by this magnificent giantess.  That she seemed more than human, a goddess of power and beauty, was beginning to be less and less of an exaggeration. To have my body literally melt into hers and become one with hers forever would be a dream come true.

She carried me to a large, soft chair in the corner of her bedroom and sat down in it, placing me on her naked lap. With my head still tucked against her shoulder, my entire body still swaddled, she dried my face and hair with a corner of the towel. Then, as I fell deeper and deeper under the spell of the warmth and softness of her naked body, she dried the rest of me with little pats and hugs through the towels encasing my body.

“Do you see this, do you see how we are here, you and me?” she finally spoke to me, “This is right. This is how it’s meant to be.”

I looked up at her and blinked, unable to find any of the words I needed to say. I felt her left arm reach under me and lift. Cradling me now in her arms, she gently lowered me down to rest my head on her huge right breast. I looked up at her from her boob, my left cheek near her nipple. 

“I could be good at this. I could be very, very good at this,” she said to me, adjusting my body in her strong arms, “All you need to do is want it, and let me grow. Let me grow into it.”

Did I know what she meant? Did I really know, understand, comprehend what she meant? I don’t know if I did, but I felt it. I felt the bond between us stronger now than ever. 

“So is it? Is it what you want? Tell me. Tell me this is what you want.”

Of course it is. 

“y-yes…” I said. 

“Yes what, sweetie?” she prompted. She needed to hear me say it. 

“this is what I want…”

“Good boy…” she nearly groaned, and - I feel it changing again, already, inside my body - turned my face into her breast. On instinct I opened, took her nipple in, and latched on….

========================================

Thanks muchly to ResistanceIsFutile, editor in residence

Patreon? Patreon.

[diveyne]

short story, 1 of ?

death comes swift for some, and for others never at all. morgana has known from early on that immortality did not mean invulnerability, that she could still be clawed and maimed and pierced and torn by every lethal device fated to rend souls from mortal flesh. so many times had come to pass where she'd thrown herself in front of forces that would have put an end to any ordinary being, but the fates remind her time and time again that she is greater than ordinary, that, perhaps, there lies something further beyond the bleak existence of sempiternity that she is yet to achieve.

morgana tells herself that it's only for revenge and woe-filled vengeance that tethers her to the earth, but deep down she knows it rises above even that, that she exists as a protector of those unable to save themselves, and an adjudicator of the corruption marring the world with its filth and pus and rot and tar. in spite of every modicum of danger she's faced, with all the intention to put herself in harm's way to never see another sunset or the frail kiss of the moon again, she persists. spared by gods greater than herself, perhaps; and perhaps it's another sign that there is more left to her mission, that she exists to bare her soul to mortalkind and be their salvation from the falsities that plague them.

she's lain in the filth of her own drying blood, and felt the impossible weight of the earth's grime coating her vibrant wings, more than enough times to know the infernal weight of the iron empowered by false idols and pedestals built upon silk spun half-truths and bitter lies that feel like rapture upon skin that did not know the joys of true paradise. morgana has seen the chains that bind her people, so similar to the very coils of iron that rattle upon her steel-cut feathers that, no matter how hard she tried, would not part from her back.

and so, she has learned to use her wings as shields where the barriers erected by magicks failed. from the shadows she has learned to bless the souls willing to turn their hearts to her and open themselves to the salve of her boons. be that as it may, her gifts are not pieces she parts with freely, or lightly.

for the millennia she has been alive, morgana has witnessed far too many good souls succumb to the weight of power far greater than their minds could possibly comprehend. growing power-hungry, they try to rise above their stations far too quickly with a desperation matched only by that of a mortal who lay in the threshold between shadow and death. great power corrupts, making it a burden not many are equipped to bear.

she's seen the corruption unfold firsthand in her own sister's eyes. they'd been warm, once, vibrant and nurturing as the glow of the sun, always matched by the brightness of her smile. but over time, as the twins grew into the gifts of their ascension, morgana watched kayle's warmth fade into the pale swells of cold, frost-tipped zealotry. kayle spoke of law but held herself above it, seeing the world and its people only in black and white, in the balancing scale of the never-ending war between good and evil. morgana had always known that things were not so simple, that mortals were complex and their conflicts nuanced. demacia suffered under kayle's hand and her reigning influence, and a thousand years later, the suffering remains a permanent fixture in its history as its mages were forced to live in hiding or stare listlessly at the hardened lines and thin cracks in petricite cells.

morgana's lips press together as she peers into gently rippling water of the cavern's wide pool. her legacy has long since faded beyond into that of legend, now no more than a forgotten relic of history buried beneath layers of dirt in a tomb laid to waste. there were so few believers compared to the masses of centuries prior, and so rarely did even a whisper of a prayer harken to her. those who remained weren't even sure if she was more than a myth. it's silly, she'd hear them say. the gods aren't real. no god is real. if the gods were listening, would they allow us to suffer as they have?

the unfortunate truth is . . . the gods are listening, they always are, but so many believe themselves to be far above mortal conflict, even if it is of their own making. morgana feels partially responsible for demacian mages having to fall into the shadows of their own selves, and for the fact that they needed to rebel against their own society at all. she's told herself that she isn't kayle's keeper, and yet she has spent so much of her life trying to clean up after her twin's messes and heal the earth she sent to fester and rot.

one thousand years. one thousand years of this disagreement, kayle's inability to see reason, to see beyond the blinding light that she has fooled herself into believing is the unburdened gleam of justice. kayle has always been righteous, enough to be beyond salvation from her own delusions of grandeur and unthinkable bounds of cruelty, and extreme beyond measure. after a thousand years, morgana has lost any hope of being able to reach her sister.

morgana hasn't seen kayle, not since the day her sister turned her back to her. she has heard countless stories, many by the mouths of demacians far too young to know the truth of their own history; she has watched as the city grew into a mighty nation, built on the steels of knighthood and the masonry that drained the magicks from mages trapped behind cages, all because of her sister's influence to its laws.

morgana claws at the water's surface, shattering her reflection into a riot of churning bubbles and waves. her existence is a lonely one, a tragedy seemingly beyond compare. although her mother is still alive, for all it was worth, she might as well be dead for as little of a mother she had been, when the girls lived upon mount targon amongst the aspects. kayle still lives, too, but morgana has long since accepted that the sister she once knew had died all those years ago, long before their father had fallen victim to the vicious battle they had fought.

she has seen so many bitter wars, watched as the blood stained the soil so deeply that its color never faded and as nature formed around the wounds cutting into the earth, and listened to the once-cacophonous roar of never-ending prayers begging to be saved, or taken from their misery. a prayer slips through every now and then, and the shimmering mirage would eventually reveal itself upon the surface of morgana's pond. it's rarer these days, and even then, there isn't much that she can do. although morgana has a strength of her own, and has not weakened since the day her powers came to flood her veins, there is something to be said of the gift of belief and its ability to enhance her strength with a different kind of vitality.

some mages seem to think that she is the answer to all their prayers, but some part of morgana believes that she'll find her own salvation in the heart of their prayers, too.

one day, she hopes that there will be someone worthy of her gifts, someone she can entrust a shard of her power into. though it will not last forever, it would be enough to make an earth-shattering difference — at least, amongst humans, and perhaps only in the moment.

there is a small part of her that misses demacian sunlight with an unbearable ache that throbs deep in the pit of her chest. she's traveled across runeterra, and she has fallen in love with the world around, but there is something about what's unattainable to her that has an undeniable and immeasurable lull. there's a touch of wistful heartache in it, too. demacia is where she had grown up, and it's a place she had part in building with her own hands. there are streets that she had once known like the back of her hands, and she wonders how much the inner city had changed since she was a girl, long before the indomitable, unyielding petricite walls had risen around the kingdom. she thinks of the streets where her father had taken her to buy her first sets of tomes, the tailors and cobblers whose shops had filled her with endless fond memories of humble linens and fine leathers before the songs of legend hoisted the twins into rising fame.

her hands brush the water again, softer this time, a sweet apology for her flash of temper. she doesn't have a clue how or when, but there will come a day where she and her sister will meet once again. it is as inevitable as a sunrise and sunset, as the moon pulls the waters' tides at sea, as the wind is to roam across the burdened paths of the realm.

morgana knows that there is but one way that this all ends.

[noiriarti]

The Arrangement: Armitage Hux x Reader (College AU) Ch. 4

Summary: A cuddle-buddies-to-lovers college AU.

Ch. 1, Ch. 2, Ch. 3, [Ch. 4], Ch. 5, Ch. 6

Chapter 4: Sugar

You tried to make a habit of not dating your friends. It always made things messy. When you had first met Armitage, you were a little bit nervous around your weirdly hot stranger of a roommate, but Gwen assured you that he was good people. You'd met Gwen freshman year, in your Calc III class, and she was terrifying. She was absorbing the material at a pace even you couldn't match, but she was unfailingly helpful when you didn't understand something. She was a history major--a history major--taking the hardest freshman math course, just because she wanted to see if she could. Your study sessions turned into gossip sessions, and you found yourself becoming fast friends with her, even though she could be hard-headed and prickly sometimes. It was part of the charm.

Then, you met Kylo, her water-polo-playing roommate, who she had lunch with most days. You would have thought Kylo was hot, and, objectively, he was, but it was never really like that between the two of you. He wasn't your type, anyway, but he had a ton of good stories, and all the best party invites. There was no one you'd rather get drunk at a party with, or play Smash Bros with. He was the bench warmer for the university water polo team, but he soon became left wing. By sophomore year, he was point. Junior year, he was center, and captain of the team at an astonishingly young age. Based on how the year was going, they'd probably see their first championship victory before spring.

During freshman spring, Gwen invited you to come cheer with her at the first game that Kylo would be playing. You dragged yourself, distressingly early, to the athletic center's pool, where you found Gwen at the top of the stands, reading over her latest piece for the college newspaper. She would make editor the next semester, and both of you knew it. Sitting next to her was one of the most handsome men you had seen. His strong jaw and high cheekbones framed his features. Full, sweet lips and a strong browbone that hid two intense green eyes. You had the sudden urge to run your fingers through his light red hair. The bangs swept over his forehead were probably so soft. He was lean, but cut an imposing figure, even when sitting down. You bet if he stood up and stretched out, he'd be almost as tall as Kylo. The stranger was wearing a button-up and cardigan, a crazy choice in the muggy pool.

"This is Armitage, our third roommate," Gwen said, and Armitage looked up at you with a tiny wisp of a smile, which only made him more attractive. God, those dimples. He said it was nice to meet you with a lilting accent, and your mouth was suddenly full of cotton. Great. You had the hots for your friend's roommate. How cliche could you get?

During the game, you were supposed to be drooling over the guys in speedos by the pool, but you kept finding your eyes drifting toward Armitage. Little did you know, he was doing the same thing. He was alternating between watching the game intently and reading the next chapter of his textbook, some boring tome on chemistry, sneaking glances at you where he could. Gwen noticed, and rolled her eyes. 

Eventually, you became acquaintances. You found him to be bookish, driven, and whip-smart, though he was awkward as all get-out. He started joining you on library trips with Gwen, and became a fixture at your lunches. Over time, the fact that he was staggeringly hot started making you less and less nervous, and you two finally relaxed around one another. You found that the thing you most appreciated about him was his reliability. If you invited him somewhere, he'd be there right on time. He'd bring snacks to the games, without fail. Even late at night, he would never leave you alone in the library. You concluded that he'd make some girl very happy one day. (You did not, of course, give any mental energy to the thorny feeling that hit you at idea of him dating someone else.)

It didn't surprise you when Gwen asked if you wanted to become their roommate, and so you accepted. You'd secretly been hoping for it. It wasn't long from then that you began your arrangement with Armitage. Honestly, it started out with the simple desire for touch. Nothing more. But, over time, when you got to know him, you couldn't deny that if he asked you out, you'd say yes in a heartbeat. You trusted him with your full heart, whispering about your day and what you were nervous about. If you texted him asking for something, he'd unfailingly deliver. He was driven, but so hard on himself. You got the sense that he didn't understand how incredible he really was. Late at night, when his face relaxed and he slipped off to sleep, you felt a magnetic pull to kiss him on the cheek or forehead.

It was platonic. Really.

You were almost caught one time. Gwen was up unusually late, and saw you walking down the hall to his room, and asked what you were doing. You froze, babbled out something about leaving the Lysol in the guys' bathroom, and dashed off to find it. Reliable old Armitage, of course, had Lysol stocked in his bathroom. When you retreated to your room after pretending to clean your bathroom for 20 minutes, you texted Armitage to apologize and explain. It was too close for comfort. What would Gwen think about you spending so much time with her friend? Would she judge you? Those thoughts were promptly erased when you entered his room, and crawled into his bed as usual. 

A couple weeks later, Gwen dropped a bomb on you both.

"I know someone who has a crush on you." There was a moment of silence, and then chaos erupted. Kylo started cackling and Armitage choked on his food. You immediately began interrogating Gwen--who, what, when, where, why. The questions distracted you from the light of hope in your chest that she meant Armitage.

"I heard this guy sitting in front of me in my gened, who I sometimes get notes from, and his friend was telling him he should ask this girl out. This girl he liked. And then he said your name. But I didn't realize it was you, until you said something about your friend Dopheld, which is a weird enough name that there's probably not two of them. So, congratulations, Dopheld Mitaka has a crush on you," Gwen said smugly. It wasn't an invention, she genuinely overheard them talking about you, and was planning on telling you sometime soon. The opportunity with Armitage was too good to miss, though. Maybe it would kick him into actually *doing something* about his feelings, which were obvious to everyone but the two of you.

You were, needless to say, shocked. Dopheld was sweet, smart, and kind. Always nice in class, and not bad to look at either. Then why did you feel sad?

"Dopheld? He's nice, I guess," you conceded, a bit absent. Gwen rolled her eyes and changed the topic, certain that her meddling had achieved its goal.

Armitage, meanwhile, was having some sort of aneurysm. Of course someone liked you. You were great. And, frankly, objectively hot. The more he had gotten to know you, the more he realized how good of a girlfriend you would be. To someone else, that is. He felt like he'd been punched in the stomach, rushing all the air out of him. There wasn't any oxygen left in the room for him to breathe. The image of you holding someone's hand, or, oh God, cuddling with them the way you did with him made his throat burn. Rage gripped him. No. That was not possible. The napkin he was holding in his left hand was crushed by his fist, and he was white-knuckling the table with his right. Absolutely fucking not.

That evening, you were on his bed again, his head in your lap as he did flashcards. You had one hand buried in his hair while you watched Pride and Prejudice as code ran in the background. You weren't really paying attention to the movie, God knows you had seen it enough times before to recite it word for word. His hair turned out to be just as soft as you had imagined it would be. Millie was cuddled up by his stomach, purring contentedly. He didn't remember the last time he was this happy. It made the MCAT bearable. Your hands running through his hair sent pleasant shivers down his spine as he clicked C. Tryptophan. The last card in his pack. The analytics were about to display, and he was dreading the low score he probably got. He was averaging 92%, and was terribly upset about it. He winced to avoid his score, trying to anticipate the bitter sting of failure.

100%. His first perfect score. You both celebrated with a Lofthouse cookie in the kitchen, quietly opening the package and giggling to yourselves as you got frosting and crumbs everywhere.

Sugar-addled, in the kitchen, he finally admitted it to himself. He had feelings for you.

He found himself surprisingly okay with it.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

AN: i am considering making the final chapter a bonus nsfw chap, so lmk if you'd enjoy that, or if you'd prefer it be kept sfw! inbox open :)

[agentrouka-blog]

"When he thought of his daughters, he would have wept gladly, but the tears would not come. Even now, he was a Stark of Winterfell, and his grief and his rage froze hard inside him."- Ned(AGOT XV). "She ought to be crying too, she thought, but the tears would not come. Perhaps she had used up all her tears for Lady and Bran."- Sansa(AGOT II). Both Ned and Sansa are dealing with grief similarly yet Sansa is called psycho.

Hi anon!

Both of them feel their emotions very deeply. We know that Sansa cried herself to sleep every night for a fortnight over Lady and the events of the Trident, and  she likely did the same over Bran's injury before that. 

That's an exhausting loss of control, and one their society unfortunately has limited tolerance for. GRRM wants us to look at both of them and worry. 

When Sansa compares herself to Jeyne Poole's reaction earlier at the tourney, it's a little disparaging (”She was made of sterner stuff.”), but her composure reveals itself as something questionable even to herself later when Ser Hugh dies. Her natural reaction, which should match Jeyne’s is being suppressed. Because she has a duty to perform according to the expectations placed on her, but more probably because she doesn't want her emotions to take over again because it's so hard to wade out of for her. Because she had, ultimately, no support in her grief. She is already used to the mechanism of suppressing her feelings at this point in time, to a degree. 

We see her grief after Ned's death absolutely take over again, until she is forced out of it and we watch her reassemble her “lady’s armor” for the rest of her final chapter. Sansa has to maintain her composure at all times in order to protect herself and plot for her own escape at the same time. There are absurdly few moments when she can allow herself access to her feelings, lest they overwhelm her. 

It is absolutely like Ned. :(

When Ned remembers the Tower of Joy, he too remembers being overtaken by grief in a way that rendered him almost incapable of anything else, so overcome he erased the memory. 

Ned remembered the way she had smiled then, how tightly her fingers had clutched his as she gave up her hold on life, the rose petals spilling from her palm, dead and black. After that he remembered nothing. They had found him still holding her body, silent with grief. The little crannogman, Howland Reed, had taken her hand from his. Ned could recall none of it.

 (AGOT, Eddard I)

Everything about what happened there tends to be shrouded in snapshots, individualized imagery, small specific details burned into his mind. We get no coherent memory from him about the events surrounding the annihilation of his whole family outside Benjen. It’s too much for him to even trace with that kind of distance. There was no room for properly grieving, for letting emotion take over, due to his station and duty, and due to his secrets. (Or so he thought, anyway.) He, too, tries to evade feeling these emotions, and he has years and years of practice, to the point where the relief of tears has become completely inaccessible to him. He wants to weep. He can't now. 

It's reflected in Catelyn too, who wants a moment just to grieve but can never let herself, can't even let Robb do it, because there is no room in their world for it. It's crippling, they disintegrate under the pressure. Her tears become a horrendous permanent fixture when she dies and rises as Lady Stoneheart.

GRRM gives us the image of Alyssa's Tears, and his thematic preoccupation with suppressed trauma in his characters suggests he has A Point To Make about the importance of allowing room for grief and weakness, no matter how terrifying and debilitating and undignified it may feel in the moment.

Pretty sure that's a theme connected to the Wall as well. That Wall of Ice warded with magic to keep out a mysterious ancient enemy, who raises what should be dead. Ancient secrets, ancient anger, ancient grief.

I have a very strong feeling that the image of shared, open grief, of tears and festering wounds being allowed to open and drain, is going to be very prominent in the upcoming books. 

[anonil88]

My next shirt/project design is for a fictional queer club/lesbian bathhouse.

My question is what should the logo be? (Dm or reply suggestions)

And when I say bathhouse I mean like how gay men have bath houses, aka gym community pool and cruising center galore. But with the intended focus on lesbians and other queer people (bipoc would be to the front but all are welcome vibes).

My inspirations are; Queer clubs and party nights throughout the world primarily u.s. in the 80s thru 00s like Gauntlet II the club (@ileaveclawmarks has some ads on their page) and MEAT I'll insert images, thermes in ancient Greece and Rome, currently existing saunas like Steamworks which there are a couple of and now closed bathhouses like Man's Country in Chicago which had sets inside.

I'm trying not to go full brand and identity board and just making a logo/tshirt design. Fun fact this all started cause I was looking at match books and fell down a rabbit hole.

You don't have to read the rest to answer, I'm just going to free write about my design/research process a bit.

Many of the gay saunas have artwork by Tom of Finland, REX, or similar art style. G.B.Jones makes similar work for lesbians but I'm not trying to use anyone's art cause that's weird to do and copyright.

I could however draw something but idk still feels too...obvious. I do like the abruptness of events like Garlands or Clt Club but i do want to make something people could have worn and get an "Oh 😏" rather than a 😒. Many of these new places still operate with some discretion or at least act like they're just a gym with day passes that happens to have a glo hole in the bathroom. This is where I was looking at other venues and events that were lgbtq owned but cheeky. For example a bird logo for a bar named White Swallow (San Francisco closed in 80s). Kind of seems like even some of the more openly "its artsy rabbit season in here" had a secondary logo that was simple or just their name for similar reasons.

All I've got right now is a rough simple flip flop, inspired because of this original tile they found at an ancient thermae site in Libya [image link]. The other thing I've drawn is a flower out that kinda looks like a sticker seal or those boob light fixtures. Thought about a toilet drawing cause lavs short for lavender and lavatory. Oh the name is Lady Lavs.

Anywho curious what others think.

Inspo images below:

Here's some article links, it would take some time to link everyone i've been lookibg at:

Mother and Jackie 60/Meat/Cl't Club - a nice breakdown

Remembering Cl't Club

Man's Country closing article and images -they just closed in 2017

Manchester 90s photos

Mineshaft NYC - Back2Stonewall

[honeyhhearted]

Hold My Hand - Chapter 4

Previous Chapter / Start from the beginning

Read on AO3

Warnings: Arguing/Fighting

A/N: THANK YOU for holding tight while i've been drafting. i am so sorry it's taking me so long between chapters, i work full time and have severe ADHD, so i find myself so burned out so quickly. i'm working on it :)

Fic summary: When a young village girl begins to exhibit magic she should not wield, the Firm takes her in as one of their own, to be trained and raised as Princess of Asgard. (Or the one where Loki meets his match and falls head over heels (and is embarrassed about it).)

Chapter summary: You have an unfortunate run in with your new betrothed...and it doesn't go well, to say the least.

Word was sent to your parents of your new arrangement as Thor led you to your chambers. The silence was suffocating as your mind ran a mile a minute.

How would this arrangement work? Did Prince Loki know? Was this his doing? Why would they set you up with the Prince, rather than punishing you? Your stomach swirled. What would your life be like with him? Would he be cruel? Would he take pity on you?

“My lady,” Thor began, his voice filled with discomfort. He came to a stop in the center of the hall and turned to you. “I apologize that this has been sprung on you.” You cleared your throat, head beginning to pound as you shoved back the tears you wanted nothing more than to let fall. You wrung your hands as you looked up at him. “Thank you, your Highness…I am just overwhelmed. Does Prince Loki know?”

His eyes dropped. “I do not know.”

Your chest tightened. The Prince was not told about his arranged marriage. And I am here to bear the brunt of his inevitable anger.

“If I may ask, my Prince–” You started. Thor raised a hand. “Please. You will be my sister soon, no matter the situation. Call me Thor.”

You nodded, appreciating that Thor seemed to be genuine and kind. “If I may ask, Thor, do you believe Prince Loki will be angry?” Thor’s face was grim. “I am unsure, but…” His face twisted into a grimace. “I believe so. But if he is a good man at all, he will not blame you.” You hoped so. Thor walked you the rest of the way to your rooms in silence, though slightly more comfortable than before. - Your chambers were amazing. The floors were marble, with gold detailing and fixtures. A large, plush bed with a light pink canopy sat against a floor length mirror facing the cities and gardens below. You observed the other furnishings in awe as you stepped into the room. An attached bathroom held a bathtub the size of a pool. You were overwhelmed as you took it all in. Yesterday, you’d woken up as a poor girl in the outskirts of the village; a family shunned for your oddities. You could never have believed that in less than twenty-four hours, you would be a ward of the Royal Family, arranged to marry their youngest son. Though your fate as the wife of the cruel son was unbearable, you knew that this was the better path for your life to take. The Norns would not have sent you here if you were destined to suffer in this place. There must be some reason your life so drastically changed. You spent the remaining time in your afternoon outside. Thor had left you with the knowledge of how to get to the gardens if you wanted to explore the palace grounds, so you’d figured it best to familiarize yourself with the layout of the wing you resided in and its surrounding area. Your walk was peacefully quiet, the occasional member of the housekeeping staff passing by you and nodding politely. You would adjust to having staff cater to you, but it was surreal to be treated like you were anything but the village pariah. When you reached the gardens, you drank in the view. Rows of ornamental shrubs and flower arrangements, gardeners tending to the plants all over. You walked through slowly, enjoying the soft fragrances carried by the breeze. Deciding you needed a moment to take in your new surroundings, you followed a path deeper into the garden, leading to a secluded area with a small bench for you to rest on. You sat, sighing. Looking out past the greenery, you drank in the kingdom of Asgard in its entirety. The view of the village, the city line, people moving about their daily lives as small as ants from where you sat. It almost made you feel smaller, to realize that you had always just been part of an almost anonymous whole. To see everyone now, small specks in your view, set your new path in perspective. How many times did the King and Queen sit in these gardens, looking down at their subjects? How often did any member of the royal family enjoy watching the village like children staring at farm animals through slats in the fences? You heard a snap sound from behind you. Whirling around on the bench, you met a pair of green eyes looking sharply down at you. “You are the one my parents have decided I will settle down for?” His voice was sharp, dripping with venom. “How pathetic.” You stood quickly, running your clammy hands down the front of your skirt. “Prince Loki. My name is-” “I do not care for your name. Do not assume I care for you at all, girl. You are merely a pawn in my father’s games, and I refuse to play along this time. I merely wanted to get a look at you, and I see now that there is not much to see.” His eyes roam over you with disinterest. Your cheeks heated as your heart pounded in your chest. You felt a stinging behind your eyes and tried to blink away the beginning of tears before he could notice. “I apologize, your Highness, but I have as little choice in the matter as you do. The Allfather-” “The Allfather does not speak for me. And I will see to it that this is rectified immediately.” With that, Loki turned and stalked out of the garden. You pressed a shaking hand to your chest, exhaling slowly. You felt your heart thumping under your chest as you were filled with a sharp sense of unease. You had known that the Prince had a temper, and could be downright unpleasant, but the way his eyes had roamed over your body like you were nothing cut through you. When he was finally gone, you allowed yourself the moment to cry, hot tears spilling over your cheeks. This life is not the one you wanted for yourself. Of course, you were not stupid. You knew this would be difficult. You knew your life was never meant to be a happy one, being born with a curse such as yours. But you never could have imagined that being brought into the palace, something that every other Asgardian would view as a blessing, would be something so miserable. You decided to walk back to your chamber, eyes puffy and red. You just wanted the day to be over, to have a reprieve from the awful day you have had thus far. Of course, you have never been one to experience good luck, and you walked straight into Thor on your return. You slammed into each other, knocking you off balance. He reached for you, straightening you before you could fall. You see him scan you for injury, landing on your puffy face. “What happened, my lady?” He asked, voice full of concern. His gentleness in contrast to the abrasive cruelty of his brother spurred on another round of tears, and you let out a sob. He hushed you, guiding you into another room and seating you at a small bench. When you are able to calm down, you recount the conversation you’d had with Loki in the gardens. You watched as Thor’s face turned from surprise to disappointment and anger as his brother’s behavior. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to speak poorly of him,” You started, hiccuping. “But I do not understand what I’ve done wrong.” He shook his head. “You have done nothing wrong. My brother’s words are meant to hurt. He knows destruction and how to bring it, and he lashed out at you. You did not deserve that. I will not speak to him about this, my lady. But I must inform my parents of his behavior.” You nodded, sniffling again. “Thank you, Thor. I appreciate your comfort and understanding.” “You do not need to thank me. It is only the right thing to do.” Thor guided you back to your chamber as he made small talk about the palace grounds. You told him of your visit into the gardens before your confrontation with Loki, and how beautiful you found it. He seemed pleased. In your room, exhausted, you decided it would be for the best to lay down. Despite the fact that the sun had not yet set, you could not imagine being forced to face the rest of the day.

-

You woke in the morning to the sun illuminating the room. For a moment, you could almost hear your father’s humming, or your mother’s soft rustling as she moved about the house trying not to wake you. Then your surroundings settled on you, and you sighed as you blinked up at the ceiling with watery eyes. A soft knock at the door persuaded you out of bed. You stretched, standing and feeling the cool tile beneath your feet. You padded to the door, opening it tentatively to see a small girl who looked to be part of the palace staff. She gave you a small smile, curtsying. “Good morning, my lady. Are you well?” She asked. “Y-Yes, I am,” You say, awkwardly. She seemed to sense your discomfort. “My name is Camille. I am tasked to be your lady-in-waiting.” She shifted on her feet, wringing her hands. Your stomach turned. You didn’t want to make the poor girl uncomfortable, but the idea of having someone assigned to cater to you felt wrong. You sighed quietly, forcing a smile. “I’m sorry. I was unaware,” You said, trying your best to look reassuring. “Please, come in.” She gave you a small, hesitant smile, entering the room. She walked toward a door to the left, opening it wide and stepping in. Inside was a large wardrobe room. As you followed her, your jaw dropped at the sheer size of it. The room was the size of your family home, full of casual dresses and gowns, shoes, and accessories you could never have even dreamed of owning before. “While you were away yesterday, Her Majesty had us stock your wardrobe. The size is approximated, as you seem to be similar to Her Majesty in stature, but if anything does not suit you, please let us know.” She explained, motioning to the hanging dresses. “I will go over with you the dress occasions, but you will never have to worry. When it is time for a particular event that requires dress assistance, I and my co-lady, Lille, will be here with you.” Your head spun. Still taking in the room, her words only served to overwhelm you. You knew nothing about how to dress as a member of Asgard’s high society. What if you made a fool of yourself, or worse, embarrassed the Royal Family at an important engagement? Camille seemed to sense your nerves. She rested a gentle hand on your forearm. “I know it’s a lot to take in, my lady. But I promise, we are here to help you.” You nodded, swallowing hard. “Thank you,” You croaked. “I’m sorry. I just…I am not yet used to this.” She smiled at you. “I understand. If I may, my lady, can I familiarize you with your options? Please stop me if you have any questions.”

-

After what felt like an eternity, reviewing corseted versus non-corseted gowns, day dresses, evening gowns, riding gear, shoes…your head felt tight. Camille was extremely helpful, answering all of the questions you had. But still, it felt like so much to take in. With her assistance, you had chosen a simple day dress, pale yellow and simple. She directed you to the main hall, where meals were held, for breakfast. You ran into Thor at the entrance to the hall, and relief filled you. You weren’t looking forward to entering the hall alone. His face brightened. “Good morning! I trust you slept well?” His voice boomed. You smiled back at him. “Good morning, Thor. I did, thank you.” He nodded, pleased. Offering you his arm, he turned toward the door. “Shall we head inside?” You took his arm gratefully. “We shall.”

-

Breakfast was…awkward. Odin sat at the head of the table, his face stern. Frigga, to his right, and Thor, to his left, looked at the empty chair beside Thor in exasperation. You sat beside the Queen, fiddling with your hands beneath the table. All of your plates remained untouched. Loki was late. Again, if their exasperation could be interpreted properly. Odin sighed, a low rumbling sound. “The boy does not show respect in even the most mundane of moments. It is a wonder he even fulfills his general duties at all.” Frigga shook her head. “He will show. A lack of faith in him only serves to push his behavior further.” “You think this is a result of lack of faith? This is insolence at its finest, a show of disrespect toward the very simple rules we ask him to follow. Thor has no issue with them, yet the boy persists in defying me.” Odin’s voice hardened. “Please, dear,” Frigga said, “Do not pit your sons against each other in that way. Loki will show.” As if on cue, the doors swung open, echoing to the table. Loki, with a smug smile curling his lips, strode to the table. He sat beside Thor, staring at Odin defiantly. “Good morning, everyone,” He spoke smoothly, beginning to gather food on his plate. He ate slowly, tearing a piece of toast and slathering it with jam before looking around the table. “Oh,” He started mockingly, “you all didn’t have to wait for me.” Odin’s neck strained, his brow furrowed. “You disrespect the palace staff, you disrespect your post, you disrespect your family. Is there nothing that you are willing to do? Do you even think to behave yourself?” You sat silently, looking firmly down at your hands. You didn’t want to be involved in this conflict, and you feared if he noticed you, really noticed you, he would do it by force. You didn’t understand why Loki’s tardiness was so important, but you were not going to question it. Loki sneered. “My apologies, Father. But perhaps I have better things to do than posture as the obedient son. I stand in for mischief, after all.” Odin’s voice tightened. “It should not be posturing. You are a Prince, and you need to start acting like one.” “Or what?” Loki challenged. “Loki, please,” Frigga started, her voice pleading, but Odin’s voice filled the room. His fist slammed on the table, rattling the dishware. You flinched, looking up. “I will not tolerate your disrespect any longer, Loki! You are not here for-” “Odin!” Frigga exclaimed over him. “Do not continue this here. Please.” Loki’s face was frozen, contemplative. “What am I here for, Father? I am an heir to the throne of Asgard. I will fulfill my duties as needed, but I will not be your pawn.” His eyes flicked to you, and you felt your heart seize. “Particularly in terms of the joke of a marriage you are trying to impose on me.” Frigga placed a soft hand on your upper arm. “Loki…we were told of your behavior and, ahem,” She cleared her throat delicately, “opinions of this arrangement.” He rolled his eyes. “Of course, the golden boy came running to Mother and Father, didn’t he, after the pathetic thing told her woes?” Thor tensed. “Brother. Your cruelty is needless. Your ire at me is allowable, but not toward her.” “You defend this wretched woman, support her weaseling her way into our family? I am not surprised by your nobility, brother, you have always wanted to be the knight to every weak maiden you encounter. But you, father, I am surprised at.” He bared his teeth. “I mean really, to think that this woman,” He spat at you, and you could hear your own heart pounding, “is doing nothing more than plotting her way into a Prince’s bed is pointless. I’m sure her family will be pleased to have a Princess for a daughter, no less-” “That is enough.” Your own voice shocked you, hard and unwavering. “How dare you speak of my family. You know nothing, you arrogant, spiteful, disrespectful man. My family is cursed because of me. Because of my ability. It is a curse, and you will not sit here and spit on them and spit on the sacrifices they made for me.” You blinked away traitorous tears, pulling in a shuddering breath as your anger consumed you. “You have disrespected me, you made me feel like I was nothing but a speck beneath your shoe, and I can take that. I am not unfamiliar with men who believe themselves to be wolves when really they are small and pathetic and insecure in themselves. But do not disrespect my family.” The table was silent for a moment. Thor looked at you in shock at your outburst, Odin’s face arranged in a similar way. Frigga beside you kept her face composed, but you noticed a slight tick in her cheek. You glared at Loki, your ragged, angry breathing filling the room, before he smirked at you, raising an eyebrow. “She has claws, I see.” He spoke. “Glad to know you at least will have a backbone.” With that, Loki stood, the sound of his chair scraping on the floor echoing on the walls. “I will take my leave.” You let out all of the air in your lungs as soon as the door slammed shut behind him.

[terrminallycapricious]

Gram's house - New Years Party NOTE: After reading this, if you are a mutual/friend/close friend of gram you are invited. You may have your own RPs and just use this as reference when posting as if your muse is there. Gram will also be posting. This lets things be more flexible for you as you'd like. Time starting: 10PM-1AM EST

Front door room / Port room: There is a large entrance for the transportalizer, and it is also by the front door. There is nothing too special about the wall paint, except for some dents and scratches on the walls over the years specifically by the doorway, and the walls by the port.

Hallway: Ahead of this room, is the hallway. At one end of the hall, is Gram's bedroom, and down the other end, is the stairs to go up. There is other rooms in this hall, though. One is labeled "Rahzel's room" which is now unused by him, but he still makes it off limits, aswell as Gram's room is off limits to others he isnt closest to yet. The other door is the game room, where he has put mismatched furniture, an extra tv, some string lights, generally a great hangout room with many consoles he's collected to play with, or just a room to get high in. That is wide open for anyone visiting.

Livingroom: through the hallway is another wide open doorway, that goes right into the open planned livingroom/kitchen. There is dark woodwork in the doorways and windows, aswell as the cabinets and counters in the kitchen. The floor is well taken care of and is real wood, some have been fixed over the years but mostly it seems pretty much similar. No splinters here, just smooth wooden floor. There is a couple couches in the room, aswell as a well loved recliner that is pretty large and brown leather (gram's favorite chair), a faux fireplace/electric fireplace (he never built a chimney despite all hes done), a tv above that, pictures of his past friends/family on the wall and younger self, a soft rug, a christmas tree in the corner, and just generally a warm inviting room.

kitchen: as mentioned, dark wood to match the rest of the house. but nice light countertops. The fridge is large and well stocked, the stove is clean but has seen alot of love, may need replaced in the future to a better gas stove than this one. Appliances are stainless steel. A warm inviting feeling just as much as the livingroom. Again more pictures on the wall, many funny magnets on the fridge, including ones to make sentences with. There is a very nice diningroom table set in front of the window in the kitchen.

Bathroom: There is a doorway that comes off of the kitchen, a small bathroom open for guests. There is another through Gram's bedroom, but that is his. It has green curtains and seems to be themed around green. He isn't sure why he decided on this but it stayed. Everything is still kept very nice through his house and prides himself on learning how to clean well over the years thanks to his Kanaya.

Upstairs: There is three different bedrooms upstairs. One belongs to Badgloop/Gam when he stays over, tends to be living there more often now. He doesnt mind when people go in as long as they dont take or mess with his things. It's surprisingly pink and pastel in there. Moreso for when hes streaming himself for people, and because he's gotten into pastel, and lovecore aesthetics. The other two bedrooms are guest rooms when others need a place to be. One room is slowly becoming a kids bedroom though. There is another room that is mostly storage, and a couple bathrooms upstairs. Cant have too many bathrooms. Kept mostly simple in aesthetics upstairs, but he definitely is not minimalist. Those light fixtures are the prettiest part of the house. There is a small balcony upstairs aswell. Cant go without that, of course. Nicely shaded.

Outside back yard: Through the back sliding door in the kitchen, there is a hot tub outside open to anyone who'd like to use it, and a pool that is covered up for the season for now. His Garden of course is cleaned up because its winter, but his greenhouse is being well used through the year. Plenty seating areas for nice spots back there. There is a large forest outside of this, surrounding the house, yard, and garden. The trees have gotten beautifully tall over the years, almost insanely tall. There is proof gram takes good care of what hes able to use, though. Deeper in the forest there is some bushes and a small seating area just by a small gravestone. That is syreni's grave. Syreni was grams past mate he almost married. He likes to sit out there and talk to him every now and then. When spring and summer comes he always surrounds this spot with flowers.

Extra details: Scent to the house is whatever he is cooking at the time + very fresh and clean + Whatever candles he is burning. At the moment the candles are nice spiced ones like fall scents, but nothing too overpowering. Plenty food will be made and provided to everyone who visits, aswell as drinks (alcoholic and non alcoholic, will be labeled). No smoking cigarettes indoors, no sex in the rooms while over. Smoochin is just fine (lmao), Dont set grams house on fire.

Pets: Snort (black pekingese-boy), Puggy (black pug-girl), Jasper(service dog - Shetland sheepdog), droopy(gray and white lop rabbit-Girl), Pudding(blonde colored fluffy cat-Boy), all well behaved and cuddly when they are payed attention to. Jasper is attentive to gram to know when to help but mostly at home she is 'off work' and okay to play with.

((I made a layout in the sims recently but i tried to remake it and i got too tired to do it, so hopefully this is enough description. ))

[hometoursandotherstuff]

This 1925 Art Deco era home in Los Angeles, CA has a plain front...

And, a party in the back. It has 2bds, 3ba, and they're asking $2M.

The color-coordinated house is built on 3 levels. You enter the dining room. Its got a bookshelf wall, a wraparound banquette with a shelf underneath, and a fireplace. The fireplace surround matches the green door and upholstery.

It's art deco, so it's very curvy. Look at the rounded ceiling. I wonder if the upholstery is original. They gutted the home, so who knows what they changed?

It has wood walls combined with regular wall board. The doorway into the living room is an arc.

The living room has the same style. A wall of bookshelves, built-in banquette with shelving underneath, and a couple tables sticking up out of it. The fabric is the same, but in orange.

The TV room is smallish, has cork walls, built-in seating, a pink ceiling, and what appears to be a large round speaker.

The kitchen is kind of a yellowish green. It has a door to the deck and stainless steel appliances & cabinets. Don't think that the cabinets are original.

It's an eat-in kitchen, and the corner for the table has a light fixture and a great view. You can see the deck, too.

The deck has the same view.

The stairs between the floors are spiral. Looks like a purple railing.

This bedroom faces a large window that opens and there's a view of Los Angeles below.

This large bath is wood and cement. Wood sinks.

How do you clean this porous cement and wood?

This purple room is an office with a built-in desk.

A door in front of the house opens to another deck with a built-in bench, a table, and colored lights.

There's a curved stairway going down to the pool.

Oval pool with a hot tub. Notice that each floor has a different color on the window and door frames. 7,639 sq ft lot.

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/1817-N-Lucile-Ave-Los-Angeles-CA-90026/20746304_zpid/?

[sophisticated-creepy]

          “She was found, later that night, in a pool of her own blood by the house staff as they returned from a night out on behest of the lady herself.” The tour guide of the Northcott Historical Manor House paused, reflecting solemnly at the untimely fate of the once prominent lady of the beautiful estate. “Lillian Eleanor Northcott died that sad winter’s night. Her husband returned the following morning to a home steeped in pure chaos, and even though a thorough investigation was made, the police deemed the tragedy an unfortunate event, concluding that a stray bullet from a street brawl pierced this parlor window, striking down Mrs. Northcott.” In a dramatic flair, the tour guide gestured with her full arm to the aforementioned parlor window of interest, the heads of the gathered spectators turning in unison to follow the movement.

          “Mr. Northcott never remarried, spending the remainder of his years in mourning while single handedly raising his motherless son, a feat, I might add, that was deemed truly commendable considering the times. Thankfully, the Northcott line endured, the cannery itself is still prosperous, active, and thriving, while the Manor House remains to be a prominent fixture in Newberry’s community.” There was polite applause as the tour guide began to wrap up her speech. “Even though the founder of the estate has long since passed, some say the mistress, who appears as a gray spirit of her former self, still treads these halls of her beloved home, reluctant to leave the majesty of the stately Northcott Manor House.” There was more applause, and the tour guide thanked the attentive crowd.

          “We have now come to the completion of your official guided tour. Please feel free to explore the grounds outside, peruse the gift shop, or, if it tickles your fancy, stay for our famous luncheon special. Have a great rest of your day, thank you for visiting, and we look forward to seeing you again soon.” The tour guide waved, dismissing the crowds to their leisure while she lingered in front of the impressive, elegant fireplace of the parlor room for any stray questions patrons hadn’t yet asked.

          “I wonder what would have happened if the Gray Lady hadn’t perished,” Lola spoke, striding in long, careful steps towards the infamous parlor window, breaking away from the tour group as it separated. “If Mrs. Northcott hadn’t died that night, would the cannery have continued to be successful?” Lola whirled towards her fiancé who was several paces behind her, and held the microphone end of her trusty tape recorder Stanly up to capture his comment.

          Accustomed to her shenanigans, Raphael smiled as he bent forward to answer the question. “I imagine the cannery would have remained profitable,” he said, declaring his statement into the recording device.

          “But think about it,” Lola said, raising a finger to mark her point for the beginning of her debate. “The sensation and scandal of the Gray Lady’s death caused the Northcott name to spread like wildfire in all the papers across the nation. Not only did Mr. Northcott have the reputation as the cold, stoic business man, but, add to it, the title of widower left in charge to raise his only child. Was Mrs. Northcott’s death not anything but an influx of opportunity to his business relationships? Would we still have the Manor House to this day if she hadn’t died so tragically?”

          “Maybe that’s why her ghost still lingers,” Raphael said with a shrug as he straightened. “Her spirit is a reminder that without her, there wouldn’t be the historical monument that is this house as we know it today.”

          “You make a fine point, Professor,” Lola said with a grin as she shut off her tape recorder, stowing the device in her purse.

          “You ask intriguing questions, Author,” he replied in turn, matching her smile.

          “To be fair, I wouldn’t want to leave this house either,” Lola said on a sigh, her green eyes taking in the splendor of the parlor. “Premature death aside, I think I would enjoy dwelling in a place like this for all eternity, provided, obviously, if you are with me.” In her dreamy state, she took up Raphael’s hand, and the two began their slow exit of the room into the foyer. She dragged her feet, not quite ready to quit the house entirely, the famous mansion working its spell to keep her in the embrace of musty corridors to figure out its forgotten stories and solve all of the hidden riddles.

          “You know, as many times as I’ve visited this place in the past, I’ve actually never seen the Gray Lady,” Lola continued.

          “You haven’t?” Raphael asked, genuinely taken aback. “I expected the ghost would have made herself known to you as soon as you set foot on the property.”

          “Legend says she only appears when people try to do spooky stuff, like séances. I only came here with my parents for lunch on the rare occasion, so, no séances for me.”

          “Probably a wise decision on their part,” he chuckled with a nod of sage understanding, seeing first hand more often than not the damage of her mischief making prowess.

          “Excuse me, but what is that supposed to mean?” she asked, releasing his hand to give him a scolding glower.

          “Considering how easily you attract invisible friends and trouble, I’m surprised your parents even took you here in the first place,” he continued to tease.

          With a scoff of indignation, Lola playfully pinched his side in a vulnerable spot she knew all too well of him, then slipped through the main entryway doors with a giggle before he could retaliate, and reached the bottom of the stoop outside with merriment lighting her movements. The early summer sun cast leafy shadows across the well-manicured grounds of the grand estate. A garden flourished to the side of the house, wrapping along the back of the property where a small fountain trickled cool water into a rod iron basin. The garden path split at that juncture, going left to re-enter the house via the veranda, or right towards a large wooden gazebo and the old stable carriage house. Beyond those structures was the open yard of freshly cut green grass that butted up against the edge of a maple and hawthorn tree forest, and beyond that, the churning sea. She was instantly lost to her daydreams from the picturesque marvel, brought back to the present moment once the shadow of her fiancé shielded her from the sun as he came to stand before her. He appeared to be only slightly annoyed from her previous antics, she observed, and flashed him a cheeky smirk. Her smile turned into a wistful sigh as she focused her attention on the impressive Manor House.

          Although remaining a touch consternated, Raphael couldn’t help but take notice of his beloved’s faraway gaze, and followed her line of sight to the glittering monolithic sandstone of the Northcott legacy. “You really do love this house, don’t you?” he asked.

          “I do,” Lola replied. “There is so much history here, so much story. Even from all the research I’ve ever done or gathered of this house and of this family, I feel like it’s never enough. I can only imagine what grand affairs took place within those walls and many rooms, and that’s why I love it here so much. The quest for knowledge is a continuous journey of discovery. It’s my never-ending onion.”

          Raphael had to laugh at that comment. “This is the first I’ve heard this place described as an onion.”

          “It’s because of all the layers,” Lola tried to explain while also laughing.

          “I knew what you meant,” he assured, and draped an arm across her shoulders, pulling her in for a hug as he kissed the top of her head. Together, they continued to stare at the house, lost in their thoughts and quiet observations.

          “I love that this place is open to the public,” Lola said after sufficient pause. “I also love that people can enjoy a sit down meal here and spend the night.”

          “A haunted restaurant and inn is a unique and pleasant business model,” Raphael agreed.

          “One of these days, we should spend a night here,” she suggested, bumping her hip into his.

          “How about this weekend?”

          “Yeah, right,” Lola laughed. “First, it costs a pretty penny to book a room, and second, we risk the chance of having strangers rent the other rooms at the same time, too. How could we enjoy a night of ghost hunting and canoodling if other people are in the way?”

          “We could always rent out the extra rooms as a private event,” Raphael replied, his answer smooth and easy. He had to fight the smirk twitching at his lips as Lola looked up at him with her signature “get real” expression.

          “Rent out the whole mansion for just the two of us? No way! That’s too hard of a hit on the budget, and I don’t want that kind of expense on a credit card.”

          “It wouldn’t have to be just the two of us. Maybe we could convince our friends to reserve the other rooms,” Raphael offered.

          “You mean like Modesta and Jack?”

          “Lazare, too. It can be a party of sorts.”

          Lola’s brow furrowed in confusion. Raphael’s all-too ready replies to her objections of staying the night at the Northcott Manor House were suspicious. The fact he suggested to make the whole affair a party had her eyebrows connecting together, deepening the creases of her perplexed thoughts, until she remembered what major event was taking place that coming weekend. Realization shot her leveled eyebrows up into her hairline. “Hold on…you---you mean stay a night here this weekend?”

          Raphael laughed openly as he saw the kaleidoscope of emotions play out on Lola’s face, but it was her startled intake of breath as she strung the pieces together of his subtle hints that caused his heart to melt. “Don’t tell me you forgot about your birthday,” he said, his warm laughter continuing as Lola stared up at him in slack-jawed bewilderment.

          “You’re serious?” she stammered, shrugging his arm off her shoulders to fully turn and face him directly. “You’re not playing games with me?”

          “Surprise!”

          “Get out of town!” Lola squealed in delight. “You’re serious!” She was shaking with excitement, emotions of love and gratitude and happiness causing her to nearly lose control of her limbs as she danced in place with complete joy unbridled.

          “The night will begin by partaking in the mystery dinner theater,” Raphael explained, looping his arms around her waist in a loose hold as he shared the pre-arranged plans of her birthday celebration. “There will be cake and possibly a present or two,” he continued, his smile growing as he watched Lola grow increasingly jubilant upon hearing the news of cake. “Then, once staff and guest have left the house, you, me, and the others will spend the rest of the night doing all the spooky things your weird, little heart desires.”

          The breath was knocked out of Raphael’s lungs as Lola launched herself upon him, wrapping her arms around his neck in a firm embrace as a thousand “thank-yous” came pouring from her lips. He hugged her tight, holding her close to him.

“You’re welcome,” he purred, and in this position, found the vulnerable spot he knew all too well of hers just below the ribs that made her squeak and clutch her sides for protection while nearly dropping to the ground in an uncontrollable fit of giggles.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Hey, all! Happy Monday!

Got another spooky chapter for you to read in "The Third Light".

Enjoy, and stay spooky!

~Melissa

[realestateblogsbyrohit]

TARC Kailasa Kirti Nagar: Offers Premium Flats in Delhi

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[ardenssolis]

@caemthe said (inbox):

[ conall, fantasy ] The last thing he saw before passing out from blood loss (or was it his body going into cardiac arrest?) had been deadly crimson eyes that reminded him of past times and a bloody maw. Then his vision turned into independent dots and all became dark. That was, as the rules of warriors of his kind indicated, supposed to be the last of Conall Cernach. The wolf couldn't say that he had no regrets... but he couldn't have any complaints either. How nice, how calm, it all felt.

And yet he opened his eyes again, who knows how many days after his fight against that unknown youth. It was the second time Conall survived an event that should've cut his life short. Blinking a couple times, his eyes got used to the light. Oh, I'm alive, wasn't the thought that crossed his mind. Conall didn't try to glance at his sides to see who was sitting by his side as he already knew who had been waiting for him to wake up. He should be grateful, he was really lucky to have them, he had to be one of the most fortunate men on earth, and yet... "Why didn't you let me die?" Just why.

     THERE WAS AN UNSPOKEN rule between warriors to never interfere with another’s duel. It was a ‘rule’ that he had heard from quite a young age from his father who had imparted the importance of that. After all, stepping in would ruin that individual’s reputation to all looking in, and oh how powerful a thing pride was. One would rather die than have it besmirched – this he too had come to understand far too well with age and his own growing confidence as a Warrior-King like all who had sat upon the throne he now lounged on. When that whelp with the bright crimson eyes had appeared before him and proclaimed that they desired to test their mettle against his strongest, at first, he had laughed as if they had told the world’s greatest joke. What arrogance they had! What foolishness! There were a few that came to mind, but they were pushed aside for another instead: Conall. The wolf had wanted some kind of excitement to alleviate the lull of peaceful days, thus, he had him come forward instead to humor and humble this young warrior. What he had not expected, though, was the ferocity that they had displayed despite that small frame.

     Everything was over so quickly, that it had taken him time to realize just what had happened when Conall fell backwards, blade slipping from his hand and blood pooling upon the floor. Impossible…impossible! He could think of none who had ever bested the Mactire in combat, real or not. As soon as the shock wore off from himself and everyone else present, he was quick to bark orders, calling for the guards to take Conall to the infirmary with speed that matched even that of the desert hare. Despite his concern, golden eyes were quick to fall on the young warrior – fire burning within that intense hue as he tilted his head back, voice booming with the authority he was meant to represent: arrest them. Death was always a potentiality for one-on-one battles, though even so…he hadn’t expected…

     Tch, it didn’t matter.

     All he saw was red, and whatever rules were to be adhered to were cast aside. No, no, no---! He couldn’t lose Conall like this! He had already thought the other dead for years on end, and now that they were here he…just…couldn’t allow it. ❝You better hope that he survives.❞ There was a look thrown back at the other, that warrior whose eyes seemed so very familiar – like garnets gleaming beneath the sun’s rays, right before he quickly took his leave and left his uncle to handle the rest for him.

     Despite everything, the healers refused to let him into the room as they had worked, the old woman who was in charge of that skilled bunch as stubborn as an ox and uncaring of rank and status when it came to the rules she set for her infirmary, and being a fixture in the palace since his father’s rule, she was not about to be intimidated into bending her rules for anyone, most especially a young king she had known since he had been a mere babe. So, as painful as it was, he had waited and waited – time ticking by as he heard the chaos within that room as healers ran here and there, bloodied cloth carried out and clean ones brought in…

     The door was closed to keep him from seeing what was happening…and perhaps that was for the best considering his nerves. He paced, all kingly regality tossed out the window. How could this happen? Sure Conall was not immortal, however, even so…the other was able to control a pack of violent mercenaries for a reason: none could contest him. His name even continued to spread fear to those who had seen his viciousness firsthand. To them, and to Ozymandias, the man was akin to a looming fortress. Still…at the end of the day, the fact remained that there was someone always stronger than someone out there, and Conall, for all his power, was still made of flesh and blood.

     Please do not die, Conall…

     Time soon passed, how much, Ozymandias did not know, although eventually he was allowed to go into the room and stay by Conall’s bedside under strict ‘orders’ to not make too much noise. As he had sat beside the bed, eventually exhaustion overtook him from frayed nerves, his eyes drooping shut and his body slumping slightly to the side as he dozed. It was not until he heard stirring that he awoke, groggy and uncertain of how long he had rested as quickly leaned forward and reached out to very carefully place his hand upon Conall’s chest. His mouth opened to speak…but the words that came next made him fall silent.

     ‘Why didn’t you let me die?’

     What…what was he supposed to say to that? Shame washed over him, golden eyes shifting away from the other’s face as he soon slowly leaned back against his seat, elation dropping like rocks to the bottom of a pond. Silence reigned between him and the wolf – heavy and thick in the air, his eyes still refusing to meet theirs. ❝…Because I did not want to lose you again.❞ What a cruel thing to ask him when they should have known what he would say. How was one supposed to stand by and watch someone they love bleed to death in front of them? ❝Hate me if you desire to, but I do not regret the choice that I made to keep you from Death’s doorstep.❞ Fingers clenched at his pants, brows furrowing and jaw set before he finally did look upon Conall’s face. ❝Asking me to standby and accept things as they were is too cruel, Conall. Do you not know how long I mourned you? How…how much your ‘death’ before had left such longing, such heartache?❞ Standing up, his chair was pushed back with loud drag across the floor. ❝I will not feel guilt over my decision.❞ Without another word, he made to take his leave of the infirmary, knowing it best to save further discussions for another time lest he make Conall’s injuries worse without meaning to. As he left, though, the heaviness he felt did not alleviate in the slightest…

     If anything, it became worse.

[identifyingai]

AI Images

Gonna do these one by one

Giveaways:

shelf of lit candles? +unidentifiable objects

lightbulbs are all different sizes

'wicker basket ceiling fixture' is not something that exists

why is there a door here

alien vegetables

not what stove burners look like

more alien vegetables

World's Worst Spoons

not where tomatoes go

fucked up brick pattern

Giveaways:

ghost of an iron fence

twisted spectre of an iron fence

half-rendered chair

brick pattern disturbance

what are they burning in here. who puts a fire pit here

this doesn't say anything

what is literally any of this

half-rendered glasses

these are leaves, not napkins

number of place settings doesn't match number of chairs

Giveaways:

brick pattern disappears behind door. also how do you use this door lmao? you walk through the pool/tub?

plant coming from nowhere

fucked up basket

tried and failed to apply a pattern to the pool/tub (???) bottom

what are these

water pattern looks like shit up close

basket resting on hopes & dreams

missing the lower rope

Giveaways:

doors you can't close because the table's in the way

plants growing from ceiling?

reflection is off

railing pattern is fucked up

world's most depressing place settings lmao. also the plates aren't lining up with the chairs

unidentifiable objects

chair melding into plant

plant melding into railing

㋡🥀

[teslaproperties]

Your Complete Guide to Finding Apartments for Rent in Dubai

Dubai is a global hub of luxury, innovation, and unmatched real estate opportunities. From luxury homes real estate to affordable housing, the city offers a wide range of options for those seeking a vibrant lifestyle. If you’re searching for apartments for rent in Dubai, knowing where to start and what to look for is essential. In this guide, we’ll explore everything you need to know to find your dream rental, whether it’s in a bustling urban area or a tranquil community.

Why Dubai is a Top Choice for Renting and Buying Real Estate

The real estate market in Dubai is among the most vibrant globally. The city’s reputation as a global financial and tourism center attracts people from all walks of life. Here’s why Dubai stands out:

Diverse Property Options: From chic apartments for rent in Dubai to spacious villas for rent in Dubai, there’s something for everyone.

Investment Potential: With opportunities in real estate investment Dubai, buying or renting here is both a lifestyle upgrade and a financial asset.

World-Class Amenities: Luxurious facilities, excellent connectivity, and a family-friendly environment make it a perfect place to live.

How to Find the Perfect Apartment for Rent in Dubai

1. Determine Your Needs

Before diving into listings, identify your priorities:

Location: Decide whether you prefer vibrant neighborhoods like Downtown Dubai or quieter areas like Jumeirah.

Budget: Set a realistic budget that includes rent, utilities, and service charges.

Property Type: Choose between high-rise apartments, serviced residences, or community townhouses.

2. Explore Trusted Platforms Like Tesla Properties

Using reputable real estate agencies like Tesla Properties simplifies your search. They specialize in luxury homes real estate and can guide you to the best apartments for rent in Dubai tailored to your needs.

3. Research the Neighborhoods

Each area in Dubai offers a unique lifestyle. Popular areas include:

Downtown Dubai: Renowned for its stunning views of the Burj Khalifa and opulent apartments.

Dubai Marina: Ideal for waterfront living with a vibrant nightlife.

Jumeirah Village Circle (JVC): Provides family-friendly and reasonably priced solutions.

4. Consider Amenities

Modern apartments in Dubai come with a range of amenities, including:

Swimming pools and gyms.

24/7 security and parking.

Close access to commercial malls, schools, and public transit.

5. Inspect the Property

Examine the flat in detail before signing a lease to make sure:

The quality of fittings and fixtures.

Functionality of appliances and utilities.

Any maintenance issues are addressed by the landlord.

Why Choose Tesla Properties for Your Rental Needs

Tesla Properties is a trusted name in Dubai’s real estate market. Whether you want to buy real estate in Dubai, explore properties for sale in Dubai, or find villas for rent in Dubai, Tesla Properties offers personalized services to match your lifestyle and budget.

They provide a range of services at one convenient location, such as:

Luxury House for Sale Dubai: Find your dream home in exclusive neighborhoods.

Townhouses for Sale in Dubai: Perfect for families seeking comfort and privacy.

Villas for Sale in Dubai: Experience opulent living in gated communities.

Rent vs. Buy: What’s Right for You?

For newbies and expats, renting offers flexibility, but for those who want to remain longer, purchasing a home might be a wise investment.

When to Rent: If you’re new to the city or unsure of long-term plans, renting provides flexibility.

When to Buy: If you want to buy a house in Dubai or buy an apartment Dubai, it’s a great investment in a growing market.

Top Tips for Hassle-Free Renting in Dubai

Understand the Rental Agreement: Ensure you’re clear on terms, including duration, payment schedule, and maintenance responsibilities.

Budget for Additional Costs: Include agent fees, DEWA (utility) bills, and housing fees.

Work with Professionals: Real estate agencies like Tesla Properties can handle the paperwork and guide you to legitimate options.

Final Thoughts

Dubai offers a world of opportunities, whether you’re looking to rent, invest, or buy real estate in Dubai. With its luxurious lifestyle, high-quality properties, and excellent infrastructure, the city is a dream destination for many.

If you’re ready to find your ideal apartment for rent in Dubai, start your journey with Tesla Properties. Their extensive portfolio of properties for sale in Dubai, villas for rent, and townhouses for sale ensures you’ll find the perfect home that matches your style and budget. Visit Tesla Properties today to explore the best options Dubai has to offer!