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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 1 year ago

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Hangover 3

Warnings: dubcon, noncon, other possible triggers. Proceed with caution.

Please leave any and all feedback! 💚💚💚💚💚💚

Part of The Club AU

The music adds to the distortion of time. It feels like he’s been driving for hours but it may only have been twenty minutes. At least long enough to get to the outskirts of the city.

You slide forward and hit the partition, “Officer Storm,” you holler above the stereo, “sir, please–”

He cranks the volume even louder and you cover your ears as you fall back against the seat. You shudder as you cram yourself into the corner and make yourself small. Your adrenaline spikes as fear floods your veins. You just want to go home. You want to see your son one last time.

You close your eyes as you fight the brewing tears. Don’t lose it. You can’t fall apart. Don’t panic.

You rock as the car turns onto gravel, the crunching dull beneath the blare of music. You keep yourself scrunched up, arms bent around your head as you keep your eyelids squeezed tight. The tires slow as shadows flicker over you.

You dare to look, the sky dimming by the minute as evening sets in. You peek ahead as the headlights shine across a cluster of trees. Finally, he comes to a stop and shifts into park. The engine continues to run as he twists the knob and lowers the volume.

“Wallet,” he slides back the small window again, not looking back as he presents his palm expectantly.

You hesitate. What’s going on? You know better than to ask. Speaking only seems to agitate him.

You fish your wallet out of your bag and shove it through the slot. It misses his hand, bouncing off and hitting the seat. He sighs and snaps the panel shut. Your lip trembles until you suck it in,, forcing it still. You wring your hands as you try to see what he’s doing.

He flips on the compartment light and grabs your wallet. He opens it up, searching through the few pieces of change and clutter of cards. He takes out your license and drops the wallet back to the seat. He angles the small monitor mounted to the dashboard and types in a number as he holds up your ID.

He sniffs as nothing comes up and considers your license. He pulls his phone from his front pocket and takes a picture of the card. Your eyes glisten. You don’t understand what he’s doing.

“Officer Storm,” you utter softly, “please, whatever I did–”

He ignores you as he tosses your license onto the seat and puts his phone back in his pocket. He opens the driver’s door and gets out, zipping up his coat as he lets out an emphatic burr. You can see the cold mist rising from the earth in the beams of the headlights.

He opens the back door, “out.”

“Sir–”

“I didn’t ask you a question so I don’t need an answer. Get out of the car.”

You suck in a breath and sidle over the seat. You drag your purse with you and as you get out, he snatches it away. He whips it back into the car and grips your upper arm. He moves you as he slams the door.

You whimper as he marches you past the car into the bright cones cast by the cruiser’s headlights. He puts you in the crisscross of the spotlight and lets you go. You sway on your feet and turn to face him.

He doesn’t say a word as he grabs your collar and tears open the zipper of your coat, busting the tab off of it. You squeak as he strips the sleeves down your arms and lets the fleece drop to the gravel. He’s going to kill you. He’s just getting rid of the evidence.

All this because what? You tried to help him? How can one man’s ego be so brittle?

“Please,” you whisper.

“Shut up,” he grows.

He rips your shirt out of the top of your pants, peeling it up your body. You try to hold your arms down and he growls, tugging harder. You’re forced to raise your hands as he roughly pulls the fabric over your head. He throws it to the dirt as well and quickly turns his attention to the top of your black slacks.

Your breath hitches and your chest rises and falls rapidly. Your heart hammers in your temples as you feel the terror taking over. It’s as if you’re watching yourself from above all while being trapped inside your body.

You shiver as he exposes you to the frigid air. He reaches around you, fumbling to undo your worn out wonderbra and scratches your arms as he yanks it off. He grabs the elastic of your underwear next and shoves it down to fall into the rumpled pile of your pants still around your ankles.

You bring your hand up to catch a sob as it breaks free. You hiccup as you blink back tears, failing to stem the flow of horror. You part your fingers just slightly as Officer Storm steps back.

“I have a son,” you croak.

“Yep,” he reaches into his pocket, retrieving his phone, “so, he wouldn’t want to know his mom’s a whore, would he?”

He holds up his phone and the flash blinds you as he snaps a photo. You try to cover yourself as you hear the shudder effect on repeat. He stops and forces your arms down.

“Don’t fucking do that,” he huffs and grabs the cuffs from his belt. “Put these on, behind your back.”

“Please–”

“Do what I fucking tell you or you’ll be charged with resisting,” he warns.

You nod and swallow down your protests. You take the cuffs and lock the first around your wrist. You put your hands behind you and get the other closed around your other arm.

He continues to take photos as you shake like a feather in the nightly chill. The temperature is dropping fast, your skin prickling with hard goosebumps as your breath clouds visibly before you. You sniffle as he walks around you, continuing to capture your nakedness from all angles.

You’re horrified to be so exposed. You look down at yourself and see the stretchmarks on your chest and stomach, extending down your thighs. The loose flab you could never quite lose and the sagging that came from the years.

He’s so young, he must be disgusted. You are too.

He stops behind you.

“Bend over,” he orders.

You shudder and let out a whimper. He nudges you with his phone, cold from the air, and you do as he says. You bend until you feel the temperature nip between your legs. He takes several more photos as you struggle to keep your balance.

He snorts and a new silence rises. He lingers at your back as you stay frozen and prone. You flinch as you feel the warmth of his hands close around your hips. He steps close, brushing his crotch against your ass.

“I could do so much more,” he snarls and lifts a hand to brush his fingers along your spine, “think about what I could do right now.”

Your eyes widen as you shake even more, staring at the ground as your fear bubbles up in violent hiccups. He hooks his fingers around the cuffs and lets go of your other hip. He unlocks them, the metal falling away from your wrists.

“Get dressed.”

#johnny storm #dark johnny storm #darkjohnny storm #johnny storm x reader #drabble #series #au #the club #hangover #fantastic four

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coochiequeens · 6 months ago

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Not the first time Japanese women and girls suffered through sexual violence from American servicemen.

By BRIAN MCELHINEY AND KEISHI KOJA STARS AND STRIPES • July 12, 2024 Source - Stars and Stripes

CAMP FOSTER, Okinawa — A U.S. airman stationed at Kadena Air Base, in his first appearance Friday in a Japanese court since his indictment in March, denied charges against him of kidnapping and sexually assaulting a minor.

Senior Airman Brennon Richard Edward Washington, 25, assigned to the 18th Logistics Readiness Squadron, was charged with kidnapping and non-consensual sex with a minor in December.

His case, and that of a Marine lance corporal charged in a separate case with attempted sexual assault, sparked protests from Okinawa Gov. Denny Tamaki of the U.S. military’s failure to discipline its troops.

He also protested to Tokyo of its and the Naha Public Prosecutors Office’s failures to promptly notify the prefecture of the charges. The case only came to light in late June when Washington was scheduled for his first court appearance.

The hearing began at 1:40 p.m. before a full courtroom.

“Is anything wrong with the facts written in the charge sheet?” Naha District Court Judge Tetsuro Sato, head of a three-judge panel, asked Washington after the charges were read.

“I’m not guilty,” Washington said. “I did not kidnap, I did not rape.”

According to the indictment provided by the prosecutors’ office, Washington approached the girl in a Yomitan village park Dec. 24 “with the purpose of kidnapping and conducting indecent acts on her.”

Prosecutors allege Washington said to the girl, “Let’s talk in the car because it’s cold.” From the park he drove the girl to his home off base, where he sexually assaulted her, knowing she was under 16, according to the indictment.

Washington’s attorney told the court that the airman “admitted that he took the woman to his house and performed sexual actions.”

“But he asked the woman’s age, and he thought that she was 18 years old,” the attorney said. “He did not have intentions to molest her and abduct her. Until the time she left he was unaware that she was under 16. He did not pull down her lingerie; it was done with her cooperation.”

The Japanese prosecutor said the girl went to the park after a fight with her mother, which she explained to Washington using a translator app. Washington, who went to the park after fighting with his wife, told the girl he was a “special detective in the military,” the prosecutor said.

The prosecutor played footage of the incident from security cameras in the park via table monitors only Washington, his attorney and the judges could see. Washington appeared calm while watching the video.

“Washington talked to the girl at around 4:30 p.m., saying ‘daijoubu?’ (are you OK) in Japanese,” the prosecutor said. “He asked her age, and she said her age in Japanese and also made gestures with her hands.

“The girl went back home crying, and her mother reported it to the police,” the prosecutor added. The hearing adjourned after the video showing. The next hearing is scheduled for 10:30 a.m. Aug. 23.

The victim and her mother are expected to appear to provide statements; partitions will be erected to protect their privacy, according to Sato. Washington was released from jail and restricted to Kadena following the indictment, and the U.S. government took his passport, 18th Wing spokesman Capt. Alvin Nelson told Stars and Stripes via email July 3.

“The U.S. military takes these allegations very seriously, and the 18th Wing has been cooperating with local authorities to ensure a thorough investigation while ensuring due legal process under the applicable laws and agreements,” Nelson said.

#CAMP FOSTER #Okinawa #Japan #Rape on base #Senior Airman Brennon Richard Edward Washington

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annerly-san · 2 days ago

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Love and Deep Deadlines | A LaDS Corporate AU - Chapter 2

Summary:

Amidst the cut throat culture of Onyxion Enterprises where cutting-edge innovation is overshadowed by corporate chaos, no one talks about how hard it is to be an intern.

Alongside Caleb, the sales department smooth-talker; Zayne, the cold and unflappable CTO; Xavier, a director who might as well be an intern himself; and Rafayel, the overly dramatic Creative Director who brings his own flair to every meltdown, our intern is just trying to survive the workday. Oh, and don’t forget Onyxion’s very own CEO, Sylus, a walking HR violation who gets off on terrorizing his employees.

In this company, will love bloom before the deadlines run deep, or will the company go under first?

Chapter Navigation: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | ?

Alternative AO3 link:

I settled into my desk, making the rounds to introduce myself to my peers.

The warm welcomes helped to calm my nerves as I was just asked to settle down for now and watch some training videos on the overarching strategy within our marketing department.

It was truly corporate when there were hundreds of acronyms thrown at you left and right with the expectations that you already knew them.

I let out a sigh of relief, seeing that there was a pdf of the list buried in the Sharepoint file manager under “New Employee Resources”. We love a self-aware corporation.

The twenty page long document was intense, and my monitor and docking station had not yet arrived. The task of watching the training videos whilst taking notes and trying to find the acronyms required the usage of multiple screens. My small laptop screen wouldn’t cut it.

At least the documentation for most things was there for a new employee. The printer had step-by-step instructions on how to set up the network printer and get your print from the queue with your protocore identification band. It should work with any printer in the building.

I sent the acronym list to the printer; a printer should be around here somewhere.

I stood up and wandered through the rows of cubicles, searching for the nearest one.

The rows of cubicles stretched out like a field, divided on occasion by a floor-to-ceiling divider to separate specialized teams, and I wandered through the rows peering occasionally around to see if there was a hidden printer somewhere.

After wandering for a good while, it all looked the same to me.

I was lost.

Were all office buildings like this? Everything looked the exact same, how would you know where to go?

I’m sure that Caleb had the same problem and probably painted his cubicle with extravagant stripes of orange and blue and filled his space with model planes and apples to find his spot better, but I wasn’t employed in any permanent position to be decorating my own cubicle like that.

I turned the corner, finding a printer was no longer the priority as there was a rising panic that I’ve lost my way back to my team’s room.

My dread was interrupted by a loud banging in one of the corridors. Curious, I traced the source. Tucked against a partition, was my original objective for leaving my desk - a printer!

But along with finding my goal, I stumbled on the interesting sight of a man with short blonde hair fiddling with the control panel, occasionally hitting it with his hand in frustration and giving it a kick for good measure. His aggravated assaults on the poor machine were the source of the banging sounds that I heard earlier.

“Why are you not working?” he groaned into his hand.

Did he not know how to use the printer? Maybe he is an intern like me? I’m sure that if I didn’t find the printer guide earlier, I would have been doing this exact same thing. The thought of finding another co-worker in a similar position gave me the confidence to interrupt his frustrations. “Is the printer not working?” I asked, approaching him with a friendly smile.

He turned to face me, blue eyes locking with mine as I saw the annoyance behind them, but he was professional enough to not let it be directed at me. “I don’t know how to work this stupid thing,” he muttered, hitting the printer again. “Ah, sorry.” He rubbed his head abashedly.

I jumped at the sound, but quickly got over it. “That’s ok!” I said with some optimism in my voice. “Can I try?”

Interns should help one another out. I gave him my name as an introduction, extending my hand to shake his. “I’m new here! I’ve just started as an intern!” He locked eyes with me and gave me a friendly smile, nodding at my words and grabbing my hand with a firm shake. I beamed at the prospect of a new friendship. “I read the printer guide, do you think I can try and see if I can help you out?”

“Please do. Go ahead. My name’s Xavier, by the way.”

A sense of happiness coursed through me as I thought that I could make friends with a fellow intern this way. We could help each other out. If we’re on the same floor, he would be in marketing as well.

I tapped my wrist on the flat panel scanner, the printer humming and blinking green as it authenticated me. My documents populated in the queue and I made sure that the right one was selected before entering in final specifications and hitting print.

My acronyms worksheet came out on warm paper, double-sided and stapled neatly in the corner.

“Hey! I got it to work!”

Xavier looked stunned as he went back and forth staring between the stack of papers in my hand and the printer. “...That’s amazing…!” He looked at me dead in the eyes. “You’re telling me you did that without black magic? Or several tickets with the IT desk? Hours on the line with them into the dead of night? Are you sure you’re just an intern?”

I laughed and gestured to his hand for his protocore id band. “What are you printing? Want me to help you?”

Xavier let a small smile crawl up onto his lips as he nodded. “Yes, please!”

He watched eagerly as I showed him how to use his protocore band to authenticate with the server and pull his documents off of the cloud.

I couldn’t suppress the laughter bubbling in me as he was so thrilled that the printer could also staple and hole punch the sheets.

He finally held up his stack of documents in awe. He called my name. “You’re amazing! Thank you!”

“It’s no big deal! I’m happy to help a fellow intern out!”

“Hm? Intern?” He looked confused at my words, but I was too excited to focus on that part and the words came out of my mouth before I could stop it.

“Let’s be friends! I’m new, so I haven’t met anyone yet, but I was happy to run into you here, Xavier!” There was a slight flush on his face, and I felt that perhaps this wasn’t how you made friends in the corporate world. “O-oh, unless you don’t want to, or you work somewhere else-. I didn’t mean-”

“N-no, we could be friends!” Xavier placed a reassuring hand on my shoulder. “I…I would like that.”

I couldn’t resist the smile on my face from the excitement of my first work friend.

But I was probably gone from my desk for long enough, and now that I had my prints, I should really head back. The issue was that I just didn’t know where to go. Perhaps Xavier did. “By chance do you know where the product marketing group sits? I got lost trying to find the printer,” I admitted, rubbing my head in embarrassment. “It kinda looks all the same here, huh?”

“Oh, product marketing? Yea, they sit over in group D3, do you want me to walk you there?”

“That would be great! Only if you don’t mind!”

Xavier smiled at me. “Not at all. Let’s go.”

I trailed happily behind him with a skip in my step.

“We’re here. Is this your desk?” He pointed at the desk right by the door.

“Yep! I sit here! Hey, if you ever need me or just want to hang out just let me-”

“Huh? Director Xavier?” My words were cut off by Tara’s surprise. “What brings you here?”

My brain short-circuited. Director Xavier?

“Oh I was just showing her the way back to her desk,” Xavier pointed at me. The smile dropped from my face and cold chills ran down my spine. He wasn’t an intern? He was a higher up? I was just prancing around the cubicles with him a minute ago. We high fived each other and made a work bestie vow. But he was one of the bosses?

The world was collapsing before my very eyes. My 20-page printout of the acronyms nearly fell out of my hands.

“Oh so you’ve met our new intern already!” Tara clasped her hands together happily. “We were going to introduce you later during the all-hands, but this works better!” Tara turned to me, pulling me by the shoulder to turn and look at Xavier. “As you know, we all report to Jenna, and Jenna reports to Director Xavier. He oversees product marketing, so we’re one of the few groups that he manages. You could say that he’s one of the bosses that we do a lot of work for.”

It took all my willpower to not let my jaw drop to the floor.

He was a director and I called him a fucking intern. I asked if we could be buddies. What kind of intern has the audacity to ask the director to be besties with her?

This might be my first and last day on the job.

“I-It was really nice to meet you, D-director Xavier-” my voice trailed off and I struggled to maintain eye contact with him after the embarrassment of calling him an intern earlier.

Xavier was much more composed than I was. It was no wonder he was a director. He gave me a kind smile, reaching out his hand to me. I took it and watched it flop awkwardly as he shook it. Tara looked at me with concern.

At this point, it doesn’t matter anymore.

“It was really great meeting you too. If I have printer problems again or if you also want to hang out, I’ll be sure to drop by now that I know where you sit,” he stated before clutching the bundle of papers he printed close to his chest. “Thanks for your help again. I’ll see you around.”

My cheeks flushed red as I watched him leave - my eyes were burning holes into the cubicle walls.

Tara patted me on the back. “Well look at you! We were going to set up intros next week, but you’re such a go-getter! Nice work!”

I felt my soul leave my body.

I wanted to go home.

I wallowed in my despair in the corner of my desk. My monitor and docking station were set up in a daze as I stared blankly at my screen, training content passing in one ear and right out the other.

What kind of employee calls their director an intern, asks to be friends, and hang out with each other? And on their first day?

I buried my head in my hands as the memory of our interaction resurfaced in my head.

A loud ping from my laptop woke me from my trance.

[Caleb]: hows ur first day so far? u hungry?

[Caleb]: wanna get lunch w me?

The messages from Caleb reminded me of the time. At least I could catch a break after all of this. I messaged Caleb back.

[Me]: bruh im gonna die ;(

[Me]: leggo to lunch pls.. where food at

I waited a few seconds, seeing Caleb’s chat icon pop up to indicate that he was typing.

[Caleb]: hold tight pipsqueak

[Caleb]: im on my way to get u ;)

[Me]: pls rescue soon ;(

I rolled back in my seat. The tapping of my fingers against the desk didn’t do much to calm my nerves. My mind was still spinning from the morning’s catastrophe with Xavier. I slumped further into my chair, practically melting into my seat. Lunch couldn’t come fast enough.

A series of soft taps outside the team room caught my attention, and then I heard Caleb’s voice. “Hey hey! How’s my second favorite team in Onyxion?”

Heads turned immediately—Caleb had that effect on people. He exudes effortless cool, his suit jacket slung over his shoulder and his collared shirt had a few buttons open with his tie hanging loose, a casual, almost lazy smile on his face. He definitely wasn’t the type of person to mistakenly call their director an intern on his first day of work.

“Caleb!” “Oh, hey, Caleb!” “What’s up, dude?”

The chorus of greetings followed, with a few of them getting up from their desks to greet him like some kind of office VIP.

“Came to drop by?” someone asked, clearly curious why he was here.

Caleb grinned, glancing around the room. “Actually, I’m here to grab lunch with a special someone~!” A few people paused mid-greeting, confused. “My sister~!”

“Sister?” one of them asked, eyes darting around the room. “Who?”

Caleb looked around the cubicle openings before landing on mine with a wide grin. He nodded in my direction, grin never leaving his face. “Right there! That’s my Pipsqueak!”

All eyes snapped to me. I froze, feeling the weight of everyone’s gaze. Had I not had the most mortifying experience of my life with Xavier, I would have been embarrassed by Caleb’s declaration of his nickname for me in front of all my peers.

“You guys didn’t know? She’s my baby sister,” Caleb clarified with a wink, clearly enjoying the reveal a little too much.

Tara blinked, processing the information before offering a warm laugh. “Well, that explains the VIP treatment! It’s super hard to get Caleb out to lunch! Why didn’t you say anything?”

I tried to smile and shrug, despite my burning cheeks. Caleb chuckled and nudged me playfully. “Ready to go?”

I nodded quickly, eager to escape.

Once we hit the elevator, I let out a breath. “You couldn’t resist, could you?” I punched him in the arm for ousting me as his sibling in front of all my coworkers.

Caleb grinned, completely unapologetic. “What? It’s more fun that way. Besides, now they know who’s watching out for you.”

I punched his arm, though there was no real force behind it. “You’re such a show-off.”

“Always,” he said, laughing as the elevator doors closed behind us.

We exited the elevator and made our way to the cafeteria. It was bustling with employees, the sound of chatter and clinking dishes filling the air. Caleb, of course, navigated through the crowd effortlessly, giving nods and smiles to people as we passed. It was like watching a politician on a campaign trail—everyone knew him, and more importantly, everyone liked him.

“Why do I feel like I’m walking next to a celebrity?” I muttered as we got in line for food.

Caleb smirked. “Because I am one. Consider yourself lucky, pipsqueak. You get to dine in the presence of an office celeb!”

I rolled my eyes but couldn’t help smiling. “Of course you are.”

We grabbed our trays, and Caleb, true to form, picked up more food than anyone could possibly eat in one sitting. “You’re going to regret not grabbing a second sandwich,” he teased, nudging me with his elbow as we made our way to a table.

Just as we sat down, I spotted Xavier entering the cafeteria. I sank lower into my seat, hoping he wouldn’t see me. The embarrassment of earlier was still fresh in my mind.

“You okay?” Caleb asked, noticing my sudden change in posture.

I waved him off. “Yeah, just... avoiding someone.”

Caleb raised an eyebrow, leaning in with a grin. “Who? Someone I need to beat up for you?”

I snorted. “No, it’s just... Xavier. Director Xavier…”

“The director?” Caleb’s eyes widened with mock surprise. “What did you do, pipsqueak? Spill it.”

I sighed. “I may or may not have called him an intern… and then asked him to be my friend… and to hang out with me…”

Caleb burst out laughing, causing a few heads to turn. “You... you called Xavier an intern?” he wheezed, wiping a tear from his eye. “Oh, that’s priceless! OH MY GOD, AHAHAHAHA!!!”

“Caleb, shhh!” I hissed, glancing around to make sure Xavier wasn’t within earshot. “I didn’t know he was the director! My boss reports to him! He’s like my big boss!!”

Caleb was still chuckling, clearly enjoying my misfortune far too much. “Well, at least you made an impression.”

I groaned, burying my face in my hands. “He’s going to think I’m a complete idiot.”

“Eh, don’t worry about it,” Caleb said, taking a big bite of his sandwich. “He’s a good guy. He won’t hold it against you. And besides, if he does, just let me know. I think I can take him in a fight.”

I shot him a look. “Don’t you dare.” Memories of Caleb getting into full-blown brawls all throughout school popped into my mind. He had a knack for turning a mild disagreement into a fistfight, and no one was ever quite sure what triggered him. A lot of people learned to steer clear of him after that, especially when they saw how quickly he could go from bright and happy to throwing punches in unbridled rage.

“Caleb...” I warned, but he just shrugged with that lazy grin.

“What? I’ve mellowed out. Mostly.” He winked. “I wouldn’t punch a fellow co-worker unless they really deserved it ok? And I’ll happily skip a paycheck to punch someone that made you mad at work.”

As Caleb and I sat there, still bantering back and forth, I saw Xavier heading our way with a tray of food. I froze for a second, but Caleb didn’t miss a beat.

“Well, well, if it isn’t Director Xavier!” Caleb called out, loud enough for nearby tables to turn and look. “You got a dining buddy yet? We got a seat open!”

Xavier raised an eyebrow but smiled as he approached. “I know that you get to know people fast, Caleb, but how do you know the new intern already? I just met her today.”

Caleb chuckled, leaning back in his chair. “What can I say? You gotta network when you’re in sales.” He winked in my direction.

Xavier smiled at me as he sat down, setting his tray on the table. “Well, you’re a lucky intern. Caleb is a hard guy to get lunch with. He told me the other day that I had to book a few weeks in advance.”

I had a feeling that it was sarcasm on Caleb’s end, but Xavier took it seriously. I bit my lip to maintain a straight face.

Caleb grinned, not missing a beat. “What can I say? I’m in high demand.” He took a sip of his drink, then leaned forward with a smirk. “But I can always make an exception for my sister.”

Xavier raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “Sister? I didn’t know you had family.”

“Not by blood,” Caleb clarified, casting a glance at me. “But close enough. Grew up together, so she’s practically my pipsqueak now.”

I smiled awkwardly, feeling a bit exposed. I let out an awkward chuckle.

Xavier gave me a kind smile and glanced at us. “You know, I’ve worked with Caleb on a few projects before, and I can tell you—if he’s got your back, you’re in good hands.” His tone had sincerity behind it.

“See?” Caleb chimed in, pointing a thumb at Xavier. “Even he gets it.”

My initial discomfort with Xavier’s presence at the table quickly dissipated as the conversation flowed between the three of us smoothly. He had a very laid-back personality that was very approachable once you got to know him. Had I not been in a line of direct reports to him, I’m sure we would have been good work friends already.

The lighthearted banter continued for a moment until Xavier’s smile faded, and he turned to Caleb. His voice dropped in volume as he didn’t want others to overhear. “Have you heard about what happened in the finance department? Sylus wasn’t happy.”

Caleb’s expression darkened slightly. “Yeah, I heard. He’s pissed. Which isn’t good.”

Xavier nodded, his usual easygoing demeanor slipping as he glanced around the cafeteria, lowering his voice. “I wouldn’t be surprised if this means restructuring. With what happened in that department, I’m not sure if there’s going to be something worse.”

I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, the playful mood from earlier now replaced with a sense of unease.

“You really think it’ll be that bad?” Caleb whispered to him, voice barely audible as he tried to keep the conversation discreet.

Xavier sighed. “The repercussions are company-wide. You know how Sylus is. He’ll trim the fat and parts of the actual cut. He’s find with those losses as long as he can made a point.”

“I-Is something happening in the company?” Xavier and Caleb looked over at me in surprise, not realizing that I was able to sense that something was awry and was a cause for concern. Caleb’s gaze softened, noticing the worry growing on my face, and he gave me a reassuring smile. “We’ll be fine, Pipsqueak. Don’t worry, this is more of the director and above level stuff. You got nothing to worry about.”

Xavier nodded, though his expression remained serious. “Caleb’s right. This kind of thing doesn’t affect you or your role.”

The lunch wrapped up shortly after, but the unspoken tension of what Caleb and Xavier spoke of hung heavy in the air.

As we wrapped up lunch, Caleb nudged me playfully. “Back to work, Pipsqueak. Don’t want to keep your fancy new team waiting.” He shot a glance at Xavier. “And don’t worry, I’ll keep an eye on her.”

Xavier chuckled, standing up with his tray. “I have no doubt about that. Good luck with the rest of your day, and don’t be afraid to swing by if you need anything.” He gave me a reassuring nod before heading off, leaving Caleb and me alone at the table.

As we walked back toward the elevators, I couldn’t shake the weight of the conversation between Caleb and Xavier.

Once we reached the elevator, Caleb pressed the button and leaned against the wall, studying my expression. “You okay?”

I took a deep breath, “Sylus…is the CEO, right? Why’s he upset? What happened with the finance department?”

Caleb ruffled my hair like he used to when we were kids. “Hey, hey, I told you that it’s just the big boss stuff. You know CEOs and the boss people, finance guys always make them mad. The usual stuff. It’s really nothing that an intern needs to worry about.” He locked eyes with me, and I knew he was hiding something. But the smile on his face betrayed the slightest bit of tension that I was able to tell from years of growing up with him. Yet I knew not to press him further on it. He was more stubborn than me when it came to these things.

I swatted his hand away with a laugh. “Ok, ok. Anyways, thanks, Caleb.”

The elevator doors opened, and I stepped inside, glancing back at him. “See you later?”

“Of course. Don’t get too comfortable. I’m picking you up at the end of the day,” Caleb replied with a wink.

The doors slid shut, leaving me alone in the quiet elevator. As the floor numbers ticked by, I recalled my first day so far. How eventful.

As I settled back into my desk, a soft ping from my laptop caught my attention. An email notification from the company’s internal communications system appeared in the corner of my screen: Onyxion Announces New Acquisition of EverTech Biomedical Solutions .

Curiosity piqued, I clicked on the link, which led to a sleek press release page with an embedded video at the top. There he was—Sylus. He stood tall and confident, answering questions from a group of reporters with ease, every word meticulously measured yet effortlessly charismatic.

I leaned in, watching as Sylus spoke about the strategic acquisition, how EverTech would integrate seamlessly into Onyxion’s existing infrastructure, boosting their innovation pipeline and expanding their product portfolio. His tone was smooth and authoritative, but it was more than that. He had a way of speaking that made everything seem possible, like every challenge was just another stepping stone.. The way he fielded tough questions with calm precision was impressive, and I couldn’t help but feel a surge of admiration. This was the kind of CEO that made waves in the industry—someone who commanded respect and attention without even trying.

Whatever the finance department did to make him upset, must have messed up majorly. The conversation that worried me before disappeared from my mind completely as I continued to watch Sylus on my screen.

Watching him, it was hard not to feel a mix of awe and... maybe a little envy. He seemed to have everything figured out—the vision, the confidence, the power to turn ideas into reality. Everything I wasn’t sure I had. The kind of person who could get things done, while I still felt stuck, unsure of how to make my own ideas matter.

He’s the kind of person I’ve always wanted to be.

I shifted in my chair, a flicker of self-doubt creeping in. Sure, I had ideas. Sometimes I’d think about what I could do if I had the chance, if I had the kind of authority someone like Sylus did. But that was just it—I didn’t have any of those things. I was just an intern, watching from the sidelines, wondering if I’d ever be capable of contributing on that level.

Still, as the video played on, I couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something about Onyxion—about Sylus—that resonated with me. He wasn’t just another CEO. He was shaping the future, and part of me, deep down, wanted to be part of that. Even if I wasn’t sure how, or if I was good enough.

The video ended, and I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. There was something undeniably magnetic about Sylus, and I couldn’t help but feel a spark of admiration. Not that I’d ever have the chance to interact with him directly. People like him existed in a different world, one I wasn’t sure I could ever step into.

Another chime from my laptop reminded me to get back to work. I sighed, turning back to my training videos, but my mind was still lingering on the thought of what it would be like to be part of something bigger. He has the kind of vision I want to support... if I could even figure out how.

#lnds fanfic #lads #lads fanfic #love and deepspace #sylus fic #zayne fic #lads caleb #love and deepspace caleb #love and deepspace sylus #lads sylus #lads zayne #love and deepspace zayne #love and deep deadlines

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south-sea · 2 years ago

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Sentimentality

Shadow's found it in himself to confront old memories head-on. For better or for worse, Metal as a result finds he's beginning to understand this weird thing called sentiment that organic beings tend to have.

~1,767 words

From the moment he walks in, Metal Sonic knows that Shadow, although not immediately seen, should be home.

Visible from inside the front door is the kitchen area, which is empty. The ajar restroom, which Shadow biologically does not need. And the den, their usual haunt, which is also empty.

Shadow is not due for, or has not attended to, any sort of impromptu mission. On the kitchen table, there are no handwritten notes. In Metal's communication log, there are no text messages. Shadow has been, and put him through, too much to know better than to leave the premises when expecting company, even for just a walk, without a trace.

The pair of shoes left beneath the step leading up into the main house area are, in themselves, evidence enough that Shadow is still present and unharmed. There are no signs of a scuffle, no scratches in the floor, no broken panels, not even the empty table and chair in the kitchen are out of place.

Metal's calm gaze lifts farther inward. That leaves the space behind the partition leading upstairs, if not somewhere upstairs itself.

In the nearly two years Metal has lived with him, Shadow's tendency to disappear somewhere upstairs has been in decline, and by now, has altogether evaporated. Unless, in the exceedingly rare case that Shadow prefers an actual bed to sleep in, or his own shower to wash off in, or brief periods in which he is collecting an outfit, he stays downstairs.

Metal considers, as he begins his trek toward the way up, how there sits a writing desk in an office upstairs. A space that Shadow used to frequent, preferring to tend to his scrapbook and other research materials or records there. These days, Shadow does not bother, instead comfortable enough and in fact preferring Metal's company when writing or preparing photos or generally anything else. If he were busy with any of those things, he would no doubt be downstairs.

Odd. But then organic beings are, themselves, inherently odd. There exists in them a tendency to be so painfully sentimental over items and memories that they adamantly hold onto them for years, or look back on them and cry.

Metal has seen it. He is not sure he understands. Downstairs, he has a collection of his own things, but he cannot ascribe to them the same level of nostalgia or fondness or attachment. He keeps them because they are his, because they have been given to him, and beyond weapons or tools or rockets shortly demolished by his loathsome copy, even two years later, the idea of truly owning something just to own it without an obvious purpose is still novel.

When Metal arrives to the second story, Shadow is still nowhere to be seen. The office room is dark and empty, the bedroom is tidy and neat, but clearly lacking any trace of sleeping not-hedgehogs. The bathroom up here, too, is unoccupied and unneeded, but the doorway next to it, usually closed and with no light leaking out from underneath it, is open.

Faint sounds of general movement can be heard from its direction. That room was previously empty of anything, Metal notes, as he turns a course toward it. Empty of even furniture, much less any reason for his housemate to be doing anything inside of it. Barely the size of a closet, it serves no purpose than to remain empty, its use overwritten by a simple dresser closet stationed elsewhere in the main bedroom.

As Metal approaches as carefully as he is able without startling him, Shadow's head turns to see him in the doorway. His gloves are off, the fur of his cheeks is tousled as if recently damp. That is, for obvious reasons, never a good sign.

At first, Metal suspects pain. Perhaps he was moving things into storage, overexerted himself, and has only recently found the strength in him again to stand. That is, from Metal's perspective, illogical. If that had been the case, why would Shadow have not sent a distress signal? Why would he have not requested help?

And then he looks up.

The room is no longer purposeless in any sense of the word. Metal's gaze passes over countless new things: a bookshelf, already home to brittle and yellowed books and notebooks and sketch pads. A cushion and handful of stuffed animals—two different seal pups, notably—and an old polaroid camera with its strap neatly arranged around it so that it may avoid wayward quills catching and knocking it out of place. A tiny green threadbare blanket folded atop a somehow more pristine white hospital blanket, a locket, a box of crayons. And photos—countless photos he cannot even begin to individually identify, all of a smaller, rounder, fuzzier Shadow and his blonde-haired companion, pinned up and carefully sorted.

All things recovered from the ARK. All things he has, technically, seen before, save for the photos, but never so up close, never seen arranged in their own place with such deliberate care.

The look in Shadow's eyes when Metal's lowers to meet them expectantly is one of apology and only minor embarrassment. "I finally found it in myself to set this up," he says in barely above a whisper. "I thought she needed her own room."

Metal did not understand it the night these items were brought to him, and he does not understand it now. He does not understand why items or memories would make someone weep so openly as they had made Shadow that night, or why they would need to be arranged in such a way, or why arranging them at all would seemingly make someone cry again. If they are painful, why would he want to keep or have them back? If they are painful, why would he want to see them at all?

He thinks back to a time, to a mission of faded importance by now, where Shadow had gone missing—one of a few times. One where Shadow had been separated from the main party, where they had been forced to find only traces of him and hold onto only vague hopes he had still been out there somewhere, alive. He thinks back on the broken quills he had collected from bloody ice, and how he had kept them. Just in case. Just in case they had been the only thing ever left of his charge, his everything.

Maybe he does understand.

There are tears in Shadow's eyes again. He tries to smile at him, but the sniffle makes his expression waver. Metal knows that look. His charge, his everything, is less than two seconds from losing those tears down his already still-damp cheeks, and three or four seconds away from trying to say something to brush it off.

He holds a hand up to stop him before he can even try.

Shadow, placated, forgoes the need to apologize or excuse himself or generally speak at all. Instead he turns and closes the gap between them, takes the sides of Metal's hand in both his own paws, and brings his forehead down to rest in his palm. In the few moments he stays like this, he collects himself. Two seconds pass without Metal detecting more tears. Four seconds pass without Shadow attempting to shakily pretend he's fine or admit the exact opposite.

Ten seconds, and Shadow finally stands back up, withdrawing one of his paws to brush back his cheek fur. "I think she would have liked you," he tells him.

Metal knows the name Maria Robotnik, and he knows her connection to his own creator more than to Shadow. He knows, on a basic level, what their connection had been, but he has never asked, and Shadow rarely ever speaks about her for more than a few seconds. All too often Shadow shuts the topic down even if he is the one who had originally brought it up, avoids it, evades the point of no return where the threat of tears would otherwise be a guarantee.

In this room, this tiny memorial tucked away in the most private corner of the house, it is inescapable. It is deliberate, raw, surrounding them from all sides.

Metal tries not to wonder if, in some other time, it would have been only a handful of broken quills to occupy this room. Would he regret not having physical photos to pin up in the same way? Would he rely on Shadow's own scrapbook? Would he play the hours and hours and hours of recordings of their time together on endless repeat? Would he back that data up once, three times, stash it away in a desperate attempt to protect it from corruption or degradation or being lost?

His attention snaps back to Shadow when he hears him speak again, feels him pull away to point toward one of the many photos displayed on the wall or in pristine new frames or still held in the heavy album not yet fully sorted through.

Added to Metal's hours upon hours of recordings are new ones attributed to Shadow's profile. As Shadow tells him for minutes, and then even more minutes, of their time together as children, Metal forms a profile labelled Maria. He learns of her in more words than Shadow has ever given about her previously, about her aspirations, her demeanor, her love of the unusual and the fantastical, her stories, their stories.

He listens, and he understands. Shadow is his own charge. Maria had been Shadow's. They had been, like the two of them are now, inseparable. A pair of a different dynamic than the two of them share now, but bonded to an equal degree.

The more that Shadow speaks, the more strength seems to return to him. Gone are the watery eyes and wavering voice, replaced instead with a shine and an almost childlike enthusiasm for days visitable only in memory and faded photos.

He hopes he never has to find out what a memorial room of his own might look like. Hopes he never has to find out what it might feel like to go between incapacitated with grief and empowered by the love that feeds it. Hopes, for the first time, that Shadow is never forced to make a second room like this, filled with metal plating and scrapped joints and bare circuitry.

He listens, and understands, that love is more than just a desire to protect his charge's physical comfort and existence. It does, or should, extend to maintaining his own safety, to protect his charge from the grief of losing him, too.

#shadow the hedgehog #metal sonic #second chance au #metadow #qpr metadow #fics by sea #casually leaving crumbs of au-canon details everywhere like it's no big deal #jeez what a mess someone get a broom

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doctornolonger · 2 years ago

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The story of Tegorak

In one mysterious passage of Lance Parkin’s The Infinity Doctors, two members of the Chancellory Guard visit a long-forgotten room called Archive Chamber 403:

The room, like many in this part of the Capitol, was filled with dusty display cases and ancient lacquered cabinets. Raimor knew that this was part of the Citadel that dated back to the time of Rassilon. It was still possible to see that from the angle of the roof, the quality of the masonry, the shape of the room. The brickwork and panelling along one wall was recent, a partition perhaps only ten millennia old, but it couldn’t hide the room’s heritage: in former times this had been an open balcony which had overlooked the old starharbour. Since then this room must have been a hundred things, from the office of a high‐ranking Ordinal to student lodgings. Nowadays no one ever came here, except the patrol. […] One comer was dominated by a vast suit of armour. A rusty plaque informed anyone who read it that it had once belonged to Tegorak, although the name meant nothing to Captain Raimor.

The name “Tegorak” means nothing to the book’s readers, either – unless those readers are lucky enough to be familiar with an obscure fanzine called Apocrypha. We’ve joked about the idea of Doctor Who apocrypha, but this is the real deal: Adrian Middleton never wrote an official story, but his work in Apocrypha from 1993 to 1995 impacted some of the Wilderness era’s most influential authors, leaving his subtle mark on everything from Big Finish’s Gallifrey to – of course – Faction Paradox.

Copies of Apocrypha were shared with me by a generous friend who was researching some of these references, and as I make my way through the issues, I’ll be posting about all of the various ways they influenced later stories at my #Doctor Who Apocrypha tag. But for today, our topic is Tegorak.

Below the cut you can discover Tegorak’s full story, posted online for the first time. Travel with me to millions of years back in time, just 50,000 years after Morbius’ rebellion, 160,000 years before the birth of the Doctor…

Relevant entries from Apocrypha

THE INVASIONS -12,188,000/-12,150,250 (112,000/149,750 Q)

After thousands of years separated from the rest of the galaxy, the Time Lords found that, for each culture that died, more new ones would arise. With the expansion of so many civilisations, Time Lord secrecy could not be enforced. A string of increasingly dangerous attacks upon Gallifrey were launched by successive cultures, all of whom knew of the legend of the Time Lords.

BLACK MOUNTAIN -12,150,250 (149,750 Q)

As invasions against Gallifrey became more frequent and, potentially, more dangerous, a young Arcalian Cardinal named Tegorak rose to prominence.

Tegorak (whose name meant “Black Mountain”) called for a positive means of defending Gallifrey. In the midst of a particularly nasty invasion by a race known as the Sybarils, the old President was killed, naming Tegorak as his successor. Thus, at 330, Tegorak became the youngest President ever. Taking up a sword and donning the battle armour of an ancient Gallifreyan Warlord, he was forced to carry the battle to the steps of the Citadel itself. The last of the Sybaril invaders [pictured below – ed.] fell as an emergency meeting of the High Council was called.

THE GREAT CRUSADE -12,150,204 (149,796 Q)

President Tegorak decreed that the preservation of Gallifreyan society could only be achieved by setting up a line of defence surrounding Kasterborus. To do this, all planets within the constellation would need to be controlled by the Time Lords. Recruiting a small army from the normal Gallifreyan populace, he took his fleet to the worlds neighbouring Gallifrey. There he recruited a vast mercenary army, establishing a number of defensive outposts.

Resentful of the new President’s policies, some worlds in Kasterborus moved against the Time Lords, having to be dealt with in what was described as a ‘necessarily bloody manner’.

THE BETRAYAL -12,150,200 (149,800 Q)

While Tegorak was away the Matrix Lords made contact with Chancellor Garlan, ruler of Gallifrey in the President’s absence. Projecting images of a bloody future in which Time Lord society would be supplanted by the mercenary followers of Tegorak (who would go on to form a vast cosmic empire), the Matrix Lords convinced him that Tegorak would have to die.

Garlan dispatched an assassin to kill the President. The attempt failed, and Tegorak returned to discuss the attempt on his life with his fellow Time Lords. In the mean time, Garlan had convinced the remainder of the High Council of the threat that Tegorak now posed. So, when the President arrived to address the Panopticon, he was shot down by his fellow Time Lords.

THE ESCAPE -12,150,200 (149,800 Q)

Avoiding death by use of the Presidential Time Ring, Tegorak returned to his TARDIS where he was forced to regenerate. Fearing his bloody revenge (he was easily capable of destroying Gallifrey), Garlan turned to the Matrix Lords for guidance. Rassilon himself intervened, and laid a trap for Tegorak, preventing him from taking any action against Gallifrey.

WHERE DO ‘BLACK MOUNTAIN’ AND ‘THE GREAT CRUSADE’ COME FROM?

Essentially, these are creations of my own, taken from a storyline that I have. Basically, Rassilon cannot, in Gallifrey’s 12 Million year history, be the only hero of Time Lord society. Black Mountain is the Gallifreyan equivalent of Alexander the Great, carving out a space empire to guarantee the safety of his own people. He is Julius Caesar, Charlemagne and King Arthur, an allegorical character who did nothing but good for his people, and who was repaid with betrayal by his closest friends.

Commentary

With the exception of my editorial comment (marked in brackets with “– ed.”), the quotes above come from Apocrypha issue 2 pages 4, 5, and 29. Regarding the dates next to each event, I’ll share Middleton’s original explanation in a future post, but the short version is that “-12,150,200” means 12,150,200 BC, and “Q” refers to years after Rassilon’s founding of Time Lord society.

Besides the namedrop of Tegorak in The Infinity Doctors, I don’t think the “Black Mountain” has been mentioned in any other official Doctor Who sources – although please tell me if I’m missing something!

But that doesn’t mean it hasn’t had any impact. Just one page before Apocrypha introduces Tegorak, it summarizes the story of another outsider Lord President who was exiled and then gathered a mercenary army to attack Gallifrey: Morbius, from the Classic serial The Brain of Morbius. It’s hard not to notice the parallels – and I think there are clear signs that the Tegorak story influenced later depictions of the Morbius Presidency.

The full discussion of that will have to wait for a future installment, though. There are more Apocrypha puzzle pieces to collect first!

#Doctor Who Apocrypha #for archiving purposes #no copyright infringement requested #will remove upon request #effortpost #the infinity doctors #lance parkin #gallifrey #time lords #morbius #the imperator #archival

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lyncotek · 4 months ago

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Transforming Spaces: The Creative Potential of Printable Glass Over lamination

In the realm of interior design, the quest for innovative materials and techniques to transform spaces into captivating environments is ever-evolving. One such innovation that has garnered significant attention is printable glass over lamination. This article delves into the creative potential of this technique, exploring its advantages, applications, and impact on modern interior design.

Introduction to Printable Glass Over lamination: Printable glass over lamination applies a transparent film to glass surfaces, enabling custom designs or graphics. This process offers endless possibilities for designers, architects, and homeowners to personalize and enhance spaces effortlessly.

The Advantages of Printable Glass Over lamination: Visual Appeal: The primary advantage of printable glass over lamination lies in its ability to enhance visual appeal through the incorporation of high-resolution images, patterns, or branding elements onto glass surfaces, enabling designers to create captivating visual effects that evoke emotions and capture attention.

Durability and Protection: Printable glass over lamination not only enhances aesthetics but also provides durability and protection to underlying surfaces The laminated film acts as a shield, safeguarding against scratches, UV damage, and other forms of wear and tear, ensuring that the designs remain vibrant and intact for years to come.

Versatility in Design: Furthermore, printable glass over lamination offers versatility in design, with possibilities ranging from intricate patterns to bold graphics. Whether in residential, commercial, or hospitality settings, designers can unleash creativity to elevate ordinary spaces into extraordinary works of art.

Applications in Interior Design: Residential Spaces: In homes, printable glass over lamination elevates living room, kitchen, bathroom, and other space ambiances. From decorative partitions to custom backsplashes, homeowners can infuse personality and style into every corner of their homes.

Commercial Spaces: In offices, retail stores, and restaurants, printable glass over lamination offers unique branding opportunities. Businesses can create immersive experiences through signage, feature walls, or privacy screens, leaving lasting impressions on customers.

Hospitality Sector: In the hospitality sector, printable glass over lamination can be employed to create memorable guest experiences. Hotels and resorts can stand out with striking lobby installations and themed room dividers, cultivating luxury and sophistication.

How Printable Glass Over lamination Works:

“Printable glass overlamination involves two main steps: printing the desired design onto a laminating film using advanced techniques like UV or digital printing, followed by carefully applying the film to the glass surface with heat and pressure for a seamless, clear bond.”

Environmental Benefits: Moreover, in addition to its aesthetic and functional advantages, printable glass overlamination also boasts environmental benefits. The utilization of eco-friendly materials and processes, along with the recyclability of glass, renders it a sustainable choice for conscious consumers and businesses alike.

Cost-effectiveness Compared to Traditional Methods: Despite the advanced technology and creative potential, printable glass over lamination still emerges as a cost-effective alternative compared to traditional methods such as etching or sandblasting. Moreover, by eliminating the necessity for expensive custom glass panels, designers can achieve remarkable results without exceeding their budget.”

Case Studies and Examples: Numerous case studies and examples showcase the transformative power of printable glass over lamination in real-world settings. From corporate headquarters to boutique hotels, these success stories highlight the versatility and impact of this innovative technique.

Challenges and Limitations: Despite its many benefits, printable glass over lamination is not without its challenges and limitations. Factors such as substrate compatibility, surface preparation, and installation expertise can impact the quality and longevity of the final result, requiring careful consideration and attention to detail.

Future Outlook: Looking ahead, the future of printable glass over lamination appears promising. With ongoing research and development efforts aimed at enhancing durability, sustainability, and ease of use, this innovative technique is poised to revolutionize the field of interior design and reshape the way we think about space.

Conclusion In conclusion, printable glass over lamination offers a compelling solution for transforming spaces with creativity and versatility. From enhancing visual appeal to providing durability and protection, this innovative technique unlocks endless possibilities for designers and homeowners alike, paving the way for a new era of interior design innovation.

FAQs: Is printable glass over lamination suitable for outdoor applications? While printable glass overl amination is primarily used for indoor applications, specialized outdoor-grade films and adhesives are available for exterior use.

Can printable glass over lamination be used on curved or irregular surfaces? Yes, printable glass over lamination can be applied to curved or irregular surfaces, provided that proper preparation and installation techniques are employed.

How long does printable glass over lamination last? With proper care and maintenance, printable glass over lamination can last for many years, maintaining its visual appeal and functionality over time.

Is printable glass over lamination suitable for high-traffic areas? Yes, printable glass over lamination is highly durable and suitable for high-traffic areas such as lobbies, corridors, and retail spaces.

Can existing glass surfaces be retrofitted with printable glass over lamination? Yes, existing glass surfaces can be retrofitted with printable glass over lamination, providing a cost-effective solution for refreshing and revitalizing outdated or worn-out spaces.

#printable glass overlamination #interior design #glass customization #decorative glass #custom glass #glass graphics #glass printing #glass lamination #glass films #interior design trends #home decor #glass art

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fandom-gt · 5 months ago

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COMMISSION TYPE: Full Page + 2 Add-On

PRICE: 95

FANDOM: MCU CHARACTERS: Peter Parker, Pepper Potts

REQUESTED SUMMARY: ”I'm fine with my name not being on the blog post. If you feel that this doesn't match with your usual work, I'm fine with this not being posted on your wall as well. I'll leave it up to you

Set after No Way Home in a version of the MCU where tiny people are common and treated as second-class citizens or pets, Peter Parker(who has always been tiny) enters Pepper’s office after being hired for a job by the CEO that was listed specifically for a tiny person that includes free food and housing. He's a bit nervous, feeling weird that she doesn't remember him given how they were somewhat close before everyone's memory was erased. After Pepper greets him and states that he'll be working directly for her, she removes her heels and informs him that his new job is to pamper her by rubbing and licking her feet. Hesitant at first, Peter nonetheless complies and works on her soles as Pepper continues to work. Eventually, she ends up placing him in her heel to act as an insole and reveals that he'll be staying with her from now on, hence the free food and housing. Unable to do anything as Pepper puts the heel back on with him in it, Peter is forced to accept that his new life will be one serving at Pepper’s feet.”

WARNINGS: Objectification/dehumanization, feet, femdom,

——

Peter Parker sits in a plush, mass-manufactured waiting chair in the lobby waiting area of Stark Industries. Which is to say, he sits in a tiny chair, behind the masking-tape line of a three-foot square partitioned specifically for people his size, across the room from the bottom of the reception desk. A gap between the desk’s wooden front paneling and the floor beneath it stands taller than him, and he can see the peep-toed shoes of the receptionist idly tapping away before him. The thuds are loud, rhythmic, constant and, if he’s not mistaken, set exactly to the beat of Nicki MInaj’s Superbass. She probably doesn’t even realize she’s shaking his char with nonstop vibrations, she can’t possibly know that the miniscule tapping of her foot has such far-reaching impact.

He’s tempted to tell her, except that probably wouldn’t be a good first impression for the interview, would it? He sits in his little spider-sized chair, shuffling his paper-printed resume around in its perfect laminated sheets, because his aunt once told him that having a physical copy of it was a good habit. Even though, now that he’s thinking about it, that perfect Arial font at this scale would probably be much, much too small for someone their size to actually read. He feels, all of a sudden, quite stupid.

“Peter?” a voice booms from across the room, and he scrambles to his feet, looking up, up, up at the half-ajar door where Pepper Potts stands, searching the floor for several embarrassing seconds before her eyes finally find his diminutive form. Only when she can finally spot him does she smile, a tight, businesslike, professional expression levied at him as she nods her head toward her office. “I’m ready for you now.”

She holds the door open. He hurries across the scant few feet of flooring, breaking into a jog when the tense seconds begin to stretch and the awkwardness creeps up the back of his neck, searing his cheeks into a blush. He shouldn’t be embarrassed, he knows it — the ad was specifically for someone his size, and besides that, he knows Pepper, whether she remembers him or not. She’s Mr. Stark’s former fiancé, she’s always been nice to him when they met. Some kind shade just shy of maternal, willing to indulge him with gentle smiles, never judgmental, always encouraging of him despite his size making him, technically, a second-class citizen.

It still takes too many seconds for him to finally pass the threshold of her office. The door slams shut behind him in a manner so deep and resonating, he stumbles from the force of it. She doesn’t seem to notice as she steps in deep, booming, heel-clacking thuds around her own desk to sit down, patiently waiting for him to cross the short carpet fibers before her. He stops as close to her desk as he can manage, to the place where he can still see her face over the steep edge of it, and holds up his miniscule little quarter-inch resume as high as his tiny form will allow. “I, um- I brought this. It’s my resume, just in case… you… need it.”

She peers over him, one ginger eyebrow perfectly arched, cool and still, showing absolutely no intention to reach out and take it. “I thought they told you, you already got the job. Technically, you’ve been hired. All the paperwork’s filled out already. This isn’t an interview, Peter. This is your first day.”

“Oh,” he says meekly, hesitantly lowering his resume and tucking it lamely under his arm. “I thought- the docusign, I didn’t realize… I mean, they never even asked me to talk to anybody, I just thought-”

“This isn’t the kind of position that requires a formal interview,” Pepper says, folding her perfectly manicured hands across the desk and staring down at him. “You don’t need any particular accolades or special skills, apart from- your application states that you’re particularly durable and exceptionally athletic. If that’s the case, congratulations. You pass. You’ll be working directly under me, and you’ll be starting today. If that’s a problem, you’re welcome to leave now. Otherwise… I’d like you to get started as soon as possible.”

“Oh! No, that’s- no, ma’am. I mean, yes ma’am. I mean- yes, I’m durable, and athletic, and it’s not a problem. I can do whatever you need, as long as it comes with the room and board like the job listing said, I’ll do anything you need!” After Aunt May passed, with the world forgetting Spider-Man entirely, providing for himself has been a struggle. He can’t pay rent. He can’t pay anything. This job is really his only hope.

Above him, Pepper smiles benevolently and responds with a crisp, impatient, “Good. Then let’s begin.” Under the desk before him, he sees her feet begin to shift. One after another, with great wooshing suction sounds, Pepper kicks off heels each the size of a small apartment to him. Her bare, perfect, pale soles are exposed and then languidly stretched his direction.

“I’d like you to rub my feet, Peter,” she says, her voice thick and loud and ringing in his ears, and for a moment all he can do is stand there before her desk, staring up the sleek wooden surface to her sharp eyes miles above, stunned and uncomprehending. “Your… feet?” He repeats, swallowing thickly.

“That’s right,” she responds, unapologetic and just a little bit sharp. “That’s the job. That’s what you’re going to be doing. Rubbing, licking, massaging. Pampering my feet while I work. That’s why the listing requested someone your size, and someone… athletic. I’m very busy, and we’ve already gone over the time I allotted for your introduction, so if you don’t think this is a good fit, this is your last opportunity before I-”

“No!” He calls desperately, dropping his resume entirely and hustling to across the desk. “No, please, Mrs. Potts, I can do it. I- I’ll do it. I need this job. Whatever you want, I promise.”

“Good,” she responds, and then peels her eyes away from him to settle them on her computer monitor. Overhead, he hears the thunderous clacking of sharp nails on her computer keyboard as she gets to work, and a dozen yards before him lower to the ground at his level, her bare feet flex absently, expectantly. Swallowing, steeling himself, he jogs beneath the wooden slat of her desk toward them.

They loom overhead, each of them four or five times taller than he is, peachy and pedicured, but even despite how diligently she clearly cares for them and lotions them, they still smell… thick. Deep, heady, from the sweat and moisture that comes from shoes. A mixture of natural feminine body odor, leather, and the cherry-almond lotion she must use on them. The smell hits him like a brick wall, accompanied by a radiating and powerful body heat rolling from them. He stares up, reverent and uncomfortable, at a thick-skinned heel leading to a perfect arch, leading to the ball of her foot, leading to toes far above his head that scrunch absently, impatient.

And then, tentatively, he reaches out and presses both of his hands to the sole of her foot. It wrinkles beneath his palms, flexing absently beneath his ministrations, before smoothing out again. He musters all of his supernaturally enhanced strength, and he begins to rub, pressing and grinding his hands and forearms against the muscles and tendons that make up the bottom of her foot. Above his head, the typing falters for one surprised second. No tiny she’s ever hired before has managed to feel like that; as a matter of fact, even when she has them put every single scrap of enthusiasm they have into it, they barely manage it for a few seconds before she wears them out and grins them down into limp, expended nothing.

This, she thinks, might work out better than any tiny she’s employed to the position before. There’s just one thing. She shifts, rolling her wheely-chair out a few feet to stare down beneath her desk, between her legs, beyond the crisp black pencil skirt Peter can almost see up, to lock eyes with the tiny between the gap window of her big and second toe.

“Lick, Peter,” she instructs curtly, staring expectantly. He hesitates, but after her challenging, unblinking stare spans two, three, four seconds, he finally sticks out his tongue and begins to drag it up her sole. She smiles again, approving, and wheels her chair back in, returning to her work, enjoying the sensation of his tiny textured tongue and diligent hands massaging her sore, tired foot.

This goes on for nearly twenty minutes before Pepper retracts her left foot, only to absently and abruptly replace it with her right, nearly bowling him over with her inattentive, uncaring movement. He staggers, the wind knocked out of him, and then rises to begin the process all over again, lathing his tongue against the rough, leathery sole of her fresh right foot. By the time the hour’s up, even with his enhanced stamina and superhuman muscles, he’s beginning to feel the fatigue of the task.

Abruptly, and without a singular word of warning, Pepper’s feet shift. Her right foot slams his tiny body down onto the carpet, so she can absently root around with her toes, dragging them across his face, rolling them across his body until she can pick up the entire length of it with a simple scrunching of her feet, grasping him with the curl of her toes and lifting him from the ground – only to drop him from a few inches high into the perfectly worn sole of her black, close-toed high heel.

She shifts back away from the desk again just enough that he can see the undercut of her chin, rounded from this angle; the bottom of her nose, and her eyes.

“That was very good, Peter. I’d like to show you to your new home,” she says, and he sees her toes begin to encroach over the heel-curve of the shoe he’s now sprawled out in, on his back, staring up. “When I said you’d be working under me, I meant it literally. Your room will be my shoes. You’re going to be living under my foot from now on, for as long as you’re employed. You’ll be sleeping there, eating there, staying there, twenty-four seven. Your full-time job is my insole, unless I tell you to rub my feet. Like I said, no special skills required. Just durability. I’ll let you know when you’re needed again.”

“Wait, no, Ms. Potts-” He starts, but her foot is already sliding forward, looming in, eclipsing the light and his entire vision in darkness as her foot slides into the snug fit of her high heel, smushing him beneath the weight of it as she puts her shoe on proper and melds her entire weight onto his body. He is consumed, enveloped, and smushed under the arch of her foot.

And then she stands. And begins to walk, with great big thudding steps, swooping him over and over again before slamming her weight down on him during her casual stroll to the elevator.

#peter parker #pepper potts #peter/pepper #mcu #giantess #feet

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calla-celtigar · 6 months ago

Text

treasures of memory

a character challenge for @asongofgoldenfireandblackblood

“There, just beyond the chair. . .” Calla paused, turning her head to stare at the spot she had in mind. She put her hand in the air with an open palm.

“Pause. Behind the chair and to the left. To be level with that bookcase.” The servants promptly obeyed, softly setting the heavy chest on the ground parallel to another chest a short distance away. Calla offered them a pleasant look, and before they left the room, Prunella eagerly chattered behind them.

“Milady, the chest looks fine there. Are you happy that it is with you?” The man beside her was one of her few captains, an older man who had seen decades at sea. He had known Calla since she could walk and visit Claw Isle’s port. He had been one of Lord Bartimos’ captains, but now he was her own.

“Yes, very much so, Edric. Thank you for bringing it with you in your latest shipment. I know that it must have created some trouble.” She turned her gaze to him as he offered her a grin.

“Not so, milady. Besides, the men always enjoy a wild night in King’s Landing.” Calla suppressed a small laugh, digging into a pouch to hand the man a small amount of gold dragons.

“Well, I still thank you and the men. Be sure to spend the coin wisely.” She smiled at him as he gave her a devious grin, bowing to her simultaneously.

“Nothing less for our lady. Be well, Lady Celtigar.” The captain swept out of the room as Calla turned her gaze to the chest, now sitting behind her desk but in front of one of her extensive bookshelves.

The chest was fine, lined with ivory-colored fabric, and decorated with plush scallops designs. The chest was made of two different kinds of wood from distant Qohor. One wood was a shade of dark red, while the other was a light tan that was nearly white in tone. The two colors made chevron patterns on the panels of the chest. It had been a wedding gift from her mother when she traveled to Westeros. Her father had found the chest some time ago, but Lady Elinor recently sent a raven asking if Calla desired the chest as her own. Calla said yes but was unsure why she had done so. She supposed that her father wanted to sell the chest for a high but worthy prize, but her lady stepmother had cautioned him against it. The chest was a relic of the past, but so was much of Calla’s chambers.

When Calla first arrived as Rhaenyra’s lady-in-waiting, she had a small room devoted to living quarters and her working space. Prunella came to share a bed with Umma tucked in an even smaller adjacent room. However, as her status had elevated, so had her apartments. The married ladies-in-waiting required more space for their children and household, but Calla did not need so many rooms. She chose the room with the most significant two spaces. One room was divided in half by two large bookcases that she stood in front of presently, a thickly-veiled partition between her living space and her work area. The living space was more extensive, but the office was comfortable for work and hosting guests. The other room was devoted to her wardrobe and Umma and Prunella's separate beds. Gone were the days of sleeping in one bed for her maids now, they had their own. Prunella complained that Umma snored in her ear during those days, but now she slept so at peace that Umma complained of Prunella’s habitual nighttime noise.

The working quarters were lined with bookshelves upon bookshelves. They were among Calla’s finest possessions, organized neatly and highly maintained. Calla’s most treasured times slowly came with her to King’s Landing, but eventually, they came in full force. However, not all shelves were filled with books. Some housed rare artifacts as well. Some included a rare bronze mirror wreathed in Valyrian script, a crackled glass candle, and a pair of red quartz Valyrian sphinxes. She used the sphinxes as bookends despite her suspicion that they had once been ritual objects. They were three of many more minor artifacts lining the room. They decorated the room beyond the hundreds of books, her highly organized desk, and two small chairs set before the desk. An ornate table carved with crab-like legs sat between the chairs, gilded in a thin layer of aging gold. It was more than a presentable space displaying Celtigar wealth but displayed the more intricate parts of Calla’s personality.

As her most intimate space, her innermost chamber room rarely saw anyone beyond Umma, Prunella, Moddey, and Calla herself. It was her equivalent of a sacred space. A large bed sat on the left side of the room, curtained by red swathes of nearly transparent silk. There had been mornings where Calla would turn her head and stare out the windows of the Tower of the Hand, peering out at the citing and the sea beyond. Prunella often swung the windows open on clear days, letting the sea breeze waft into the room. It was not the same as Claw Isle, where the wind smelled of salt and stone, but it reminded Calla of home nonetheless.

The rest of the room’s walls were covered with Valyrian tapestries. While they were not her most prized object, they were worth nearly an endless amount of coin. Many of the pieces had been handed down in the Celtigar family for generations, and she had only brought the smallest tapestries with her. Various patterns in Valyrian style decorated the tapestries, including an intricate weaving of blood-red crabs intermixed with white crabs. However, Calla’s favorite pieces showed scenes and images of the past. One displayed the coming of the three Valyrian houses to Westeros, the heads of House Targaryen with their dragons flanked by the leaders of House Velaryon and House Celtigar. Another depicted the keep at Claw Isle as it was being built, while another portrayed a nameless female dragonrider flying over an unknown land, her dragon a fearsome shade of dark purple with red-threaded eyes. An immense tapestry by far showed members of the Freehold of Valyria at war with the empire of Old Ghis. She had long debated with her House’s Maesters on which war the scene depicted. But alas, it was now lost to history.

Besides the tapestries, there was little else in the room. A small dresser sat by the far wall, candles illuminating the room in the night hours. Calla devoted the living space to the tapestries that hung and what they meant to both her family and herself.

Calla stood at the chest recently brought before her. The chest parallel to it had been one of the first things she had brought to King’s Landing five years previous. And now, next to it sat the one thing that Taena of Lys brought to Westeros. Years ago, it had been a wedding gift; perhaps it was meant to be hers. But now it sat amongst her priceless artifacts, all the treasures of memories long past.

#rp #oc rp #hotd rp #asioaf rp #calla celtigar #character challenge #asongofgoldenfireandblackblood #asongofgf&bb #challenge:chamber

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