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painted-bees · 1 year ago

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August 12, 2008.

Magritte had only ever heard good things about Vancouver's Granville Island and so, naturally, it was the first place she set out to find upon arriving in the city. The Greyhound station her bus pulled into had been only a short walk from the Skytrain that would carry her two minutes to Granville Station. And it was here that Magritte had the good sense to find a nice, unintrusive space to sit cross-legged and lay her old, faithful piano keyboard across her lap.

The instrument, pulled out of its cozy bed from within her large duffel bag, was a well loved Yamaha PSS-270. Its dull, black, plastic body was covered in ancient, disintegrating stickers, and a generous amount of electrical tape served to hold its batteries in place.

With an affectionate press of a button, she woke the machine up from its slumber, selected her choice presets and, with no specific setlist in mind, began to improvise a little tune. Something cute and fun, perhaps a little bit like Donkey Kong’s Stickerbrush Symphony in tempo and progression. Or just…”Stickerbrush Symphony”, wholesale, why the hell not? Improvisation melted seamlessly into the classic video game tunes that were fondly familiar to her.

The beloved instrument cradled in Magritte’s lap had been pulled apart and reassembled more times than she kept track of. But still, it held together and played its charming FM sounds dutifully. A tidy row of silver metal switches, lined up along the side of its body, were left carefully undisturbed as her fingers danced across the yellowed plastic keys. Magritte had learned very early in her busking career that the general public did not appreciate the unpredictable discordinance of a bent circuit as much as she did. And so that row of silver little switches connecting the data lines stood stoically in their ‘on’ position, not allowing for any delightful surprises, but also not deteriorating the synth-chip’s sound into glitchy noise on a bad turn. Perfectly vanilla, perfectly agreeable, endearingly nostalgic.

She had placed an old ball cap upside down infront of her, tossing in a few quarters of her own as a way of inviting more from friendly pockets. Ideally, she’d play an hour or two and leave with enough change to buy a coffee. Not just a Tim’s coffee–no. She wanted a decadent foamy latte from a cute, artsy little cafe she could sit in. She couldn’t bear to walk through the streets of Granville Island without having the spare change to treat herself on an impulse. And so–she’d not leave the train station until the passing public funded her frivolous spending habits.

After all, it was her birthday. She deserved a little gift.

Busking in a transit station was always a bit of a trade-off. It was a bustling place full of foot traffic but the people here were focused on reaching their destination; busy and preoccupied. In a place like this, Magritte had no expectation to captivate loiterers. Not many transit-goers could spare a minute or two to sit and listen while she hammered out her cheap little tunes on cheap little piano keys. And so, when a well worn pair of tan colored, loose-laced Timberlands entered her field of vision, stopping definitively to stand before her, Magritte turned her gaze upward to welcome the listener with a wide, sloppy smile.

Without giving her brain time to register the face she was speaking to, Magritte opened her mouth to chime a cheery greeting. She was cut off faster than she could process his expression.

“You’re in my spot.”

The man’s voice was curt, and the cold annoyance in his tone was mirrored in the expression on his short, square face. Pale blue eyes looked down a sharp, slightly bent nose at her. His narrow lips were pressed narrower still in a stern line, framed by a full, sandy colored beard and moustache. Atop his head, long hair of the same light color was pulled back into a small, tight bun; more slick and tidy, but far less full than the sloppy bun that Magritte’s unruly mane of curly rust colored hair had been wrangled up into.

Her dorky smirk dissolved with a few confused blinks into a slack jaw of nervous apology. “O-oh! I uh-s-sorry!”

Her startled gaze snagged itself on the acoustic guitar slung over his shoulder, and the instrument’s exciting potential made her straighten her back with intent.

She found her smile again. “What if–maybe we could jam? For a few minutes! And then I can scoot on outta here and leave you to it if you want. It’s been a long time since I’ve had the chance to–”

“Do you have a permit?” His tone was unchanged by her eager proposition.

“Huh?” It wasn’t that Magritte didn’t hear him, but she needed a moment to process what was being asked.

“You can’t be here without a permit. Not the stations, not anywhere in Granville either.” The unaccommodating man took a few steps towards her duffel bag and used the top of his foot to lift and slide it away from where she had safely tucked it. “Get a move on.”

Magritte protectively reached out to grab her bag as the man carelessly footed it out of ‘his’ space. And in doing so, she caused her keyboard to slide off her lap, forcing her to clumsily abort her duffel-grabbing effort in favor of clutching her instrument before it could somersault over the edge of her knees and land face-down onto hard ground.

The man, it seemed, was done with words and had already begun moving into the small space that shoving her bag out of the way had created. She felt her face turn hot as she began to gather up her items. Any desire to engage the guy more than she already had was lost along with her nerve.

As she relented to stowing her keyboard back into her duffel bag, an unfamiliar hand shoved a cold, unopened can of Coke in front of her face.

“Here you go.” Another man’s voice. A softer one, this time. Magritte glanced up to meet eyes with the stranger who was offering her a free drink, only to gaze into a pair of red, plastic, star shaped dollar store sunglasses.

He gave the soda can a little shake, prompting her to take it into her hands. “Sorry I took long, I had to give someone directions to the aquarium.”

“Is this…for me?” Holding the can in both hands, Magritte stared at the unopened beverage, unsure what to do with it.

The new stranger leaned onto his back foot. “You said coke, right?”

Before Magritte could stammer out a response, the new stranger turned his attention to the man with the guitar. “‘Ey, Kurtis. You mind, dude?”

The unaccommodating man, ‘Kurtis’, had just started settling in, and looked towards the new stranger with an expression that appeared as perplexed as Magritte herself felt. He turned up both his palms in a slightly contentious gesture. “Didn’t know you were playin’ here again. I’ve had this spot for, like, a year. People don’t usually park here without asking me first.”

“Okay, but you can’t just kick ‘em out like this, man.”

“I didn’t know she was with you–”

“Doesn’t matter,” Magritte’s new best friend replied. “Sixty minutes. It’s not a long time to wait if you gotta wait.”

Magritte, who had been watching Kurtis’ confidence slowly drain from his body with each passing second, turned to examine the cut of her spontaneous new accomplice. His hair was a shade or two darker than Kurtis’, and trimmed much, much shorter, with longer locks in front that fell in straight tufts over the tops of his ears and just past his thick, blocky eyebrows. His eyes remained obscured by the cheap plastic shades, and their childish novelty paired strangely with the well trimmed goatee that fanned out from under his lip to define the curve of his somewhat long but gentle chin. And he had with him a rectangular instrument case of…some variety. Not big enough for a guitar, not small enough for a flute. It didn’t give away the shape of the instrument inside, but the black oxford cloth and gold colored metallic detailings of its exterior gave it a classy, charming look she had not seen for an instrument case before. It was cute. Magritte wondered if such a style was available for portable keyboards.

His hands, which wore white fingerless driving gloves, cracked open his can of sprite, and he took a casual sip while waiting for Kurtis to, “Get a move on.”

Relenting, Kurtis shuffled away from the spot he had been deliberately crowding Magritte out of. With a snort and a nod of his head towards her, Kurtis said, “Can’t exactly play Paganini on a Portasound, Raf. What’s on your setlist?”

Raf brandished a lopsided smirk and jutted his chin in the direction of Magritte’s upturned hat on the ground. “Put a toonie down and I’ll show you.”

“Fuck off.” Kurtis’s scoff was accompanied by a laugh–one that sounded surprisingly genuine to Magritte's ear. “I came here to earn change, not spend it. But I’m curious to hear how the Ephrem Classical pairs with Toy Piano.”

Raf let out a low groan that could have been mistaken for a growl. Moving into the corner that Kurtis had surrendered, he unslung his instrument off his shoulder with a shrug. “There’s plenty you can play on just forty-nine keys.”

Being very confident about this fact, Magritte couldn’t help but provide her insight on the matter. With an enthusiastic lean-in, she interjected, “Yeah, like Kirby’s Dreamland!”

Raf’s head flinched in her direction almost imperceptibly, and if she had caught the subtle downward twitch of his eyebrows that betrayed a pang of confusion, she might have felt a bite of embarrassment. But instead, she heard him agree. “Like…Kirby’s Dreamland, yeah.”

He turned to look over his shoulder at her, his sunglasses mercifully hiding the bafflement in his eyes. Magritte beamed gleefully back up at him.

“Well, have fun.” Kurtis levelled a stern yet somewhat pleading glance at Raf.” I’ll be back here in an hour. Don’t let anyone else move in if you leave early, please.”

Raf simply shrugged and sipped loudly from his can of sprite in response.

As Magritte watched Kurtis disappear into the foot traffic, she began to tentatively scoot back towards where she had previously sat. “I didn’t mind giving that guy his spot back, he was just kinda–”

“A dick. Nah, I saw that. S’why I stepped in.” Raf had carefully set his instrument case down, and was in the process of zipping it open.

Leaning slightly to get a peek at what he was playing, Magritte said, “Thanks for the pop, by the way! I can pay you back after. If uh–you’re actually gonna stick around and jam with me.”

He pulled his instrument out of its protective cradle; a pale varnished wooden violin. “Don’t worry about it.”

Inside the carrying case, Magritte noticed two bows neatly stowed. The bowstrings on the bow Raf selected was a standard white color, but the strings on the one he left in the case were an eye-catching red.

“Truth be told,” tucking the chin rest of the violin beneath his chin, he played one string, and then two experimentally, “I don’t really play anymore.” His fingers closed around one of the tuning knobs at the head of the violin, but if he had tweaked it at all, it wasn't perceptible. “So it’s gonna be pretty rough. But uh…gotta commit to the bit, I guess.”

Magritte took the moment to open her soda and enjoy a refreshing sip. “What kinda music do you normally play?”

“Classical,” he replied almost too quickly. “You?”

Magritte hesitated for a second. She should have had an easy answer for this by now, but all she could manage was, “a bit of everything. Anything, really!”

Raf ran his bow over the strings again to hear their tune before turning to look at her. “Yeah?” His eyebrows were raised, and his smirk favored one side of his face; an expression Magritte interpreted as incredulous. He fidgeted with a tiny, lone knob on the violin's body where the strings ended.

“Y-yeah! I, um…” Settling her keyboard back into her lap, she turned it on. “You can just play whatever, and I can fill it in. I can improvise, I think.”

Raf paused and stared down at Magritte’s little Portasound with a sigh much heavier than he intended. The thing was lacking, not just in keys, but in sound. It was a struggle to think of something he could play that she’d be able to accompany. The titles which did come to mind where…overplayed and would have to be simplified considerably to suit the keyboard's limitations. Weighing it in his mind, however, he decided that ‘simple’ may benefit not just the limited range of her instrument, but of her musical skill as well.

He ran the bow over his strings to measure their tune one last time before tentatively, very slowly playing the first few crystalline notes of Für Elise. He felt a tension he didn’t know he was holding melt off his shoulders as he watched Magritte’s face light up. She curled over her little piano in a hurry to play his accompaniment. She knew this one.

She picked a soft, more ambient sound from the keyboard’s voicebank, electing to quietly cushion the violin’s notes rather than chafe against them. It was…difficult. Her little yamaha and its quaint library of FM chip sounds did not get along nicely with ‘real instruments’ that were being played ‘straight’. It wanted to be weird and annoying, just like her. But the notes Raf played, while simple, were extremely clear in tone; neat and tidy. The bow did not once stutter on the rough strings, it glided with practised ease. And with a great deal of restraint.

This guy…he was playing beneath his skill level. For her sake, presumably. Like a gentleman.

As Raf brought Für Elise to a close with the last, steady draw of his bow, Magritte swapped her soft, ambient voicing out with an annoying music box sound, and began hammering out a choice section from the 3rd movement of Appassionata. Her fingers slammed the keys harder than was necessary, solely because she enjoyed the percussive sound it added to each obnoxious, feverish note.

Lowering his violin, Raf watched Magritte’s fingers flutter furiously across the mini keys with respectable precision. Holding both the bow and the neck of his violin in one hand, his free hand reached up to remove his sunglasses and he rubbed his eye with the heel of his palm. A humbled snort escaped through his nose. “Yeah, okay.”

“Play any song.” Magritte slowed her fingers to a stop without completing the movement. “Even if I don’t know it, even if it goes beyond the range of my little piano, I can improvise something nice for it, I promise!”

Fitting his sunglasses back on, Raf let out a tentative hum. “I’m not much of an improviser–”

“You don’t have to improvise anything! Play whatever you want, however you wanna play it. I will improvise around whatever you give me!” Magritte’s voice had risen to an excited shout, and instinctively, she withdrew into herself just a little bit, as if making herself smaller would also make her voice smaller, too. “It’s my favorite thing to do. It’s a lot of fun.”

His incredulous smirk returned, but this time his brow furrowed slightly, encouragingly, under his growing sense of intrigue.

“It’s–” Magritte held up both hands haltingly, “it’s probably not gonna be like how you know it should be. Just…so you know. It might even be…bad? In some parts? But-! Mostly it’ll be neat! I promise!”

“Neat…” Raf brought the violin up once again to rest under his chin. “Neat’s cool. Alright, let’s see, then.”

As though he had been inspired by Magritte’s aggressive interpretation of Appassionata, he began with a series of fast, chirpy, clean notes of his own. A wholly different song, but Magritte recognized this one too. She had most often heard it as a phone ringtone, but she couldn’t recall who composed it nor what the song was titled. She provided a jaunty, equally bouncy accompaniment that she’d have described as ‘percussive’. The violin’s unwavering confidence was a delight for Magritte’s deft little fingers to dance around. He never fell out of tempo, and she was able to punctuate his notes with hers in perfect time. Maintaining synchrony for the entire length of the fast paced composition filled her with such satisfying joy, she had failed to properly appreciate an obvious fact about her musical accomplice until he brought the song to a close; he was a skilled musician.

Staring up at him from her spot on the floor, Magritte’s wide eyes almost sparkled with delight. “You’re like…Concert hall good, aren’t you? Are you part of the local orchestra? Or at least like–aspiring to be?”

Raf’s gaze hung on her as both his jaw and posture slackened. “Uh…”

She didn’t give him enough time to respond, hitting him with another question. “What was the title of that song? I just know it as one of the Nokia ringtones.”

“P–” Raf’s stunned silence cracked with a laugh that sprang forth from his chest and took him by surprise almost as much as Magritte’s line of questioning had. “Paganini. It’s–it’s Paganini, Caprice number…number 24.” The response was punctuated with warm chuckling. “Or, you know, that one phone ringtone, yeah.” He smirked at her for a moment longer, studying her for any sign that she was putting him on. “How do you…accompany me that well, on that little machine, and not even know the song?”

Magritte waved her hands in front of her. “No, no, I knew the song! I’ve heard it before, I just didn’t know what it was called.”

“Yeah, alright.” He snorted one last incredulous laugh and brought his violin back up for another song.

Magritte stopped him before he could settle on his next pick. “Do you play professionally? I mean, it sounds like it but, like–”

“No.” Before Magritte could inquire further, the first notes of their next song filled the space between them, drawn out of his violin with long, purposeful strokes of his bow.

The next several songs, Raf played seamlessly one into the other–without pausing for conversation. That was just as well for Magritte. It had been ages since she was given the chance to play music with someone, and never had she played with someone who was so…solid? Consistent? The real deal. Usually, she had to avoid getting carried away when playing with another person. It was very easy for her to close her eyes and get taken to places that her musical partners could not follow along with. But with Raf, she was finding herself challenged to keep up with him. Most of the songs he had chosen, she had not heard before. And so she needed to keep an attentive ear out if she wanted to pick out repeated phrases, and predict melodic trajectories.

Finally, they arrived at the end of an especially eclectic piece, and Raf did not immediately follow through into another composition. Instead he lowered his bow, and Magritte took her opening to converse again.

“I really liked that one. It was super janky, in a fun way.”

“Yeah,” Raf said. “I was always fond of it, too.”

“I liked the plucky bits. Did you write it?”

“Did I–” Raf palmed both his bow and violin in one hand, and massaged his eyes and browline with the other. “No, some guy named Ravel did. Tzigane, that one’s called.”

Magritte chewed the inside of her cheek. “R-right.”

He furrowed his eyebrows at her. “You knew that one, though.”

“I didn’t.”

“...You just let me solo the first four minutes based on vibes?”

“I thought I missed the bus on it.”

“The actual composition has no accompaniment until about half way through, so…bravo.”

“Wait, really?” Magritte leaned forward eagerly. “Did I play the accompaniment correctly, too?”

“Not even close.”

“Drat.” She slumped.

“Was good, though.” Raf picked up his sprite from where he had placed it, on the ground next to his case, and drained the last bit of its contents.

Magritte perked up again. “Yeah!?”

He held the lip of the empty can between his teeth as he began tucking his violin back into its carrying case. “Mmhm.”

Magritte watched him pack up for a moment longer than it should have taken her to realise, “Wait, you’re leaving already?”

Raf zipped his instrument safely away before removing the empty soda can from his mouth. “Yeah, I gotta get going. But look,” He bent over to collect Magritte’s upturned ball cap off the ground. The few quarters she had started with now had a generous handful of friends with them; more quarters, some loonies, a few toonies and–

Magritte accepted the hat when Raf handed it to her, and pulled a crisp twenty dollar bill out of it. “W-who left this!? I wasn’t even paying attention, I should have said thanks!”

“A mystery.” He slung his violin case over his shoulder.

Magritte urged him to wait, fluttering a hand at him. “Half of this is yours!”

“Nah.” He favored her with a smile. “Genuinely, this was a treat in itself. It’s been a long time since I’ve played for fun like this. It…was fun.” That last part sounded as though it came as a surprise to him.

Frowning, Magritte pleaded with him. “Okay, okay but–okay. Lemme treat you to a coffee then, at least? If you’re in no real hurry.”

Raf paused to regard her with a measuring stare. He then sighed and shoved his hands into the pockets of his black denim hoodie jacket, waiting for Magritte to stow her keyboard away into her bag.

Zipping the duffel closed, she hoisted it with effort over her shoulder and beamed up at her new friendly acquaintance. “If you know any cute, cozy coffee places with a real decadent latte, I’m open to suggestions!”

“There are…a few.”

“I’m Magritte, by the way!” She extended her hand out to him.

With slight hesitation, Raf shook it. “Rafael.”

As the two of them began to make their way out of the station together, he dared to ask, “Are you here visiting, or..?”

“Oh!” She bounced on the balls of her feet, “I just came in from Calgary like…two hours ago. Ideally, I’d like to stay until the spring, but that’s gonna depend on things.”

“Calgary?”

“Yeah! I was in Edmonton before that, and in Winnipeg before that–but that was mostly a fever dream. I wasn’t there long. Montreal before that, though, was nice..!” She talked the entire walk, and he was content to quietly listen. part ii

#meet cute?#meet cute.#unedited...sorry about that lmao #Hi-Note #rafael #magritte

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myfandomrealitea · 1 year ago

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That anon telling you to go to a library made me chuckle. My mom read "Lolita" at a public library when she was 12. It's why she's a pediatric forensic psychiatrist now. The idea of libraries as having less problematic content than fic is silly. But also, the idea of libraries being easily accessible is wild to me. I live in a rural area and it's a 30 minute drive to my local underfunded, understaffed library, which largely gets books from people donating their used books periodically. Due to poor funding, it's not accessible for nearly as many hours as anyone would like. Fanfic is free and accessible quickly at all hours. "Go to a library!" Where? When? Both of the other towns nearest me have shut down their public libraries. The one I have access to has to keep cutting hours.

If they really valued libraries, anon should go out and try harder to get people to utilize the libraries around them so they survive and continue to get funding. Degrading fanfic doesn't make libraries better off. It just makes people go, "Oh, so libraries are full of assholes like this guy."

And the wildest thing is, due to severe trauma from having one of the most toxic relationships of my life due to fandom, I don't even like fanfic right now. But even my highly-biased, emotionally-clouded ass can clearly see the flaws in this "fic bad, library good" argument. And when someone who's messed up and has and issues with the medium of literature in question still sees it more clearly than you... anon, maybe this is a sign you've got some biases to work through.

The best part, though? I was introduced to fanfic by librarians who liked my fanfics (though I didn't know what they were called) about Monster High characters meeting monsters from other franchises and becoming one big found family. The guardians of "real literature", for whatever absurd definition of that we're using today, have always been in favor of "fake literature", because they know that actually, both are lit.

I have nothing to add to this. 10/10 perfect points.

(Except that just like you, my closest library is almost a full hour away in any direction and the one that used to be five minutes away got closed down to "make room for profit-oriented business" which never happened, and now a perfectly usable space for a library is sitting and rotting.)

#myfandomrealitea #sephiroth speaks #reality #fandom #proship #proshipping #fanfiction #literature #writing #library #libraries #writing resources

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cnestus · 1 year ago

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If you don't mind me asking, what exactly is your job and degree? Getting into the field of entomology is a bit intimidating and I would appreciate any any advice.

i tend to be a little cagey about my exact job since my field is quite small and there's enough people following me that the chances of someone deciding to take offense to something and Get Weird at me are nonzero, but that's probably excessive paranoia on my part. then again beloved internet bug person mossworm got recently sacked from their job on account of weirdo online tattletales so maybe not.

anyway i can say i work for a government agency identifying insects from a pretty wide geographic range, looking for new exotic species and potential pests. during the busy season i spend most of my time processing huge volumes of raw trap samples, pulling out insect groups of interest, mostly woodboring beetles, for myself or one of the other entomologists in the lab to identify to species. during the off-season when we're not getting tons of new samples i get a little more free reign to work on other projects of my own design, so for example lately i've been working on my bee identification skills and am slowly putting together a large reference collection of native bee species that i reserved from years of insect trap by-catch.

i got my PHD in entomology without a specific career in mind but knowing i wanted to do something that wasn't just about developing products and methods for killing unwanted insects which seem like the main entomology jobs anyone wants to fund anymore. in a perfect world i'd love a entomological curation job in a museum but those positions are rare and in-demand and i didn't have the mental fortitude to do the kind of academic work in grad school to make me competitive for that field. but then i went ahead and got a job that lets me do some curatorial work anyway so i sort of won? my position is still at least on paper about controlling unwanted insects but in practice i rarely have to do much of that work, at least directly.

i get semi-regular requests for advice on getting a job as an entomologist and i often feel like i don't have much constructive or encouraging to say, since it's hard not to feel like it's one of the many disciplines being squeezed to death by the iron hand of capitalism. more and more positions in the government and academia are being cut or downsized by bureaucrats who don't see the benefit of taxonomy or any other research that doesn't directly result in their department or some corporation making a bunch of money. whole subdisciplines are dying out as the elder entomologists who were the sole sources of knowledge about them die off. there are entire groups of insects and other arthropods that are effectively impossible to identify to species now because the one taxonomic wizard who specialized on them died without having anyone to pass that knowledge onto. Donald Bright, the only living expert on bark beetles in the preposterously diverse and morphologically subtle genus Pityophthorus, died a few months ago without an heir that i'm aware of.

also most of the taxonomic research that is being done these days is all molecular systematics which i have Opinions about but this post is way too long already.

sorry. that was a bummer. i guess i'm proof that it is still possible to get a job like this today, even if i can't help but feel like it was mostly luck that got me here. plenty of the others in my academic cohort (that didn't burn out from grad school stress) also went on to get degrees in their field of study or at least adjacent to them. and again there are still plenty of entomology jobs in other sectors like agriculture, public health, nonprofits and NGOs and stuff like that. you also don't necessarily need an advanced degree in entomology for a lot of these, and a lot of people in the entomology field came in sideways through related disciplines like ecology, evolutionary science, general biology, or even things like viticulture and forensic science to name a couple examples from my own cohort.

looking back, that was mostly a lot of vague grumbling and not much concrete advice, but to be fair asking for "any advice" is a hard prompt to go off of so i tend to default to the kinds of grim thoughts that are usually rattling round in my brain. i may also be in an especially dour mood at the moment because even though my job isn't to my knowledge at any risk of being eliminated, my lab is currently being passively if not outright antagonized by higher-level bureaucrats for genuinely mysterious reasons and i will not elaborate on that any further for reasons i mentioned at the beginning. anyway! i am always happy to at least attempt to give more specific advice but i can't promise there won't be at least a little grumbling in that as well.

#entomology #long post

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gluttonygirls · 1 year ago

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Krab walks through a nearly dead, fast food themed mall. Reliving her childhood memories of wanting to shop and dine here but not having the funds or anyone willing to brave this altar of fast food, before it's decline. The fit woman is only illuminated by the lights of one of the last businesses to not go under in this place. Sadly they don't serve the slop that this mall was infamous for, even if they shared the buildings calorie-laden decor theme.

That is, before the lights go completely out, or so it seems to Krab. As she turns around in a panic she sees a shape far behind her. Illuminated by the impossible flickering of a long dead business. From the mere glimpse of the creature Krab sees she can determine the floating thing is ovoid shaped with the fatter end on it's left. The sudden light also glints off the liquid that is pooling under it, as well as the things small pupiless eye on its upper right side.

Then the lights turn back on, or from krabs perspective she simply opens up her eyes. Around her she sees the same mall she used to go to a few times when she was younger. Heck maybe that explained why she'd always been so chubby.

Sadly it seemed a few of the stores had shut down since her childhood, and to be honest, as Krab pats her full stomach, the food at the remaining places isn't as good as she remembers it. And all the empty seats make each restoraunt feel a little cold. Though she did still sample most of the food, f-for nostalgias sake! It seemed to her that they had cut the most unhealthy options out of their menus, propably because of the change in public opinion on fast food. Sadly though, it was still only a matter of time before the mall became dead.

Maybe as a sign of the incoming disrepair, all of the malls lights suddenly went out. Just as Krab was planning on leaving. She decided to sit down while the malls lights continued to be dark, no use in falling over while fumbling in the dark after all! That's the strategy that most of the employees and what few customers there were decided on... since Krab couldn't hear any noise from around the mall.

The lights of one shop suddenly jumped to life. It was one of the shops that had closed down recently, krab could tell this because she could see there were a few mannequins outside of the store. Which lined up with her childhood memories of there being a clothing store around that floor. Still for the brief moment the store light was on, she saw something attached to one of the mannequins.

It was only illuminated on it's right side but she could see a large mouth on the thing which was presently in the process of taking one of the female mannequins into it's gob. It's teeth moved unnaturally almost as if they were constantly in motion, yet still solid. Right before her senses came screaming to Krab to get out and her skin started to sweat... the lights came back on, or more accurately krab opened her eyes.

Whew! She really should exercise more. Even this late night trip around her favourite childhood mall had caused krab to break out in a sweat. A third chin forming as she fumbled with her jacket zipper to get it down just a few more inches. While she unceremoniously lowered herself onto a metalic bench. Which still made some noise despite being built with the customers of this mall in mind.

That should have propably unnerved krab along with the fact that she seemed to be constantly out of breath. But noises like that and issues that her extra large proportions caused were nothing new. Even if a few of the myriad other overweight mallgoers quietly marveled at the fatty just out of sight and earshot of her.

Regardless krab eventually just gave up and leaned back on the bench. Her belly was just too big for the zipper to travel any further. She entertained thoughts of giving up on jackets all together like she had with pants, only putting on skirts now, even if bending to reach under her belly was a struggle. Since not even her favourite mall carried pants with enough x on the tags to accomodate her. They really should have but alas, the mall had had only mediocre success. With a few of krabs favourite restoraunts having closed down over the years, just due to their menus truly deserving the term unhealthy.

Drool escaped the panting girl's lips as she thought about those greasy dishes that time had robbed from her lips. It wasn't until she let out a long wheezy sigh that she noticed the lighs had gone out. For a moment she was panicked by the suprise... but the felt calm and leaned back. Someone else could deal with that, surely. So she got snug and waited around, but everything was quiet... Until her ears picked up the sound of ...chewing? From far behind her.

Curious now krab tried to turn her head around, but she was no way flexible enough to fight against her chins. So after a few failed attempts to rock herself up from the bench, she finally got herself standing and immediately wanted to sit back down. But her curiosity had gotten the best of her and like a new menu item she had to check what the source of the noise was.

As she waddles along the checkered tiles of the mall, taking a few breaks along the way by slumping against walls. Krab finally finds the source of the noise, as all of the lights of the food court kick in.

The thing before Krab is like a giant shelless egg rotated on its side so the bulkier end serves as the things right side. The things skin is pale and has a colour akin to fresh newspaper. The thing is levitating unevenly about one foot off the ground. The thing has two asymetrical features on the things body in eyesocket shaped holed surrounded by black ichor. In the much smaller socket hole on its top right side it has a milky white eye that doesn't seem to function. The other hole is much, much larger and houses large human like teeth, which unlike the eye, seems to be pulsating with life.

The final thing that krab notices is the shoe stuck in the creatures teeth, which the thing slurps up just as she comes closer. It's hers.

And then all of the mall lights come back on.

The ground shakes, the ground shakes, the groundshakes. As Krab makes her daily trip around the mall. Her eyes lazily drifting open as she awakens from her midmorning food coma.

The behemoth of a woman is treated to every single bite of every single thing on the menu. If krab wants it, it's hers to eat. Television crews are a usual sight as they document the incredible success of the mall, it's great food and of course it's biggest customer. There are even special tiles on the floor that document krabs daily journey, though they were mainly put there to absorb the damage caused by krabs heft on the malls structure. As well as let the massed of customers get out of the girls way.

As krab partakes in a few gallons of sugary treats. Getting a few smears on her beautiful tent sized dress, as the bakery girl flirts with krab. The tv screen in the bakery plays the malls advert which features it's egg shaped mascot and and ends in its iconic jingle!

"Krab Mall; We serve you!"

asdgaSDGKASDHFAKSDFHASDKFASDHFAKSHDFALKSDHF

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luellalux · 3 months ago

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Te Amo Por Siempre - September 2013

Masterlist | AO3

September 2013

San Francisco, California

TechCrunch Disrupt 2013: Rumour Alert – Carissa Bautista May Be Attending

The tech world is buzzing with rumours that Carissa Bautista, founder of 714Analytix, might make a surprise appearance at this year’s TechCrunch Disrupt in San Francisco. Known in the industry as “Ghostie” for her disappearing acts, Bautista’s return to tech has been anything but quiet. Since launching 714Analytix earlier this year, she’s made bold moves, ruthlessly poaching top executives from major SaaS competitors like Salesforce and Oracle, sending shockwaves through the industry.

As a teen prodigy, Carissa dropped out of MIT at sixteen to launch her first startup, HeartFire, disappearing from academia and then resurfacing with a company that revolutionized cloud technology. Her business acumen and vision attracted the investment and mentorship of Mark Zuckerberg, but even then, Bautista was known to vanish into her work, shunning the spotlight at every turn. She famously declined interviews, refused to be included in Forbes “30 Under 30” opportunity. When she sold Heartfire in 2009 for a staggering sum, she did what only "Ghostie" would—she withdrew from the tech scene without a word, opting for complete anonymity rather than enjoying her newfound fame. In 2010 she reappeared in the nonprofit sector as the founder of self-funded Reyes Bautista Foundation but largely remained behind the scenes.

Now, four years later, Bautista has waded back into the tech scene with her latest venture, 714Analytix, which leverages cutting-edge data analytics. Though she has yet to give any interviews or attend major industry events, her return is already sparking buzz in the tech community. Her rumoured attendance at TechCrunch Disrupt this year would mark her first public industry event since Heartfire’s sale, and speculation over her potential appearance has electrified this year’s lineup. Should she decide to attend, she would be joining industry icons like Marissa Mayer (Yahoo), Mark Zuckerberg (Facebook), and David Karp (Tumblr), all of whom are set to speak.

Bautista may not be scheduled onstage, but the very idea that she could appear is enough to turn heads. True to the "Ghostie" nickname, she’s kept her plans close to the chest, but one thing is certain: if Carissa Bautista shows up at Disrupt, she will make it an event the tech world won’t soon forget.

TechCrunch Disrupt was the ultimate arena for tech’s elite—where startups vied for funding and giants strategized the future. Carissa entered with her 714Analytix team, their unified confidence already sending a message: they were here to stake their claim. Amid the crowd’s buzz, she tapped into a part of herself that, up until this year, had seldom emerged since her Heartfire days.

---

It was a sort of armour that she honed since her earliest years in schoolyards, MIT lecture halls, and the cutthroat startup world, a shield against those who doubted or resented her. She learned to guard her true self against industry giants, mentors, and competitors alike, even from Mark Zuckerberg, who had taught her to hold her ground against more influential forces– albeit inadvertently.

With a nod, she sent her team off to circulate, observe, and report on the competition, each one clear on their mission. 714Analytix had already rattled the market, forcing rivals to play catch-up, and their presence here was a warning—they weren’t slowing down.

Bracing herself, she took a deep breath. The armour was a necessary separation; she need it for moments like these. And just then, a familiar voice interrupted.

“Carissa?” She turned to see a Google executive she remembered from the days when Heartfire was the talk of Silicon Valley. He extended his hand as he smiled welcomingly. “It’s been too long.”

She shook his hand. “Good to see you, James.”

“I’m glad you’re here. I heard you registered to attend with your new team. But,” he shrugged, “I had to see you here to believe it. Anyway, there’s a little off-the-books gathering happening with a few folks in your league. Interested?”

Carissa considered the invitation for a moment. Likely, this gathering would result in the same combination that seemed to permeate her experience in tech; a mostly male crowd where she was the youngest. In the end curiosity won out and she followed James into an exclusive part of the venue.

When they stepped into the room, she immediately caught sight of a few familiar faces, founders of Twitter, LinkedIn, Spotify and so many others. Faces she hadn’t seen in years and from whose organizations she unapologetically plundered talent for the last several months to build her team. They weren’t exactly excited to see her, but she hardly cared. There was one among them that did seem genuinely pleased to see her, her former investor and mentor, Mark Zuckerberg.

“Ghostie!” he exclaimed as he approached her from the bar, his eyes lighting up at the sight of her. Shaking her hand enthusiastically, he added, “Back in the game and now back in the flesh. Been a long time since Heartfire.”

Carissa allowed herself a faint smile. They first crossed paths in 2007, when Heartfire was in its infancy and she was navigating the steep learning curve of founding a startup. Already established with Facebook, Mark had taken her under his wing. She had initially welcomed his experience, but it hadn’t taken long for her to chafe under his “guidance.” To her, it had often felt like interference.

“It was time to move on,” she replied, recalling the friction that had built between them in those last months before the sale. She thanked James for the invitation and let Mark guide her over to the bar.

“And now you’re re-entering the arena with a whole new company,” Mark commented as she ordered a Manhattan from the bartender. “Couldn’t shut it off, could you?”

Carissa knew what he was referring to, the mind of an innovator— especially in this industry— was never ever fully offline. “714 was meant to just be an internal tool for my foundation. But then, who could resist a scalable solution?”

Mark chuckled, though she sensed an undercurrent beneath it, a reminder of their dynamic back in her Heartfire days. “Not just scalable,” he said, his tone shifting. “Aggressively scalable, by the look of it.”

She raised her drink, unfazed, the criticism glancing off her armour. “If I were a man, it’d be called ambitious. ‘Cause I’m a woman, it’s just aggressive,” she said coolly.

Mark persisted as Carissa sipped her drink. “Well, you’re not exactly playing by the book, Carissa,” Mark replied with a hint of reprimand. “Poaching from your competitors and flouting non-compete agreements the way you do—”

“— Is how things get done,” Carissa cut in. “Everyone in this room has done the same. Not to mention the fact that you taught me that particular maneuver, remember? To get ahead, you can’t be afraid to make a few enemies.” She watched his face as he took in her meaning. In a way, she had taken his lessons and redefined them, applying her own rules.

“Touché,” he conceded. Years before, he had tried to shape her, to nudge her toward what he thought was best. Now, watching her execute her own vision without investors like him hemming her in, he seemed both impressed and maybe a little disarmed.

Glancing over his shoulder, Mark’s expression shifted from professional interest as he spotted someone. “David, over here!” he called, his tone bright.

Carissa followed his gaze until it landed on a tall and lean man with brown hair who was making their way toward them with a half smile. David Karp with his piercing blue eyes, framed by a sharp, angular face, held an intense curiosity as he joined them at the bar.

“Carissa Bautista,” he said without preamble, offering his hand to her. “David Karp, Tumblr. I never thought I’d actually meet Ghostie herself.”

She briefly shook his hand. “Well, here I am,” she replied. Still faintly irritated with Mark, she shifted her focus to David.

“I’ve seen your platform, it’s impressive. Though your ‘kids’ aren’t happy with the sale of Tumblr to Yahoo, I hear.” She was referring, of course, to the devotees of David’s micro-blogging site who considered him a father figure and the fact that he had sold it to Yahoo earlier this year for just over a billion.

David chuckled. “Yeah, my kids don't love it but I am gonna stay on for a bit, in an advisory capacity.”

“Unlike Ghostie here with her infamous exits,” Mark said under his breath with a nudge to Carissa.

“Release what no longer serves you,” Carissa replied evenly, unwilling to rise to Mark’s baiting. “That’s part of my innovation philosophy,” she added, a slight edge in her voice that indicated she wasn’t interested in indulging his barbs any further.

Mark seemed to take her meaning as he acknowledged the change in their dynamic since Heartfire. He bowed out with an invitation to them both for a dinner he was hosting that night, leaving Carissa and David to continue their conversation.

Their discussion flowed easily, touching on their paths in tech. David had left high school to focus on his career, while Carissa had done the same at MIT. Both had made billion-dollar sales at young ages—Heartfire to Google when Carissa was eighteen, and Tumblr to Yahoo when David was twenty-seven. They shared a strong, unspoken understanding, the kind that only two people who’d risen so rapidly could feel.

David was sharp, his questions revealing an inquisitiveness that matched her own. For once, she didn’t have to filter herself or soften her words. When she spoke about the infrastructure she was building at 714Analytix, David didn’t just follow—he was fascinated, his eyes lighting up with genuine interest as they discussed scalability, data ethics, and the power of analytics. A rare thrill surged through her as they talked, allowing her to share her intensity without reservation.

In a lull in their conversation, they both felt it, a kinship forming between them. They had experienced meteoric rises and understood the pressures that came with it. The main difference was that David seemed more at ease with public interaction than she ever would be. He was weeks away from sitting down for his interview on his inclusion in the Forbes “30 Under 30” list– something Carissa flatly refused to participate in.

“I asked them to exclude me from consideration when I was nominated,” Carissa admitted when David asked why she hadn’t appeared on the list herself despite her success in 2009.

“You didn’t!” David laughed. “I didn’t even know you could do that. Why, though?”

“Not my thing. Press, interviews, talking about myself to the world.” She shrugged lightly. “I prefer to let my work speak for itself.”

He looked thoughtful. “I was honestly excited when I read that you were coming back into tech with 714Analytix. I’ve been following your career since Heartfire, then the sale… and even your foundation.”

David’s directness was refreshing in a world of posturing and power plays. She wasn’t used to this. “I don’t think there’s much to follow on me in terms of press,” she said slowly. She knew this to be true, given that she had never given an interview; whatever was out there was mostly conjecture or critique.

David nodded, clearly impressed. “An intentional move, I see.”

Carissa tilted her head slightly at this. “It’s just my way. Along with, move mountains in silence and do nothing by half measures.”

David shook his head in amusement. “You’re everything and nothing like I imagined,” he said, leaning back, thoughtfully tapping the rim of his glass. “Actually, Carissa, I’ve been eyeing a startup in London that’s doing interesting work with machine learning for predictive analytics. They’re tackling some really ambitious applications, and I’m meeting with them in the first week of October. I’d love your take on their approach—if you’re open to consulting.”

Carissa’s expression remained neutral, but her interest was piqued. Machine learning was a crowded field, but one with fascinating potential. “Consulting? For predictive analytics?” she asked, her tone cool but curious. “What makes you think I’d be interested?”

He chuckled softly. “Honestly, it’s just a hunch. I think your instincts could cut through the fluff and get straight to the core. You’re exactly the kind of mind that could see where their real value lies—and if it has legs.”

She allowed herself a slight nod, weighing the offer. “Alright. I’m in Belfast at the end of the month so I can swing by London after. But let’s be clear—I’ll be sending you an invoice for my time.”

“Absolutely,” he replied, raising his glass with a small grin. “I’d expect nothing less.”

There was a quiet understanding between them, both recognizing the possibility of a unique professional camaraderie. Carissa wasn’t entirely comfortable letting her guard down, but the prospect of working with someone who spoke her language, who understood the intricacies of tech without the usual pretense, was certainly interesting.

---

Tweets poured in, lighting up Twitter feeds with sightings of Carissa. Not that she would have known since she still refused to join any form of social media. Though, by day two, one of her execs did share some tweets with her between panels.

People are freaking out about Carissa Bautista at #DisruptSF2013. Not taking pics, just doing boss things, meeting folks, and staying mysterious 😎 #GhostieSighted #TechLegend

So, Carissa “Ghostie” Bautista was at Zuck’s welcome dinner last night AND at the panel today, but she’s evading every camera. Absolute legend. #TechCrunchDisrupt #714Analytix

Carissa Bautista spotted at the panel this morning. Ghostie is back in action. Ruthless moves, no photos, only power. #Disrupt2013 #Legendary

At the rate this was going, she supposed she should be thankful that Pedro hadn’t come across anything about her new venture. She had yet to tell him about it since she was waiting for the right time to tell him. Then again, he was so immersed in his role, in the world of Game of Thrones where his days were long and his mind was likely far away from her world.

Before the next panel started, she went to a quiet corner of the venue to check her phones. First up was her work phone, which was for anything having to do with the foundation or 714. She pushed out directives to her teams and switched to her personal phone, checking the time. It was just after lunch in San Francisco—early evening in Belfast—usually the best time to catch Pedro as he wound down from his day. Unfortunately, after a few rings, the call went to voicemail. It was happening more often lately, but she brushed it off, assuming he was just caught up on set.

When the voicemail tone played, her face softened, her guarded look slipping away. Her shoulders relaxed, and her usual armour faded, leaving an affection she reserved for him alone.

“Hey, it’s me,” she began, her voice softer than it had been all day. “Just checking in. I miss you and can’t wait to see you at the end of the month.” She paused, as if he might hear her warmth through the phone. “Call me when you can.”

After hanging up, she sent a follow up text before slipping both phones back into her bag. Her gentle manner vanished behind her protective shell as she straightened, her posture sharpening, her eyes focused, compartmentalizing her thoughts in the same way as her phones.

---

Belfast, Northern Ireland

Pedro’s dynamic with Lena had settled into a charged, playful rhythm, hovering near a line neither of them had officially drawn. She was magnetic—her charm and quick wit drew him in again and again. Their conversations veered beyond simple camaraderie, and Pedro found himself craving the thrill of the way she held nothing back.

“Still standing, Pedro?” Lena teased, sliding up beside him.

He flashed a grin. “Barely. But seeing you makes it easier,” he replied, letting his gaze linger with practiced ease.

“Shameless flattery,” she shot back, eyebrow arched. “After all those scenes today, you still need me to keep you in line?”

“Maybe I do,” he said, his voice lowering, his eyes meeting hers. “Or maybe I’m messing up on purpose—to get more time with you.”

She laughed, leaning closer to adjust the collar of his character’s signature robe, fingers grazing his skin and sending a shiver down his spine. “Sabotaging your own lines? Risky choice.”

He grinned wider, a spark of mischief in his eyes. “I don’t play it safe.”

She tilted her head, her gaze both amused and challenging. “You’re trouble, you know that?”

Pedro placed a hand on her waist, fingers grazing her side, daring her closer. “Only as much trouble as you’re ready for, Lena.”

She let out a soft laugh, leaning in until her lips brushed close to his ear. “Oh, I’m more than ready,” she whispered, her tone a challenge that made his pulse race.

His grip tightening just slightly at her waist. “That right?”

Lena eyed his lips for a moment. “Think you can keep up?”

“Oh, I’m ready,” he replied, his thumb brushing her hip, enjoying how she held her ground. “But the real question is... are you?”

They held there, close, the tension between them thick, neither one willing to break the spell. Her hands on his chest, fingers tracing along the edge of his robe, as though daring him to close the gap.

At last, she eased back, her eyes steady. “Same time tomorrow?”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” he replied, his hand sliding down as she stepped back.

She gave him a final, knowing smile. “Good. I’ll hold you to that,” she said, her voice laced with enough mischief to leave him wanting more.

---

Back at his flat, Pedro stood under the scalding water, bracing himself against the shower wall. He shut his eyes, but Lena’s image flooded his mind, vivid and relentless. He could see her clearly—her teasing smile, the way her hand lingered just a second too long, the fire in her eyes daring him. She was temptation incarnate, pulling him into a game he knew he shouldn’t play, but on set, he let it happen.

His hand moved down his body, fisting his member, and he surrendered to his desire for Lena, letting it consume him. He pictured her pressed against him, her hands gripping his shoulders, her lips tracing his jaw. There was nothing soft or tender here, only lust—immediate and overwhelming. His movements grew sharper, each stroke fueled by the intensity of her imagined touch, until finally, he gasped her name. His release came sharp and sudden, but with it came the stark truth—he was way over the line.

Pedro stood motionless as the steam swirled around him. Guilt settled deep in his chest, suffocating and cold despite the heat. Turning off the water, he stepped out and grabbed a towel, his gaze falling on the fogged mirror. He wiped a hand across the glass and stared back at his own reflection, the realization hitting him with brutal clarity.

Carissa’s image surfaced in his thoughts. Her eyes, steady and full of trust, her smile that always reached him no matter how chaotic life felt. She was his center, the one who grounded him. The careless thrill he indulged with Lena, the flirting and reckless energy, was nothing compared to what Carissa meant to him. And yet, he had let it seep into his world.

He leaned against the counter, the room stifling now, his breath slow and deep as he tried to sort through the shame. His phone sat on the edge of the sink, her name glowing on the screen. Soon, she would be here. The games with Lena—whatever they were—had to end, left behind before they could creep any further into what he had with Carissa.

Exhaling, Pedro steadied himself. He couldn’t risk it—not for a fleeting moment of excitement that meant nothing. "Get your shit together," he muttered to himself, before picking up the phone and typing a message to Carissa.

I can’t wait to see you, querida. You’re everything.

---

Mood Music: Thrill is Gone - B.B. King

Pedro adjusted his costume in the trailer’s mirror, his movements deliberate, his mind elsewhere. The previous night’s shower still lingered in his thoughts—not the heat of the water, not the release, but the guilt that had risen in its wake. The clarity had been almost cruel in its sharpness. What had he been thinking? He wasn’t the man who blurred lines like this—not with Carissa, not with anyone. Carissa, with her steady love and unflinching belief in him, deserved better. She didn’t deserve to be tangled in the mess of his momentary infatuation with Lena.

And that’s all it had been: infatuation. A fleeting thrill. On set, Lena had been like a live wire—dynamic, alluring, magnetic in a way that seemed effortless. But now, Pedro felt like a man emerging from a fog, the pull of her presence no longer irresistible. What had once been exhilarating now felt hollow, the edges dulled by reality. He wasn’t here for this.

Stepping onto the set, Pedro scanned the bustle of crew and cast. Lena was nearby, laughing with an assistant director. She spotted him, her smile brightening as she walked over.

“Morning, sunshine,” she said, her tone laced with its usual teasing charm. Her hand grazed his arm, the familiar gesture that once sent a jolt through him. Now, it felt like nothing more than an empty gesture.

“Morning,” Pedro replied, his voice even, a hint of distance slipping into his tone.

Her brow furrowed slightly, though she kept the playful edge in her voice. “You’re quiet today. Something on your mind?”

“Just the script,” he lied easily, holding her gaze for a beat before shifting his attention to the set beyond her. “Big scenes today. I want to make sure I nail them.”

Lena tilted her head, her lips curving in a way that once would have stopped him mid-thought. “Oh, come on. You don’t need to try so hard. You’ve got this. We’ve got this.”

“Yeah, thanks,” he said, his smile polite. He didn’t lean into her words the way he used to, didn’t let her charm take hold of him. Instead, he stepped back, creating a little space between them. “I’ll catch you on set.”

Her smile faltered, just for a second, before she recovered. “Sure,” she said lightly, though he caught the flicker of confusion in her eyes. “See you out there.”

As he walked away, Pedro felt the weight of her gaze following him. It had been weeks of playing with fire. But now, he couldn’t muster the same energy to engage. The thrill was gone, replaced by a quiet resolve. Lena’s allure hadn’t faded; it was his perspective that had shifted.

When they were called to rehearse, Pedro kept things professional, his focus on the work. He matched her energy, her intensity, but without the undercurrent of something unspoken. When the scene ended, Lena lingered, her body angled toward him, waiting for him to engage. Instead, he gave her a quick nod, offered a distracted, “Good work,” and walked off to confer with the director.

Days later, Lena’s bewilderment was palpable. She found him at the catering table, her tray in hand, her smile forced. “You’re avoiding me.”

Pedro shook his head, keeping his tone light. “Not at all. Just busy.”

“Busy,” she echoed, her tone skeptical, though she tried to keep it teasing. “Since when do you let work get in the way of fun?”

“Since now, I guess,” he said, grabbing a coffee and taking a step back. “You know how it is—tight deadlines. Gotta stay focused.”

She studied him, her eyes narrowing as if she were trying to decipher a puzzle. “Right. Focused.”

Pedro gave her a small, noncommittal smile, then turned to leave before the conversation could stretch into something heavier. He didn’t owe her an explanation—this was his line to draw, his boundary to reinforce. Whatever connection they’d had was built on proximity, shared time, and the heady buzz of filming. It had never been real, not like what he had with Carissa.

His phone became his anchor. Every chance he got, he messaged or called Carissa, listening to her, savouring her laughter. She noticed, too, a new closeness between them that brought her relief. “It feels like you’re right here with me,” she said during a late-night FaceTime, her eyes bright and expectant, her voice dovelike in its gentleness.

“Almost am, querida, just a little bit longer” he assured her, wanting nothing more than to have her in his arms again, grounding himself in her.

Since he could not celebrate her twenty-third birthday with her, he managed to get an early copy of The Code: The Power of I Will, a new book by former world champion surfer Shaun Tomson— signed by the author— which was not yet available to the public. It was just the type of thing she’d love. His publicist, bewildered by the random request, had pulled through thanks to their connections. Pedro sent Carissa the book along with an embarrassingly huge display of baby pink roses to her apartment and arranged for a cake from her favorite southern Californian bakery, Porto’s, to be served at her birthday dinner with her parents while she was visiting them in Newport Beach.

As her visit to Belfast grew closer, Pedro prepared his flat, pouring all his attention into getting things just right. He cleaned, stocked up on her favorite snacks and a few local treats she’d never tried. With a grin, he added a box of condoms to the stash. They had only had three days together because of his filming schedule, and he planned to make the most of it. Pedro crafted a thoughtful itinerary with experiences he knew she would appreciate. This would be their time, a little bubble just for them.

---

Pedro arrived at the airport well ahead of the appointed time. He memorized the timing, knew her plane would be landing any moment, and he couldn’t stop glancing at the arrivals board, his anticipation building. When her flight status changed to “Arrived,” his pulse picked up, a smile breaking across his face as he scanned the sea of travelers pouring in. And then he saw her.

Carissa moved through the crowd, looking a bit rumpled, her eyes tired but still so striking. Her clothes were wrinkled, her hair a bit mussed, but he didn’t see any of that—she was here. She brightened, a slow, radiant smile gracing her entire face, her eyes lighting up just for him. His baby.

The moment she was close enough, Pedro swept her up, her feet lifting off the ground as he wrapped her in a hug that said everything they missed in the last two months apart. She let out a small laugh, her arms sliding around his neck as she melted into him, her body relaxing in his embrace. They weren’t usually in the practice of public displays of affection but this was a special exception.

“Hey, baby. Missed you,” he murmured, his deep voice a low rumble against her ear as he held her close, unwilling to let go just yet.

Her hands moved to cradle his face, her expression just as overwhelmed as his. “I missed you too. So much,” she breathed, her voice barely a whisper.

Pedro set her down slowly but kept his arms looped around her, his hands resting on her waist as if he couldn’t bear to let her go even for a moment. She was small in his hold, barely reaching his shoulder, and he couldn’t resist leaning down to capture her lips in a lingering kiss, savouring her presence.

As they finally pulled apart, he took her bags from her. “How was the flight?” he asked, his gaze never leaving her.

“Long,” she replied with a small sigh. “I tried to sleep, but I ended up working for most of it.”

Pedro gave her a playful look of mock exasperation. “Working? Please tell me you didn’t bring your laptop with you.”

She laughed, nodding. “I had to,” she admitted, a glimmer of amusement in her eyes. “I’ve got a meeting in London about a startup right after I leave here.”

He groaned, dramatically shaking his head as he kissed the top of hers. “Of course you do,” he murmured, his voice soft but teasing. “I swear, you’d take that laptop with you to a deserted island.” He kept her close, his arm draped protectively around her shoulders as they made their way toward the exit.

When they reached the car, Pedro was quick to open the door for her, one hand braced against the top of the frame to make sure she didn’t bump her head as she got in.

Settling into the driver’s seat, he glanced over at her, his heart swelling as she adjusted herself comfortably, curling into the seat in a way that was both familiar and achingly sweet. He reached over, took her hand, and gave it a squeeze as if to assure himself that she wasn’t a mirage. As they pulled out of the airport, Carissa’s fingers found their way around his arm, her hand resting on his bicep like she wanted to keep him close, too.

“I can’t believe you’re really here,” he said, glancing over at her with a soft smile.

A blush coloured her cheeks. “And for three whole days,” she murmured contentedly.

They went for a late breakfast in the city before he brought her to his flat. As soon as they stepped inside, he set her bag down, his eyes tracing over her face to catch her reaction. She took in the cozy, organized space with a nod, clearly appreciating the effort.

He reached for her, hands sliding up her waist, pulling her close, his voice low. “Welcome to Belfast, querida,” he murmured, leaning down to press his lips to hers. She tilted up to meet him, her fingers resting on his chest, a touch that made his heart kick up a beat. When they finally pulled back, Pedro brushed a thumb along her jaw, unable to keep the grin from spreading across his face.

“I just want to wash the plane off me,” she murmured, a hint of relief in her voice.

“Take your time,” he replied, stepping aside to let her go.

She slipped into the bathroom, and Pedro exhaled slowly, feeling a deep calm settle over him like a second skin. She was here, finally, and for the next three days, he had her all to himself.

---

When Carissa emerged from the bathroom, her hair fell loose over her shoulders, her skin glowing and fresh. She wore one of his shirts he left folded on the bathroom counter for her, the hem brushing her thighs.

She crossed the room toward him, her lips curving into a shy smile. Pedro reached for her immediately, his hands sliding around her waist, fingers slipping under the fabric to feel the warmth of her skin. She met his gaze with anticipation.

Pedro’s mouth found hers with an urgency that had been building for two months, a heat that blazed as they stumbled backward toward the bed, his hands roaming over her. He peeled off the shirt she wore and tugged her panties down. She matched his intensity, pulling his shirt up and off, revealing the lean muscles she knew so well and freeing him from his jeans and boxers the next moment.

By the time they reached the bed, Carissa was lying beneath him, her skin flushed, her eyes heavy-lidded as she peered up at him with an adoration that left him breathless. Pedro paused, taking her in, his heart pounding as he realized just how deeply he had missed this—missed her.

“Ah, mi vida,” he murmured, his hands gliding down her waist before slipping down to her core. He groaned softly, his fingers exploring her folds with a thoroughness that sent sparks through her, his touch delicate but probing. She was wet, but so tight, the kind of tightness that spoke volumes about just how long it had been, and he couldn’t help the low growl that escaped him. “Shit, baby. I can’t believe I survived two months without you.”

She flushed, breathless, loving the way his words painted his need for her so vividly. “Don’t make me wait any longer, babe,” she whined. His fingers worked her a little more, feeling her slickness, luxuriating the way her body softened, adjusting to his touch.

Finally, when he felt she was ready, Pedro rolled on a condom, though his hands trembled slightly from restraint. Positioning himself, he took a deep breath, pressing into her, feeling that pussy fight to make room for him.

Carissa gasped, her fingers clutching his shoulders as he eased in. Pedro groaned under his breath, the sensation so intense it made his head swim. “Oh, go slow,” she whispered, biting her lip, her eyes squeezed shut as she took him inch by inch.

He stilled, feeling the dizzying way she gripped him. He was trying to stay in control, but she felt too good, her heat surrounding him, making every nerve ending in his body sing. “Goddamn, Carissa,” he murmured, his voice rough, reverent. “You feel so fucking good.” He lowered his head to nuzzle her neck, his breath hot against her skin, and his words poured out in a litany of murmured praise. “Perfect. Tight as fuck. So damn good for me.”

As her body relaxed around him, she let out a sigh of relief, the discomfort melting into a growing pleasure that took over her senses. She gave him a small nod, encouraging him to move, and he did—slowly at first, each deep stroke building a rhythm that was as much about drowning moment as it was about reclaiming it. She tightened her legs around his waist, feeling his cock fill her, a blend of sensation that was overwhelming, grounding, exactly what she missed.

“Fuck, querida” he gasped, his cadence smoothing out as he lost himself in her, his hips moving with a steady, unrestrained urgency. Her hands clutched at him, her pleas of “need you”, “baby, please”, “don’t stop” coming in short, broken gasps that fueled his desire.

“You’re all mine,” he husked as he pressed his palm gently against her lower abdomen, feeling the pressure drive her to new heights. Her gasps became more desperate, her body responding to him, meeting each thrust with a hunger that matched his own. She whimpered as she reached the edge, her head tipping back as she moaned, “Oh, Pedro, I’m gonna—”

He felt her clench around him, her legs trembling, eyes fluttering shut as she moaned his name, and he buried himself deeper as he murmured, “Yeah, there you go, mi vida, there you go.”

She whimpered, her body tensing as her orgasm washed over her, each shuddering breath meeting his as she cried out, her pleasure cresting in waves that he rode, following her over that edge. When he finally let himself go, he held her tight, his release spilling into the barrier between them as he groaned, low and satisfied, his lips finding hers as he cradled her against his body.

In the afterglow, they murmured to each other, voices low, intimate. Carissa nestled against him, her fingertips brushing his chest. He watched her, absorbing each detail of her precious face as she looked up at him with heartrending devotion. The thought that he risked her for Lena echoed in the recesses of his mind. No, never would he let that come to fruition, not for Lena, not for anything in the world.

---

Eventually they headed out so Carissa could explore the city. Pedro took her to the Linen Hall Library, where she moved from one exhibit to the next, utterly absorbed. Her attention locked onto the Irish and Local Studies section, her fingers drifting over the old book spines as she skimmed titles and read passages, engrossed. Pedro watched her, a smile tugging at his lips, captivated by her hunger for knowledge.

She caught him looking and suddenly she looked self-conscious. “What?”

“Just enjoying the view,” he replied. “Seeing you like this… I love it.”

She blushed and gave a little shrug. “I can’t help it; it’s fascinating. And anyway, it’s your fault for bringing me here.”

Next, they walked through the Cathedral Quarter, eventually arriving at St. Patrick’s Church. Carissa’s face reverent at the sight, and as they stepped inside, she dipped her fingers in the holy water, making the sign of the cross with an ease that struck Pedro. She lit a candle and found a pew, bowing her head in silent prayer.

Pedro stood back, watching her as she moved through rituals so ingrained in her upbringing. She may not practice her faith as fervently as her parents hoped she would but she still looked peaceful, serene as she went through the rituals all the same. As she knelt, his heart swelled with a freshed certainty—this woman was his future. The desire to one day marry her, to make her his forever, rose up again within him, firm and unwavering. A faint guilt flickered in him for his on-set flirtation with Lena, but he pushed it aside. It had been a fleeting mistake, nothing more. Carissa didn’t need to know. He couldn’t bring himself to bring any hurt into their world.

As they left the chapel, Carissa was still glowing from the experience. Pedro reached for her, unable to resist pulling her close, his arm wrapping securely around her. He pressed a gentle kiss to her temple, savouring the scent of her hair, and she leaned into him, resting her hand over his heart, a loving touch. They walked in silence for a while, ensconced in the comfort of each other’s presence, before he lifted her hand and pressed his lips to it, a kiss filled with adoration.

”You’re going to win major brownie points with my parents at Christmas when you tell them you got me to go to church,” she said.

Pedro grinned, squeezing her hand as they strolled along. “Oh, I’m definitely going to bring it up. Probably over every course at dinner. ‘Yeah, Mr. and Mrs. Bautista, I even got your daughter to pray for me. I must be a keeper,” he said, making Carissa giggle as they headed to dinner.

From across 10th Street, Peter Dinklage spotted Pedro walking with a woman he didn’t recognize. He raised an eyebrow, noting the easy closeness between them, Pedro’s protective arm around her, the way she leaned into him. Interesting. He hadn’t known Pedro was seeing anyone, let alone someone who looked so much younger.

With a thoughtful nod, Peter continued on, piecing together the recent cooling between Pedro and Lena. This must be why.

---

The next morning, Pedro and Carissa set out on a hike through Cave Hill, aiming for a quiet day together before she left for London. They walked close but careful, sharing soft laughter and conversation without unnecessary touches, their mutual to keep things discreet.

As they rounded a bend, Pedro’s chest tightened. Just ahead were Lena, Peter, Kit, and Emilia, chatting and admiring the view. He forced his hand to stay by his side, shooting Carissa a quick look of reassurance.

“Pedro!” Kit called out, his grin broad. “Didn’t expect to see you here, mate!”

Pedro smiled casually, gesturing to Carissa with practiced ease. “Hey. This is my friend, Carissa. She’s visiting on her way to London.”

Without missing her cue, Carissa greeted them with a polite nod. “Nice to meet you all.”

Peter glancing between them, and though he said nothing, his smile held a knowing warmth as he extended his hand. “Pleasure to meet you, Carissa. What takes you to London?”

“Some consulting work,” she replied smoothly. “I figured I’d stop in Belfast since it’s been a while since Pedro and I caught up.”

Before Pedro could add anything, Lena tilted her head, her sharp eyes flicking between him and Carissa. “Oh you should have come on days that we’re filming,” Her tone was casual, but her words carried a hint of calculation. “That way you can see how popular he is on set.”

Pedro felt a spike of alarm go through him. “Lena—”

“Oh, don’t be shy,” she interrupted, her lips curling into a cold smile. “He’s such a flirt, especially with me. Had a girl feeling special for a moment there.”

The air grew taut. Peter’s brows lifted slightly, his gaze sliding briefly to Carissa. Kit and Emilia exchanged a quick look but seemed oblivious to the undercurrent.

Carissa’s smile didn’t waver, though her eyes were veiled of any emotion. “Pedro does have a way of making people feel at ease,” she replied.

Peter intervened, his response measured. “Carissa, I hope he’s shown you the best of Belfast.”

“He has,” Carissa said, her voice unwavering. “Thank you.”

Pedro shifted, his discomfort growing as Lena’s eyes settled on Carissa, assessing her like a puzzle missing a piece. Finally, he cleared his throat. “We should keep moving. Long trail ahead.”

After a few more strained pleasantries, Pedro and Carissa made their exit, continuing up the path. The laughter of the group faded behind them, but the tension lingered

Pedro looked over at Carissa, studying her face. Her expression was blank, but he knew her well enough to spot the faint crack beneath the surface.

---

Once they were much further up the trail, Carissa came to a halt and finally spoke.

“You’ve been flirting with Lena on set?”

Pedro stopped with her and shifted uncomfortably, glancing down as he spoke. “It was… yeah. But it didn’t mean anything, Carissa. Just harmless back-and-forth.”

“Didn’t mean anything?” she repeated, careful to keep her voice even. “To you, or to her?”

“To me,” he said quickly, though his voice sounded almost hesitant. “I don’t know what it meant to her, but I swear, it was nothing serious.”

She nodded, absorbing his words. “But you didn’t think to mention it, not once did it come up.”

His hands went to hips and his knee popped to the side, his discomfort clear. “I didn’t want to make something out of nothing. It… it didn’t matter, and I didn’t want to bring that into our time together.”

Carissa studied him, noting how his eyes darted away, how he shifted his weight. “So you decided what I should know and what I shouldn’t,” she said, more as a statement than a question.

“Carissa, come on,” he murmured, the colour rising in his cheeks. “It was just some stupid flirting. I didn’t think it would hurt you if you didn’t know about it.”

“Right,” she replied thoughtfully. “How about if I did the same thing? If I flirted with someone who works for me. Would that be something I should hide from you too?”

She saw his expression change immediately, his mouth pressing into a hard line. “No,” he admitted, his voice almost a whisper. “I’d hate it.”

Carissa watched him intently, dissecting his discomfort without blinking. “Then why’d you do it?”

Pedro shifted again, his voice barely audible. “I got caught up in it. In the energy on set, the excitement, the newness of it all. It was stupid. I wasn’t thinking.”

“Hollywood, right?” she replied, her tone even, almost clinical. “Easy to start believing your own hype.”

He winced at her words, his face flushing. “I’m not like that,” he protested. “It was just a lapse. It’s over.”

“Is it?” she asked. “Because this isn’t just about Lena. It’s about trust, Pedro. You decided it wasn’t important enough to tell me. I need to know how I’m supposed to believe it won't happen again?”

Pedro looked away, refusing to meet her eyes. She could tell he was struggling, maybe even realizing how thin his explanation was.

“I need some air,” she said calmly, her tone dismissive. “I’ll meet you back at the car.” Without waiting for him to respond, she turned and walked down the trail alone, her mind racing.

Pedro stood there, rooted to the spot, her words echoing in his mind. He knew Carissa’s sharp mind could cut through anything, but he hadn’t been prepared for the detached precision with which she dismantled his excuses. Watching her retreating figure, he was struck by a pang of something deeper than guilt—fear. Fear that this misstep might have cost him the only person he could see a future with.

They met back at the car in silence. Pedro had arrived a few minutes before her, the tension building as he waited, not sure what to expect. Carissa approached without fanfare, her expression unreadable, and climbed into the passenger seat without a word, staring straight ahead.

Pedro’s pulse pounded, the silence filling the car feeling leaden with every passing second. He peeked over at her, but her face gave away nothing. The demeanor she had on the trail still lingered, making him feel as if he were speaking to someone entirely new.

He took a breath, his hands gripping the steering wheel. “Can you please say something? I don’t know what you’re thinking. I don’t know if you’re angry, if you’re breaking up with me or…?”

She turned her head slightly, her expression still level. “I’m not angry, Pedro. Anger doesn’t do anything for me,” she replied. “I’m disappointed. Disappointed, because I didn’t think you were the type to get caught up in yourself like this. But,” She paused, sighing slightly. “I get it. This is your big break. I know what it’s like to lose yourself in that kind of whirlwind.”

Pedro looked over at her, his brow furrowing as she continued.

“When I started Heartfire, I buried myself in my work. My life was solitary until investors came into the picture, and even then, I lived in my head and in thousands of lines of code. I know what it’s like to get so wrapped up in your world that it’s all you can focus on,” she said quietly, looking out the window. “I just wish you didn’t get so wrapped up in it that you lost sight of us.”

His chest tightened. “I’m so sorry, Carissa,” he said, his voice laden with regret. “I really am. I messed up.”

She nodded slightly, processing his words. “But how do I trust that this won’t happen again? What happens when you’re cast in something even bigger, like Marvel and your scene partner is Scarlett Johansson or —?”

Pedro raised his eyebrows, momentarily distracted. “You think I could do Marvel-level stuff?”

Carissa shot him a slightly annoyed look. “Yes, Pedro, I know you have it in you.”

He blinked, her confidence in him catching him off guard, before he refocused on the conversation. “I promise, it won’t happen again. I’ll set boundaries, and I’ll hold them. I’ll be more transparent with you. If I feel things getting out of hand, I’ll tell them I’m seeing someone, and it’s serious. Please trust me to do that.”

Carissa studied him for a moment, her gaze sharp and thoughtful, as if she were weighing his words carefully. Finally, she let out a sigh, her expression softening just slightly. “Okay. I’m choosing to trust you, Pedro, because I love you. But please, don’t make a fool out of me.”

Relief washed over him, and he reached out to take her hand, brushing his thumb over her knuckles. “I won’t,” he promised. “I swear, I won’t.”

They sat in silence for a moment, his hand holding hers, both of them feeling the gravity of her words.

---

After a day of sightseeing around Belfast, Pedro and Carissa settled into a cozy restaurant for dinner. As they sipped their wine, Carissa looked at him, her fingers tracing the rim of her glass.

“In the spirit of transparency, there’s something I need to tell you,” she began.

“Oh?” he replied, raising an eyebrow, curiosity sparking in his eyes.

Carissa hesitated briefly. “I should have told you sooner, but I wasn’t sure how you’d react. Earlier this year, I started a new company.”

Pedro’s eyebrows shot up. “You did?”

She took a breath. “It’s a data analytics startup. I developed an internal tool for the foundation to track and manage funding, hours worked, volunteer time, materials, all of it. Since I’m self-funding, I needed something to ensure all resources being used properly.”

Pedro nodded, leaning in. “Yeah, I remember you mentioning that way back. Are you saying you commercialized it?”

Carissa nodded, a hint of pride in her eyes. “I did. I found ways to scale it and thought other nonprofits could use it too. So I brought it to market, originally intending it for nonprofits. But, you know me,” she gave him a rueful grin. “I don’t do things halfway. I hired a team and I’ve been working on it for months alongside the foundation. That’s why I went to Disrupt earlier this month. I went with my team—for my startup. It’s called 714Analytix.”

Pedro grinned. “You’re amazing. But why didn’t you tell me? I would’ve loved to support you from the start.”

She looked down, collecting her thoughts. “I didn’t want to take up all the air in our relationship. I wanted to tell you. But then you got this role, and I thought it was better to keep things balanced.”

Pedro sensed there was more to it and reached across the table, taking her hand reassuringly.

“I didn’t want you to feel intimidated. That’s how guys reacted to me back in school and when HeartFire took off. I just, didn’t want that with you.”

Pedro laughed, shaking his head. “Carissa, I’m not like those guys. I’m so proud of you, babe. I mean it.” He eyed her fondly then added, “You can’t sit still, can you?”

“No, I guess I can’t.”

“The things you do, querida—they deserve to be celebrated. Take up all the air you need. There’s more than enough space in this relationship for both of us. Don’t ever shrink yourself because of me, alright?”

She exhaled, her shoulders relaxing, relief clear on her face. “Thank you for being cool about it.”

He regarded her proudly. “Why wouldn’t I be? I’m in love with a strong and capable woman.”

Carissa blushed and bit her lip, knowing there was one more thing she needed to tell him. “Well… there’s more.”

Pedro’s eyebrows shot up again, and he leaned forward, eyes glinting. “Are you adopting orphans now?”

She laughed, shaking her head. “No, it’s not that. But there’s chatter in the industry about me. A few articles, some criticism on how I do business. I haven’t given any interviews—you know that’s not my style—but in tech, as a woman, the reception isn’t always fair.”

Pedro’s expression softened. “Well, I know who you are. You’re a damn badass, baby. That criticism? It’s just noise.” He waved a hand through the air as if to swat away said noise.

Later that night, as Carissa took a shower, Pedro’s curiosity finally got the better of him. He picked up his phone, searching for articles and tweets mentioning Carissa and 714Analytix.

The headlines were sensationally harsh. "Carissa Bautista: Tech’s New Power Player or Ruthless Disruptor?" “Ghostie’s Unrelenting Comeback”, “A Woman at the Helm, Stirring Silicon Valley’s Waters.” He scanned the descriptions—aggressor, cutthroat, unyielding. Each word hit with an undeniable slant, tinted by bruised male egos. The unmistakable tone made him smirk, knowing the woman behind these headlines. To him, Carissa was warmth, light, kindness—a force, yes, but a gentle one, and the sharp words used to describe her felt like the misunderstandings of people who would never know her the way he did.

One word, however, appeared often enough to make him chuckle: “Ghostie.” It was an endearing touch, a soft edge to the harsher commentary, and he couldn’t resist teasing her about it.

When Carissa emerged from the bathroom, he looked up with a mischievous gleam. “Hey, Ghostie,” he called, grinning.

She groaned as she walked over. “You read them, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, I did,” Pedro said, pulling her close, letting his hands slide down her arms as he spoke. “And despite all the things they have to say about you, they’ve given you an adorable nickname.”

Carissa huffed, her cheeks tinged pink from embarrassment. “They could just call me by my name. I dont get why I have to have a moniker while everyone else in my industry is referred to by their actual names.”

His hand slid down to the small of her back, pulling her flush against him. “Listen to me,” he murmured, voice a deep, soothing hum against her ear. “Out there, they can say whatever they want. Remember, it’s just noise. But with me, querida, you don’t have to be anyone else but you.”

A warmth spread through her as he held her close, his touch tender, his words soothing. Pedro was the one person with whom she didn’t have to be anything other than herself. With him, he could let her guard down, let herself be vulnerable in a way that felt like freedom. Freedom to simply be… Carissa.

---

On Carissa’s last day in Belfast, as they wandered the city streets one final time, Pedro seemed deep in thought, a hint of anticipation in his gaze. Finally, he stopped, took her hands, and looked at her intently.

“So, I checked in with the production team,” he began, his voice casual but carrying a weight that made her listen closer. “Turns out my schedule’s been adjusted, and I’ll be wrapping a week early here. That means I’ll have a couple of free days before heading to Croatia for the next leg.”

Carissa’s curiosity sparked, her eyebrows lifting slightly as she waited, sensing he was leading up to something.

“I was thinking… we’ve both been traveling so much this year,” he continued, his thumb lightly brushing over her knuckles. “We’re always in different places for filming, auditions, foundation work—and now your startup.” He took a steadying breath, his eyes fixed on hers. “But we haven’t actually taken a trip together, just for us. So, how about meeting me in Paris at the end of October?”

“Paris?” She nodded without hesitation, her answer immediate. “Of course, I’d love that.”

He chuckled, pleased by her quick response. “Are you sure your boss will let you take time off?”

Carissa laughed, shaking her head, the sound bright and unrestrained. “I think she’ll work it out. She’s pretty accommodating when she needs to be.”

Pedro’s smile widened, pulling her closer. “Good,” he murmured, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead. “I don’t want to go that long without seeing you again, querida.”

They lingered, wrapped up in the promise of their reunion, the unexpected getaway turning their parting into something to look forward to, knowing that Paris would be waiting.

---

Mood Music: I Walk the Line - Halsey

In the warm glow of the bathroom light, Carissa stood at the counter, trying to finish her bedtime routine, but Pedro, ever impatient, couldn’t seem to wait. He came up behind her, hands reaching to slide her shirt over her shoulders and down her arms. She sighed, letting him undress her, every inch of her skin coming alive under his touch.

When her top and panties slipped to the floor, he ran his hands down her bare sides, his mouth pressing against her neck as he whispered, “You’re taking too long to come to bed.”

A shiver ran through her as he guided her hands to the countertop, positioning her so that she could see them both in the mirror. His eyes were locked on her reflection, filled with an intensity that made her pulse quicken. One of his hands slid down to her center, fingers exploring her slowly, making her breath hitch as he found her already warm and willing for him.

“Look at you,” he murmured, voice thick with admiration as he pushed her gently forward. “You’re so beautiful like this.” His other hand found its way to her breast, massaging, kneading as his gaze remained fixed on her in the mirror.

He entered her slowly, both of them watching as he filled her. She let out a quiet gasp, adjusting to him, feeling him in a way that stole her breath. Each movement sent pleasure coursing through her, and she could barely manage a response as he whispered teasing encouragement.

“You okay, querida?” he asked, his fingers working her clit in perfect rhythm with his deep thrusts.

Her mouth opened, but she could only manage a few breathless, trembling sounds, unable to form a coherent answer. He grinned, clearly pleased, his own arousal spiking as he listened to her struggle to speak.

“Yeah, I know,” he whispered, voice rough against her ear as he watched her fall apart, trembling beneath him. “Feels too good, doesn’t it?”

Carissa could only nod, her breathing ragged, eyes half-lidded, as his fingers moved faster and he drove himself deeper into her, pushing her closer to release. His free hand continued to knead her breast, but as she neared the edge, he slid that hand up to her neck, tilting her head to the side, exposing the smooth expanse of her throat.

“Come on, baby. Give it to me,” he murmured, his lips grazing her neck, teeth nipping the sensitive skin. He left his mark there, sucking just hard enough to send her right off the precipice, her body arching as he guided her through the high, her moans barely held back as she lost herself completely. Pedro watched her through it all, his own restraint slipping as her climax pulsed around him.

Their passion carried them to the bed where Pedro took his time, his mouth trailing down her body with reverence, each hickey strategically placed, overwhelming her senses. Carissa lay beneath him, her fingers tangling in his hair as his tongue swirled against her clit, his fingers curled just right inside her. Pedro alternated dizzyingly between sucking on his clit and lavishing it with his tongue while his fingers stroked her pussy with just enough pressure. With a desperate cry, her back arched off the bed as her orgasm pulled her under. He stilled her quaking thighs against his shoulders with both hands as his tongue dipped lower to her entrance to savour her release.

Slowly, he eased her legs down, pressing gentle kisses along her inner thighs before shifting his weight and moving up her body. “More,” he murmured, his eyes almost pitch black with desire. His lips found hers and she could taste her release on his tongue. Her hands on either side of his face, she simply dissolved into him as he gripped her hips and shifted her against him. He pulled back a fraction to whisper “Gimme one more, mi amor.”

“Take it,” Carissa gasped, her voice fractured with need.

As Pedro guided himself into her, he was captivated by the way her body welcomed him, sending sparks through him as he watched her expression shift—her lips parted, soft whimpers escaping with each thrust. He reached down, lifting her legs up, flush against his torso so her ankles rested just over his shoulders. Then, taking one of her wrists in each hand, pressing them flat against the bed, he dragged out each stroke.

“Eyes on me, mi vida,” he commanded in a low voice.

She obeyed, her gaze locking onto his, brows knitting together in sheer pleasure as he drove into her pussy, hitting a spot that made her cry out.

“Oh God, babe,” she keened wildly, her hands gripping the sheets beneath them. Her pleasure was a symphony, building with each motion, and he could feel her nearing the edge again, fluttering around him as her breath grew ragged.

"That's it, querida," he whispered, his voice thick with naked desire. "Come all over me."

With one final thrust, Carissa shattered, her body quaking as she came again. Her walls stuttered around his member as a helpless moan escaped her lips. Pedro held her steady, drinking in the sight of her lost in pleasure, her face flushed, her eyes half-closed, her body taut with ecstasy.

As the waves began to take him, he lowered her legs, wrapping them around his waist, his hips slowing as he kept thrusting into her, each stroke deep and perfect. He buried his face in the curve of her neck, his breath hot against her skin, and in those final moments, he pressed his lips to her, sucking gently, biting just enough to leave his mark. The hickey blossomed beneath his lips as his cum filled the condom separating them, his body shuddering.

For a long moment they didn’t move as they caught their breath. Pedro let out a soft groan as he carefully pulled out reluctantly, as though letting go of the connection felt impossible. Disposing of the condom, he grabbed one of his shirts and returned to her, slipping it over her shoulders with gentle hands.

“There,” he murmured, brushing his thumb over her arm before bending to pick up her panties. “These too.” His lips tipping into a faint smile as he handed them to her.

Once she was dressed, he pulled on a t-shirt and boxers, then slid back into bed, wrapping her in his arms. She curled into his side, her head resting on his chest, her fingers lazily brushing along his ribs. “Three days went by so quickly,” she muttered sadly.

“Yeah,I hate that you’re leaving tomorrow,” he said in a low murmur. “But Paris isn’t far. Just a few weeks—”

He paused, glancing down when he heard her soft, steady breathing. Her hand had gone still against his chest, and her lashes rested against her cheeks, her face relaxed in sleep. A quiet laugh escaped him, warm and filled with affection.

“Of course you’d fall asleep right when I’m talking,” he whispered. He pressed a kiss to her temple, his voice tender as he murmured, “Goodnight, baby.”

Holding her close, Pedro let the quiet settle over them, the weight of her warmth against him lulling him into his own peaceful sleep.

---

The early morning light hadn’t even touched the horizon when Pedro quietly rose, moving through his flat in the dim glow of a bedside lamp. It was only 3:30 in the morning, but Carissa stirred as he carefully packed his bag for set. He glanced over, seeing her tracing her fingers over the faint marks he left on her neck. She wasn’t shy about them; in fact, she almost seemed to wear them proudly. The sight stirred something deep in him—a satisfaction, a possessiveness, and a profound tenderness.

Carissa looked up at him, her eyes a bit misty, the lingering sadness of their upcoming separation unmistakable. Pedro's heart tightened painfully at the sight of it and he moved to her side, sitting down on the edge of the bed. Wordlessly, he gathered her into his arms, pressing soft kisses to her forehead, her cheeks, tracing her face with gentle affection, as if each touch could somehow stave off the ache of their impending goodbye. His thumb stroked her cheek in slow, tender circles, his voice a warm murmur meant only for her ears.

“Baby, I’ll give you anything you want if you don’t cry,” Pedro whispered, his voice full of playful affection, but there was a sincerity there too.

She managed a little smile, though a single tear still slipped free. “Too late,” she murmured with a faint laugh, brushing at her cheeks even as he kissed the tear away.

“No matter,” he whispered against her skin, pulling her closer, his breath warm and comforting. “Just think about what you want and tell me when we get to Paris.” He tilted her chin, looking deep into her eyes, a silent assurance between them that he was hers in every way, no matter the distance.

She melted into his hold, and he let her stay there as long as she wanted, soaking in the moment. Eventually, he had to leave, and with a few final kisses, he pulled himself away, letting her drift back to sleep with a final whispered, “I love you, baby.”

By the time she awoke again with the sun shining brightly, Pedro was already gone. She took her time getting ready, dabbing concealer over the visible marks Pedro left on her, smiling to herself, knowing they were there just beneath the surface.

She locked up, slipping his key back into its hiding spot. As her cab pulled away toward the airport, she carried those last three days close, knowing they were enough to carry her through until Paris, where they would meet again.

#te amo por siempre #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal x ofc #david karp #mark zuckerberg #lena headey #peter dinklage #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal fandom #pedropascal #pedrito

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ericvanbars · 5 months ago

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Should I Payoff My Mortgage? | NASE.org

Should I Payoff My Mortgage? | NASE.org https://ift.tt/TOj27Ja Should I pay off the balance to my mortgage if the funds are available? For more information, please visit our website: https://nase.org Join NASE Minute to watch more Business Success, Expertise, and Weekly Insights content: https://www.youtube.com/NASEMinute?sub_confirmation=1 Important Links to Follow: Maximize your business potential with NASE Member Benefits: https://ift.tt/0xGfsrT Fuel your business growth or academic ambitions with NASE’s grants and scholarships: https://ift.tt/xrokQTA Stay ahead with the NASE Blog – cutting-edge advice for entrepreneurs eager to thrive: https://ift.tt/HvMIB41 Stay Connected To Us. Instagram: https://ift.tt/sI4VcBt Facebook: https://ift.tt/aVLwPxI Twitter (X): https://twitter.com/NASEtweets LinkedIn: https://ift.tt/FHJrtQb Pinterest: https://ift.tt/2SaHdyX Website: https://nase.org/ Other Youtube Channel: https://www.youtube.com/user/NASEview ============================= Other Videos You Might Be Interested In Watching: Medicare RX Negotiations $4,000 Grant to Grow Your Small Business Happy Holiday’s from NASE How to use Social Media to Improve your SEO ================================ About NASE Minute: Welcome to The Nation’s Leading Resource for Entrepreneurs The NASE was founded in 1981 to provide day-to-day support, including direct access to experts, benefits, and consolidated buying power that traditionally had been available only to large corporations. Today, the NASE represents hundreds of thousands of entrepreneurs and micro-businesses and is the largest nonprofit, nonpartisan association of its kind in the United States. Lastly, The NASE Minute is a series of videos created by our own experts and released weekly that are designed to help you get the edge you need to help your business succeed! Hit that subscribe button for more Insightful Business Growth Strategies: https://www.youtube.com/NASEMinute?sub_confirmation=1 ================================= Disclaimer: We do not accept any liability for any loss or damage incurred by you acting or not acting as a result of watching any of our publications. You acknowledge that you use the information we provide at your own risk. Do your own research. Copyright Notice: This video and our YouTube channel contain dialogue, music, and images that are the property of the NASE Minute. You are authorized to share the video link and channel and embed this video in your website or others as long as a link back to our YouTube channel is provided. © NASE Minute from NASE Minute https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b-QiETd6pGM from NASE Minute https://ift.tt/mcakqzy via Eric Van Baars https://ift.tt/8g4WFxu August 26, 2024 at 01:15PM

#IFTTT #Eric Van Baars

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aifc223 · 2 years ago

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Texas Property Tax Invoice Excludes Divorced, Lgbtq Couples From Getting Relief

Local governments often hold public hearings to discuss tax increases, and residents of Texas can petition for a public vote on an increase if it exceeds certain limits. Some exemptions could demand filing as soon as, while others may require annual submitting. Majority of one-time exemptions permit chief appraisers to ask for model spanking new purposes verifying eligibility for exemption. Every two years, lawmakers have a chance to enhance that course of. The Wilson County Appraisal District nor the local government officials have the authority to change the laws.

Local income wants often spike above or under proposed revenue limits. Gonzalez warned that the 2009 Legislature adopted an education budget that was made entire largely by using federal stimulus dollars following the economic property tax by location downturn. The following session there was no federal stimulus, resulting in a $5.four billion budget cut to varsities. Or fill in this type, and a helpful, licensed loan officer will contact you.

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Is there any relief from Texas property taxes - a point the place you, as a homeowner, can cease worrying about them? Unfortunately, there is not any way to shake property taxes off entirely, however when you attain a certain age, you are eligible for some aid. "If there may be property tax aid, more likely than not, that reduction is going property tax locations to help mitigate the strain to extend rents more." With greater than 60% of Texans owning the residences they live in, strong property tax aid is an understandably popular proposal. For renters, although, the profit is not as straightforward. If you want help with dealing with your protest, a Texas property tax firm can attraction on your behalf.

If permitted, funds will be loaded on a pay as you go card and the mortgage amount will be deducted from your tax refund, decreasing the amount paid on property tax help texas to you. Tax returns could additionally be e-filed with out applying for this loan. Fees for different optional products or product features could apply.

#property tax locations

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mckitterick · 9 months ago

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I never posted a follow-up to this:

so that was the first big consequence of this policy: firing 33 fully tenured professors

...including one professor who had just published an article about how this was a bad idea

an excerpt:

"The Kansas Board of Regents may now terminate a tenured faculty member for any number of reasons, such as being too outspoken, rigorous, or simply inconvenient to administrators and students, with such a dismissal justified by one of the policy’s vague reasons such as 'realignment of resources' or 'restructuring.'

"They may also terminate a tenured faculty member for reasons not specified, without being required to elaborate or justify the action. Administrators can easily abuse the policy, targeting for dismissal faculty who cause controversy, or whom administrators simply dislike.

"The AAUP also recently called on Kansas to reverse course on the policy and firings, calling the developments a 'direct assault on tenure and academic freedom, with grave implications for tenure and academic freedom, not only at Emporia State but throughout the Kansas system of public higher education.'

"Universities have frequently used similarly vague rules as pretense for firing non-tenured faculty who cause controversy. With McCoy’s swift dismissal, the concern that even tenure will not insulate outspoken faculty is not abstract."

the now-former professors are suing ESU and the Kansas Board of Regents

in another completely unrelated consequence [ <- sarcasm], Emporia State University's graduate enrollment has plummeted since this violation of tenure. who could have seen that coming?

as much at I'd love to see the Kansas university system wither and die because of this (and because of how it also allowed the main University of Kansas to nuke my old position and force me out of KU), giving college administrators (who famously don't give a crap about students) this power won't help those whom the education system is supposed to serve

depending on the outcome of the lawsuits, I predict many other colleges across the country to begin axing professors and programs on the pretext that it'll "save money" (and give financially desperate administrators access to funds they were otherwise barred from touching, as in the Endowments I used to manage)

but even more damningly, I predict the collapse of the university system as we know it over the next decade or two

I predict that states (especially those like Kansas, where the legislature is always seeking to undermine higher education) and financially desperate colleges will gradually mutate universities into funhouse mirror reflections of business... which academics famously have no idea how to run, so they'll face a dominoes-collapsing chain reaction of failure until actual corporations are granted control of schools to "save them" financially, when instead colleges will be drained of money as in most corporate takeovers

(source: me, with 22 years of experience serving as senior faculty at the University of Kansas, watching the impending collapse from within, trying to fight it in many ways including serving on a think-tank dedicated to seeking solutions for 10 years, and then getting forced out because of my efforts to stave off collegiate enshittification; also they literally created two new system-wide rules to push me out because they could find no valid reason to fire me, because they didn't want to be perceived of as bad as ESU)

all this of course is happening in the environment of decreasing value of college degrees (especially graduate degrees, which outside of STEM largely exist to produce future professors), hastening the collapse of higher education

the only upside - if we can call it that! - is that those seeking to learn things will find more educational options in a post-university climate, such as professional workshops and certification courses, vastly reducing student debt and eliminating the need for student loans. but not every such one-off course produces students who find as much success as alums of our workshops do, and fewer still are offered by nonprofits

so what we're likely to see is increasing consolidation of higher education, and thus an increasing divide between the higher-educated and the majority of Americans, with the obvious fallout from that

in short: we're watching the enshittification of not only the higher-education system, but also of our entire culture

I'm not sure what the extremist right-wing thinks they'll gain from this, but it won't be great for anyone not running for-profit schools

Making Kansas Prairie Grass Again

Kansas Regents approve temporary policy suspending tenure for at least a year, allowing CEOs more power to dismiss, suspend, or terminate any University of Kansas employee they want.

Not grim at all.

Great ideas #248,217: Destroy your state's capacity to educate tomorrow's innovators, artists, and researchers. That'll be great for Teh Economee.

Thanks, Kansas legislature, for having cut funding so much that we've come to this. What's the ultimate goal? Killing the university system?

more on this breaking story: X

How long before other states begin dismantling their universities to be able to give tax breaks to big corporate donors?

GEEBUS

#higher education #enshittification #future of education #corporatization #tenure #college

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timeisacephalopod · 3 years ago

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I wish we had the same attitude toward corporate welfare as we do social supports for poor people. Like Big Oil wants daddy Gubmint to give it billions of dollars? No, no we can't do that what if you become overly dependant on government help and you stop doing Business Things to suck the government dry of it's funds every time you need a bail out??

But unfortunately we're fine with bailing out banks, oil companies, and car companies at the least and to the tune of billions of dollars (PER industry) but bailing out Jim down the street which costs not even enough for Jim to live off of each month? Good God, could you Imagine the cost when all Jim needs to do is Get a Job and pull himself up by his bootstraps??

#winters ramblings #its so weird that we hate welfare programs because they coat money #and then we call it government waste when the REAL waste is corporate welfare #like excuse me why the fuck are my tax dollars bailing out car companies who ran themselves into the ground???#like at ANY time now id love to see our actual population cared for the way businesses are by government #and next time someone wants to talk about red tape and government waste ill suggest making amazon pay taxes #and to cut large businesses off from ANY public funds #youre a multimillion or multibillion dollar company?? you dont need government money you dont need SHIT #so cut those leeches off and stop calling poor people the leeches when they dont cost as much to cater to #something tells me a UBI would be cheaper than bailing the alberta oil industry out every time it shits the bed

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the-bjd-community-confess · 2 years ago

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Hello, Oldie Chinese Diaspora Anon™️ here. Where is the “loudest anti-recast voice” from? This confession reminded me of something interesting (and makes me feel very old at the same time). There are a lot of aspects to the recast market (and yes, Econ Anon, I hear you! It’s a market thing! 👍 ) and part of it is geopolitical. I guess that’s where I come in.

Let me walk you back to the late 80’s when China first opened its doors to the world. At that time, because of Chairman Deng’s policy of “letting a small group of people get rich sooner”, the Eastern seaboard opened itself up to foreign investment. However, one should never forget that China is a totalitarian, Communist state. It meant that “the law” is prone to changing, the government owns most large industries and through the ways of loans, the government also has a backdoor to most businesses. I still remember the blatant accusations of what we used to call the “Chinese honeypot” scheme. The government (or some government-funded businesses) entice foreign investors to set up factories along the Eastern seaboard.

Part of the agreement to receive government subsidized benefits was to hire more than 50% local labour, and this included the managerial staff as well. In the beginning, a lot of the early investors reported that they were earning hand over fist because of the cheap labour. But after the first wave, investors were being expelled out of the country one way or another, after being stripped of their assets and their trade secrets. I still remember multiple family members (and business friends of these said family members) recounting stories of foreign bosses catching their Chinese managers stealing trade secrets and deliberately sabotaging equipment when their aims have been fulfilled. In some cases, actual honeypot traps were set up so the bosses would be set up with adultery (which was a severely punishable crime at the time) or saddled up with a Chinese wife. To cut the horror story down, China found itself where it is today through alleged systematic and government-sanctioned intellectual theft. It is no wonder that the Chinese boomers are not known as big sticklers to copyright law. In many ways, they are still the ones in charge. Folks like Luo, for example.

However, just as a coin has two sides, the closed-in totalitarian state also fostered an “ever-inward” culture. Children born to these boomers were taught on a steady diet of nationalism and extreme self-centredness. These are considered to be virtues. Their children, the Gen Z, have even more of the same cultural upbringing, bolstered by being the “only child” of “only child” parents. As a consequence, there is a lot of internal cohesion based off of nationalism, which translated into a specific type of cronyism that is hard to fathom. Most of us have heard of the term “rabid fans” – for an old fogey like me, I think of Deadheads caravanning across the country to catch the next concert. Folks these days are probably more familiar with the fans of famous singers such as BTS and BlackPink and the hijinks they were up to from time to time. In today’s China, on the other hand, pretty much every fandom can boast their own “rabid fans” – from Apple Fanatics to a self-professed fan groups for an actor/singer/artist to… well, BJDs. When I say “rabid fans”, it’s because I cannot come up with any other word for this behaviour. If you can think of a better descriptor, please let me know.

I lurk in Chinese “BJD Circle.” And this fanaticism has its highs and lows. The lows are plenty and serious – people will refuse to sell second-hand dolls to newbies because “they don’t speak the lingo”, for example. The faceup artists are known to smash heads if they are found to be recasts. Scammers and questionable behaviours are “hung” out in the Tucao bar for a public lynching - and because most people in the circle frequent this Tieba, it’s basically a court of public opinion. Thanks to the social credit system, if you are lynched through a virtual struggle session, your ability to be a part of this circle becomes so diminished that you are shunned. And due to the fact that you need your real name and information to set up an account for all transactional platforms, it’s easy to get doxed and cyberbullied. This self-righteous fervor expanded outside of China and was brought under the spotlight for the first time in 2020, during the “Milk Tea Alliance” incident (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Milk_Tea_Alliance Note: in the spirit of full disclosure, I came from one of the Milk Tea Alliance countries. )

What about the highs? The “high” point in this self-contained lynching culture is internal self-policing. The Circle acknowledges that people who are just entering the hobby may accidentally buy a recast. But in order to be accepted into the circle, you have to prove that you have completely given up your recast dolls by “whitewashing” yourself here: http://c.tieba.baidu.com/p/6882408381 (Content Warning: very broken dolls, hammer, fire) If you get caught having a recast doll, you will be shunned. Your businesses (as a faceup artist, seamstress, wig maker, etc) will also be boycotted. In short, the self-policing is slowly squeezing Luo’s business out of China, for better or worse.

Which is why on Luo’s business website (https://chinabjd.en.alibaba.com/company_profile.html) China is no longer its biggest market, which we alluded to here: It took me a long time to try to hunt down why would North America be the second largest market while China itself makes up a small portion. It wasn’t until I came across this post http://c.tieba.baidu.com/p/7792470874?pn=1 that it made sense. It was first posted in the April of 2022, from a Chinese national studying abroad in Japan. This person was surprised that the international market was flooded with Shuga Fairy dolls while another person chimed in stating that a lot of “Westerners” asked if Shuga Fairy dolls were any good. Other folks chimed in that Shuga Fairy dolls were found in a lot of international platforms while another one mentioned that the same doll sold for a higher price overseas.

Then it made sense. For what it’s worth, the Chinese’s closed, cronyism “Circles” have managed to keep most of the recasts out of the hobby. Sure, recast-friendly/neutral circles still exist, but they are in the fringes and having some difficulty interacting with the rest of the hobby as a whole (to the point having difficulty buying doll items from Xianyu stores. Store owners will refuse to sell their wares to recast owners). But that’s not the same with North America. It’s a land where information is scarce(r ), the market is not nearly as saturated and there are a lot more folks who have simply never heard of a BJD before. It’s much easier to con a largely unsuspecting crowd (which explains why recast dealers really work hard on that SEO) into buying something that they thought was “just an expensive toy”.

So, for the folks who think “the US has the loudest anti-recast voice”… I am really, really sorry. You can’t argue with the numbers (or Econ Anon, for that matter). The US is the second largest mark for the recast market. And there are some really compelling reasons why this is so.

P.S. I am not familiar with the Russian market at all. So please, don’t ask me why Russia is the largest market for Luo and his company. Thanks in advance.

~Anonymous

#BJD #ABJD #BJD Confessions #Community Counterfeits #Recasters

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exclamaquest · 2 years ago

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This is a very basic overview of the 1980 KidVid scandal, an important part of advertising regulation history and a good illustration of just how much power ad lobbyists hold. I recommend this or this (both PDFs, the second is from the FTC) to get a more in depth look at what went wrong.

In the late 70s and into 1980, there was a push from the Federal Trade Commission to amp up the regulations around what foods could be advertised on children's television, with a special emphasis on sugary foods. They were also concerned about ads that portrayed vitamins as candy-like that could encourage children to eat far more than they should.

The FTC requested a total ban on ads "for any product which is directed to, or seen by, audiences composed of a significant proportion of children who are too young to understand the selling purpose of or otherwise comprehend or evaluate the advertising [in this case, eight, though the limit was later lowered to six]" targeting "sugared food products directed to, or seen by, audiences composed of a significant proportion of older children".

This may seem harsh, but as you read, keep in mind it's still a far cry from the older, firmer regulations prohibiting any advertisement at all. Additionally, while eight may seem old, there were studies done that clearly showed that children could not reliably differentiate normal programming from ad segments.

Another piece of the most damning evidence used in the case came straight from the horse's mouth: Among other things, an advertising executive was caught on tape saying, "When you sell a woman on a product and she goes into the store and finds your brand isn’t in stock she’ll probably forget about it. But when you sell a kid on your product, if he can’t get it he will throw himself on the floor, stamp his feet, and cry. You can’t get a reaction like that out of an adult."

But this was during the leadup to Reagan's term and so, of course, it ended in misery. Advertisers, emboldened by Reagan's support of deregulating their industry and aggravated the the FTC's recent aggressive rulemaking, wrote scathing op-eds in national newspapers. They branded the FTC a "nanny" and put forth the argument that because parents were the ones making the final purchasing decision, there was no deception of consumers going on, and therefore it was an overreach of the FTC's rulemaking power. They even postured parents supporting the new regulations as a sign of weakness and inability to control their children.

Of course, these arguments fall apart under the slightest bit of pressure, but that didn't matter to advertisers or to newspapers. To them, every new rule on advertising was another chunk of money taken out of their lucrative ad placements. Even the Washington Post wrote against it.

There's a lot more to why this failed, including it happening at the same time as other FTC rulings that angered politically powerful businesses like funerary services, large used-car dealerships, and the tobacco industry, but that would take up a whole history book. Instead, it's important to know that the FTC had many, many enemies in very powerful positions, and this lead to the Federal Trade Commission Improvement Act of 1980.

The 1980 act cut the FTC off at the knees. It now required stringent congressional oversight, public announcements of proposed rules, and explicitly prohibited the FTC from any rulemaking involving children's advertising.

The FTC was burned so badly that on May 1, 1980, after the landmark Civiletti Opinion, they shut their doors. Luckily, funding was reappropriated relatively quickly thanks to President Carter's novel interpretation of the 1884 Antideficiency Act (the same one used by Attorney General Civiletti to shut it down in the first place) and the shutdown only lasted a day, but the wounds were there.

Even today, the FTC is loathe to touch children's television, instead focusing on advertising in apps and websites. The KidVid scandal is part of what enabled Reagan to enact such strict deregulation, and is a major contributing factor to the state of advertising as it is currently.

It's as fascinating as it is horrific, and it's something that's essential to know. Both the degree to which lobbyists were able to influence public opinion and public policy and the extent of the aftershocks of the KidVid scandal are very important to understanding today's advertising regulations and the FTC's position in them.

I tried to simplify this as much as I could, but there was a lot to cover, and this is only a fraction of everything that happened during the scandal. The two PDFs I linked in the first paragraph (this and this) are great resources for understanding more about what happened, and if you're interested, I'd highly recommend you read them.

If there's any questions, I'll do my best to answer them, but please bear in mind I'm neither a historian nor a lawyer, just a guy with a special interest.

#theo.txt #theo.pdf #man this got long. what autism does to a mfer #advertising #children's advertising #ronald reagan #advertising deregulation #lawboy tag #federal trade commission #ftc #kidvid scandal

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bridgeportbritt · 3 years ago

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KBE Annual Report Released with Extensive Details on the Operations and Performance of HRH Grand Duchess’ Bria’s Clothing Company

Each year, public SimDonian companies release an annual report that details the comapny’s performance, operations, and more. Companies are required to release this information in regulation with the SimDonia Commerce Council who ensures all relevant information is recorded.

In year’s past, KBE has been able to not release a public annual report because the company was still considered private until a recent law was passed that held Royals to the same standard as public citizens.

Luckily not only did HRH Grand Duchess Bria have no pushback (at least publically) on the law, but her company’s first Annual Report was everything and more we’d hoped! Dive into the details of one of the most popular Royally-owned businesses in SimDonia.

Transcript Under the Cut

KBE Annual Report

Table of Content

Overall Business Overview

Ownership - The company was founded by HRH Grand Duchess Bria Wu-Winston of Umbrage and daughter HRH Duchess Ella Wu-Winston of Umbrage. At the time, Ella was not of age to own shared in the company, but stands to hold 38% of the company upon her 18th birthday. This leaves the rest of the equity (62%) with Bria.

Royal Agreement - Due to both founders of the company being apart of the SimDonia Royal Family, a special agreement is put in place. No tax-funded dollars may contribute to the operation of KBE. Any and all profits are considered "private" and shall be handled as such. The SimDonian Royal Family has no liable connection to KBE or its operation.

Titles/Responsibilities - Bria Wu-Winstons title in the company is Founder and CEO. Her responsibilities include being a spokesperson for the company, final approval on all designs, marketing materials, and store locations. Ella Wu-Winston's title is Founder, but she can choose to become Co-CEO on her 18th birthday. She currently serves as a creative consultant on designs especially for KBE Kids.

Divisions - The current divisions of KBE include Women's, KBE Men, KBE Kids, KBE.com, Philanthropy, and KBE Retail. There is also a marketing, finance, IT, and legal departments in each division.

Expense Overview

Disclaimer - All financial information is accurate and for information purposes only. All financial information regarding KBE Inc. is confidential and shall not be shared with any third party. Violators will be punished to the full exent of the law.

Revenue Overview

Most KBE sales come from KBE.com likely due to ease of shopping and quick shipping. The women's line, which offers the most, is the most popular with the KBE Kids line right behind.

KBE Locations: SimDonia

Location: Umbrage, SimDonia

Size: Largest Retail Location

Features: CEO and administrative staff offices, staff break room with pool, home of The Style Report with Bria.

Revenue: Second most profitable location.

Expenses: Highest expenses.

KBE SimDonia is the second retail location opened in the franchise. While it's currently second in revenue, the gap between this store in the Simerica store is quickly closing. The location sees a increase in expenses due to the large inventory required for the space along with additonal utilities for offices. In a deal with S! Entertainment, the top floor of the building is rented for the Style Report with Bria in a hopes to cut some expense costs. This location is considered headquarters due to the office space.

KBE Locations: Simerica

Location: Newcrest, Simerica

Size: Second Largest Retail Location

Features: Small offices, fashion runway, photo studio.

Revenue: Most profitable location.

Expenses: Second highest expenses.

The very first location opened was KBE Simerica. This small storefront was the only location for years until KBE SimDonia was opened. This location also hosted the first KBE Fashion Show which helped the brand take off internationally. Due to the increase in prices in Simerica and being the first location, KBE Simerica continues to dominate in sales. But KBE SimDonia is catching up. Due to the smaller size and less utility needs, expenses are much less.

KBE Locations: Whitmore

Location: Downtown Langdale, Whitmore

Size: Smallest Retail Location

Features: Retail Space, First foreign location

Revenue: N/A

Expenses: High initial costs but will level off.

The first KBE to open in a foreign coutnry not inhabited by HRH Grand Duchess Bria. The location is in collaboration with the Whitmore Royal Family specifically HRH Crown Princess Emeline, Duchess of Edenhal who is close friends with the Grand Duchess. The store will operate as all other stores, but will include an excluse KBE Whitmore clothing item that can only be purchased in store. This new store is set to spark more international interest and growth in the KBE brand.

KBE Locations: Warehouse

Location: Hallow Slough, SimDonia

Size: Large

Features: Design headquarters, Manufacturing, Office Space

Revenue: N/A

Expenses: N/A

Once KBE SimDonia was created, a dedicated KBE Warehouse was needed to produce the added demands. Prior to the Warehouse, KBE used third-party manufacturing. Currently the Hallow Slough location, produces and supplies all KBE retail locations with KBE inventory. Staff related to design, production, finance, IT, and KBE online are located at this location. This location is not open to the public and does not to do any public tours. The Grand Ducchess visits the location about quarterly for updates and decision-making.

Campaigns: Queen Collection

The very first collection that kicked off KBE as a brand. The collection included 4 tops for women plus a top for children and toddlers. The entire collection was black, white, and hot KBE Pink. This collection continues to be the top performing collection of KBE History with the most popular item being the Women's Queen Tee.

Campaigns: Birthday Collection

The second KBE collection was an all-pink celebration of founder and CEO Grand Duchess Bria's birthday. The collection also kickedoff the successful #WearKBE Campaign. The collection featured women's, children, and toddler clothing including 3 women's tops, 2 child tops, and 2 toddler tops. The most popular item is the Pink Women's Hoodie.

Campaigns: KBE Men

An exlusive Simblreen promotion was KBE's third collection - KBE Men. This collection was an exclusive line of men's apparel with simple designs on whie, black, and pink. The collection also revisited older collections to include gender-neutral options for children and toddlers. The most popular piece is the White Polo.

Future of KBE

KBE has a bright future ahead with many opportunities to grow. We see KBE Retail locations in more countries across the Simverse, more collections down the road, and opportunities for more collaborations to elevate KBE as well as collab partners.

For social impact, KBE will continue to create jobs for the communities that hold retail locations along with continuing it's philantropics efforts that help marginalized groups. KBE is dedicated to using ot's influence to make a difference.

There is no stopping KBE.

#simdonia #chap 10 #sims of color #sims 4 gameplay #sims 4 story #ts4 #royal simblr #royal sims #another extra project no one asked for #this is very long im sorry lol #world building #worldbuilding #i'm kind of obsessed with reporting lol #sim: bria #sim: ella

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leilabeaux · 4 years ago

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In My Sights III

Masterlist | Two

Pairing: Ivar/ Fem Reader

Word Count: 3570

Warning: None? 7 years bad luck?

Summary: A meeting with two brothers from Vestfold takes Ivar off guard.

Author’s Note: Well, this part was a long time coming. That means I will have part four ready next year.

The dining room was sparsely occupied that early afternoon with women who lunch, businessmen on lunch breaks, and their quiet chatter. The Vine had long been considered a historical landmark in Kattegat and was formerly a struggling fine dining restaurant. It had only gained popularity with the upper class once Aslaug Lothbrok, a well-known Götaland socialite who was newly married and new to the city, started to make her presence there. Though it’s popularity faded over the years, it was still preferred by the old money elite. Mostly for the staff’s discretion rather than the food and ambience.

It was for that reason why the Lothbrok sons preferred the establishment for their business lunches. Extra care was also usually taken with a generous tip to the host to ensure no other guests would be seated next to their table but today it was turning out to be a waste of money as the hushed voices from their corner of the room began to grow.

Ivar drummed his fingers against the table as he brought the cup of coffee to his lips, glaring across at his three older brothers. Apparently, the idiots had forgotten the importance of discretion as they were busy bickering over why their associates called for today’s meeting. He hoped the clinking of his cup when he set it down roughly onto the saucer would disrupt their chattering but, to his annoyance, still they continued.

Leaning back in his chair, his left hand mindlessly traced the carved out dragon on his cane, last year’s birthday gift from his dear Uncle Floki, while he scrolled through the day’s news on his phone. One particular article detailed the resignation of a Mercia diplomat after the unexpected death of her eldest son, mentioning that authorities were looking for a red-headed female who was last seen with him for questioning.

Good luck finding her, Ivar thought to himself. He had given up all attempts at trying to find you or any information about you after a year upon your meeting. After coming up empty through hacked databases and facial recognitions, he concluded that you were virtually a ghost or at least knew very powerful people who worked hard to keep you hidden. All he could do was sit and wait until he heard from you again, hoping his right hand and the memories of your last tryst would keep him satisfied till then.

He felt his slacks tighten as he got lost in a memory of you trapped underneath him as he pounded into your sweet cunt. The whines of you begging him to make you come he heard in his head were interrupted when Ubbe pounded his fist on the table, causing the glassware to shake.

“For fuck’s safe, Ivar, get off your fucking phone!” His older brother harshly whispered, checking over his shoulder at the other patrons, finally aware of the scene they were making.

“And why would I do that, dear brother?” Ivar still had his eyes turned down to his phone as he sent you the link of the article and a brief message: You’re on their radar. I wonder what you’re willing to do to make sure I don’t turn you in. Throwing his phone on the table, he raised an eyebrow as he bestowed Ubbe with his undivided attention. “So I can join you fools in biting our fingernails, worrying why they called for a meeting at the last minute?”

“They” were two brothers from Vestfold, owners of a large fishing company based out of their hometown and, most recently, out of Kattegat as well. To the public eye, it was assumed that it was hard work, determination, and a wise investment from Ivar’s father that turned the once struggling business into a multi million dollar success. But the young men currently seated at the table knew that the wise investment was generous compensation throughout the years for hauling more than just fish on their boats. Whether it was guns, stolen art and, for a very brief moment in time, opiates, Halfdan and Harald provided safe transport for anything the Lothbroks were running.

“You're not the least bit worried? What if they’re wanting to pull out of our deal? The Rus are not going to be pleased if we’re not able to deliver their shipment.” Ubbe wrung his hands as he thought of the worst. He was not looking forward to telling the Rus leader of any potential delays. The man wasn’t the most level headed or understanding and honestly, he creeped him out a bit.

Hvitserk nodded his head in agreement. “They might be. Remember, they were wanting a cut of our profits the last time we met with them but Ivar thought it wasn’t a good idea…” He pursed his lips in disapproval before cutting his eyes toward the youngest Lothbrok.

If Ivar had rolled his eyes any harder, he would have given himself a headache. “They’ve been doing the same job for our family for nearly twenty years, nothing more and nothing less, and have been paid fairly for it. Maybe a little too much in my opinion but I will honor our father’s wishes. Still they have no business being greedy. If it wasn’t for the Lothbroks, they would still be hauling fish into a sinking dinghy.”

“There are probably others who are looking for a way to transport their shit and all they need is a smug asshole like Harald to offer his services.” Hvitserk swirled his drink in his glass, taking a sip before continuing. “I think we should give them at least half of what they were wanting.”

Ivar gave an aggravated sigh and was ready to shoot down what he thought was the stupidest thing to come out of his brother’s mouth.

“I don’t know, I think Ivar’s right.” Sigurd chimed in. “They should be grateful for all our father did for them, not bite the hand that feeds them.”

The other men at the table sat in silence as they stared at him in confusion. It was thought that Sigurd would rather eat a bullet than agree with anything Ivar had to say.

“I changed my mind. Give them everything they ask for.” Ivar had joked, he would never admit out loud or to himself that he appreciated his least favorite brother taking his side. Officially done with the conversation, he picked his phone back up. He held back his smile as he read the new message: Anything you want me to do, handsome. But first, you’d have to find me.

Ubbe looked up from behind his nerve-wracked hands toward the lobby and gave a sigh. “Thank gods, they’re finally here...and of course he brought his fucking girlfriend. To our illegal business lunch meeting. Great.”

Hvitserk gave a quick and quiet wolf whistle as his eyes studied the woman on Harald’s arm, from head to toe. “Is that the same one he brought to your birthday party? Didn’t she have different hair and was a bit taller?”

“How can you not tell? I thought you fucked her while cake was being served?” Sigurd questioned.

“All I remember was the back of her head, to be honest.”

Ivar couldn’t hold back the snort at Hvitserk’s comment. Whatever smart ass response that was about to come out died on his tongue as he looked up at the woman that was being led to them. This was definitely a new girlfriend because if you were the one Hvitserk had fucked in the coat check room, he was going to have one less brother.

As always you looked like perfection to him but he knew your presence, or rather your outfit, was causing a bit of a stir in the restaurant especially among the older women who were busy clutching their pearls. From the plunging neckline of the loose dark green silk shirt to the matching miniskirt with a side-slit it was tucked into, your ensemble was far from the acceptable dress code of the Vine but the host knew better than telling Ivar and his brothers that their guest would have to leave, no matter how many complaints he’d get from the other patrons.

“Can you two shut the fuck up before he hears you?” Ubbe scolded Hvitserk and Sigurd before standing up to greet their guests. Shaking Halfdan’s hand before moving onto Harald, “Gentleman, I’m glad you could finally join us.”

Halfdan gave a frustrated sigh as he unbuttoned his suit jacket and plopped himself down on an empty seat. “Believe me, it wasn’t my fault.”

“Oh come on, brother. We didn’t keep you waiting that long.” Harald slapped a hand on his shoulder before parading the young woman on his arm. “Boys, I’d like you to meet my girlfriend Veronica.”

Ivar instantly wished he had ordered something stronger than coffee. He didn’t want to believe for a moment that you would choose to be with someone like Harald but you did warn him before that he hardly knew you.

In his opinion, the Fishmonger wasn’t much to be desired. And if it was money you were after, Ivar’s funds could have kept your excessive shopping addiction quelled more than the mere pennies the other man had. He knew he could satisfy you in that way and others.

Patiently sitting back in his chair, he watched as you politely smiled while you shook hands with each of his brothers. Hvitserk was unaware how close he was to a dinner knife to his thigh after lingering a second too long while kissing the back of your hand. Fortunately, Harald had the good sense to pull you away.

Ivar balanced his weight on his cane as he stood up to introduce himself, taking a risk and gently caressing his thumb against your hand. “Lovely to meet you, Veronica.”

Although you said nothing back, he didn’t miss the small smirk that briefly graced your face letting your alleged boyfriend lead you to your seat.

“I hope you boys don’t mind her being here. I know we try to keep these meetings to ourselves but I’ve been a little busy and this beautiful thing has been missing me.” He kissed the back of your hand, causing you to giggle. “Didn’t even want to take my card and go on a shopping spree.”

“I swear you won’t even hear a peep from me.” You promised, miming zipping your lips closed while you took a seat across from Ivar. “Harry’s shop talk ends up sounding more like gibberish to me anyway!”

Ivar had to focus to not show his confusion when he heard you speak. The words coming out of your mouth sounded as if they were dipped in saccharine and nowhere near the lower sultry tone he was used to. He hoped to himself that you would stay true to your promise and remain silent.

Unfortunately, promises meant nothing to his brothers.

“So what do you do for a living, Veronica?” Sigurd asked while cutting into his beef tenderloin.

You gave him a closed smile, dabbing the corners of your mouth with your napkin as you swallowed your last bite. “Oh my goodness! Nothing as important as what you gents do! I worked in this cute little boutique over in Vestfold before Harry whisked me away!”

“Wow, you must have made a killing in commissions.” Ivar couldn’t resist this opportunity to make you sweat, if that was even possible.

He was sure that hint of confusion on your face seemed authentic to everyone else. “No? Actually, I worked hourly...”

You were cut off by an annoyed groan from Ubbe as he rubbed his face, the food on his plate was barely touched. “Harry...I mean Harald, why did you call this meeting?”

“You couldn’t wait a few more minutes until we were done eating? I’d expect mommy to have taught you some manners.” Harald sighed and tossed his napkin on the table before leaning back in his chair.

Ivar didn’t miss you curling your hand around your knife. The tension surrounding the table definitely wasn’t missed by you.

Before Ubbe could respond, Halfdan had cut into the conversation. “Look, we know the last meeting didn’t go well.”

“Actually, you shot one of our men in the head.” Hvitserk stated, staring at Harald as he made his point.

Halfdan quickly interjected, “One of our captains went rogue. Was convinced by some mysterious buyer to deliver your last load of weapons to them. Don’t worry, we took care of the problem”

The younger Lothbrok brother stayed silent while his brothers voiced out their displeasure. You took a sip from your glass, your eyes cutting back and forth to the men surrounding you.

“Oh, did you?” Ubbe questioned incredulously. “Because there shouldn’t have been a problem in the first place.”

“Yes, we did.” Harald finally broke his silence with an emphasis on every word. “The man liked a good drink...a little too much. It was unfortunately only a matter of time until he drunkenly stumbled off his boat. I’m sure the medical examiner we paid off would attest that it was accidental drowning. As for the guns, they’re on another boat with a crew we know we can trust.”

“The buyer? Do you think it was the Saxons?” Sigurd suggested to the table.

“No, they thrive on letting it be known when they screw us over. I suspect they either are or know someone close. In either our circle or yours. I just hope our actions show that we are loyal and can be trusted.” Harald regarded that last statement to Ivar, knowing his silence throughout the exchange meant he was the one he had to win over.

The young man grinned as he sat back in his seat “You know, before you got here, my brothers were saying they didn’t think you deserved any part of our profits but I personally think a five percent cut of every successful shipment is reasonable.”

A smirk slowly spread against Harald’s face. “I think that sounds very reasonable.”

----

Ivar slowly made his way to the front of the restaurant. The remainder of lunch was uneventful other than the mindless chatter of Hvitserk and Sigurd asking you 20 questions. Ubbe promptly left after taking care of the bill and with so few words.

He rolled his eyes in disgust as he watched Harald wrap his arms around you, not even trying to be modest as his hands grabbed your ass. He had to fight the urge to not cut the man’s hands off for touching something that belonged to him.

You squealed and playfully swatted his chest. You gave a quick glance at Ivar as he slowly approached. “Baby, I’ll meet you outside. I just need to touch up my lipstick real quick.”

“Okay, lovely. Don’t be too long, we have a plane waiting on us.” He pressed a quick kiss on your lips before letting you go. He walked out of the restaurant, not even noticing that Ivar was close by.

Your heels clicked on the marble floor and you peeked over your shoulder toward Ivar, giving him a small grin before you made a quick turn into the washroom.

Ivar looked around to make sure there were no eyes on him as he made his way in the same direction as you. He didn’t expect his brothers to worry too much about him. He would’ve been surprised if one of them had waited for him especially since he took his own personal town car to the restaurant.

Before he could even walk through the door, you yanked him in by his tie then pushed him against the adjacent wall. He barely had time to react when he felt your lips against his own. He wrapped his arm around your waist and groaned when your hand tugged down on his locks.

Usually you enjoyed taking your time kissing him, teasing with a soft touch of your hand at the back of his neck, savoring every small whine he made when you nipped on his bottom lip. But today was different as you rushed to deepen the kiss. Both of you knew that if you were gone too long, Harald would come hunting for you.

When you broke away from him, you looked into his eyes, stifling a soft giggle. “Hi there, handsome.” You teased, your voice finally back to normal.

“Gods, that voice you were putting on was annoying.”

“I don’t know. Harald seems okay with it.” You pushed yourself away from him, walking over to the sink and pulled out a tube of lipstick from your clutch.

Ivar stayed put against the wall, watching as you leaned over the sink to look yourself in the mirror.

He repeatedly tapped his cane on the tile, “Is he why you said no?”

“Said no to what?” You stayed focused on reapplying the red color on your lips. You couldn’t help but laugh when you looked up and saw the annoyed look Ivar was giving you.

You smooth a finger around your lips, cleaning up any smudges. “I’m not his girlfriend, Ivar. He thinks I’m the very expensive call girl he hired to keep him company over the weekend. Just your basic girlfriend experience.” You dropped the lipstick back into your clutch before closing it with a snap.

“Your client wants him taken care of?” He walked over and propped his hip against the counter next to you. “That would save me some money in the long run. One less brother to pay.”

“No…” You looked down at the porcelain instead of looking him in the eyes. “I’m just collecting information on him by any means necessary.”

“Any means necessary?” While Ivar usually admired your dedication to committing to your undercover work, he found himself not liking the idea of you following through on this one. “Y/N, please tell me there’s a target on his head.”

You quickly glanced up at him through the mirror before turning to lean against the counter. You crossed your arms in front of your chest. “At the moment, no.”

“Goddammit, Y/N” Ivar pinched the bridge of his nose. Though the thought of someone else hands over your body aggravated him, the idea of another man inside of you incited him. “Are you going to fuck him? Have you fucked him?”

“Ivar…you and your brothers were waiting for a reason. It would have been suspicious if the hooker refused to fuck him.” You stated as if that was a reasonable explanation.

“How much is your client paying you? I’ll double it—fuck it, I’ll triple it if you just walk away now.”

“No one is paying me. I’m on my boss’s orders.”

“And who do you work for again?”

“Tsk, tsk. You already know that if I told you, I’d have to kill you and I don’t want to have to mess up that pretty face. Again.” Pressing up against him, you gently brushed your thumb over the faint scar that went across his cheek. A sweet parting gift from one of your earlier encounters with him.

“Tell me what information you need and I’ll get it for you.” He leaned down and pressed his forehead against yours, closing his eyes. “Just...just don’t go with him.”

You cradled his face in your hands. For a brief moment, there was a look that Ivar had seen on your face before, a mixture of pity and sadness. You shook your head then pressed a gentle kiss on his lips before you walked away from him.

“Please don’t hate me, handsome.” Through the wall length mirror ahead of him, he saw you turn to face him after pausing at the closed door. “You can be mad and you can curse at me until we’re old and grey. Shit, you could even throw another knife at me but I think it would hurt me more if you hated me.”

You waited a moment for him to say or do anything, but when all you got was silence, you walked out of the door.

Ivar took a deep inhale to try to calm the anger that was beginning to flow through his body. He turned toward the mirror, his knuckles going white as he grabbed onto the edge of the sink. No care when his cane falls to the ground with a resounding smack.

When he was younger, he had got into some trouble after he hit a classmate with a rock. The therapist his Uncle Floki took him to after the incident told him to try counting to ten whenever he saw red.

He closed his eyes, letting out an exhale at every count in his head.

On five, he could see you.

Six, Harald slowly walking up behind you.

Seven, him taking you into his arms.

Eight, his tongue sliding up your neck.

Nine, his hand trailing down to your center.

Ten, you softly moaning out Harald’s name.

Ivar screamed out in rage and punched the mirror. He didn’t even notice the pain in his fist until his breathing evened out. He straightened out his tie the best he could with the distorted reflection in front of him. Flexing his injured hand, he reached over and grabbed one of the towels laid out on the counter, wrapping his hand in it.

If Harald didn’t have a target on his head before, he fucking did now.

——

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#vikings fanfic #ivar the boneless au #ivar the boneless x reader #ivar the boneless x femreader #alex høgh andersen x fem reader #alex høgh andersen x reader

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