*smirks* I might give up my usual muscles shirts for this tee shirt.

bdbaddict:

#Fuck

(Source: rokket-berlin)

Ye Olde Ball Gag and Chains

*Pulling my Ducati up near the address the kid from @IronMask_BDBRW gave me, I park in a nearby alley, facing away from the dead end.

The area is run down industrial with some signs of trying to revitalize. Perfect vibe for the steampunk set. At least until it gets to the point of being trendy rundown. Sure enough, one of the redone shops has a window display filled with goggles and corsets. Cluttered antique shop next door looks like you’d have to dig through boxes for an hour to find what you want. And next in line we have…

Ye Olde Ball Gag and Chains?

Rolling my eyes at the very bad play on words, I check the address again, hoping the kid was wrong.

No such luck.

The front of the place is a cross between an old blacksmith shop and a medieval dungeon upholstered in red and purple velvet. Too fucking precious. The window is filled with a set of books, and a sign announcing that all the toys you’ve read about can be found inside.

Greeeeat.

Just like every other sex toy shop anywhere in the city, including the one where I picked up the defective cilices currently doing fuck all to keep me from blowing the tops off repressed emotions just to watch the humans burn.

Whatever.

Years of working in clubs have taught me that people will pay good money for cheap thrills, and there’s always someone ready to cash in. Back in the days when people were taught they should feel guilty about their cheap thrills it was easier to find cilices. Stop by a big church, tell them you were a horrible person who needed to repent, and they’d hook you up with some self-inflicted penance.

If they only had any fucking clue exactly what kind of an abomination I really was. Fucking hypocrites for the most part, but they knew quality work.

Hopefully the piece the kid was wearing like an armband wasn’t a one-off, but an indicator of solid workmanship.

Shouldering open the stiff door a wave of scent hits me, sandalwood and all that other mood-inducing shit layered over the smell of an active forge. Putting my weight into the door again to get it closed a voice drifts out from the back of the shop. “I shall assist you momentarily. If you seek items from the window display, they are arrayed to the left of the door.” It’s an affected drawl, all about the lazy seduction. It doesn’t match up with the grid at all. Clearly this is an act for the usual clientele.

Heading straight for the back of the shop, the source of the forge smell, I hope to derail whatever spiel is typically fed to the bored housewives. “Not what I came in for. I’m looking for something specific.”

The human who comes around the corner isn’t dressed to match the shop. There are a few considerations of course. His hair has been dyed a dark purple, nearly black. A heavy leather apron covers his bare torso, but it’s a well-used, functional piece for working at a forge, not something made to look pretty. The size of his arms backs that up, this man is a blacksmith. And the goggles he’s sporting might look steampunk, but the lenses are for welding.

Looking me over, the act slips away like it was never there. “Of course you’re not here for the mass market stuff. Custom work? My leather guy is away for the week, but I’ve got his folio right here. If you can dream it up, he can make it.” His voice is deep and direct now, and he’s clearly more comfortable this way.

“I’m actually looking to get a pair of cilices made, and while I’ve used leather and stone, I prefer steel.” Flipping open the folio on the counter, I have to admire the leather work. I should get some chaps and a jacket for my mahmen if I want to take her out riding.

“Cilices?” The guy’s eyebrows lift slightly. “Not much call for those. I did up a few sets and it took forever for them to sell. Too scary for the dabbler housefraus.” Looking around the shop, he points to various pieces. “I do all the metalwork that I sell here, but most of that comes down to wrought iron candlesticks. If you don’t mind me asking, why would you come in here looking for cilices?”

Bristling briefly, I take a few moments to flip more pages. There was no judgement in his statement, but I’ve gotten used to an argument wherever those metal bands are concerned. “A friend of mine works @IronMask_BDBRW. Saw a kid there wearing one as an armband, with the barbs out.” Catching the guy’s eye roll, I understand completely. “That was my reaction too. Fidiot had no clue what he was wearing. But it was good work. Even spacing, and more importantly the locking mechanism looked secure. He sent me here.”

Looking up at the guy, I still see no judgement and nothing inappropriate either. His mind is on the job, already working through measurements and pricing. “I’d like to get two sets made, fairly wide but a tight weave.”

The guy nods as I hold my hands apart to show how wide a band I have in mind. “So you’re looking for a decent amount of coverage, lots of barbs. Something that will spread evenly though, so it doesn’t leave an obvious line say, under a pair of leather pants?”

Nodding, I point to a jacket and set of chaps in the book. “I’d like to get these too, I can wait for them to be made if they’re not available in the size I need.” Rattling off my best guess as to what size my mahmen will need, he makes a quick note on a pad in front of him.

Fucking sticky notes.

Of course.

“Come round back here, I’d like to get some measurements. I’m guessing you want them adjustable, but I still need a base to work from. Name’s Halvdor, by the way.”

Shaking his hand firmly, I nod. “I’m Alex, and yes, I like to be able to tighten them up once in a while.” Gesturing for me to sit, Halvdor grabs a measuring tape.

“I’ll just take initial measurements over your leathers. Once they’re done you’ll need to try them on properly and we can adjust them from there as needed.” He makes quick work with the tape, talking about the surgical stainless steel he’ll use, asking questions about my preferred mechanism.

Clearing his throat awkwardly, he looks me directly in the eyes. “No offense, but you don’t seem especially devout. And you know a lot about cilices, so this clearly isn’t about playing at being a badass.” Bracing myself, I wait for the human to try to send me out to some kumbaya counselling group. “What happened to your last set? Not my business, I know, so feel free to tell me to fuck off. Pure curiosity on my part.”

Turning sharply to face the front of the store, I’m prepared to tell Halvdor to fuck off until I hear his low grumbled sigh. “It’s a guy. And it’s not the first time you’ve fought about the cilices. Not that I was trying to get grabby, but it was hard not to notice you’re wearing a set when I was taking your numbers. You keep asking about the lock, so I’m guessing you got a cheap replacement, but now you’re looking long-term.” Turning back slowly, I take my time to really get a full sense of Halvdor.

None of the usual bullshit about fake sympathy to get to the end goal of naked.

Nope.

This is all about respecting rights and boundaries.

“You’re right. It’s a guy. I have no fucking clue what he did with my cilices. Hid them, pitched them, mailed them to Hawaii to be dropped in a volcano for all I know. He’s all about me not hurting myself. Big male protecting unhinged little female from herself.”

Clapping my jaw shut, I wonder if I should scrub Halvdor’s brain. When the hell did I start being all about the overshare?

Except then Halvdor shakes his head slowly. “Not cool. A person has a right to make their own choices. I get that whoever he is, he doesn’t want to see you hurt, and that’s understandable. And you seem to get that’s his whole problem with you wearing cilices too. Like I said, I don’t see you as devout, but you clearly have a damned good reason, or you wouldn’t be here.”

Halvdor isn’t looking at me anymore, but staring towards the back, and his forge, just visible through a slightly open door. “What about you Halvdor? Why are you here?” And why am I asking?

Looking back at me again, he shrugs. “I love working with metal. I can still get the permit to have a forge in this part of the city. I do work all over. All that garbage in the front shop pays the bills so I can do what I enjoy.” He pulls out a business card that is little more than his details surrounded by wrought iron. “My partners in the shop feel the same way. We all know the sex toys dungeon thing is how we make ends meet. But none of us are going to give up doing what we love for some office job.” He gestures to the large binders again, filled with leather, metal and other custom work. “You explain your reasons for those chains to your man, and make it clear. He should accept it as part of who you are. Just my opinion.”

Sliding his card into my pocket, I shake his hand again. “You’re alright, Halvdor. I look forward to seeing how my cilices turn out.” Rattling off my number, Halvdor promises to call when my metal is ready. He has a number of commission pieces on the go, but he doesn’t expect it should take long for the first pair to be done.

If I drop by next week I should be able to get the chaps and jacket for my mahmen.

Leaving the shop it occurs to me that the heavy door is wrought iron, probably Halvdor’s work. Same for the sign. Closer inspection of the window display shows wrought iron candelabras and metal studded leather corsets.

Fuck.

My whole view of the shop has changed with a little bit of explanation.

Fuck.

Could an explanation be all I need to change John Matthew’s view of my cilices?

Fuck.

Hopping on my Ducati, I peel out of the alley with far too many thoughts running through my head.*

bdbaddict:

#TRUTH

callmeqhuinn:

@hollywood_rhage [bites my cheek harddddddddddddd]

(Source: i-am-tamsins-panty)

Fanboys

*What the fuck was I thinking? I should have just let #Trez forward me the security footage from @IronMask_BDBRW. Instead, like a complete fucking moron, I decided to hang around and play bait. Makes for a nice change of pace, but not one of my better ideas. Great thing about a goth club is that you don’t really have to hide the fangs, or the red eyes. Downside of this brilliant plan is that I’m not getting the kind of terrified respect I worked so hard for @ZeroSum_BDBRW. Growling at the Victorian Vamp wannabe in front of me only convinces him to wave his friend over. Said friend trying his damndest to look like a badass, but looking like an idiot with a cilice wrapped around his bicep, barbs out. Fuck it. Handsome Enough and Handbag are nowhere in sight, but that cilice looks like solid work, even if the pantywaist wearing it doesn’t have a clue. Having already told #Trez’s staff that I’m here looking for intel on some troublemakers, I know they’re expecting me to try blending in with this crowd. Where’s the fun in having fangs if I can’t use them to scare the shit out of humans? Peeling my lips back, I peg the first one with a hard stare.* You seriously don’t know when to back off. *And cue manic fanboy fawning. Not what I was going for. At all. “So hot.” “Where did you get those done?””Damn, and those eyes too. So hot.” “I’ve never seen fangs that good up close.” I don’t fucking get humans. Clearly, if I decide to switch off and work over here a few nights each week, I will need to change my tactics. I could let my symphath side go to town in here, but I won’t pull that shit on #Trez.* Forget it. No interest in either one of you, but you both seemed to have missed that my fuck was followed by off. *Both faces register the flicker of disappointment before dropping back into their masks of malaise. Both grids still show lust. Scanning for any interest in either one of them, I pick my next words. * I would be interested in knowing where you got that metal or arm though. Looks like a custom piece, quality work. *Pulling out my phone, I take down the name of the place. With luck, I’ll be able to hit the shop up tomorrow, and get a set of cilices that will stay clamped where I put them. Spotting the flicker I’m looking for, I hope these two are into less hardcore females. Burrowing a little more, I find the girl’s courage to get her to come over and start talking. Thankfully she’s part of a group, and my pair of fanboys are quickly surrounded by five women dressed like creepy Victorian funeral dolls – little girls in ribbons and lace, painted up like they’ve been in the coffin a few weeks. Forgotten in the face of willing prospects, I slip out of the club quietly having none of the information that I was looking for, but some that I desperately need.*

"

A thought on Role Playing…

I do this for fun. I do not do it because there is something wrong with me or with the life that I live behind the ‘character.’ I am not an attention seeking whore, nor am I so messed up that having a role playing account is the only way that I can function. Role playing is just that; playing. Whether you are controlling a character through a video game or through an account via Twitter is it play. I am not shooting zombies, saving the world etc. I am actually building relationships with others in my group or on my TL. The life of the puppet master is stable, loving, fun and worthy. I would NOT be able to bring this character to life it weren’t.

"

Sincerely, 

Red

(via sinnerred)

(via butch-oneal)

On a Scale of CIA to Gitmo…

Fucking useless! *Snarling, I slam shut another folder of papers that leads exactly nowhere. I know the precise location of the facility where the humans held me. I know the exact date that I torched the fucker. I know beyond all doubt that there was one male human body inside when that hellhole went up in flames. But can I find one single useful piece of information about that human?

No.

None of the articles mention anything about a body, but I didn’t expect to find the psychopath that easily. What I did expect was to find out who owned the land. If I had a company name, I could look for employee obituaries shortly after. But all the news called it an abandoned storage facility.

An abandoned barn would have made more sense, since it was out in the middle of nowhere, but the structure must have been too obviously not a barn for that lie.

I have a list of over twenty companies and banks that allegedly owned the land. Kind of hard for a non-existent company to own shit.

This is really starting to smell like one of Chuck’s government cover-up conspiracy theories. Leaning back in my chair, I consider bringing Chuck in to help me dig, but toss the notion quickly.

Too many questions.

While Chuck knows how to keep his mouth shut, he’s also a little too paranoid to let some things drop.

Glaring at the Dilbert calendar the tech guys gave me, I feel like the Pointy-Haired Boss, fumbling around pretending I have a clue. Except I know when to admit something is beyond me.

This is one of the times I miss the old days, when I could bribe a bunch of urchins with a handful of copper and not only would they find who I was looking for, they’d come back to me with all his haunts and a decent schedule.

There are probably dozens of hacker kids around who could do what I need, but the good ones are more paranoid than Chuck. Even if I could find one I’d probably have to kill him, or her, to keep them from talking, or digging deeper into my business.

And that’s only if they don’t trip over some virtual traps and get caught before I get my answers.

Well, fuck.

Only one person I know who can do what I need.

@Vishous_BDBRW is not going to keep his fucking nose out of this though. No way that male will just do a quick search and hand over the info I want with no further questions.

Shit.

I do not want the third degree over this, but I’ve done everything I can think of by myself.

Kicking the folders off my desk as I prop my feet up I can’t help wondering if this is going to turn into another round of Stay Out Of This And Let The Males Be Males. Not to mention that @Vishous_BDBRW and I seem to treat conversation and confrontation like they’re the same damn thing.

All because of that one night with Butch. Ancient history now, but the friction remains.

I’ve already got my back up over this after the shit that went down with Wrath. Letting my head drop back, I think it through carefully, trying to see if I’ve missed any options.

Finally pushing away from my desk, I pick up the scattered folders. I’ll have to make a run out to the mansion with all this. I’m sure @Vishous_BDBRW won’t make this easy for me, but as long as I can show him everything I’ve done already, maybe he’ll accept that this is important to me without dragging out the whole story first.

Not. Fucking. Likely.

As far as interrogations go, it will probably be somewhere between a basic old school CIA waterboarding and Gitmo.

Just what I need to cheer me up.*