#Retreat Works Inc

[mayajadewrites]

Sweet Secret (Levi Ackerman x Reader)

Pairing: Levi Ackerman x F! Reader CEO Levi Ackerman coming in hot. I've been wanting to write a CEO Levi/Sugar daddy Levi story for a hot minute. Enjoy! Story Summary: You needed a job. Ackerman Inc was hiring for an in house assistant for none other than the CEO: Levi Ackerman. He's known to be essentially the worst to work with, you decide to take the job and take on the challenge that is Levi Ackerman. Will your relationship remain professional, or will their be monetary value added to the stakes? Or possibly even... love? ao3 Chapter Twelve: Alone

When you arrive home it almost feels like the world has shifted. You're no longer in your private room with Levi. You no longer wake up next to him. The sun isn't peering through the curtains like they did in Mexico. You sign as you pull your bag over your shoulder and take your first steps towards the house. 

Levi hasn't spoken much since you slept together. You noticed a $5,000 deposit hit your account this morning, reminding you that your relationship with Levi is as simple as that. A transaction.

He brought your luggage inside and left it in your room as you start your shower. You check your phone to see if Alexis has text you, but nothing. Her location says she's about 2 hours away. You have to remember that she is technically an adult now. You can't question her every move. She's capable of making her own decisions. 

You slip on a lounge set that Levi bought you, the fabric screams luxurious. It consists of shorts and a cropped t-shirt. You brush your hair and apply various products in it, letting your natural waves take form.

You hear a knock at your door but no words.

"Come in." You continue fussing with your hair.

"Are you hungry?" Levi's newly tanned skin was glistening under the lights in your room. "I thought we could order takeout since there are no groceries."

"Sure." You nod after you glance at him. He's freshly showered too - his hair damp from the water.

"Ok." Levi gently closed the door as he left. You sighed, wishing you could kiss him again. Wishing you could wrap your arms around him and feel his heart pound against your chest. Paradise is over, it's time to get back to reality.

_____________________

After dinner you and Levi retreat to your bedrooms. Very few words were shared between you both, but your heads were filled with conversation. You checked your sisters location again, same place. You want to give her space and let her be her own person. So you flip your phone over and close your eyes.

It felt like hours passed and you still haven't fallen asleep. You sigh and get up to get a glass of water in hopes that that will make you a bit sleepy. When you walk to the kitchen, you hear the familiar grumbles and screams that you heard just days ago. 

You leave the glass on the counter and made your way to Levi's room. You've never been in it, to be honest you've been too scared to even try to. You hear Levi's low voice mutter again, then he yelled.

Just open the door.

What's he gonna do, get mad at you for being worried?

You take a breath, wrap your hand around the doorknob and push it open. 

When you open the door you see Levi laying on his back, his blanket only covering half of him. The other half exposes his chest and stomach, beads of sweat trickling down his skin. He doesn't seem to wake up from you entering, so you take soft steps towards him.

"Don't leave me alone." Levi's eyes seemed like they were glued shut. "God, why are you taking her from me?"

You gently sit on his bed and caress his face gently. He purses his lips as he leans into your touch but his eyes are still closed. With your other hand, you drag your fingertips along his arm span. 

Soon enough Levi's eyes shoot open and he stares at you for a moment. You don't stop caressing him, you simply stay silent. He watches you touch him, almost scared to say a word.

You stop to look at him, planning on staying quiet. You take a step back and try to remove your hand from his face.

"Stay." He whispers, almost not loud enough for you to hear him. "P-please stay."

You examine his facial expression to make sure he's awake and not sleep talking. You nod, still no words leaving your lips. You walk to the other side of his bed, carefully moving the covers so you can slip under them. 

There's space between you and him, your bodies wanting to touch one another but refusing to make a move.

You turn your face towards Levi, letting your hands stay planted on your stomach. Levi turns his face to look at you, your breath hitching once his eyes meet yours. His slate eyes look so vulnerable. The light from the moon slightly hitting his skin created what looked like a painting, but this is real life and this man is in front of you now.

You gave him a soft smile to reassure him that this is okay. You're actually more than okay with this, but your head and your heart are currently at odds.

Your brain knows that this isn't more than surface level. He gives you money for spending time with him, and you're his full time assistant. There's no real feelings involved.

But the way your heart feels right now screams the exact opposite. Your heart jumps when he looks at you. Your body craves him. 

You watch him as he inches his face closer to you and you swear you can hear his heartbeat. "Light?"

"Green." You stare into his eyes as he moves to lay on his side, his hand reaching out to your face to pull you into him. Your body tenses at his touch as his entire hand grabs your face, pulling your lips to meet his.

His kisses are messy and desperate, much like how you're feeling at this moment. You bring your leg to hook on top of his, your thick thighs pressing against his legs. His hand slides to your plush skin on your inner thigh, squeezing it gently. You moan against his lips as he kneads the skin on your thighs, making you squeeze the thigh he's caressing against his leg. Your core is aching for him, no doubt already soaked.

Levi's hands wander to your waist, his hand dipping in the curve. He keeps kissing you as he makes way to your breasts, taking an entire tit in his hand as he massages it. 

"Fuck." He moans against your lips, his eyes closed. "I dream of these." He detaches his lips from yours as he slips your shirt over your head, your tits bouncing from the newfound freedom. "They are so perfect." He presses a kiss to your right breast, his thumb circling your nipple. His lips soon wrap around the hard nipple as he starts sucking gently. You press your palm to the back of his head wanting to feel him. All of him.

Patience.

The word Levi continues to say when you whine for him. But tonight is not the night for patience.

A whimper leaves your lips that catches Levi's attention. "What's wrong, princess?" His voice was husky in a way that made your core throb even more.

"I need you." You pull his face back up to meet yours as you kiss along his jawline to his neck. You suck gently on a spot on his skin, not caring if it leaves a mark. Your brain is too clouded with lust to give a shit. 

"Spoiled princess." Levi flips over onto his back, pulling you on top of him. You're both still clothed from the waist down, your core pulsating against the fabric of his shorts.

"I want to feel all of you." You hook your finger to the elastic of your shorts and throw them to the side along with your hot pink thong that you were wearing. "Can I feel you, Levi?" 

Levi's cheeks are flushed red as he quickly takes off his pants. Your voice was like velvet to him, he would do whatever you would say. He could never tell you that though.

His large hands plant on each side of your plush hips, the heat from your skin almost burning through him. You looked down at him as his mouth was agape - his lips plump and swollen from kissing you. His hair was pressed against the pillow as he studied every inch of your body. 

You look down at his cock, pressed against his chest as he continues to caress your skin.

"Are you sure?" He whispers as if you're in a crowded room. "I don't have any condoms."

"I'm on the pill, and I have only slept with you." 

"I can't guarantee that I'm going to pull out once I'm inside you." 

"I'm fine with that." You lean down and kiss his lips before taking your hand to position his cock at your entrance, his tip already soaked with pre-cum. 

"Sit on my cock, princess." He groaned as he felt your pussy lips slide against his tip. You push his cock into your pussy, an inaudible noise coming out of your mouth. You press a hand to your face after you moan, embarrassed of the sound you just made.

"Enough of that." Levi swatted his hand to yours that was on your face. "I want to see the pleasure I give you on your face. Don't ever hide from me again." 

You nod as you slide down his cock, his length pressing against your gummy walls as he stretches it out. "Levi," You moan as you watch his cock disappear in your pussy. "You feel so good, but fuck you're so big."

"You're taking me so well, princess." Levi gently thrusts in you as you move your hips to ride him. He presses his hand to your soft stomach, feeling where his cock is inside your body. "You feel me there, baby?" 

Baby.

You nod and move your body up and down on his cock, planting messy kisses on his face. This is the type of dick to make you go stupid. Every thrust makes your toes curl. 

"This pussy is mine." 

"All yours, Levi." You feel your walls pulsating around his length at his words. Levi's mouth attaches to your neck, undoubtably leaving bruises on your skin. But you don't care. Not right now.

Fuck the rules.

"L-Levi, I'm gonna come." You stutter as your breath hitches.

"Come all over me." He whispers in your ear. The outline of your eyesight turns white as you reach euphoria on top of his dick, riding out your high. You moan his name loudly, thankful that you don't have any close neighbors. Levi's hands gripped your ass as you rode out your orgasm as he came undone soon after. "I-I can't, what color is the light?" He winced as he pulled away from you slowly.

"Green. Fucking green light." You moan as he pushes himself inside of you, letting his cum coat your insides. He groans at his release and his chest rises and falls quickly. He empties himself into you, not sure if he's ever came that much.

You move to get off of him, but he presses his fingertips to your ass so you stay. You watch his eyes open, expecting some sarcastic remark.

"Can you sleep here tonight? Please?" Levi moved a piece of hair out of your face. "After you shower, of course."

"Yes." You nod, pushing your body off of him and feeling the void that his cock left you. You whimper at the loss of him.

You hear Levi take steps towards his bathroom, his shower turning on. You walk naked to your bathroom, looking at yourself in the mirror. 

Your neck is covered with purple bruises. You press your fingertips to your skin, wincing at the pain. Levi left a trail of bruises to your chest, his lips marking your right breast. 

As the hot water hit your skin, you replay the last hour in your mind. How his thick cock felt in your pussy, how his hands were soft and caring, caressing every inch of you.

You wish you could take a peek of what's going on in Levi Ackerman's brain at this moment.

#levi ackerman #levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman fanfiction #levi x reader #levi ackerman fanfic #levi ackerman smut #attack on titan #aot #levi ackerman attack on titan #levi ackerman x you

[theoutcastrogue]

The ORC Alliance Grows

meanwhile, at Paizo Blog (published January 19, 2023) :

Over the course of the last week, more than 1,500 tabletop RPG publishers, from household names going back to the dawn of the hobby to single proprietors just starting out with their first digital release, have joined together to pledge their support for the development of a universal system-neutral open license that provides a legal “safe harbor” for sharing rules mechanics and encourages innovation and collaboration in the tabletop gaming space.

The alliance is gathered. Work has begun.

It would take too long to list all the companies behind the ORC license effort, but we thought you might be interested to see a few of the organizations already pledged toward this common goal. We are honored to be allied with them, as well as with the equally important participating publishers too numerous to list here. Each is crucial to the effort’s success. The list below is but a representative sample of participating publishers from a huge variety of market segments with a huge variety of perspectives. But we all agree on one thing.

We are all in this together.  

Alchemy RPG

Arcane Minis

Atlas Games

Autarch

Azora Law

Black Book Editions

Bombshell Miniatures

BRW Games

Chaosium

Cze & Peku

Demiplane

DMDave

The DM Lair

Elderbrain

EN Publishing

Epic Miniatures

Evil Genius Games

Expeditious Retreat Press

Fantasy Grounds

Fat Dragon Games

Forgotten Adventures

Foundry VTT

Free RPG Day

Frog God Games

Gale Force 9

Game On Tabletop

Giochi Uniti

Goodman Games

Green Ronin

The Griffon’s Saddlebag

Iron GM Games

Know Direction

Kobold Press

Lazy Wolf Studios

Legendary Games

Lone Wolf Development

Loot Tavern

Louis Porter Jr. Designs

Mad Cartographer

Minotaur Games

Mongoose Publishing

MonkeyDM

Monte Cook Games

MT Black

Necromancer Games

Nord Games

Open Gaming, Inc.

Paizo Inc.

Paradigm Concepts

Pelgrane Press

Pinnacle Entertainment Group

Raging Swan Press

Rogue Games

Rogue Genius Games

Roll 20

Roll for Combat

Sly Flourish

Tom Cartos

Troll Lord Games

Ulisses Spiele

You will be hearing a lot more from us in the days to come.

[source]

#pathfinder #ogl #information wants to be free

[embraceyourdestiny]

tell me about the two vanitases. vaniti

Post I made a while ago about it (might be slightly awkward / messy bc it’s from 2 years ago) :)

Essentially, at the end of bbs Vanitas and ven have a “battle of hearts” (similar to Roxas and sora in kh2) and Vanitas, as the weaker heart, loses and retreats back into his “origin”, ven’s heart. We see sparkles dissipate into vens stain glass, signifying that Vanitas has become embedded into ven’s heart. THEN ven becomes embedded in Sora’s heart, thus making a sort of matryoshka effect inside of sora;

sora<-(inside, ven [<-inside, vanitas])

Cut to ddd where sora is DEEP inside his own heart and thus coming across a lot of shit embedded within. Including Vanitas who appears as a fractured vision saying Sora’s heart is a prison “even if he’s not the prisoner.” Upon hearing this most people’s immediate thought would be *terra/aqua voice* ven!! But most people miss the hidden layer (cleverness intended) that would also mean Vanitas since he’s inside ven. Of course if someone is locked inside a prisoner in jail that also means they’re in the prison, whether them also being locked up was intentional or not

Cut to kh3. The first instance we see Vanitas is monsters inc. but we don’t see Vanitas first, we see the manifestation of his power because as he explains he needed enough energy to come back to life. The clever part about this is this only happens because sora is there with ven in his heart, thus physically bringing Vanitas’s heart to a place where he can regenerate and, if the plan works out, extract himself/ven from Sora’s body. There’s an extra bonus that the power becomes even more potent by upsetting sora and therefor having a STRONG sense of negativity which had been building in our poor boy all game, and as Ansem The Wise said, sora is able to make things be real and that means he was able to make Vanitas come back to life without whatever Xehanort did to make him, even though he didn’t mean to

Then Vanitas gets bodied by scully and thrown into a door, seemingly gone forever

Then like 3 seconds later we see him again in the land of departure. But. Wait. Didn’t scully just throw him to somewhere in Connecticut?

Act II: The second Vanitas

This Vanitas is a replica Xehanort pulled from the post. Xehanort had no fucking clue where Vanitas went after bbs bc he just disappears and honestly he clearly didn’t care because hes always known could just make another one so he does. The reason I know this isn’t monsters inc Vanitas is because one that’s impossible, it was 100% intentional this scene happens after yeetus Vanitas, and two Vanitas acts. Different. For one he’s much more brazen than he was in MI, instead of just his long winded monologuing he’s actually goading them on and being arrogant and feisty and trying to fight, immediately transporting us back to the kind of personality he had before. You know. Ven kicked his ass. And he also teleports and does magic and is way stronger than MI Vanitas because that Vanitas had just formed. There’s no possible way he had all his strength back after being rebirthed for 3 seconds so the fact that he was able to hold his own against aqua who’s been fighting nonstop for 10 years definitely raises an eyebrow and points to this theory because how was that possible and why didn’t he fight in MI if this was the case.

Some people have pointed out that it’s weird Vanitas wears a cloak of darkness in MI and thinking about it I think there’s two answers. The first is he was weak and I think it’s possible the cloak could protect him, esp if he’s not fully darkness anymore bc he has his own heart, has regenerated on his own instead of being extracted by Xehanort’s dark power, and was touched by two very powerful lights for like 10 years (they probably got their light cooties on him lol) and two, I think he was hiding from Xehanort. Vanitas likely knew of his plan since his conception even though he might not have fully understood was it was and therefore he would’ve known what was going on in kh3 and been like “shit. I’m not following the plan bc I’m not even a part of the plan anymore so Xehanort can’t find out.” Because if you remember in com DiZ says the cloaks can hide you from anyone and if Xehanort knew Vanitas was back he would at the very least force him to do his plan again or at the worst destroy him because he’s an unknown factor

Then sora fights replica Vanitas and he goes back into the past and somewhere out there Vanitas is walking around the streets of New York (or shibuya) having no clue what the fuck is going on

So yes. Two Vanitases bc we can’t get enough of this boy. Two of them

#og #two Vanitases theory #Vanitas kh #kingdom hearts #kh #kingdom hearts theory #kh3 #kh bbs #kh ddd #kingdom hearts 3 #kingdom hearts birth by sleep #kingdom hearts dream drop distance #asks #thanks you for the interest I hope this is good and cool and worth it and makes sense

[silverstonesainz-archive]

always you

in a sea of red, he always looks for you.

summary: all the moments of the austria grand prix, boiling down to one thing... pairing: charles leclerc x alpine fem!reader (nicknamed fleur) word count: 5.3k warnings: none note: here is a charles pov. i might have a couple of parts of this series before i wrap it up and try to work on something new. hope u like this one. and thank u @bigdiccricc for reading it through for me <3 ily forever masterlist

taglist: @sluts-inc @sidcrosbyspuck @coffeehurricanes @miniminescapist @amsofftrack @melancholyy-scorpio @strawberrypaul @starxqt @somanyfandomsbruh @allisonxf1 @buenadiabebeta @ohthemisssery

❃゜・。. ・°゜✼ ゜°・ . 。・゜❃

Free Practice 1

Charles sits at the top most floor of the Ferrari motorhome, twiddling with the straw of his team water bottle as he scrolls through Instagram. This has become a regular thing, coming onto the paddock far too early for practice, and sitting on social media to pass the time. Four races have passed since Monaco, since he was forced to walk away from his only sense of normalcy. 

He hasn’t stopped beating himself up for that weekend. The words he screamed at you, the anger in his heart towards you made him sick to his stomach. You didn’t deserve it, didn’t deserve to carry the weight of his insecurities. And when it finally subsided, it was too late. 

You liked the peonies, at least that’s what you texted him. Merci Charles, I love them. And according to your latest instagram post, they’re sitting pretty on your dining table. He wonders if you sit at home and think of him when you look at the pretty flowers. He wonders if you look at the peonies and picture him sitting across you, because he does. 

“Charles, fifteen minutes!” 

Xavier’s voice cuts him out of his daydream. He strips off his team gear, swapping them out for a race suit. He zips it up to his waist, then grabs his helmet and water bottle before trotting down to the garage. It is busy when he arrives, men in red zooming left and right as they scramble through the garage to prepare for the first practice of the weekend. Charles smiles politely at the people in the garage, the guests Ferrari have invited to sit and watch and all the people who work tirelessly to give him as seamless of a race as possible. He steps out onto the paddock, the hot sun kissing his pale skin. 

The Alpine garage is just as busy as Ferrari’s. The people clad in blue are scrambling to and from the garage, rolling in wheels and clearing the asphalt of equipment. Charles watches as you step out onto the paddock, unaware that he is watching you just two garages down. You always did this, step out of your garage, away from the busy bodies to just soak up the sun. He admired the way your skin glowed, and the relaxed look on your face. He stepped back into his space, afraid of disrupting your peace.

“Five minutes Charles.” 

Qualifying

Free practice comes and goes, with Charles only two-tenths of a second behind Max’s time. He spends about a half hour looking over his data, talking to his engineers and team about strategy. Tire talk wears him down faster than he’d like, and soon he is off retreating into his driver’s room. He peels the red suit off his body, leaving his red under wear on. His balaclava and helmet are left on the little desk, boots and socks long forgotten in the corner. Charles flops onto his makeshift bed, phone in hand as he once again returns to social media.

Your story bubble is the first to appear, the pink and orange ring signifying you had just posted something new. You reposted the alpine graphic, showing you had finished P8 in the free practice. The next story is of you teasing Esteban, throwing something at him before erupting in a fit of giggles. 

“Vous êtes la pire!” You're the worst!

Charles taps the left part of his screen, eyes falling shut as he listens to your laugh and soft voice one more time. He hated not being there with you, hated not being the reason you’re so happy on a day like today, even after the P8 result. It’s as if his world had turned gray, the color leaving with you. 

It isn’t long before he’s back in his car, the pressures of a good qualifying session beating down on him. He needed a good result, needed something good to happen in the sea of his misery. Engineers are looking between him and the data on their screens, signaling him to test every pedal and button on his car before they finally release him. First round of qualifying, Charles was flying. He didn’t even stay out for long, securing the fastest lap before parking in the garage. 

“Xavi, updates on Fluer?” He asks over his radio. 

“Uhh one second… looks like she’s P6 at the moment. Two minutes left in qualifying.”

“Keep me posted.”

Charles sits in his car, fingers crossed in against his chest as he waits through the longest two minutes of his life. His eyes are squeezed shut, refusing to look up at the screens as his anxiety for you get’s the best of him. 

“Fluer is P4, she will go through to Q2.”

He breathes again. Relief floods his blood stream, eyes springing open and his head reclining back against his seat. That’s my girl, he thinks to himself. 

The second round of qualifying isn’t exciting either, Charles once again returning to the garage with a minute left on the clock. He looks up at the TV, watching as your blue car zooms through each turn, the clock zeroing out as you are locked into P9. 

The third round was a lot more nerve wracking than Charles would like to admit. He was fighting tooth and nail against Max for pole position, like a game of hot potato. Purple sectors are flying left and right, switching between the Ferrari and Red Bull. Max holds provisional pole, and he’s more than ready to leave the pits until his team stops him.

“What’s going on?” Charles asks, head turning left and right in confusion as his team stands frozen staring at the screen. His car is midway out of the garage, just about to be released to try for another flying lap in the last five minutes of qualifying. 

“We have a red flag. Red flag. We will not be releasing you at this time.”

“Red flag? Who? What happened?” The radio is silent as his car is pushed back into the shade of the red garage. “Xavi, who?”

“Hamilton, crashed into the barrier. He’s fine, just front suspension damage.”

Charles lets out a breath, quickly thanking Xavier. For just a moment, his world stopped and his mind brought him to the worst place. He was happy that Lewis was okay, even more so that you were. 

Cars were allowed onto the track with three minutes to spare, before George crashed out and interrupted his flying lap. Frustration grows in him as the time ticks down, the pressure increases as his engineer reminds him that Max is still ahead of him by such a small margin of time. Seconds are left on the clock when Charles is finally allowed to add pressure to the throttle, wheels turning and taking him through the track. He holds onto pole position for a mere two seconds before Max crosses the line with a time two-hundredths faster than his. 

The post qualifying interview is a blur, Charles spewing ready made responses about how the sprint tomorrow could change things up and that he’s hopeful for the race even if he isn’t on pole. His mouth moves without much thought, and soon he is waving off the camera as he walks up to join his teammate while waiting for Max. Charles’s eyes scan the small crowd of fans with their phones out, snapping photos of the three and waving at them to gain their attention. He looks for your blue helmet with the pink 8 in the sea of heads, but you are nowhere to be found.

The crowd roars for Max as he poses with the Pirelli tire, grinning from ear to ear. The two Ferrari boys walk over to join him for a photo, and it is when Charles looks at the camera does he finally spot you. Your hair is in a mess of waves, just freshly taken out of a braid. There are marks on your face left by your balaclava and your suit is just slightly undone. Your skin is flushed slightly, lips parted as you pant gently. He smiles at you, and you return the gesture and a thumbs up for good measure. He looks away as the camera shutters over and over. When the three finally disband, walking their separate ways, Charles lost you again. You were nowhere to be spotted in the sea of people who screamed for him. 

He walks past the mics and camera, clambering over wires and whatnot in an effort to find you. And when he does, you are walking into your garage deep in conversation with Lo. He stands at the end of the paddock, watching as you move further and further from him until he can no longer see you.

Free Practice 2

Charles hated coffee. He actually never grew a liking to it, unlike you. When you were about fourteen, you had started drinking black coffee with three sugars, just like your dad made it. You were always sitting at the table with his and your dad, enjoying a cup while the two men talked about what dads talk about. Today, Charles tried coffee. He didn’t get much sleep the night before, and truth be told he felt a little duller than he’d like. Your comments about being unable to start the day without coffee rings in his head, and so he thought he’d try it. 

He remembers the look of satisfaction after your first sip, the tension in your shoulders leaving. He craved that, the feeling of pure content, even if it’s from a drink he didn’t even like.

Do you still like it black with three sugars, or have you grown out of that?

Charles stands by the coffee machine in the motorhome, awaiting a response that might never come.

“Are you lost?”

Charles looks up from his phone to find Carlos looking at him inquisitively. Carlos maneuvers his way around the boy, grabbing himself a paper cup and brewing himself a double shot of espresso. You would never catch Charles at the coffee bar, but here he was, waiting patiently for your text back.

“No… I um…” His phone chimes as he scrambles to think of a response.

Yes. Sometimes with milk too. 

“Is Lord Perceval going to try coffee?” Carlos teases, sipping on his drink.

Are you going to drink coffee?

“Maybe.” Charles responds, grabbing another paper cup and sitting it under the coffee machine. He looks through the different blends, suddenly overwhelmed by the choices and his lack of knowledge. 

“Light roast mate, I think that might be a good start for you.” Carlos pats his shoulder before walking away. His phone chimes again.

Best start with a light roast, and maybe try some milk and more sugar. I don’t think you’d like it how I like it.

He picks a light roast brew, but doesn’t bother to add the milk or more sugar as you suggest. Just the coffee and three packets of sugar. It smells like mornings with you, comforting and simple. Your apartment always smelled of coffee in the morning. He walks up the stairs with the cup in hand, sliding in the seat across Carlos, who is typing furiously on his phone. He smells the cup again, the dark liquid staring back at him. His phone vibrates with a text from you.

Let me know what you think

He places his phone face down, finally tipping the cup to spill the warm drink into his mouth. It is bitter, the coffee much stronger than the sugar. He takes a small sip before setting the cup down. Charles hated coffee.

Carlos laughs at his teammate’s reaction, leaning over to look into Charles’s cup. “Mate, milk and creamer are a thing.” 

Charles hated coffee, but god did he love you. And he wanted to love what you did. 

“It’s fine.” Charles waves him off, snatching up his cup and taking another sip. He tries his best to suppress the grimace that is fighting its way on his face from the bitter taste. “Tastes just fine.” 

Carlos smirks, nodding at his friend before leaning back in his chair and redirecting his attention to his phone. There is a weird aftertaste left in his mouth, strong and bitter, very unpleasant. He flips his phone over, a new text on his screen.

You didn’t add milk or creamer did you?

The morning flies by, and soon he is once again walking the garage and weaving his way around the busy bodies. He steps out onto the paddock, looking to his right and once again finding you, head tilted towards the sun with your eyes closed. Your hair is neatly twisted into a braid, a few strands framing your face nicely. Charles is frozen in place, admiring your beauty and serenity. You don’t notice him, not even as you look around and turn towards your garage. 

Charles climbs into his bright red Ferrari, pulling out right behind your baby Blue. The pace is slow all the way to the end of the pit lane, and with a quick raise of your hand to wave him off, you speed away in your car. The Monegasque isn’t too far behind, keeping up with you and overtaking you after turn four. For the hour, it’s as if it is only you two on the track. You do your best to keep up with his Ferrari, but the differences in make up make it hard for you. But you try like hell, doing your fair share of overtakes in the brief twenty something laps before your team calls you in and ends your time in free practice to preserve your tires. 

The last of his laps, Charles spends in boredom. He zooms through the track, securing the fastest time with his teammate five-hundredths of a second behind. His heart rate is on the come down from the exhilarating battles with you, cooling like his tires as he is backed into his side of the garage. He climbs out of his car with ease, pulling off his helmet and balaclava and putting it aside. Charles barely focuses on the numbers, eyes following along on the replay of the last session, the way your baby Blue flies seamlessly through the track. He can nearly see your smile under your helmet in the moments you overtook him. He can hear your little yes’ and gotchas as you swerve around him. 

It makes him smile. 

Sprint Race

There are nerves running through him as he paces back and forth in his room. The caffeine was probably getting to him. He was able to swallow down a couple more sips of it, before chugging his entire water bottle. Charles never really liked coffee for this reason, the jitters, the shaky hands, and the inability to sit still. He looks up at the clock, the second hand ticking by ridiculously slow. 

He cusses softly, zipping his race suit all the way up and making his back down to the paddock. Charles climbs into his car without a word, without much argument, just ready to implement plan A until his team names another letter. He is pushed onto the grid, spot number two just behind the Red Bull. Ten minutes before the sprint is supposed to start, so he figures he can climb out of the car and take a look around. He pulls his helmet off, balaclava on as he looks around the grid. He spots his best friend in the tenth spot, your car just ahead of him. What he does note is the frustration laced in your body language. The irritation is obvious in the way you throw your hands up. Your voice also carries, even with your helmet over your face the sound of purring engines. He can’t make what you’re saying, just that your voice is pitched angrily. You kick your covered tires, ripping off your helmet and balaclava and stomping away from your car. 

Charles follows your figure as you climb through the gate, hopping onto the other side. He overhears Will Buxton as he approaches the front of the grid, talks of how your car is refusing to start and will have to retire before the race even starts. There is an urge to run after you, to call out. But his team calls for him, and he is forced to sit in and get ready for the sprint. 

Just as it played out in qualifying, Charles is staring down Max’s rear wing til the end. He is frustrated, no dimples or bright eyes. Just furrowed brows and the feeling of blind optimism as he answers the questions laid out for him. His mind wanders over to you, wondering how you’re doing after dropping to the bottom of the grid without much of a fighting chance. 

He knows you’d be upset, sitting in the garage as you figure out where it all went wrong. Hell if you could, you would rewire your car yourself. He always loved that about you, loved your willingness to learn and do more. Loved your stubbornness and insistent need to do things yourself. 

Charles twiddles the sprint medal in his fingers as he strolls past his garage. He can’t help his curiosity, his feet taking him all the way to the bright blue garage. He passes Esteban’s side, the quieter garage contrasting your busy one. Just as he had guessed, you were still there, clad in your black race suit with your hair still twisted in a braid. Your legs are crossed as you sit on the floor, watching helplessly as your mechanics try to fix your baby Blue. 

“Don’t think you should be here.” You mumble, not bothering to look up at him. “It’s kind of hard to miss the red in all this blue.” 

“Missed you out there Fluer.” He says, leaning against the side of the garage door. 

“Yeah… good job today Charles.” There is defeat in your voice, “P2. You’ll get him tomorrow.” 

He watches as you ride to your feet, turning your back on him as you walk deeper into the motor home. You never look up at him once, never smile even as you congratulate him. You looked deflated, tired, downright sad as you walked away from your car. Charles walked back to the red side, head hanging low in defeat even if he hadn’t really lost. 

On days like today, on days with a retirement or just bad result, normally you both would find refuge in the other. Aside from Monaco, it was easy. It was easy to melt in the other and to feel safe while doing so. He can picture all the moments you spent on his chest, tracing patterns against him quietly as he played with your hair. There were never words needed, just the company of the other was enough.

Monaco was different, it was like something inside him changed. He was never that angry, especially with you. And truth be told, he wasn’t even angry with you that day either. He was angry with himself, angry at the streets he grew up on, betraying him again. All that anger was meant to be directed at the world, but instead you caught the brunt of it. You absorbed every blow, every insult, every bitter feeling Charles felt that day. You were right, for a second he loathed you. He hated what you were able to do, hated that he has never done what you did with ease. But the brief moments of abhor never overpowered his love for you. It never surpassed the level of immense joy he felt when he rewatched the race for you, or the admiration as he watched the videos of you on the top step. No amount of hatred and anger could surpass all the pride he felt for you, even if for a moment it seemed like it did.

As he walks away from the Alpine garage, his mind races through a million words he could say to make you smile. He thinks of all the jokes, the cheesy pick up lines you hate so much, just about anything that would make you smile. He thinks of saying all the things he should’ve said in Monaco. But even as his mind moves full speed ahead, his feet don't take him back. His body does the logical thing and just keeps moving further and further away from you. 

Race Day

He’s awake, alone in bed. The sheets are soft, but they only smell of him and it bothers him. The only reason he climbs out of bed is to brew a pot of coffee, and then he is right back in the covers. The coffee smells cheap, but it’s still that same deep smell that gives him comfort. It’s memories of you wrapped around him, the skin of your cheek pressed against his chest and the sound of your voice thick with sleep. 

He lays in bed until he is nose blind to the brewed drink. It’s then, when the pot is littered in condensation and there is no longer smoke coming from the opening, does he decide to start his day. Charles goes through the motions, staying on his side of the sink. Even with two months since your break up, Charles moves like you’re still around. He leaves space on the sink for your make-up, unfolding the second towel for you when you finish showering, and even sleeping on the left side of the bed so you can roll in with ease. Hell, he still leaves the spare key at the front desk for you to pick up when you need it. 

But you haven’t needed it in two months. 

The paddock is buzzing with people. Fans express their excitement, the utmost faith they have in their Il Predestinato to finish in front. It’s almost heartwarming, the faith they have in his craft even when he is doubting himself so much. He nearly misses you walking in, with your blue polo tucked neatly into your white tennis skirt and hair flowing effortlessly down your back. He watches as you wave at fans, smiling in pictures, and signing various merchandise before walking away towards your motorhome. Charles says goodbye to the tifosi, before jogging to catch up with you. 

“Will I be seeing you in the points today, Bien-aimée?” 

You whip your head around, hair effortlessly tossing over your shoulder. There is a playful smile on your lips, small but still there for him. 

“You can count on it, Predestinato.” 

And with a wink, you jog away to join Lo and Ella all the way to the Alpine motorhome. Charles feels like he’s in middle school, heart beating fast at the playful interaction. It felt like a little courtyard crush, even if he knows deep down that it has and will always be more. 

Charles is scribbling in notebooks and analyzing data all morning, before finally getting in the back seat of the car for the drivers parade. He waves at fans, making playful banter with his teammate all the while. And every now and again, he looks behind him to see you laughing and smiling up at something Esteban has said. There is a jealousy that sparks up in the pit of his gut, and he is forced to turn away. 

You always had a great relationship with your team, which included Esteban. Hell, the two of you have joined him and his girlfriend on several double dates. The sight behind him isn’t new, and yet it still burns. It still hurts to see you so happy without him, so happy while he’s drowning in misery. 

Charles tries not to think much of it as he stands by his car on the front row. He drinks his water, observes the mechanics in different uniforms running to and from cars. He watches different drivers begin to get in the proper headspace. Pierre has his AirPods popped in and Daniel is in a very low squat. He looks past his fellow competitors, all the way to the bottom of the grid as you sit on your blanketed tire in pure concentration. He knows the songs playing through your headphones, probably some heavy bass and hip hop beat blaring to get your heart pumping. He can see the way you shake your hands before resting them on your lap. You’re in your element, in your own piece of paradise before the race. 

With the anthem out of the way, and the drivers returning to their cars, Charles is quick to hop into his own. There is a soft knock knock on the top of his helmet, and when he looks up he sees the back of your race suit. He smiles to himself, hands gripping the wheel. It was your good luck ritual, ones kept for days you especially believed in him and he doubted himself. It was your signal of reassurance in the chaos of the grid, a quick gesture before you are off in your own car.

Charles sits in anticipation, watching as the lights go on one by one, slow and teasing. Finally, the lights are out and away he goes. The race flies by, all 71 laps. He finally overtakes Max in lap 12, holding onto the lead until he has to pit. The race is exhilarating for the first half, and the win is as sure as his in the final laps even with the throttle not fully working. The win was what he needed, an answer to the never ending string of bad luck. 

He did it, he fucking did it. 

“P1 Charles, P1. Good job!”

He cheers into the radio, spewing thanks in Italian and French with sighs of relief.

“And Fluer?” He asks, slowing down in his cool down lap. 

“P10. She is P10.”

Charles smiles, speeding up by your car as it comes to view and waving over at you. You wave back, cutting your car some slack as you allow Charles to drive in front of you. You follow behind him all the way to the pit lane, parking your car just a couple of meters away from his number one spot. He parks, jumping out of his car and running into the sea of red who welcome him with such a loving embrace. It isn’t long until he is in front of the camera, dimples and bright eyes as he talks about his race. He is beaming, happiness coursing through his veins as the world around him cheers him on.

The top step felt right, he felt like he belonged. He was in his rightful place, he was finally winning. This was the momentum he longed for since Monaco. He stands with his arms behind his back, eyes shut as he soaks up the sun. His national anthem plays, and he mouths the words quietly. His head sways side to side ever so slightly. 

Charles looks down at the crowd, the sea of red staring up at him in adoration. And then he spots you, the blue detail of your suit bright in the swarm of red. He can see you, looking up at him with such pride and… love. His smile dims, just wide enough for you to know that he sees you, that he’s smiling at you. You wave up at him, another thumbs up for good measure. The world around the two of you seem to dim. It was just you in the crowd, staring up at him with such pride and joy. He felt undeserving to be looked upon in such a way, especially by you. 

E ren nun ne scangerà,  Tantu ch'u suriyu lüjerà;

And nothing will change As long as the sun shines;

He shakes off his guilt, daydream interrupted by the Italian anthem blaring through the speakers. He looks away, eyes back up on the sea of people who stare up at him.

It isn’t long until Charles is showered in champagne, the cheers and fanfare loudly ringing in his ear. Champagne gets everywhere, soaking him underneath his race suit. He takes the remainder of his bottle, walking to the edge of the stage and spraying his team. You were no longer in the mess of people, your blue suit nowhere to be found as he douses the crowd in the leftover champagne. 

Post Race: Media Pen and On…

Max congratulates him on the way out, a pat on his back as he compliments the drive he had today. All his competitors do the same, greeting him and complimenting him on a job well done. He walks into the media pen, black cap traded for his numbered red one. The journalists are swooning over him, complimenting him left and right and he can’t help but grin. 

“Fluer had some nice things to say about you, she was just in here. She was cheering for you too, have you heard the radio?”

Charles shakes his head, “Haven’t had the time no… what did she say?”

“She said, ‘I knew he could do it. I was fighting my battles from the bottom of the grid, but it’s good to know that he was doing the same in front. I’m proud of him, I always am.’” 

Charles’ cheeks turn pink. “Ahhh… well I’m always thankful for her support. Feels good and… yeah. No, it feels great. I’ll have to thank her later.”

He doesn’t last long with the Media, answering all the same questions in different ways before he is finally allowed to return to his room. He slides his door open, quick to flop on the bed in the corner of the room as he soaks in the day. The win has settled, the victory is done and over with. He’s empty again, incomplete and lost. 

You would normally be waiting here, sitting on his bed already out of your race suit. You would have a snack in hand, maybe even some juice to keep you company as you wait for Charles to finish his business. He would normally be greeted with a kiss, sweet French words and promises of a treat waiting for him at home. He finally sits in his lonesome, and realizes that this is his first win without you by his side. His first win without you is so bittersweet. 

There is a soft knock on the door before it slides open. Andreas smiles, slipping into the tiny room with a bag in his hands. “From Fluer.” 

Charles never moved so fast in his life, scrambling over to him to grab the bag. Andreas chuckles and backs out of the room, allowing Charles to enjoy his gifts on his own. There is a bottle of water, a bag of candies, and a little note at the bottom of the bag. He pulls out each one, setting them on the desk. His eyes water, the idea that you’re still thinking about him softening the ache in his heart.

Predestinato; 

Drink lots of water, because I know you forget in the midst of your celebration. And some coffee candies, so you don’t have to deal with the bitter brew I like. 

Congratulations, another win for the books. I'm so proud of you.

Your Fluer.

There is a doodled flower by your name, messy with uneven petals and the pen marks smeared from the rush. He chuckles, tears spilling onto his cheeks. Your Fluer, his Fleur. 

He pops a candy into his mouth, the sweet artificial flavor of coffee coating his tongue. You were with him, always with him, even if you weren’t. You were there, in the form of a messily drawn flower and coffee candy. 

❃゜・。. ・°゜✼ ゜°・ . 。・゜❃

send in an ask if you want to be part of my f1 taglist!

#wtia #charles leclerc #charles leclerc fluff #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc x y/n #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc one shot #charles leclerc x you #formula 1 #f1 #f1 x reader #f1 one shot #charles leclerc angst

[hurlingsupport]

Can I request inside job Reagan x reader platonic who teen prodigy who works at congito inc and reader always looks up Reagan compliments their work and aslo reader has chaotic energy personality lol I hope this ok

It's definitely okay! This is a nice idea, also thanks for the request!!

(Reagan and Teen Prodigy! Gender Nuetral Reader One-shot)

It’s a sunny Monday morning, the temperature's around 78°, and the birds are happily chirping away. It’s a perfect morning, leading to a similarly perfect day. 

However, that suspicious tranquility is interrupted with the sound of sizzling circuit board joints, a sound you consider music to your ears. So much so, that you hum a melody that vaguely matches the wires attaching themselves to joints on said circuit.

Now, what could a kid—scratch that—TEEN genius possibly create with a singular circuit board? Ah, the possibilities are truly endless. However, before you can use your intellectual mind to make the world spin to your rhythm, there’s a knocking at your door.

The sizzling stops, and your content humming comes to a close. There’s silence, and you have an underlying sense of anxiety about what may be waiting behind the wooden door that you oh so desperately wish you could upgrade. Is J.R going to order someone to put a bag over your head again? You hope not. The first one smelled odd, and you’d rather not catch anything.

A voice, one that isn’t gruff and attempting to micro-chip you, appears behind the alder wood. 

“You there? You’re not dead are you—that’d be the third one this week—please don’t be dead.” You squint your eyes at the mystery person’s words before making a run towards your apartment door. And once you pull it open, you nearly squeal. 

“Reagan!” Your lips curl into an excited smile, bouncing on your toes as you stare at her. She’s not much taller than you, yet you look up to her both literally and figuratively. She smiles back, though it’s more out of relief than excitement. 

“Hey, what took you so long to answer the door?” She walks in, wiggling her shoes off before going any further into your home. Which you’re thankful for. Since she has some unidentifiable liquid on her shoes, you wouldn’t want to clean whatever it was off your carpet.

“Sorry, I thought it was the CIA again!” The two of you let out some chuckles, but yours ends with a fearful hiss. “They won’t do that to me again, will they?” 

Reagan grimaces, then gives you a half-hearted pat on the back, as if to say ‘no, they totally will’—before retreating into your workspace. Really, it was just a rather messy area in your living room, since your apartment wasn’t all that spacious. 

“Tasty circuit work. What’re you working on in this little lair of yours?” She smirks at you, pointing at the unfinished circuit board with a soldering iron resting on its own holder nearby. 

Your eyes widen, as you were planning to show the finished product to Reagan as both a present and a message which stood for: “I wanna be your evil assistant even though you’re not inherently evil but whatever” 

It’s not until silence fills the room that you realize you said that aloud. 

“UH–” You spin around looking for any kind of distraction to convince Reagan that she didn’t hear those words exit your mouth. You find a solution once you spot the modified goggles that sat on top of her head.

“Wow! Look at those goggles—they look super useful. What do you use them for, Reagan ma’am?” Reagan sputters at your use of the word ma’am before answering.

“They’re, uh, a bit of a mix between safety goggles and a magnifying glass. But what did you say-” you interrupt her sentence as you continue to compliment her impressive creation.

“How do they work? Is there a separate layer with convex lenses or is it a mix between that and a polycarbonate lens?” 

“Oh, haha- um, it’s just separate layers.” She pulled the goggles over her eyes and flicked a layer of glass over the structure of the goggles. “You just flip the convex lens over the polycarbonate layer and—viola! A multi-layer tight-fitting eye protector perfected for situations such as chemical splash, irritating mist and/or vapor, AND activities such as soldering!” 

She proudly puffs out her chest, taking in your amazement like a dry sponge, and therefore forgetting your previous statement just as you had hoped. You let out a huff of air as you began to wonder why Reagan was in your apartment in the first place.

“Hold on, why are you even here?” Reagan pauses her monologue about the safety goggles and pulls said accessory off her eyes.

“Huh.” 

There’s a moment of awkward silence, though you can’t comprehend why it’s awkward on your end. 

“Oh! Dammit, I completely forgot about what I came here for.” She loses her grip on the goggles completely, flinching when they slap her head, and makes her way towards your front door. Slipping her shoes on as she grabs the handle, she turns toward you with a more serious expression.

“Change into some work-appropriate clothes. I’m driving you to Cognito.” And with that, she’s out your door, and you’re left to look down at what you’re wearing. 

It’s a dinosaur onesie.

After the awkward acknowledgement that your role model saw you in a onesie, you sped into your bedroom to change into a white button up and black slacks. You almost—no, scratch that you actually do tumble down your apartment complex stairs as you hurry to Reagan’s car. 

She stares in concern at your slightly disheveled appearance before starting the engine. Then silence ensues, leaving you to wonder if she was going to bring up what you thought you had successfully distracted her from.

“Evil assistant…” she mutters.

God dammit. 

“Y’know, I think you’d fit into that role perfectly.” This makes you look in her direction.

“Scuse me?” The words scramble out of your mouth, and you wince at the improperness.

Reagan laughs, keeping her eyes on the road as she slightly leans her head towards you. “I’m not too sure about the evil part, but you do commit some rather wicked acts.” 

You briefly remember her saying something similar after you had blown up their meeting room. You swore it hadn’t been your fault. You only wanted to show off a gun that could shoot things other than bullets. You didn’t know that Andre had pumped it full of nitroglycerin when you had suggested he fill it with ‘literally anything’ earlier that day. You made Andre do your paperwork for a month after that.

You shudder, and Reagan raises a brow before continuing. 

“You seem like a good evil-doer. Or at least as good as an evil-doer can get.” She nudges you with her elbow, encouraging you to loosen up. “I’d like it.”

You smile, staying silent since you really had nothing else to say. You had finally told Reagan, someone you aspired to be one day, that you wanted to work underneath her; and not only had she accepted, but she wanted you to work under her too! 

You struggle to keep happy noises from escaping your mouth, the only evidence of your exhilaration being the wide smile on your face and your feet unintentionally kicking the glove box every once in a while.

Reagan snickers and mumbles under her breath, “Evil assistant, huh?” 

#inside job #inside job x reader #reagan ridley #gender neutral reader #reader insert

[morbidology]

Each year, approximately 800,000 children are reported missing. Most safely return home but out of every 10,000 children that are reported missing, there is approximately one that is abducted and murdered. But what about those children that don’t ever return home alive or dead, though? What about those children that remain missing indefinitely?

Born on the 5th of August, 1990, Asha Jacquilla Degree grew up to be a quiet and shy young girl. She was an impeccable student at Fallston Elementary School in Shelby, North Carolina. “She’s an outstanding student with an excellent attendance record,” said Donna Carpenter, a spokeswoman for the school. She excelled in math and science and loved reading and writing, particularly when she could make the topic up herself. She certainly had a vivid imagination. Asha dreamed of being an illustrator when she grew up and in her free time, she enjoyed playing basketball with her brother and jumping on her trampoline.

Asha was a daddy’s girl. She bonded exceptionally with her father, Harold, when she was just a baby. Harold was laid off for two months and took over the late-night feedings. The father-daughter duo were very similar – both were very reserved and quiet except for when play wrestling with each other. “It’s amazing these walls are still standing, the way we wrestle in this house,” he fondly recalled.

Her parents were both extremely hardworking to provide the very best for their family. Harold worked as a dock loader at PPG Industries Inc while her mother, Iquilla, worked at Kawai America Manufacturing. They were a religious family and Asha never missed her weekly Bible study at church. Asha was an extremely timid little girl, in fact, she was wary of almost everything. “She doesn’t even open the front door for me without getting her mother’s permission,” said Patricia Banks, Asha’s aunt.

At approximately 6:30PM on the 13th of February, 2000, 9-year-old Asha went to bed at her family home on Oakcrest Drive. She had decided on an early night because she had stayed up late at a slumber party the night before with her cousins. At approximately 8:30PM that night, Asha woke up when lightning storms and harsh winds swept through the area. She sat in the living room with the family and watched TV before retreating back to bed half an hour later.

When Asha’s father, Harold, returned from work at approximately 12AM, he checked on his children who were fast asleep. He checked once again at 2:30AM. Asha slept in the same bedroom as her 10-year-old brother, O’Bryant. The brother-sister duo was extremely close; when O’Bryant got into trouble, Asha would cover for him. “We did everything together,” he said.

Her brother later recalled that he heard noises in the early morning hours but just assumed it was Asha turning and tossing in her sleep. However, in reality, Asha was actually packing her book bag with her two favourite outfits and her Tweety Bird purse. She then crept out of the house in the rainy night sky, locking the door behind her.

𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐞:

#asha degree #unsolved #cold case #mystery

[sims4t2bb]

weekly update

Hi, hello, and happy Sunday! We hope you've had a very, very good week and that you're enjoying the nice spell of spring sunshine 🌞

The updates for this week can be found underneath the cut. From us, as always, happy Simming — onwards and upwards! ✨

— Expansion Packs

Eco Lifestyle

Cozy Bundled Double, Cozy Bundled Sleeper, Dirty Double, Fabricated Double Bed, Fabricated Kids Bed, Fabricated Single Bed, Knitted Napper by Groovy Grandma Co., and bedding conversions by @platinumaspiration have been added.

Snowy Escape

Monster-Free Bed, Traditional Tatami Bed, and bedding conversions by @platinumaspiration have been added.

Cottage Living

Spring Sparrow B&B Bed and bedding conversions by @platinumaspiration has been added.

High School Years

Darling Deco, Luxurious Velve"Teen" Single Bed, Not Too Sneaky Storage Single Bed, Original Bouncy House - by Evolution Inc, The Original Launchpad Bed, The Pipe Dreams Bed, Slightly Sneaky Storage Double Bed, Vintage Double Poster Bed, Vintage Floral Single Bed, Wicker-Work Single Bed, and bedding conversions by @platinumaspiration have been added.

Growing Together

GreatShapes Great Heights Bunk Bed, GreatShapes Great Nights Bed, Woven Whims Cane Weave Double Bed, and bedding conversions by @platinumaspiration have been added.

Horse Ranch

Cormac Pine Bunk Bed and bedding conversions by @platinumaspiration have been added.

For Rent

White Lily Canopy Bed bedding conversion by @platinumaspiration has been added.

— Game Packs

Outdoor Retreat

AirKushn Double, AirKushn Single, Glamping Vunderbed, Rustic Sleeper, and bedding conversions by @platinumaspiration have been added.

Vampires

Aged Wooden Coffin, All Inclusive Luxury Cruiser, Ancient Resting Place, Paul’s Bearer of Bad News, and bedding conversions by @platinumaspiration have been added.

Parenthood

BroHill Single Bed with Storage, Metal Framed Single Bed, and bedding conversions by @platinumaspiration have been added.

Jungle Adventure

All Jungle Adventure debug crystals conversions by @tvickiesims have been added.

Cama de Ensueño, Camita de Ensueño, and bedding conversions by @platinumaspiration have been added.

Strangerville

The Bunk and bedding conversions by @platinumaspiration have been added.

Realm of Magic

The Mind's Eye Twin Bed, Selene's Sanctuary Bed, and bedding conversions by @platinumaspiration have been added.

Dream Home Decorator

The Beauty of Negative Space Bed, Naturally Nestled Single Bed, Naturally Nestled Top Bunk, The Princess and the Pineapple Bed, Serene Repose Single Bed, Serene Repose Upper Bunk, Single Bed with Knobs, Smooth Single Slumber, Smooth Slumber Upper Bunk, Swingin' Single Bed, Too Cool For School Top Bunk, and bedding conversions by @platinumaspiration have been added.

Werewolves

Hasty Replacement Palette Bed, Pups & Up Apogee Bed, and bedding conversions by @platinumaspiration have been added.

The Moondwood Collective Hangout Tree conversion by @tvickiesims has been added.

— Stuff Packs

Romantic Garden

Delphinium, Hollyhocks, Iris, Lupin, Thistle, Nature's Barbed Wire - Small, and Overgrown Rose Bush conversions by @tvickiesims have been added.

Kids Room

Beddy Bye Sleeper and bedding conversions by @platinumaspiration have been added.

Backyard

Wild Gumdrop conversion by @tvickiesims has been added.

Vintage Glamour

Tufted & Tucked, Maleficent Bedstead, and bedding conversions by @platinumaspiration have been added.

Tiny Living

Space-Saving Single and bedding conversions by @platinumaspiration have been added.

— Kits

Castle Estate

Heirloom Stairs, Heirloom Banister, Cornerstone Castle Foundation, Battlement Frieze, The Embellished Castle Trim, Gothic Spandrel, Battlement Fence, and Heirloom Handrail conversions by @lordcrumps and @tvickiesims have been added.

This kit is now fully converted!

#weekly update

[the-formerone]

Beloveds! It's happened again! A career shaping opportunity approaches!

I have been accepted into the Roots. Wounds. Words. Winter 2024 Retreat for Storytellers of Color, where I and 64 other fellows will participate in a week of virtual workshopping, community building, craft talks, and readings. 🎉🥳🎊

I'll be bringing my darling speculative behemoth CROWNLESS to the party, whose faculty has included literary artists Daniel Jose Older, Jesmyn Ward, and Deesha Philyaw in the past.

And my workshop leader you ask? None other than author of the Magic of the Lost trilogy, author who I've been comping my work to ever since I started reading theirs, C. L. Clark.

Excited? Isn't even close to the right word.

While I have been gifted with a generous partial scholarship, I will need some assistance for the remaining tuition.

Friends, family, and strangers alike, your generosity has moved mountains in the past, and continues to propel me forward. I'm a little under halfway there after a day of fundraising.

No matter what you're able to give (good vibes, well wishes, and reposts included) thank you for your part in this journey. It truly does mean the world.

https://secure.givelively.org/donate/roots-wounds-words-inc/roots-wounds-words-2024-winter-writers-retreat-for-storytellers-of-color/nailah-mathews-2

#personal #d0nations #education #writeblr #fundraising

[goldenraeofsun]

Day 3: Digital

Dean should have never taken advice from Zachariah Adler, AKA the worst boss in existence. While Dean eats wheatgrass and manifests his best self (whatever the hell that actually means), Adler’s probably poaching his biggest accounts with his oily charm and smarmy grin.

It was Dean’s fault for getting too personal in smalltalk before the Marketing & Sales all-hands meeting, saying how he’d been on an improvement kick – Kubrick oversold the damn Master Cleanse by several hundred orders of magnitude – but he didn’t know what to do next.

Zachariah, of course, had the perfect solution: a digital detox retreat. Worked wonders for him a few months ago.

After everyone arrives at the campsite – if you can call it that, with its electricity, running water, and actual toilets – they go on an hour-long hike, do yoga by the lake, and in the afternoon have some weird group therapy session to discuss their “technology addiction”.

Dean spends most of his turn complaining about Sandover’s batshit promotion policy, but a couple people nod in agreement around the circle. The uncomfortable-looking guy in pristine jeans and boots that Dean would bet dollars to donuts never touched actual dirt until that morning, mumbles he works at Sandover too.

He – Castiel – goes next, saying his roommate pressed him to go on this retreat. He drops corporate buzzwords like “toxic environments” and “poor work-life balance” with a pinched, bewildered expression on his face, and Dean has a sneaking suspicion that Cas has no idea what they actually mean. The weirdo actually uses finger quotes around “hustle culture”. 

Cas evidently made time for yoga, though. (Dean wasn’t entirely focused on the instructor when it came time for downward dog.) He has an ass Dean hasn’t seen outside of porn – the fancy kind, the kind you pay for.

By day four, Dean can practically feel Zachariah and the other sales sharks circling his biggest accounts.

In the evening, Dean lines up for the lone phone on the premises – a communal landline – and calls Charlie, their western sales rep and Dean’s best work-friend at Sandover. He not-so-subtly probes her, and Charlie admits she saw Zachariah having lunch with Lily Sunder of Sunder Inc. 

Dean almost loses it right then and there. 

But because he is a goddamn professional, he politely listens to Charlie’s dramatic retelling of last Tuesday night’s bar trivia (they lost without Dean’s pop culture powerhouse) before hanging up and stalking out of the room.

Incensed, he paces around his cabin, trying to come up with a plan. Sammy isn’t due to pick him up in the Impala until the end of the retreat in three days. But by then, it could be all over.

So, after some serious Mission Impossible shit and Ocean’s 11 levels of safe cracking, Dean is once again in possession of his phone. 

Just out of sight of the campsite, probably standing in a bunch of poison ivy, knowing his luck, he turns it on. “Fuck,” he mutters, entirely unsurprised to see he has no bars out here in the ass end of nowhere.

Time to rough it.

He ducks back into his cabin to grab a flashlight, his swiss army knife, and a granola bar – all stuff he packed without knowing he was going glamping. Armed with his gear and his phone, he goes on the hunt for a signal. The hiking trail from their first day reached a decently high elevation.

About a third of the way up, a rustling in the underbrush makes him freeze.

Heart pounding, his gaze darts up from his phone screen and his hand tightens around his swiss army knife in his pocket. Are there bears in this area? Why the hell didn’t he pack bear spray?

“Dean?”

Dean exhales a quick sigh of relief. Not a bear.

“Hey, Cas,” Dean says as he quickly stashes his phone in his jacket. “What the hell are you doin’ all the way out here?”

Cas blinks owlishly at him. He has a few leaves and a twig or two stuck in his hair. The fresh dirt covers the knees of his jeans, like he took a fall (or five) in the past ten minutes. After a long beat, he deadpans, “Communing with nature.”

Dean unclenches his hands from around his knife and instead crosses his arms over his chest, regarding Cas impassively. Internally, he’s beyond amused, so he can’t help but ask, “And how’s that goin’ for ya?”

Cas narrows his eyes. “Poorly,” he says sourly.

A rapid series of tinny chimes cut off Dean’s snort of laughter. He eagerly grabs his phone, scanning the barrage texts coming in. He only has one bar, but better that than nothing.

“You have service?” Cas demands, stepping closer.

“Fucking finally,” Dean breathes as he holds his phone up above his head. The signal stubbornly does not improve. Damn.

Sighing, Cas slips his own phone out of his pocket and squints despondently at the screen.

Maybe that was why Mr. Wilderness was bumbling around in the dark, halfway up a mountain. Well, Dean’s not a heartless corporate suit, no matter what Charlie calls him when he has to cancel Moondoor plans at the last-minute. “D’you wanna use mine?” Dean asks. “I’ve got almost a full charge.”

Cas looks like he could kiss Dean right then and there – and, huh, isn’t that an idea? Cas’s gaze shifts to Dean’s phone, an eager glint in his eyes like Dean might as well be holding the holy grail itself. “Thank you,” Cas breathes.

“No problem,” Dean says casually. “Mind if we go a bit higher? I think we can get a better signal.”

Cas nods, and they set off up the trails.

“So…” Dean starts, “Sandover too?”

“Unfortunately,” Cas says with an adorable grimace. “You as well?”

Dean nods. “Marketing.”

“Finance.”

Dean’s dealings with Finance are limited, mostly to the junior accountants who have nothing better to do than pull him reports that should all be entered into the dullest Excel sheet of the year awards. “Do you work with Marv?” he asks, naming the one Finance Director he worked with on the Talbot account.

A sliver of moonlight falls on Cas’s face from a break in the tree cover, or else Dean never would have caught his look of apprehension. After a beat, Cas says evenly, “I do.”

“What a dick,” Dean says, and Cas’s expression relaxes. “Has he told you about the book he’s writing?” During their last meeting, Marv spent twenty minutes droning on and on.

“Yes,” Cas says with the look of a man who was indeed up to date on the intricate politics of angel factions and the motivations of a stupidly overpowered hero. “I’m surprised he told you about it, though. He tends only to inflict his writing process on the Finance Department.”

Dean lifts one shoulder in a half-shrug. “I guess I’m just that adorable.”

“I’d say so,” Cas says before promptly tripping over a root. He straightens, his blush all but glowing in the dark.

“You alright?” Dean says, trying and mostly failing to keep in his laughter.

“Fine,” Cas mutters. “We’d better keep going. I think there’s a plateau up ahead.”

“So why did you come out to this thing if tree hugging isn’t your deal?” Dean asks conversationally.

“My roommate said I needed to get out of the city for my own good,” Cas says glumly. “She said it was either this or Coachella.”

Dean doesn’t bother muffling his laughter this time around. Cas at Coachella? Dean can just as easily see him flying around outer space. 

Once Dean’s chuckles subside, Cas asks, “So why are you here, Dean?”

Dean rubs the back of his neck. “Similar to you, I guess. I’ve been looking for a change, you know?” Way back when, he thought Sandover would be a pitstop. A way to make a decent paycheck with good dental before he figured out what he really wanted to do with his life (other than hunt ghosts and/or run around Gotham in an awesome batsuit). 

But it only seemed like the blink of an eye when he looked up and realized his fifth anniversary at Sandover came and went. And he had nothing to show for it except a stellar portfolio and a dozen dead plants in an apartment he rarely saw during daylight hours.

“I guess I was hoping for a reset,” Dean says seriously. “It’s like, one day I woke up and I saw that my whole life was my work.” He shakes his head. “That’s no way to live.”

“I suppose not.” Cas smiles crookedly. “Not that I would know any differently.”

They reach the plateau, and Dean checks his phone.

Three whole bars shine brightly back at him from his phone screen. 

And because he’s a gentleman when it counts, he hands it over to Cas to make the first call. He lays back against a tree, staring out as the stars as Cas talks over returns and turnovers for next quarter. Every so often, Dean picks out a recognizable name like MacLeod Pharma, Sandover’s biggest client. 

Fifteen minutes later (ten more than they are allowed on the communal landline back at camp), Cas hands over the phone with a grateful smile. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” Dean says as he dials Lily’s number. He leaves her a voicemail since she’s old school, and moves on down his mental list, sending emails to Benny, Lenore, and Garth. He sends a meme to Andy, the only form of communication that has a chance of getting through to him.

That done, he finds Cas leaning against a tree, staring out at the night sky above them. “I’d forgotten how beautiful it can be under a full moon with all the stars.”

Dean nods in agreement. He’s not normally a touchy-feely guy, but he feels strangely not-himself, halfway up some random mountain in the Catskills with an almost-stranger in the dark. Not in a bad way, though. Not at all. 

“Hey,” he says with far more confidence than he actually feels, “d’you wanna do something like this back home?”

Cas stares at him, his eyes impossibly wide. “Like what?”

“I dunno,” Dean hedges, the remaining bravado draining away at Cas’s lack of immediate enthusiasm, “Something just the two of us, no phones, no work.”

“I believe the whole point of this little trip was to enable phone usage and catch up on work,” Cas says dryly.

Dean nudges him with his elbow. “You know what I mean.”

Cas steals a sidelong glance his way. “Would this be like… a date?”

“If you want it to be,” Dean says, deliberately keeping his eyes trained on the moon overhead. “Or just a few hours to keep ourselves honest about what we want out of life.”

“I’d like that.”

#suptober22 #destiel fanfic #destiel #office au #businessman dean #accountant castiel #rae writes fic #fanfic #First Meetings

[frmartinshomiliesandreflections]

22nd March >> Fr. Martin's Reflections / Homilies on Today's Mass Readings (Inc. John 10:31-42) for Friday, Fifth Week of Lent: ‘The Father is in me and I am in the Father’.

Friday, Fifth Week of Lent

Gospel (Except USA) John 10:31-42 They wanted to stone Jesus, but he eluded them.

The Jews fetched stones to stone him, so Jesus said to them, ‘I have done many good works for you to see, works from my Father; for which of these are you stoning me?’ The Jews answered him, ‘We are not stoning you for doing a good work but for blasphemy: you are only a man and you claim to be God.’ Jesus answered:

‘Is it not written in your Law: I said, you are gods? So the Law uses the word gods of those to whom the word of God was addressed, and scripture cannot be rejected. Yet you say to someone the Father has consecrated and sent into the world, “You are blaspheming,” because he says, “I am the son of God.” If I am not doing my Father’s work, there is no need to believe me; but if I am doing it, then even if you refuse to believe in me, at least believe in the work I do; then you will know for sure that the Father is in me and I am in the Father.’

They wanted to arrest him then, but he eluded them. He went back again to the far side of the Jordan to stay in the district where John had once been baptising. Many people who came to him there said, ‘John gave no signs, but all he said about this man was true’; and many of them believed in him.

Gospel (USA) John 10:31-42 They wanted to arrest Jesus, but he eluded them.

The Jews picked up rocks to stone Jesus. Jesus answered them, “I have shown you many good works from my Father. For which of these are you trying to stone me?” The Jews answered him, “We are not stoning you for a good work but for blasphemy. You, a man, are making yourself God.” Jesus answered them, “Is it not written in your law, ‘I said, “You are gods”’? If it calls them gods to whom the word of God came, and Scripture cannot be set aside, can you say that the one whom the Father has consecrated and sent into the world blasphemes because I said, ‘I am the Son of God’? If I do not perform my Father’s works, do not believe me; but if I perform them, even if you do not believe me, believe the works, so that you may realize and understand that the Father is in me and I am in the Father.” Then they tried again to arrest him; but he escaped from their power. He went back across the Jordan to the place where John first baptized, and there he remained. Many came to him and said, “John performed no sign, but everything John said about this man was true.” And many there began to believe in him.

Reflections (11)

(i) Friday, Fifth Week of Lent

The desire for vengeance can be a very destructive force in some communities. Those who have suffered personal damage of some kind want to inflict the same or even greater personal damage on those responsible. The result can be a cycle of violence and killings. If the cycle is to be halted, someone needs to cry ‘Stop!’ In the Jewish Scriptures, there is the principle of an eye for an eye. If that is followed through, everyone can end up blind. The word ‘vengeance’ appears in today’s first reading. Jeremiah has been subjected to terrible verbal abuse, with possibly worse to follow, because of his preaching God’s word. In desperation, he turns to God in prayer, ‘Let me see the vengeance you will take on them, for I have committed my cause to you’. Jeremiah doesn’t take it on himself to take vengeance on his enemies. He calls on God to take vengeance on them on his behalf. He leaves vengeance to God. We often find such a prayer in the psalms, the person who has been persecuted calling on God to avenge them. There is a recognition here that vengeance is best left to God, rather than something for humans to engage in. Yet, it is hard to imagine Jesus praying the prayer of Jeremiah. In today’s gospel reading, people fetch stones to stone him. He doesn’t retreat and organize his followers to stone his opponents in return. Instead, he tries to engage with them. As he hung from the cross, he asked God to forgive his enemies. In the Sermon on the Mount, he calls on us to pray for those who persecute us. This is a step beyond Jeremiah. We can only live and pray in this way in the power of the Holy Spirit, the Spirit of Jesus. Each day we need to pray, ‘Come Holy Spirit, fill my heart and kindle in me the fire of your love’.

And/Or

(ii) Friday, Fifth Week of Lent

In this morning’s gospel reading, Jesus’ opponents want to stone him because they consider that he has committed the sin of blasphemy, ‘You are only a man and you claim to be God’. Jesus goes on to qualify this accusation, ‘I am the Son of God’. This is the usual way that Jesus speaks of himself in John’s gospel. He never says, ‘I am God’, in that bold way, but he regularly speaks of himself as the Son of God. He frequently refers to himself as the Son whom God, his Father, has sent into the world. Yet, at the end of the gospel of John, we find Thomas declaring before the risen Jesus, ‘My Lord and my God’. John’s gospel as a whole certainly understands Jesus to be God. The opening line of that gospel makes this clear, ‘In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God’. According to the author of this gospel, when the Word became flesh, became human, the Word did not cease to be God. Jesus, the Word made flesh, is God in human form. In that sense what his opponents accuse Jesus of is profoundly true in a way that they do not appreciate, ‘You are only a man and you claim to be God’. Jesus is indeed both human and divine, a man who is also God. God has appeared to us in Jesus in a way that had never happened before and could never happy again. That is why Jesus must be at the centre of our lives as believers and at the centre of the life of the church. Everything else and everyone else, no matter how holy or special, is secondary to him. The whole purpose of our lives as his disciples is to allow him to become more and more central to our lives.

And/Or

(iii) Friday, Fifth Week of Lent

 In last Monday’s gospel reading the religious leaders brought a woman along to Jesus claiming that according to the Jewish Law she ought to be stoned because she had sinned by committing adultery. In this morning’s gospel reading people fetch stones to stone Jesus himself because he had sinned by claiming that he and God the Father were one. Jesus asks his would-be stoners the very probing question, ‘I have done many good works for you to see, works from my Father; for which of these are you stoning me?’ Jesus had done many good works, his Father’s work, and yet, in spite of the good he was doing, some people wanted to stone him. Eventually, he would be put to death for those good works, not by stoning but by crucifixion. Jesus remained faithful to his good work, even though it aroused the hatred and anger of some of his contemporaries. The Lord calls on us all to share in his good work, in the work of his Father. The gospel reading suggests that sharing in whatever small way we can in the Lord’s good works will not always make for an easy or a simple life. Yet, as we try to be faithful to that calling, the Lord will support us. Indeed, he will be working in us and through us.

And/Or

(iv) Friday, Fifth Week of Lent

In this morning’s gospel reading Jesus is accused of blasphemy by the Jewish leaders, ‘you are only a man and you claim to be God’. That indeed would have been considered blasphemy. Yet, that statement expresses the full mystery of Jesus, the mystery of the incarnation. Yes, he is only a man, but he also claims to be God, and not only claims to be so but is so. Jesus is God in human form. We believe that he reveals God to us in a way that no other human being has ever done or will ever do. In the gospel reading Jesus declares, ‘believe in the work I do, then you will know for sure that the Father is in me and I am in the Father’. Jesus was saying, ‘Look at the good works I do and then you will recognize that I am God in human form’. Jesus revealed God by what he said, but above all by what he did, by his works. In John’s gospel from which we are reading this week, the greatest of Jesus’ works was his passion and death. It was above all in and through his passion and death that Jesus revealed God most fully, the God who so loved the world that he gave his only Son. As we reflect on the passion and death of Jesus this coming Holy Week we will be looking upon not just a broken human being but upon the revelation of God.

And/Or

(v) Friday, Fifth Week of Lent

You are familiar with the story in John’s gospel where Jesus protects a woman from the religious leaders who wanted to stone her because they claimed she had committed adultery. In this morning’s gospel reading from John’s gospel the religious leaders fetch stones to stone Jesus. In response Jesus asks the very probing question, ‘I have done many good works for you to see, works from my Father; for which of these are you stoning me?’ Jesus had done nothing but good; he had done many good works and yet some people wanted to stone him. Taking an initiative to do what we consider to be the good thing, the right thing, will not always make us popular. The gospel reading suggests that it might even give rise to hostility from others. To avoid trouble, the temptation might be to do nothing. Yet, it is a temptation we need to resist. The Lord calls us to share in his work, what he calls in today’s gospel reading, ‘my Father’s work’. Sharing in whatever small way we can in the Lord’s good work, or good works, will not always make for an easy or a simple life. Yet, it is our calling and in trying to be faithful to that calling the Lord will support us; in fact, he will be working in us and through us.

And/Or

(vi) Friday, Fifth Week of Lent

In this morning’s gospel reading, Jesus is strongly opposed by the Jews because of the claims he makes about himself. ‘You are only a man and you claim to be God’, they said. Jesus goes on to say of himself, ‘I am the Son of God… the Father is in me and I am in the Father’. Jesus claims to have a unique relationship with God, such that whoever sees him sees God, the Father. The author of the fourth gospel puts it very simply when he writes, the Word who was God became flesh, became enfleshed Word. Jesus, in other words, is God in human form. That conviction is at the core of our Christian faith. Jesus is the revelation of God, and because of that, in the words of the gospel reading, the good works that he does are the work of the Father. God is doing God’s work through Jesus. God will always be something of a mystery to us, but Jesus has unveiled that mystery to a great extent. Jesus has revealed that the mystery of God is, ultimately, the mystery of Love. In the words of the first letter of Saint John, ‘God is Love’. In the words of the gospel, ‘God so loved the world that he gave his only Son’. That is the wonderful mystery that we will be remembering and celebrating this coming Holy Week.

And/Or

(vii) Friday, Fifth Week of Lent

In this morning’s gospel reading, Jesus declares that he has been doing his Father’s work. He states, ‘I have done many good works for you to see, works from my Father’. It is the works he does that show he has a special relationship with God, that he is one with God, Son of God. The work that Jesus is doing reveals who Jesus is. Jesus brings that work of God to completion on the cross; in John’s gospel he dies with the words, ‘it is completed/it is finished’. If Jesus’ works reveal his identity as God’s Son, it is while on the cross that Jesus reveals his identity as God’s Son most fully. That is why we venerate the cross, because on the cross we see Jesus giving his all in the doing of God’s work. On the cross we see Jesus’ absolute fidelity to God and to God’s work; we see his total fidelity to us, and in Jesus we see God’s fidelity to us. God so loved the world that he gave his only Son. In looking on the one whom they have pierced, we see the truth of God, which is infinite and total love. Our gazing upon the cross this coming week can help to keep us steady and grounded in these difficult times.

And/Or

(viii) Friday, Fifth Week of Lent

In today’s gospel reading, Jesus is accused of blasphemy. ‘You are only a man and you claim to be God’. From a Jewish perspective, for any man to claim to be God was blasphemy. The accusation of blasphemy seems to have been levelled against Jesus on more than one occasion. At the very beginning of his public ministry, Mark’s gospel informs us that Jesus was accused of blasphemy because he declared to the paralytic, ‘Your sins are forgiven’.  The response of the experts in the Jewish Law was to say, ‘It is blasphemy! Who can forgive sins but God alone?’ Jesus was judged to be speaking in ways that were associated exclusively with God. In response to the accusation of blasphemy in this morning’s gospel reading, Jesus speaks of himself as the one whom the Father consecrated and sent into the world and as the one who is doing the work of God his Father. That expresses what we believe about Jesus. He is the one whom God has sent into the world to do the work of God. He has a unique relationship with God; he is Son of God. He is not only a man who claims to be God; he is a man in whom God is to be found in a unique way. In the centuries after the gospels were written the church would say that Jesus was fully human and fully divine. In the coming week we will be contemplating the humanity of Jesus in all its pain and brokenness, his passion and death. This morning’s gospel reading reminds us that in looking upon the broken humanity of Jesus we are also looking upon the face of God, the God who so loved the world that he gave his only Son.

And/Or

(ix) Friday, Fifth Week of Lent

As we draw near to Holy Week, which is next week, the gospel readings highlight the growing hostility to Jesus. At the beginning of today’s gospel reading, Jesus’ opponents fetch stones to stone him. At the end of the reading, they want to arrest him. Jesus seems perplexed at their hostility, ‘I have done many good works for you to see… for which of these are you stoning me?’ Violence can often be mindless and irrational, as we know only too well. On this occasion, Jesus was able to allude those who would do him harm. However, the time would come when he would be unable to allude them. They would have him arrested and put to death. In spite of the many good works Jesus did, he was put to death. In the first reading, Jeremiah speaks out of a similar experience to Jesus. He did God’s work, he proclaimed God’s word, and, for that, he was denounced by people who wanted to bring about his downfall. Jeremiah’s reaction to this undeserved hostility from his opponents was a very human one. He prays to God in that reading, ‘Let me see the vengeance you will take on them’. We could never imagine such a prayer on the lips of Jesus. Rather, Jesus revealed God’s love even to his enemies. He washed the feet of his betrayer, Judas. He prayed for his executioners, asking God to forgive them. Jesus’ passion and death, even more than his life, revealed a love that was constant even in the face of hostility and rejection. Jesus’ passion and death reveals God’s love for all humanity, a quality of love which is very different to any human love. That is why the Friday on which Jesus’ passion and death is remembered is called Good Friday, and why the story of Jesus’ passion and death is part of the larger gospel story. It is gospel, good news, for us all.

And/Or

(x) Friday, Fifth Week of Lent

Jeremiah was one of those prophets who really suffered because of his calling from God, and he gave often gave expression to his suffering in very direct language. He laments before God, complaining to God about what is happening to him, and, yet, trusting that God will somehow take care of him. We have a very good example of Jeremiah’s prayer of lament in today’s gospel reading. He complains aloud, ‘all those who used to be my friends watched for my downfall’. In no uncertain terms he demands that God look out for him by taking his side against his enemies, ‘Let me see the vengeance you will take on them’. It is an honest prayer, but a prayer we might be uncomfortable with. Yet, Jeremiah shows us that every human emotion can be brought to prayer, even those emotions that incline us towards wishing our enemy ill. Many of the psalms in the Book of Psalms are psalms of lament and they sometimes display that same vindictive spirit that we find in Jeremiah in today’s first reading. Yet, bringing those dark emotions to the Lord in prayer makes us less likely to act them out. In the gospel reading, Jesus has to deal with the same kind of deadly hostility that Jeremiah complains of. People want to stone him and seek to arrest him. We could never imagine Jesus praying aloud to God as Jeremiah did, ‘let me see the vengeance you will take on them’. Yet, the prayer of Jeremiah is venerated as the word of God. It is an acceptable form of prayer in God’s eyes, provided we leave vengeance to the Lord and not try to take it on ourselves. The crisis we are going through has generated many different emotions within us, some of them, perhaps, very dark. Jeremiah shows that we can always bring such emotions to the Lord in prayer. The Lord is comfortable with us coming to him as we are.

And/Or

(xi) Friday, Fifth Week of Lent

The hostility of the religious leaders to Jesus in today’s gospel reading is in many ways very understandable in the light of how they saw Jesus, ‘you are only a man and you claim to be God’. There is something scandalous about a human being claiming to be God. If we met someone on the street who claimed to be God we would be very wary of them. Yet, we know that the observation which so scandalized the religious leaders is true to who Jesus was. He is only a man; he is fully human. Yet, his claim to be God is a valid one because he is God in human form, the Word who is God become flesh. The confession of Thomas before the risen Lord at the end of this gospel of John is one we all share, ‘My Lord and my God’. Jesus, fully human, is our Lord and God. When we listen to the words of Jesus we are listening to the words of God. In the gospel reading, Jesus speaks about his many good works. The works of Jesus are the works of God. It is God who is speaking and working through Jesus. That is why when the gospel is proclaimed in church, we stand up for it. It is why generations of Christians have prayerfully read the gospels, knowing that in doing so they are allowing God to touch their lives in some way. We are not scandalized by the claim of Jesus, like the religious leaders. Rather we rejoice in the good news that, in the words of Jesus in today’s gospel reading, ‘the Father is in me and I am in the Father’.

Fr. Martin Hogan.

[onemillionyous]

WARNINGS: Explicit 18+ Content/ Uncle/Niece Inc*st ****************************************************** -If I have to kill you, I will.

Aemond's gaze turned into something Visenya couldn't decipher. He took a step forward, making her retreat slightly, but she didn't take the dagger away from his neck.

-Do it. His voice was a whisper that gave her goose bumps. Aemond's face got closer to hers, dangerously pushing the dagger deeper into his skin.

-Do it - he repeated in a husky voice.

Visenya breathed deeply. Her hand didn't seem to be so steady now. Aemond noticed that and quickly twisted her wrist behind her back, forcing her to realease the dagger. The cold sound of clattering steel spread across the room.

Their faces were now so close that Aemond could smell Visenya's hair, a smell that had become his favorite before he could even realize it. He hesitated for a second, his glare now focused on Visenya's lips. And then, to his own surprise, his lips fell on hers, as if it was the natural consequence of years of furtive gazes and the silence that spoke louder than words. Her mouth responded hungrily as he leaned down to follow her vigorous kiss. His hand released her wrist and swirled around her waist, pushing her against him.

Both bodies pulsed violently and painfully, finally free of the invisible wall of pridefulness. Visenya devoured his mouth, almost desperately. She had had enough of the hate act. She kissed his aggressive jawline, his haughty chin. Aemond's breathing was profuse and irregular. The way his niece's tongue overpowered him was almost intimidating. Something inside of him told him to escape, but at the same time, he knew it was inevitable. He allowed his hands to hold onto the body that was now so close to his that they could merge into one. He pushed her on the bed and she brought him towards her, taking off his clothes and guiding him to do the same with hers. Aemond stopped for a second and Visenya could see the look in his eye was not cold and cocky as usual. It was a look of confusion, even... shyness? Since his childhood, Aemond had become familiar with Aegon's stories of his sexual exploits, but his own experience was very different from the pleasure realm his brother described. Only in a few ocassions he allowed himself to be intimate with a couple of maids inside the castle after his first experience in the Flea Bottom brothel. He was used to quick secret encounters, only charming in the temporary adrenaline rush they caused him and the relative stamina release felt afterwards. He knew the basic principles of the act and even mastered the maneuver to avoid spreading an army of his bastards. However, he was aware this time would be completely different to his casual adventures. He and Visenya shared the same dragon blood. She was a maiden and even though he could see the fear in her eyes, the glances of desire shined through, the kind of desire he never felt he was the object of. He understood he would be her first, even though she didn't say it with words. The sole idea made him the most aroused he'd ever been in his life.

His mind grew more and more cloudy. Hell, he could have forgotten his own name at the first contact of Visenya's naked body against his. Their pale figures tangled in a dance of unbridled fondles. The warmth of Aemond's tongue invaded Visenya's mouth, while she buried her fingers in his silver hair. Her lower belly raged impatient at the touch of his lofty manhood, admiring the way he worked on her and traced her body with his mouth and hands, like it was some territory he had always known by heart. Clearly, swordfighting was not the only thing Aemond excelled at. The first onslaught caused Visenya a pain she had never experienced. She closed her eyes and mouth tightly as the ache echoed in her bones. Aemond looked at her interrogatively and expectant, but she just took a deep breath and nodded. She felt Aemond coming in and out of her again, slowly though not precisely gently. She perceived his breathing, the silky texture of his hair falling on her face, the calculated weight of his body hanging on top of hers. The pain started to fade and turn into a new sensation that made her question her own sanity in the next moments, as he increased the speed mercilessly. Visenya opened her eyes to find Aemond's violet pupil staring at her, intensely, as he kept moving. She pushed her head towards him and kissed him again, as he embraced her and released his full weight on her. She swirled her legs around his hips and imitated his pace and motion. Aemond growled and buried his face in her neck. She could feel his breath and his quiet panting in her ear. Her blood felt like boiling and the sensation grew stronger and unbearable until she let it drag her into the unknown and take over whatever little power she still had over her own body, drawning her moans in Aemond's chest as Aemond emptied himself inside of her, overwhelmed by his own hidden nature.

#aemond #aemond targaryen #aemond fanfiction #aemond fanfic #hotd fanfic

[voraciousvore]

Big Corp Inc. (42/43)

Chapter 42: Call in the Cavalry

When Mr. Hardon was done with Candy, he tossed her back inside the drawer and locked it, then returned the key to its hiding place. Candy retreated to her flimsy paper nest and sobbed. She felt disgusted, mortified, and violated. She missed Martin. She realized, with a sinking dread, that she might never see him again. There was no way Mr. Hardon would let her come into contact with her beloved, especially if he stole her away to his house. She was doomed. 

There was a knock on the door to Mr. Hardon’s office. “Come in,” he called. From inside the drawer, Candy heard the door creak open. “Oh, Martin. What can I do for you?” 

Candy’s pulse quickened. She slammed herself against the wood, projecting her voice as loudly as she could until her throat was hoarse. “Martin! Help me! I’m here! Martin!” 

Her words couldn’t reach him. “Here’s all those reports you asked for,” he stated in a dreary monotone. Candy could hear the defeat and exhaustion and despair eloquently expressed in his voice. He had given up. No. Not yet! She needed him more than ever! She pounded her fists on the inside of the drawer until they were red and raw. 

“Oh, thank you,” Mr. Hardon uttered with a saccharine smile. “Good timing, actually. I have more work for you right here. This big stack.” 

“Actually, sir… I’m not feeling well. I was going to ask you if you’d be okay with me leaving early. I just want to go home and lay down.” Martin sounded like he was about to collapse. 

“No! Don’t leave me!” Candy shouted, kicking the wood hard enough to hurt her toes. “Martin!” 

“Of course. You can use your sick time. Take the rest of the day if you need,” Mr. Hardon said smoothly, concealing his malicious glee at Martin’s obliviousness. With Martin absent, it would be easier for him to sneak Candy out at the end of the day. 

Candy’s legs buckled underneath her and she slumped into a heap. Any hope she had of rescue drained out of her. She was done for. Her fate was sealed, as Mr. Hardon’s prisoner—his little sex doll. She was overcome with a revolting combination of nausea and grief. Her stomach heaved and she vomited bile from pure revulsion. 

Martin turned to go and trudged to the elevator in a daze, massaging his temple. Before he could push the button, the elevator sprung open, and Martin was surprised to see two cops standing there. They stepped out and addressed him brusquely. 

“Is there a Richard Hardon that works here?” one of the cops asked. He was a shorter Giant with intense chocolate brown eyes behind a pair of glasses. 

Martin was taken aback but answered in the affirmative. “Uh… yes, sir. His office is right over there.” He pointed to the corner of the third floor that every employee generally avoided like the plague. The cop that spoke motioned stiffly to his larger associate, a burly Giant with a mustache, and the two officers marched down the hall with authority. The mood in the office was suddenly electric as nearby employees watched with curiosity. Martin exchanged glances with Bianca and they both followed the officers down the hall. Martin was too inquisitive to leave now, despite his fatigue and broken spirit. 

The cops stepped boldly into Mr. Hardon’s office without knocking or being invited in. “Are you Richard Hardon?” the cop with glasses asked, flashing his badge. 

“Yeah. Why?” Mr. Hardon responded defensively. He tried to maintain outward calm, but tension was creeping into his body. 

“We received an anonymous tip that you’ve been keeping one of your employees locked in your office,” the cop recited coolly. 

Mr. Hardon was starting to sweat, but he attempted a bluff. “Why, that’s ridiculous! Look around you, gentleman! There’s nobody here but us!” His face drained of color, ever so slightly. 

The cop cocked his eyebrow. “Nonetheless, we’re obligated to investigate. This is a very serious accusation, after all. If you could stand up and step outside for a moment, sir.” 

Mr. Hardon stared at the policeman, but the Giant didn’t waver. “You have no right to search me,” he uttered, trying to hold back his poisonous hostility. He squared his shoulders and crossed his arms in defiance.  

“Actually, we do,” the officer replied. “The call that reported you gives us sufficient cause.” Mr. Hardon didn’t want to appear suspicious, so he cooperated and left the room. The larger officer, who had yet to speak a word, stood next to him while the other officer started to search the room. The other Big Corp employees gawked at the spectacle, crowding into the hallways. Work was forgotten. Mr. Hardon’s mind was racing for a way out. 

Inevitably, the Giant officer began looking through the drawers of the desk, until he came across the locked drawer that Candy was trapped inside. He tried to open it, but it didn’t budge. “Do you have the key for this drawer, sir?” the officer asked. 

Mr. Hardon shrugged his shoulders shakily. “Nope,” he lied. “But why do you need to look in those drawers? A person couldn’t fit in there!” He laughed in a stilted way, that sounded artificial and unconvincing. He wiped his forehead anxiously and bit his lips. 

The Giant cop crouched and leaned near the drawer, turning his head so his ear was close to it. “I hear something.” He listened for a moment and his eyes widened. “There’s a person in there!” 

The collective gasp from the assembled crowd sucked the air out of the room. As the reality of the situation started to sink in, Martin balled up his fists with strong emotion. Bianca’s jaw dropped with horror. Mr. Hardon tried to slink away, but the muscular cop next to him grabbed his shoulder and pulled him back. “Where’s the key?” he demanded. Mr. Hardon stayed stubbornly silent. The other cop listened to the drawer for a moment, as if gathering information, and began searching the top of the desk. The squeaky, muffled little voice inside had informed him that she had heard the metallic key scraping across the surface of the desk whenever Mr. Hardon locked the drawer. The Giant rifled through the items on the desk, not bothering to be careful with them, until he lifted the keyboard and discovered the key hidden underneath. 

The officer moved to unlock the drawer, his eyes burning with intensity. Martin’s legs propelled him into the room of their own will, without his conscious input. He found himself standing next to the officer, hardly daring to breathe from the suspense, as the drawer slid open to reveal, like a magnificent prize, his tiny girlfriend that had gone missing. 

“Candy!” Martin bellowed without reserve, scooping her up in his gigantic hands. Candy was momentarily startled and discombobulated, since she was dazzled by the light and didn’t know Martin was right outside. However, she immediately recognized those huge soft hands, his tender touch, his deep voice, his familiar scent. He pressed her against his Giant body in a hug and Candy burst into tears of joy. 

“Oh, Martin!” she cried. “I was so scared I’d never see you again!” She buried herself in his chest, bubbling with the greatest happiness she had ever felt in her life. They embraced for a long moment, sharing in each other’s love and warmth, forgetting the rest of the world around them. “I’m so sorry you had to suffer through Mr. Hardon’s terrible falsehoods! I never said any of those things!” 

“I should have known he was lying,” Martin lamented. “I should have saved you. I’m sorry, Candy.” He looked down at her, cuddled up against his chest. Her clothes, or what was left of them, clung to her frail body in shreds. Her eyes were hollow and haunted. Whatever hell she had endured, she had suffered greatly. Martin choked up. 

“How long was he doing... this... to you? Is this the real reason why you were so sad?” Martin asked her, his eyes overflowing. Candy nodded. “Goodness, Candy! Why didn’t you tell me? I could have stopped him!” Martin’s visage sparked with anger at Mr. Hardon’s egregious abuses. 

Candy cast her gaze down forlornly. “He threatened to take you away from me. To fire you and ruin your life. I couldn’t—I wouldn’t be able to survive without you. So I endured, until I couldn’t anymore. When I tried to leave...” Candy swallowed painfully at the memory. “He took me by force.” 

“I’m so sorry,” Martin murmured, massaging her back with his thumb. “That was a terrible and unfair burden for you to take all on your own. You should never hold things back like that from me. Whatever problems come our way, we will solve together, okay? Nothing is worth sacrificing your wellbeing. No more secrets. Promise me?” 

“I promise,” Candy answered, nurtured by his caring words and touch. She realized now that she had been in error. She shouldn’t have tried to bottle everything inside and take on the world alone. Martin was there for her, a loyal companion by her side until the end. She snuggled up against him and closed her eyes, finally at peace after being in turmoil for so long, as he cupped his hand around her in a loving embrace. 

While Martin and Candy shared their heartfelt reunion, the two cops cuffed and arrested Mr. Hardon, who was numb with shock. He never believed in a million years he’d get caught. “Who the hell called the police? Who found out?” he demanded to know, his eyes scouring all the employees. He was met by a sea of blank stares. All except for one, a single Giant hanging out in the back of the crowd with a grotesque sneer cracking his face open. His dark eyes gleamed with hateful spite. 

“Y-you!” Mr. Hardon spat with white-hot fury. “Damn you, Ronny!” The sea of faces turned to Ronny with genuine shock. Nobody expected Ronny, of all Giants, to save a human woman. Ronny’s grin faded with all the attention and he glowered at his coworkers. 

“You deserved it, you piece of shit,” he muttered to the boss and stomped off to the break room to avoid all the stares. 

“Damn it!” Mr. Hardon swore venomously as the bigger cop dragged him away. The other cop stayed behind to gather evidence and take witness statements, particularly from Ronny since he had been outed as the anonymous source that reported the incident. The victim would need to be interviewed as well, although not right away if she were in too much distress. The cop approached Martin and Candy cautiously and waited for a good opportunity to interject. 

He cleared his throat, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose as he stepped forward. “Excuse me, miss,” he stated. Candy flinched slightly, and Martin tightened his hold on her protectively in response. “When you feel up to it, we’ll need you to come to the police station and make a statement.” 

“O-okay,” Candy agreed, almost in a whisper. “Thank you. For saving me.” 

“Just doing my job,” the officer responded, and gave the couple some privacy as he left to rejoin the other cop and haul Mr. Hardon off to jail. 

Chapter 43 (final chapter)

Chapter 1

#g/t writing #size difference #g/t #giant/tiny #giant #tiny #giant tiny #g/t fluff #big corp inc

[tomwambsmilk]

before i stumbled upon your blog just now, i had seen zero (0) imagery of succession.

i did not care about succession. i thought it seemed like not my type of show, boring even (i apologize, my mistake).

i still have no idea what it's about.

i know not anything about your scrimblos more than the first 5 mins of looking at your blog has told me.

but you've intrigued me. I still won't probably see this show (no offense - i haven't even watched through good omens and i Loved that show and follow fanfics of it)

but damn it if i won't follow this blog.

keep up the good fight. milk your men. you keep a high supply of fresh juicy content; and i am a patron of the arts.

You have NO idea how absolutely delightful this ask was to get. We here at Tommy Milk Inc ALWAYS welcome additional patrons, regardless of existing knowledge of succession, affection for Tom, or position on the undefined but definitely very real Succession Political Compass. And I am personally deeply flattered by your enjoyment of my fresh juicy content, which I work so hard (with the help of my compatriots) to keep flowing from the tits of a certain Thomas Wambsgans day and night.

In fact, your ask has inspired me to attempt a bit of a Tommy milk renaissance (or milkaissance, if you will), so if milkposting is a topic which interests you, I'll be reblogging some key posts in the history of this phenomenon in short order.

All that said, while I don't think you need any prior knowledge of succession to appreciate the magical milk flowing from his substantial tits, I thought it might be helpful, for the sake of better enjoying the content, to get a Crash Course in the various Scrimblos of Succession:

Logan Roy - literally the worst. Rolling with lgbt but also deeply homophobic, but also might be falling in love with his son-in-law (source: asked for his help peeing). Obsessed with milk and piss. Got a UTI and almost destroyed his own company over it. Once made several of his execs wrestle each other for sausages on a corporate retreat. Will hopefully die in season 4

Kendall Roy - defender of women. Wants to be Oedipus but is bad at it. Used to do coke off his kids iPads but is now interested in becoming a meth-head (character growth!). Clinically depressed, probably. Technically killed a guy once. Wants to be Jesus sooo bad he almost strapped himself to a cross at his birthday party while performing Billy Joel's "Honesty". Definitely invested in crypto off-screen

Roman Roy - meow meow supreme. Big proponent of sexual harassment. "Scared of pussy" but does like ejaculating onto windows. Thinks "fascism is cool, but also, not really". Tried to send a picture of his dick to the company's general legal counsel and sent it to his father instead. Major daddy's boy but does not know how much milk costs (sad!). Only person on this entire show who's ever been to management training

Shiv Fucking Roy - 1/2 of the show's resident failmarriage. Used to work for Bernie Sanders (succession edition). Asked for an open marriage on her wedding night. Tries to be a #girlboss but is ultimately more of cringefail loser (affectionate). Called her husband manipulative because he tried to talk about his feelings. Representation for women who are their father's daughters (derogatory). Was almost suspiciously excited about the prospect of having sex with another woman in a threesome before Tom had to go and ruin it. Will likely murder him in season 4 (for unrelated reasons)

Connor Roy - running for president and polling VERY close to 1%. Sugar daddy, patron of the arts, and big Napoleon fan. Man of the people (the people who work on his ranch). Occupations: "safeguarding" thousands of acres of New Mexico wilderness, and being on the verge of setting up a podcast about Napoleonic history with significant investment interest. A lack of real-world experience has sometimes been levelled at him. Owns Napoleon's penis. Everyone else keeps forgetting he exists

Tom Wambsgans - babygirl!!!! Other half of the resident failmarriage. Lactates (they haven't addressed this in canon but that doesn't mean it isn't true). Has a Nero kink. Spends a lot of time saying suspiciously sexual things about his father-in-law. Sent his wife's cousin Greg 67 emails with the subject line "You can't make a Tomlette without breaking some Greggs" on the first night of his honeymoon. White collar criminal but bad at it. Once started secretly tracking his wife's menstrual cycle so he could pretend to be horny when she was ovulating in the hopes this would convince her to have a baby. Official boar on the floor loser (Karl stole his sausage). Pushed Shiv down the stairs and castrated and married Cousin Greg in the season 3 finale. Has a dick the size of a red sequoia and fucks like a bullet train

Cousin Greg - slick little fuck (affectionate). Tom's executive assistant and corporate sugar baby. Also a white collar criminal but even worse at it. Suing Greenpeace for his inheritance. Has a gay homewrecking dad. Absolutely should go to HR about Tom but won't. Not here for a long time, but also not really having a good time. Generally doesn't know what's going on. Probably entering his villain era in Season 4 (what is he going to do with a soul anyways??). Once asked Tom to prove that he has a dick the size of a red sequoia and fucks like a bullet train

#succession #asks

[stargazer-sims]

"Dream Garden" Sugar Valentine (Love in Living Colour)

"Dream Garden" -> English translation <-

When you feel too small, And the world’s too loud, And you’re afraid Of being stepped on by the crowd, there’s no shame. Retreat, And remind yourself That it’s okay to be yourself; you are enough.

You don’t need to be a great bird of prey to own the skies. They can belong to tiny butterflies with bright, fragile wings, and courage enough to make the flight to flower fields like waiting dreams.

When you’re ready to fly, the wind is so strong, but you can see the garden just beyond the walls, and your dream awaits, make a leap of faith. You’ll find the ‘brave’ you never knew you had inside.

———

Lyrics: Aidan Okada, Taiji Kanematsu Composed & arranged by: Taiji Kanematsu Translated for publication by: FutureBright Communications Inc.

© 2020 Peak Entertainment Inc. All Rights Reserved

__________

These are the rest of the pictures from the boys' #bkbutterflychallenge post. As I was saying to someone in the replies, I'd already written some "English translations" (a.k.a. these were only ever in English) of Sugar Valentine's songs, and when I saw @ladybugsimblr challenge, I could not pass up the chance to have some fun with it. I had never planned to post any of the "English translations" I made (there are 3 altogether), but yesterday I made up my mind to share this one, at least.

The song is from their second album, hence the date of 2020. They've got three albums to date, with JUMP! being the latest one, and the one their tour is named after.

If the name of the company who did the translation looks familiar to anyone, it is indeed the communications firm that Yuri works for. Maya Carter-Bailey, the group's English-language publicist/PR lady also works there.

#overactiveimagination

#ts4 #sims 4 #eagames #snowy escape #sugar valentine #fake boy band #wearesugarvalentine #stargazersims

[heartharps]

leave you on the pillow

steve/eddie, 3.4k words, rated explicit

[ao3 link]

~~~

Eddie woke to bland overcast sunlight streaming through the windows of an unfamiliar bedroom. He felt sick with frustration even before he recalled the disastrous events of the previous evening, like he’d gone to sleep with the sour feeling in his stomach and it had stayed there all night long.

It was a chore to pull himself from the oversized bed, since he was sluggish and still tired, but he couldn’t bear to lay still under the waves of annoyance any longer. He stared out at the estate grounds as he put on his boring business clothes, seeing grasses and greenery reaching miles into the distance in every direction. It did nothing to comfort him. Eddie couldn’t imagine anyone being able to navigate it without getting hopelessly lost.

The quiet commotion of doorknobs and silver platters sent him stumbling mostly-dressed into the sitting room connected to his bedroom. One of the house staff was pouring a cup of coffee.

“No. No thank you,” Eddie said shortly, pulling his dress shirt around his shoulders as he drifted over. “I can do that, thanks,” He insisted, shooing the attendant away.

He scooped the mug up from the low table and watched them leave—but just before the door swung shut, somebody else came through.

It was Steve, Eddie saw as he gulped down the hot coffee, looking almost exactly the same as he always did at the office. The long-suffering lawyer was clean and composed, with the same inscrutable expression hidden behind sensible glasses, the same fringe of graying hair brushing the top of the frames. The one thing that was different, now that they were out in the country at the corporate retreat, was the warm brown sweater he sported in place of his usual suits.

Eddie was both gladdened and dismayed at his arrival. It was certainly a treat to see Steve first thing in the morning like this – and looking even more DILF-y than usual. But he’d probably been sent by Wayne to summon Eddie, who was not in the mood to see any of the other Waystar Inc. executives, and especially not the cruel, tyrannical CEO who also happened to be his uncle.

But if someone had to drag Eddie from his room kicking and screaming, at least it would be the coworker that he sort-of-definitely had a big stupid crush on. Steve Harrington was unreasonably hot for a high-caliber professional pushing fifty, with that gorgeous kind of face that had even the interns turning heads, and the ladies in accounting unsubtly asking after his wife.

He was actually divorced. Two kids in college. Eddie knew that because he’d worked with Steve quite a bit over the past several months. He was basically the only person at Waystar who treated Eddie like he actually had a brain, instead of writing him off as a worthless junkie.

Eddie wasn’t like that. Not anymore, at least. He was trying to be better, trying to be professional. It had been going pretty well, too – right up until last night.

“They're waiting for you,” Steve said expectantly. Like Eddie should’ve already known that. Like Steve was disappointed that he was late.

“So?” Eddie snapped back.

“So, hurry up,” Steve urged, not missing a beat.

Eddie glared at his insistent arms-crossed look, and set the coffee cup down. He straightened up, still staring petulantly as he pulled his shirt closed around his middle. “So, Murray’s my fucking babysitter again.”

Steve loosened up a little bit, chuckling quietly at his expense.

“Ha ha ha,” Eddie mocked. He glanced down, blinking blearily as he started doing his shirt up. “Wayne is killing me,” He said, bitterly remembering the night before. The button slipped out of his fingers as he tried to fasten it. “He’s cutting my fucking balls off.” He fumbled the button again and let out an angry huff.

“I can't do my buttons,” He sighed, throwing his hands down. He backed away and then crossed the room, going to see if the pale blanket of light coming from the windows would make it any easier. He was still struggling with it when Steve walked up behind him.

“Come here,” He said, soft but still stern enough to make it easy for Eddie to obey.

He turned. Presented himself. Steve stepped closer and reached for his collar. He began to fasten the shirt without issue, and Eddie gazed at his face with heavy, half-lidded eyes. Fuck, he’s pretty, he marveled while Steve stared down at his chest.

That fact was nothing new to Eddie. He was practiced at pretending he wasn’t ogling Steve from across the board room. But it hadn’t yet happened that they would be so close together like this, face to face. Close enough that Eddie could trace the lines of Steve’s strong, clean-shaven jaw. Watch his eyelashes almost brush the inside of his glasses. Feel his huge, firm hands pressing deftly against his front.

Eddie was unsteady on his feet. He had to concentrate to keep himself from falling backwards. He couldn’t stop staring at Steve, but it seemed like the other man hadn’t even noticed.

“You know, if I were capable of any sudden movement, I would totally pounce on you right now.”

Steve’s expression was disappointingly even. “Oh, yeah?” He hummed, humoring him. Maybe he was grinning, just a little bit.

“Mm-hm,” Eddie promised.

Steve didn’t look away from the row of buttons. “I get that a lot, actually.” His hands skimmed down over Eddie’s stomach. “Usually from women in their seventies.” He let go, leaving the last button undone and dropping it to hang in front of Eddie’s pants. “You have to do that one,” He said, stepping back and crossing his arms again.

Eddie managed it that time, after a moment.

“How are you doing?” Steve asked. He was giving Eddie the same look he’d given him last night, when he’d fled the dining room, scorned and rejected.

It was totally unfair. That was the worst part. All Eddie had done was try to be proactive, using some personal connections to get a headstart on a big acquisition that his uncle was dead-set on – but it had been the wrong play. The owner of the other company took offense to his overly-familiar approach, and had called Wayne in the middle of their weekend retreat to say the deal was as good as dead. So, Eddie’s failure and subsequent punishment was announced right there at the dinner table, in front of the entire executive team. He was neutered and relegated to the backseat, once again stuck working under Murray, the ancient, bitter bastard who loved nothing more than ignoring all of his ideas.

How am I doing?

“Terrible,” Eddie admitted easily, and started shoving his shirt into his waistband. “Yeah. Pretty awful, actually.”

Steve held the same pitying look as Eddie dropped himself onto the nearest couch.

“I'm blaming Chrissy, by the way,” He grumbled as he pulled on his dress shoe. “It was her idea.”

Steve obviously wasn’t impressed. “Next time you need business advice, ask someone who knows what they're talking about.”

For a second, Eddie felt like he’d been backed into a corner, defensive and regretful once confronted with his mistakes. So he glared at Steve and scoffed, “What, you?”

It was needlessly rude, but Steve didn’t take it personally (that time or ever). “Yeah. Like me,” He said, like it should have been obvious, sounding plain and simple and much sweeter than Eddie deserved.

It didn’t take away the nervous edge, only changed its color, so Eddie charged ahead with the first train of thought that came to mind. “Okay. Well, how do I get him to take me seriously?” He challenged, speaking of his acerbic uncle. “Grow a mustache and read the Journal? I'll fսcking do it.”

He didn’t wait for Steve’s response, just ducked his head and started tying his other shoe. In his peripherals, he saw Steve move, and felt the couch shift as he sat down on the other end. “Okay, Eddie, if you wanna know…”

“Mm-hm,” He said to his shoelaces.

“Do the management training program. Ground floor.”

He was already groaning in protest. He looked up and Steve was grinning, no doubt amused by the thought of the young trust-funder banished to a theme park upstate, spending six weeks listening to some suburban middle manager pontificate about ‘leadership’. It made a chill of genuine fear run down Eddie’s spine.

But Steve wasn’t just teasing, obviously. His eyes were patient, wise and sincere. It looked like he’d been waiting a long time for the chance to tell him this. “Work at a slaughterhouse. Learn the price of a gallon of milk.”

The metaphors were fair, yet hardly conveyed the true horrors of frontline customer service, of putting on a mascot costume and selling hot dogs. “No-no-no,” Eddie spat, jumping up from the couch now that his shoes were tied. He paced and shook his head, starting to panic as he realized his uncle would actually respect something so menial and gross. “No fucking way,” He said, looking at Steve a little desperately. “I can’t do masochism nine-to-five, man. Save that shit for the weekend.”

Steve just shrugged and got to his feet. If Eddie had been trying to fluster him (which he definitely, always was), he’d failed miserably. He froze on the spot in case Steve came any closer, but he didn’t, so Eddie just stared dumbly as Steve put his hands in his pockets and said, “It’s your career, kid. It’s up to you.” And then he walked away.

Eddie pouted and deflated, not wanting to follow. He sank deep down into feeling sorry for himself again. It was always seemed so hopeless, grappling with the monumental task of earning his uncle’s favor. He’d tried making himself useful, putting himself out there. He’d imagined he was hungry and worked like he needed it, really dug deep.

Now, it seemed that if he really wanted to prove himself, he would have to dig even deeper.

“Come on,” Steve called from across the room, and Eddie pretended that his stomach didn’t lurch at his calm, commanding tone. “You already missed breakfast.”

Eddie groaned again, and grumbled under his breath as he followed dutifully out the door.

~~~

Eddie Munson was trouble.

Steve knew that. He knew it well. Even though the kid had quit the drug-fueled benders and the partying, even though he put on a suit five days a week and haunted the office from 9 to 5, he was still very capable of all kinds of mischief. He was sassy and overconfident. He loved to push people’s buttons, loved messing with everyone at Waystar from the PAs to the VPs.

Trouble, in short.

It wasn't that bad, really, just annoying and a little unprofessional, and most of Steve’s coworkers hated even being in the same room as him. They thought he wasn’t worth it. Not worth the trouble.

Steve didn’t see it that way.

Because chances were that Eddie would be their boss one day. And depending on Munson Senior's vitality, that day might be coming sooner than the lot of them expected. So, listening to Eddie, helping him out, taking his calls, putting up with all the teasing and the bullshit… It was more than worth it, Steve knew. Soon enough, it would be as precious as gold, to be on Eddie’s good side, to be right in his pocket like Steve was.

So, it was smart, in the long run. That was the main reason, obviously. It made sense.

But Steve couldn’t deny it, it was also kind of…fun. Sometimes, at least. Steve liked the kid. He pretended not to enjoy his sense of humour as much as he actually did, not willing to ruin his very professional reputation by laughing at a dick joke in the middle of a board meeting. Everything was certainly more interesting with Eddie around. He often had the most creative ideas out of anyone. He often had the worst ideas as well, but with Steve’s help, he was actually becoming a productive member of the team.

As it turned out, Eddie was pretty savvy. He could craft a halfway decent business strategy. He had good instincts. He had his finger on the pulse, in terms of popular culture and young people and all that shit. He had a lot of potential—but only if he took himself seriously.

Steve was impressed when Eddie actually agreed to do the management training program. Steve had been telling the truth; it was the best move for him. He just wasn't sure if Eddie was ready to humble himself. Maybe he was only doing it to get away from Murray, but whatever the reason, he was really there, at Waystar Adventure Park, being indoctrinated alongside all the other young corporate hopefuls. And it was going…terrible. He hated it. But that was no surprise.

It was bad enough that Eddie had called Steve halfway through his first day, already complaining. But that very evening, while the older man was relaxing with a glass of wine and catching up on the news, his phone rang again.

Steve muted the TV and turned over his cell, sighing as he answered it. “Eddie, what is it now?”

“You know, I'm still pissed they didn't give me any good footage.”

“Seriously?” Steve retorted. Usually, Eddie loved to criticize their corporate propaganda training videos six ways to Sunday, and now he was upset that his appearance in one of them had been cut short. Of course he’s that much of an attention whore, Steve thought.

“They're treating me like I'm a piece of shit!”

“You are a piece of shit,” Steve replied, grinning to himself. Too easy.

“Fuck you,” Eddie spat back, but his bitter tone didn’t last long. “Hey, we should build the ride that I came up with. It’s like Call of Duty, but VR. Like, you actually feel like you’re about to die. I'll email you. It’s genius.”

“Uh, no,” Steve quickly denied. “We are not building a ride that you came up with on your first day of management training, Eddie.”

“Well, you should. I am a fountain of ideas.”

Steve rolled his eyes. He couldn’t believe the internship program had somehow managed to bolster Eddie’s cocksure spirit instead of squandering it. “You're acting like an over-excited little boy,” He warned.

But Eddie still sounded like he was on top of the world. "The hedge fund guys would love it. Should I fly Jeff out here to brainstorm?"

“Go to bed, Eddie,” Steve said. He was tired, and he let the words roll off his tongue without really thinking about them. “Go to bed, and mastսrbatе all your ideas out, and let's see how excited you feel tomorrow.”

“Well…maybe. Maybe I will.”

Steve took a sip from his wine glass, waiting for Eddie to lose interest and hang up the phone.

“Maybe I'll leave you on the pillow, so you can hear my brilliance cascading.”

And, look. Steve didn’t need to keep biting back. Eddie was snarky and arrogant just about all the time, and Steve let a lot of it go; shutting him down, ignoring him, disconnecting the call.

But more often than not, it felt only fair to answer him in turn.

“Fine,” He snapped. “I've heard plenty worse than a spoiled brat ejaculating on himself.”

“Oh, yeah? You sure about that?”

Steve took another sip.

“I could be doing it right now for all you know.”

Steve doubled down, ready for Eddie to chicken out at any moment. “Well, get going. Chop chop.”

And then.

And then.

He heard it.

A breath. Short and fast, like Eddie had been trying to hold it in, almost vocal enough to be a moan.

Steve’s jaw dropped instantly. He leaned forward, setting his glass down and listening closer to the muffled sounds. The ragged breathing. Maybe some rhythmic rustling in the background.

Fuck. Eddie was actually doing it.

He was getting off on Steve calling him a brat.

Steve stared unseeing at the TV, frozen in shock…but the arrest didn’t last long, as another feeling quickly eclipsed everything else. The longer Eddie’s shaky breath echoed in his ears, the more Steve felt consumed by some strange, hungry interest. Something like intrigue, or maybe vindication. He wasn’t sure why. If it was because of curiosity…or power…or just Eddie, trying to mess with his head like usual. But still, it made Steve pause, made his thumb hover above the button to hang up. Even though there was no good reason to stay on the line. Even though he knew without a doubt that Eddie was trouble…

Steve just couldn’t help himself.

~~~

Eddie was quickly losing his composure as he jerked himself frantically, trying to rush it like he was about to get caught. Over the phone, he heard Steve scoff. Eddie savored it, imagining he was right there with him, scolding him for touching himself. Steve was probably going to hang up any second now; Eddie figured he had to enjoy it while it lasted.

But then, he spoke again.

“You disgusting little pig.”

Eddie gasped. Instinctively rode the wave of shame and pleasure that washed over him. Thought, what the fuck? as he stared at the hotel room ceiling and kept his fist sliding rapidly over his aching cock.

“You're pathetic.”

Eddie closed his eyes and panted into the receiver. He couldn’t believe Steve was going along with this, but he didn’t give it too much thought, since he was much more focused on the hot, humiliated flush spreading through his body, all the way to the very tips of his toes.

“You are…a revolting little worm.”

And, yes, fuck, this was just what Eddie needed, just Steve’s voice, strong and smooth, telling him exactly what he was, putting him in his place—

“Aren't you?”

And now that was even worse. Even better. “Yeah,” Eddie choked out. “Yeah, I am.” He felt so mortified he was glowing with it, forced to admit that Steve was right, voice shuddering in time with his hurried strokes. He kept his hand moving, not daring to slow down or to hide the soft, breathy noises falling out of his mouth.

After a moment, Steve said, “You little slime puppy.”

It was the weirdest thing Eddie had ever heard, and he absolutely loved it. Loved the way it made him feel small and helpless. “Yes,” He whined. He was starting to get close, face burning and cock leaking. He needed it. Needed more. “Yeah, what else am I?”

“You're revolting, Eddie.”

“Yes. Yeah,” He answered, and the high, keening tone of his own voice scared him. So, Eddie jammed the button on his phone.

“Fuck!” He cried as soon as he heard the hang-up tone, desperate to release some of the tension, the white-hot wanting building up inside him. He was teetering right on the edge then, still jerking his cock hard and fast. He tensed up as he aimed for the precipice, focusing on the very heart of the heated feeling. “Steve,” He breathed, now that he was alone. He squeezed his eyes shut even tighter and imagined him there, standing over him and frowning and— “Steve!” Eddie thrust into his hand, rubbing hard against the head of his dick, and then he was gone.

He went stiff as he came, head thrown back and mouth open, spilling over his hand and onto his shirt, paying no mind to the consequences as his body flooded with pure, heady bliss. He pulled himself through it, twitching and moaning as he rode the high of Steve tearing him down to nothing. His wanton movements lasted stroke after stroke, all the way until the pulsing pleasure loosened its grasp on him, and the satisfying drag of rough skin on smooth became too harsh to brave any longer.

Eddie relaxed and stretched out, letting his breaths heave freely through the comedown. For a few moments longer, his mind was blank, just enjoying the satisfied sensation. The best he’d felt in months. He held onto it for as long as he could.

Eventually, his eyes fluttered open. He wiped his hand lazily across his already-ruined shirt and turned his head to the side.

His phone was there, laying on the bed. Screen still on. Showing Steve’s name in big letters at the top. Eddie reeled a little bit, feeling surprised at what had just happened. How far it had gone. What he’d done. What Steve had done.

Eddie picked it up again, grinning at the name and the pictureless contact.

EM: you’re a freak, stevie 😈 Read 10:24 PM

#steddie #steddie fic #steddie fanfiction #steddie fic rec #ao3 #steve x eddie

[idonteven-anymore]

Things I DO NOT want for YR S2:

- Love Triangle(s) I have enough of this shit in general. I’m hoping they won’t because of how well they handled the whole felice/wille thing.

- wille retreating back into silently controlled by the lovely Kristina (his mom) NO. Like I can understand easing into him slowly becoming himself and saying F the monarchy but please don’t let him retreat back. If not what the heck would that look at the end of the last ep be for esp while playing Revolution in the bg.

- Too much angst

WHAT I WANT/Would like:

- initial mutual pining. Can’t be queer without the pining.

- Simon and Wille being happy together at the end. I won’t be able to take them not smiling at each other.

- Simon and Wille talking through their issues. (Def some angst at the start before it comes to this and that I can take.)

- Really want them to still be able to rely and count on each other, that they can still be in each others space and talk... I just want them to keep talking to each other, smiling and still make each other laugh even if it’s just a minor smirk.

- I doubt that they will get back together right away. I think Wilhelm is only just starting his self-discovery journey and he still has a long way to go. I would like this to be the focus for Wille in season two and if along the way, we see them becoming friends and their connection are getting stronger again. Them sharing glances, at least confiding and talking to each other. Simon working through his issues too.

- handholding, hugging, kissing

- Wilhelm seeking therapy because he needs it (or at least something similar I guess) hahahahahh cries

- Wilhelm and Erik flashbacks. Brotherly moments

- MOST IMPT: Wilhelm coming into himself???? Self-discovery? Introspection? I don’t know what’s the term but yes. Simon mentioned Wille needing to find out what he wants but that is the truth. This isn’t just about their relationship or whatever but also how Wille intends to handle his current situation, his family situation and how he will resolve the conflict between those external factors and himself. He struggles so much and it’s understandable given his background but at one point, he needs to be sure of what he wants and at least an idea of where he wants to go from there and unrelentingly steadfast on that instead of catering and giving in to external factors (his mom, the royalty, August, peers aka the society).

- WILHELM slowly but surely standing up for himself against his family and peers. Start a slow revolution. I’m totally down for this.

- FELICE/WILHELM FRIENDSHIP!!!!!

- Malin/Wilhelm bonding ahhahaha (Random I know)

- Girl Friendships (or more). Where my girl gang at (SARA FELICE HOW) (Maddie my love)

- (Stella/Fredricka)? Idk if it will happen but one can dream for more 🌈

- Happy Felice who deserves all good things in life

- FAMILY (SARA/SIMON) at the end of the day, Sara and Simon will always be there for each other. I know this.

- Sara realising she messed up. Her finally admitting her mistakes? She will def have a hard time making up and being forgiven

OR Sara having a plan idk

- Linda/Wilhelm???? Idk. Linda forgiving Wille for hurting her son and giving him a hug cause she knows he needs it????

- Simon meeting Kristina. Simon at the palace.

- Wille’s dad (ludvig is that his name?) approving of Simon or at the very least, Wille’s dad being there for his son cause the mom ain’t currently doing it. Unless she let her motherly side overcome her queenly duties for once. Who knows. If so, family moment would be nice here too.

- 1st year (/2nd year; are they in their 2nd yr?) friendship gang please

- FRIENDSHIPS FRIENDSHIPS FRIENDSHIPS (inc Ayub and Rosh with Simon/the gang)

- I’m hoping they handle the whole Sara/august thing well though

- curious where they’re heading with the August storyline too (but at the same time I don’t want to? I don’t know. He’s an ass and he’s interesting but still an ass and what to do with an ass in your life? Cut them out ahhhh… they are also valid and not obligated to forgive someone who made their lives hell but I would like to see Malte still and august is intriguing and if they are able to turn his character around? Maybe hmmmmm but not necessary at the same time.)

- they’re probably more things I want but i don’t want to go into specifics and overthink. Either way I just them to be safe and happy and together hahahah

- PLEASE PLEASE LET THEM BE HAPPY. ALL OF THEM. (Except maybe august idk. That boy needs therapy too. Let him go for therapy or sth)

- I don’t care if this is the last season (im lying but shhh) but gosh let it have a good and happy end. As long as it has that and then happy, I will accept it even if it’s the last season. I rather it be the last than have damn drag it out for nonsensical drama, etc. 1st season was done so well so I hope this will too. 🤞🏻

#young royals #yr season 2