#budget vacances

[ouipay]

Quand vacances riment avec dépenses - Ouipay fr

[vivre-sans-dettes]

Comment Économiser Pour les Vacances Sans se Priver

L’inflation et la baisse du pouvoir d’achat en France1 nous poussent à réviser nos dépenses. Cela inclut les budgets pour les vacances. Mais ne vous inquiétez pas ! Il est possible de profiter de Paris et de sa région Île-de-France sans trop dépenser. Il y a plein d’activités gratuites ou peu chères1. À Paris, le Défilé du Printemps Haussmann1 vous donne chaque mois une expérience unique. Il…

[jobsnotices]

Helen Keller International Nepal Vacancy 2024

Helen Keller International Nepal Vacancy 2024 for Senior Manager – Contracts & Grants, Manager – Budget & Finance, and Manager – Partnerships & Compliance. Interested candidates can apply till July 27, 2024. CAREER OPPORTUNITY Helen Keller International Nepal Vacancy 2024 Guided by the remarkable legacy of its co-founder, Helen Keller, Helen Keller Intl partners with communities striving to…

[detroitography]

Detroit By The Numbers: July Roundup

46% TRU in a new report, finds that less than half of city residents live within 0.5mi walking distance to a semi-frequent bus corridor $213 million The City of Detroit featured well in the 2024 Michigan State Budget although the bulk of the amount was for a $94.4 million settlement with children from the Detroit Public Schools who claimed the State of Michigan was responsible for the abysmal…

[indigosunsetao3]

Submission for @glitterypirateduck's #CoDVacationMode challenge.

Title: Best Laid Plans Pairing: 141 x Reader, (Female Reader) Warning: 18+, implied smut, sexual situations, sexual thoughts Prompts: Budget Motel, Solo Vacation, Running into the same person (s) Word Count: 4.3k Summary: A nice long holiday to 'find yourself' is just what you need after a messy breakup. You look forward to the restful retreat for months, dreaming about what you'll do with all your free time. But when the trip finally arrives, everything goes completely off the rails.

This got extremely out of hand in length, as my stuff usually does. I can do a part two if there is an interest 💙

The summer plan of 'finding yourself' after an extremely messy breakup was not going to plan. In the slightest. You were supposed to hop off the plane on an island in the Mediterranean, catch a ride to your rented flat, and find a lovely man, or five, to occupy your next month in blissful self love.

The first flight had been extremely uncomfortable in coach, the seats too small and your neighbor too loud to be able to sleep. That was fine you told yourself, it was just a few hours. You had a four poster bed with floor to ceiling windows overlooking the ocean to sleep in for the next few weeks. What was a few hours?

Then when you arrived at the impossibly small airport after the second flight you found out your luggage hadn't made it. It was still on the mainland and they'd be sending it on the next flight; which wasn't until the following day. Fine. You could survive on your travel clothes for a night.

But the final straw had been when you arrived at your rented space to find the owner standing outside the place. It was flooded. Completely and utterly ruined, water running from the ceiling where the pipes had burst and their other place was already booked. So were all the other areas around. Summertime on the island was busy which was why you had to book this place out four months in advance. The owner apologized and hoped to have it ready in a few weeks so maybe you could finish your vacation there.

The only place with a vacancy is a small motel on the edge of town that looks like it rents rooms by the hour. You sigh as the taxi drops you and you walk up to the front counter. It's like the start of a horror movie, the fluorescent link flickering as you sign in and pay for a room. You'll find something better tomorrow you tell yourself.

At ten at night, there is nowhere around to eat so you settle for the vending machine that is on the way to your room. It only accepts cash. You hadn't had the chance to exchange currency, that was part of the plan for tomorrow. This was turning into such a disaster. Maybe you should have just stayed home, maybe it was the universe letting you know that this was not going to be the hot girl summer you thought.

Tilting your head back to hold back the frustrated, and tired, tears you hear footsteps approach. Carefully wiping your face you turn to see a man standing behind you at the machine, casually digging out his wallet as he looks at you.

"Oh, please go ahead," you mutter as you step aside, "I was just...leaving."

"Didn't find anything appetizing?" The man asks as he steps forward and peruses the selection inside.

"No cash. Had a bit of a change of plans and didn't expect my first night in the country would be vending machine food."

"You should always carry local currency," the man says with a grin and you catch the emblem on his ball cap is a British flag. Perhaps another tourist.

"I'm figuring that out," you answer as you look at your room key number to see where you need to go.

"What do you want?" He asks as he makes a selection, a candy bar.

You pause and stare at him with an eyebrow raise. You weren't one to accept anything from strangers but you were starving.

"What do you want?" You parrot back at him taking a step back.

He chuckles eyes roving over you before producing another bill and stuffing it into the feeder.

"No strings. Just don't think you should go to bed hungry. Even if it's shitty vending machine food." He presses in the selection and watches it fall to the tray below before bending down to retrieve the bag and holds it out to you. "Crisps?"

"Thanks," you say skeptically, taking it and preparing to run.

He smirks, unwrapping his own sweet treat and taking a bite. "See you."

You wait until he is gone, disappearing into his room down the line before hustling to your room. You slip in and slam the door shut, sliding the chain and lock into place before flipping on the light. The room is about as delightful as any seedy motel that hadn't had an update since the eighties would be. You're fairly certain something skittered under the bed when you flipped the lights on.

The next day isn't going better.

You can't find anywhere else to stay on the island. No one has any sort of openings for at least a week. Your luggage had arrived at the place you were supposed to be staying at, but since no one was there they took it back to Athens. You spend another few frustrating hours to arrange it to arrive at the motel but now they say it'll be another two days. You couldn't do another two days of dirty clothes and motel soap.

You opt to go shopping, to try and make the best of it and find some nice airy clothes and hygiene provisions. Shopping takes up the rest of your day and when you arrive back at the sketchy motel you walk up to your door and slide your key in the lock to get in. It jams. You rattle the knob in frustration, juggling your bags as you fight with it.

It's not budging.

"Need a hand?" Someone calls and you turn to see the man from the night before. But he also has a friend. The other guy is older, a bit taller, definitely gruffier, and would have been a bit more intimidating if he didn't have a boonie hat on like your father.

"Ah, no I got it," you answer as you try to shoulder the door open. It doesn't budge and you sigh.

"Here," he offers walking over, his friend lingering back with his hip on the railing just watching.

You step away from the door as he wiggles the key a bit and grabs the handle, his hand completely encapsulating the knob, and he lifts it. The lock slides free when he twists the key open again and he opens the door allowing you to slip past.

"Humidity shifts the doors, just give them a good lift," he says with a grin as you shuffle past and turn to stare up at him. You watch as his eyes sweep over the room before back to you.

"Well, I'll hopefully only be here another day or two," you answer, "thank you..." you pause to get his name.

"John."

"John," you say with a nod before moving to shut the door.

"Wait," his hand stops the door shutting and your heart jumps into your throat. "Key," he supplies pulling it from the knob and holding it to you. "Don't want anyone just wandering by and letting themselves in," he finishes with a small wink before turning away as you snick the door shut. You watch him walk away through the eyehole before turning back to your dismal room to make the most of your evening.

You are going to the beach today.

You had enough of phone calls, trying to make arrangements, and sitting in the infested motel room. Perhaps this was all part of that grand universe plan, a great story to tell later and a lesson to just roll with whatever was thrown at you.

You didn't have your suit but that was fine; a summer dress and a bottle of wine tucked into the tote bag you bought would keep you entertained. There is a public spot to visit and you decide to walk, taking in the summer day and the sights as you wander. Finally happening upon the beach an hour later before groaning. It's all the way down a hill, a hill full of steep stone steps that look like would be your demise at one misstep. Fuck it, you came this far.

Pulling out the wine you wander down carefully, sipping right from the bottle as you go. You don't pass anyone on the way down and when you make it to the sand half the bottle is already gone. You should have brought two. No matter.

You walk along the shoreline watching the water lap against the sand as you continue to sip. You aren't sure what the rules are for alcohol on the beach, let alone in public, so you keep tucking the bottle away as people happen upon you. A man runs past you and you twist to watch him pass. He grins at you over his shoulder but that's the only acknowledgement he gives you before he continues.

But then he comes back a few minutes later, slipping past you with a polite 'excuse me', hands brushing your shoulders as you step into the shallow surf to give him space. He's shirtless this time and you stare boldly as he goes, twirling the bottle in your fingers as you watch the sun shining on the sweat on his back. You bring the wine up to your lips to finish the last dregs, leaning back a bit tipsily to get the last drop. When you tilt forward again you nearly splutter the liquid out as you see the man standing right in front of you. How did he get back to you so quickly?

"Drink that whole thing yourself?" He asks, his Scottish accent thick as he eyes the bottle in your hand. You almost see a twinkle in his eye at your unsubtle attempt to grip the neck of the bottle to prepare to swing it as a weapon if needed.

"Going to tattle on me?" You shoot back willing your eyes to stay on his face. Not the way his chest heaves a bit to catch his breath, the lines of his muscles on his stomach that are taunt and oh so chiseled. And definitely not at his arms where the veins are on prominent display after all the cardio. Fuck. You snap your eyes up and he's smirking at you like a cheshire cat.

"Me? Never," he answers before looking over at the hill and the stairs, the only way back up. "Just curious if you plan on spending the evening down here," he grins, "you'll break your neck walking up those after all that. Especially out here in the sun, nary a drop of water in sight." With that, he sips on his own bottle of water and pulls his shirt that he's tucked into the waistband of his pants to wipe the sweat off his face.

"Be better than where I'm staying now," you mutter glaring at the stairs for a moment. "I think I have a multi generational family of roaches under my bed."

"Aye, roaches are better than rats though," the man states and he sees your eyes widen. "Thinking better of camping out here?" He laughs as you turn to stomp toward the stairs. You better start walking now if you want to make it out by sundown.

He follows though and you shoot him a look over your shoulder.

"Only way in or out," he reasons and you sigh before beginning your hike.

Your legs are on fire after only twenty steps and there are many more to go. He's a few steps behind, quietly following and politely looking at the ground, at least when you turn to stare at him. Halfway up you can't take it anymore and you step off to the side to bend over to breathe. The wine is churning in your stomach and you're slick with sweat from the heat. You wave him to go past you but you watch his legs stop in your vision before he taps you on the arm with his water bottle.

You snatch it with a muttered thanks before taking a few sips and handing it back. He's watching you quietly before you stand up and continue your march in silence with him still lingering a few steps behind you.

At the top, you breathe a sigh of relief before remembering you've still got about an hour's walk back. Maybe the rats would leave you alone if you just crawled under the bushes on the side of the road and slept there.

"We have to stop running into one another like this," comes a voice that makes your head snap up. It's the man from the motel in the baseball cap half leaning out the passenger window as he looks at you with a grin.

"I'm beginning to think you're following me," you answer the tone not a joke.

"Small island," he reasons as the guy from the beach walks around to climb in the car. Did all of these people know one another?

"Great, well enjoy," you answer and twist to walk the opposite way of the car.

"Motel's the other way," he calls and you hesitate in your steps. Goddamn it.

"Small island, I'll just walk the circle and get there eventually."

"We'll give you a ride." John is driving and he's watching you in the side mirror.

"I'm fine, thanks!" You shoot back and continue walking, stumbling a bit over some loose gravel.

"Careful."

A hand catches your elbow and you yank it back quickly looking up. Was all of Britain on this vacation? What are the odds you run into yet another British guy based on his accent?

""m fine," you snap as you take in him. He's tall, so tall you have to crane your head back to look at him. There isn't much to see of his face though between the black facial mask and sunglasses. He has a bag of what looks like takeaway in his hands and someone yells from the car for him to hurry up.

"The stumbling walk tells me otherwise," he answers as he blocks your path from continuing your walk. "Not safe to be out here alone in your state."

"Yeah? And what? Safer for me to get in the car with you lot?" You glance over your shoulder where the men inside the car continue to watch.

"Yes." He nods off to the right where another group of men are watching the whole scene unfold and as if on queue one wolf whistles while staring blatantly at you. "Considering Johnny was kind enough to keep them away from you on your walk, I would view us as the lesser of two evils."

"I-what?"

"It's the middle of the hottest part of the day, you think he went for a run for fun?" He laughs a bit, "get in the car."

Something about his tone is commanding enough for your confused, and tired, brain to listen. Maybe it's stupid. No, it is stupid. But what other choice do you have? You walk toward the car and the man in the back, Johnny, leans over to open it from the inside and you climb in.

The back seat is cramped once the other guy climbs in and he shoves the food into your hands, his knees tucked nearly to his chest. You take it before staring at John as he pulls off the curb and heads back to the motel.

Your heart is hammering through the whole drive, staring at street names, markers, anything to help you when they inevitably drove you down some side road and tried to murder you. No, they'd certainly murder you. Johnny's arms were the size of a small child and the guy next to you looks as if he could smash you under his foot.

True to their word though, you arrive back at the motel very much alive. Johnny gets out first and you slide out next to him and hand him the food with a shove before making to run for your room.

"Hang on," comes the big guy in the face mask's voice. You halt and twist as he walks over and sticks a Styrofoam box into your hands. "Living off wine and vending food is no way to spend your vacation." You swear he's grinning as you stare down at the box before he twists away to follow the other three men toward their room.

The food is delicious. You sit in the very center of your bed, above the blankets, and eat it all while watching the fuzzy television. You realize as you doze off in your wine haze that they had bought you food. There had been five boxes of in your hand sitting in that car as if they knew you'd say yes.

A few hours later you decide this was it. This was the thing that was going to send you into a breakdown.

Sunburnt, hungover, and the goddamn water in the shower is a very slow trickle that barely splashes the bottom of the tub. When you attempt to call the front desk for help it just rings. And rings. You're near hysterics in laughter, or rage, as you storm toward the door. Whoever is at the front desk is about to get an earful of misplaced anger.

Flinging the door open you make to storm right down to the front when a bit of your senses come back. You don't have shoes on and you are very much wrapped in just a towel. You twist to try and stop the door but it clicks shut just as your palm hits it. Shit. Shit. You wriggle the door handle hoping against hope that it didn't lock properly but it's good and snug in its place.

Gripping the towel knot at your collarbone you walk over to the railing and peer toward the front desk. Maybe no one would be around and you could just dart in there, ask the manager for another key, and run back before anyone saw.

The office is dark; they've closed for the evening it seems which is why no one had picked up.

"Oh my god," you whine as you twist to look back at your still very much closed and locked door. What do you do now? No phone, no key, no clothes. You glance to the right as someone steps out of their room and the leering look he gives you makes your stomach churn.

Lesser of two evils comes the masked guy's words. Right.

Before you can think better you walk down to the room that you know the four men are staying in and bang on the door. It's the middle of the night so you assume you're about to wake them but you barely get two knocks before it swings open. John is standing there looking very much awake, and perhaps a bit shocked at the state you're in.

Goddamn.

Where Johnny had been chiseled bronze earlier this guy is a broad-shouldered solid wall of man that you hadn't noticed the first time. He's not nearly as cut, but you know that brute strength lingers under his skin. Your eyes trace over his pecs that seem to bulge under his compression t-shirt.

"Ah, I know it's late...and this is all a bit odd," you say, your eyes sweeping into the room to see Johnny and the masked guy playing cards at a small table, their eyes darting between you and their hands. "But my shower wasn't working and one stupid thing led to another and I locked myself out of my room and the front desk is closed." You glance at the other stranger still standing watching you. "And I'm pretty sure if I don't get somewhere else my neighbor is going to kidnap me."

John looks out the door at the man who's smoking and smirking now and his hand gently comes between your shoulder blades to guide you inside.

"Kyle is just finishing up his shower then you can get cleaned up. See if I can scrounge up a shirt instead of just...that," his eyes give your body a once over and you feel goosebumps break out along your spine at the scrutiny.

You shuffle inside and grip at your towel to make sure it's good and wrapped before leaning against a dresser. This is so fucking awkward. The other two men continue their game doing their best to not stare and you jiggle your leg restlessly. What the hell were you going to do now? Just...sit here with them all night? You should have slept on the beach and risked the rats.

"This a guys' trip?" You ask into the silence in an attempt to fill it, noticing there were only two beds for the four men.

"Something like that," John answers as he brushes past you to sit on one of the beds. "What brings you here?"

"I decided to follow a stupid self-help book about finding yourself and a series of unfortunate events landed me here. I'm going to leave the author a horrible review." You sigh wistfully as the bathroom door opens. "I was supposed to be staying on the beach with my pick of men to bring home every night and just a nice break from reality for a bit. Little bit of 'eat pray love' in my life. But this has been a disaster."

"You've got at least one of those things," comes a voice, Kyle, as he walks out of the bathroom in just a towel slung around his hips. You have to mentally make sure your mouth is not hanging open at the sight because, fucking hell, he's gorgeous. The steam curling off his skin, water droplets still glistening on his chest, and a smile that about takes you out.

"Bloody showoff," Johnny mutters and you glance over at him before back to Kyle.

"Says the one running shirtless earlier, how's the burn?" The masked guy asks as he shows his cards and Johnny tosses his own in disgust at the loss.

"Sorry. What was that you mentioned? I've got one of the things?" You ask your hackles up a bit. This whole trip had been an absolute disaster, you hadn't gotten anything you had hoped for so far. "Fairly certain this motel is not the beachside villa I booked."

"Having your pick of men to bring home to your place," Kyle answers simply as if it were obvious. "I mean technically you're in our place but that's semantics." He waves a hand absently at the final word and you feel your toes curl at the thought, which he clocks instantly.

"I-what?" You ask a bit shocked looking between all of them.

"Do you think we would tell you no? Especially in that little number," John asks with a grin, his eyes on your fingers as you tug at the towel to see if it would grow an extra inch to cover more skin.

"And if I were to pick? What then? Rest of you go stand outside and wait? Sounds boring for the rest of you." You snipe sounding braver than you felt in an attempt to call their bluff. Surely they were messing with you.

"Can't just pick one doll," the masked guy answers and your eyes widen. "All or none, otherwise someone will be jealous and it's a whole fucking thing." You can see his eyes crinkle with a smirk.

Oh. Fuck. You squirm a bit under all their watchful eyes.

"Way to cut to the chase Simon," Kyle mutters as he takes in your shocked face.

"Dancing around it doesn't change it," Simon answers as he leans forward in his chair to peer at you. His head is cocked to the side a bit as if studying you, watching your body language as you process the newest development.

"All...are all of you," you stumble over your words, the filthy thoughts going through your mind despite the shock of it. "At the same time?"

"Promise we won't break you...unless you ask," Johnny supplies with a grin. "We can start slow though," he reasons cutting a look over at Simon as if warning him to keep his mouth shut.

"Can I," you lick your lips and dare a glance at the bathroom, "can I have a moment?" Because you are going to combust under their heated looks if you don't get away to breathe.

Kyle steps to the side and gestures to the bathroom to which you scamper to as quickly as possible. You shut the door with a snap and flip the lock before gripping the counter.

Were you really considering this? How could you not? But four men? Strangers. But the part you were most looking forward to of this vacation was no strings attached sex. And they certainly looked interested in helping you with that plan. Four? How would that even? Fuck, Kyle looked good. And how would it feel to grip onto John's chest and just...ride him? Shit, stop. But Johnny's arms looked plenty strong enough to hold you down so Simon could make you scream. Stop! These men had been purposely corralling you these past few days. But it was hot...how they wanted you. To share you. No.

Your brain is a garbled mess of thoughts as you look at yourself in the mirror. You need a drink, or ten. You take a shuddering breath, then another, as you steel yourself for your decision.

You only live once, right? You could always tell them to stop if you didn't want it. You could change your mind halfway through and end it...though you doubted you'd back out since just the thought of so many hands all over you, worshipping you, made your core ache with need. After all these shitty few days you deserved a good night, dammit. And who better to help than four men who had quite literally been chasing you around the island? Maybe the universe wasn't such a bitch after all.

"Fuck it," you announce as you pull open the bathroom door to give them your answer. But Kyle is already standing there and he grips you by the back of the neck to pull you to him in a heated kiss, stealing the rest of your words out of your mouth.

[anglingforlevels]

Open House (Yandere House x Reader)

When people say the housing market is a nightmare, is this what they had in mind? (The story goes out to me because I’m trying to get an apartment and it is Suffering. Please pretend this count as yandere.)

CW: not proofread, unconventional captivity, swearing, I accidentally had too much fun writing Abby and forgot the point of the story-

Minors DNI

When you proudly had reached the saving milestone to buy a small house in the countryside, you had opted to spend some of that money on a real estate agent, figuring it was a good investment, hiring a Ms. Abby Bardot – who, over the phone, had insisted heavily on being called Abby rather than Ms. Bardot – who had twenty years of experience in the field.

Quite quickly, you realized that perhaps she wasn’t the most conventional real estate agent.

Ms. Abby, you quickly noticed at your first meeting, was all hand-wringing and nervous sweating, though she seemed sweet enough, having clutched a tin of home-cooked cookies in all shades of black and almost-not-black, and had heartily insisted you’d take as many as you’d like (which was zero).

She had insisted on bringing you to an open house for what she had called a hidden gem of a house, that it would be a private tour. To you, once she mentioned it would be at 1 p.m., it was quite obvious that “private tour” meant, “no one else has or will be showing up”.

Ms. Abby had also enthusiastically shown pictures of the place, pictures she had ready-at-the-go on her phone, presumably she really needed a buyer for the house.

“Ms. Abby.” You had said, interrupted with a small interjection of, Oh please, just Abby. “Ms. Abby, that’s not quite a house and more so a small manor. I went over my budget with you when I hired you.” Ms. Abby had quickly recovered from the rejection and puffed out her chest proudly.

“Why that’s the best part, this is within your budget!”

You had sent her a dubious look at this. “Are the pictures… How do I put this delicately? Are the pictures recent and unedited?”

Ms. Abby deflated so quickly that it almost felt impressive, almost urging you to clap as if it was a circus performance. Of course, it felt mean had you clapped at her dejected look.

“It’s well-kept, I assure you. These pictures are all recent, I’ve updated them every year for almost my entire career!” She said proudly, and you almost felt pity at the fact she didn’t seem to realize her own slip-up but instead paraded it around like a badge of honor.

Though, all-in-all you were charmed, and somewhat endeared, by the honesty. But not very much by the house at all. “I think I’d like to look at other options, it’s awfully big for just one person.”

“Ah, wait!” Ms. Abby said urgently. “Please, before we continue with other options, let’s first try out the open house this Friday.”

“Is this protocol, Ms. Abby?” Ms. Abby’s lips wobbled at this and… “Are you crying?!”

“No, I’m a professional. Real Estate Agents don’t cry, I’m simply sweating, is all.” Ms. Abby sniffled, dubbing her eyes with a handkerchief, presumably you were meant to believe her eyes were suffering heat stroke on this fine autumn day.

“…Alright, I’ll go to the open house. Just give me the address.” You eventually relented, if only to avoid seeing the pitiful sight of a teary-eyed Ms. Abby.

That’s how you ended up before a grand house out in the middle of nowhere, the closest town was an hour-long drive away. Forest and fields were most of the surroundings, which was why the house was in such stark contrast, standing as a sole presence, the forests and fields shying away to make room for it, leaving a vast vacancy around it, stretching on for at least fifty meters.

It really was a pristine house, when comparing it to the pictures, it seemed to match right down to the placement of every rock and plant in sight. As if someone had consciously placed each leaf and pebble.

The plants and trees of the garden donned vibrant colors despite the season. You wondered how often Ms. Abby came by, or if she had hired a crew for maintenance, as you could not spot even the slightest hint of dirt or spiderwebs.

The only thing that looked aged was, unfortunately, the “For Sale” sign.

It felt a little unnatural, but you chalked it up to currently being a display house, and thus not lived-in either. You took notice of the way the trees beyond the reach of the garden were withered and wrinkled, and the grass yellowy, dry patches, barely hiding the dirt beneath.

“Some more forest could really do this place some good.” You mumbled. You hesitated for reasons you didn’t fully understand before stepping beyond dead plants clinging loosely to your feet and entering the garden.

You felt a prickling sensation behind your eyes the further you traveled, the door felt so far when the weight of something cloyingly attentive seemed to drag you down as if to prevent your advances.

“You’re here!” A delighted Ms. Abby yelled out before the sound of pitter-patter was interrupted by a loud thud against the door that rattled the frame. With her energy dampened, a sheepish Ms. Abby appeared behind the front door, simply saying; “It opens the other way.”

Right, something attentive could only have been the attention of the overzealous Ms. Abby.

“Come in, come in!” She invited, all but pulling you stumbling into a most decadently, lavishly decorated foyer. From distasteful stuffed animal heads to the ruby red furniture and mosaic glass tables, it felt quite uncomfortable, all sharp angles and very little homeliness to it, like an ornate display of wealth rather than a welcome into a household.

“Not very welcoming, huh?” You commented, which Ms. Abby elected not to respond to, though the small “eep” suggested she had heard the negative impression.

Looking the room over it was impossible for your eyes not to rest at the centerpiece of the foyer: A huge painting above the staircase. A solemn-looking guy stared out into the air, curly locks framing his face. Old paintings always looked miserable, yet you couldn’t help but feel there was a glint of genuine misery in his eyes. Noticing your attention had wandered, Ms. Abby followed your eyes.

“Oh, that was an owner of the house who had it commissioned back during the Renaissance, they wanted it right here, in the heart of the house.” She explained though you couldn’t say you agreed to a decadent foyer being the heart of a house, and if it was, that wasn’t boding well for Ms. Abby’s already poor sales chances.

“I’ve never understood why someone would want to pay money to look miserable in a painting, like you’re paying for it, at least make yourself smile or something.” Your jab was met with Ms. Abby’s impressive ability to carry on like you had said nothing negative at all.

“You know, the owner claimed it was a Jan van Eyck-original too.” Ms. Abby said as if letting you in on a secret, or town gossip. “Really, we’ve had it appraised.”

“And the appraiser confirmed it was a Jan van-whatever original?”

“…The owner really loved art; you’ll see plenty of paintings throughout the place.”

So that was a no. And speaking of no’s:

“Listen, Ms. Abby, I don’t exactly have the budget for a big house, as I already said. I especially don’t have the kind of budget that the kind of person who’d commission an artist to paint them for their foyer would have.”

Abby laughed nervously. “Well, you see, the value’s dropped as I mentioned. We haven’t been able to sell it for a long time, so the price just kept falling.”

“Right. But even so, it can’t have fallen that much.”

At this, Abby avoided eye contact, wringing her hands before, after a big breath, blurting it out. “The person in the painting was the last person to own the house.”

…

“Is this place built on top of an oilfield or something?”

Ms. Abby laughed a hearty if a bit shrill, laughter, before sighing and mumbling. “If only.” She clapped. “But! This is a charming house, why, let me show you the many rooms!”

“Ms. Abby, have you ever considered a field outside of sale?” You asked dryly but nonetheless followed along, eager to leave behind the painting, as you felt watched. The house consisted of many sprawling hallways, enough to almost make one dizzy, and you struggled to remember where everything was.

The house had many rooms, none of them particularly inviting, reading more like a historical display room lacking any warmth or heart (and perhaps even worse, any semblance of renovation despite old age), and all absolutely clustered with trinkets, knickknacks, and in the case of the walls, paintings – leaving very little free space.

It really did read like a historical display, as some rooms seemed older than others, suggesting partial renovation must have been done on some of the rooms. You’d like a word with whoever had been in charge of that lackluster, nonsensical effort.

Perhaps the lack of replaced furniture or renovation was why the house periodically seemed to creak and moan in odd ways, at times you almost confused it as Ms. Abby groaning or sighing, only to realize it was the sound of the house itself.

As for Ms. Abby, she remained undeterred regardless of how many snide remarks you made, which you had to commend her for, though the charm you initially had felt from it was quickly wearing off. Ms. Abby actually seemed increasingly happy, humming to herself. She didn’t think the sale was going well, did she?

“How much of the house is there left to see, Ms. Abby?” You asked, increasingly impatient and tired, having been dragged through an unreasonable number of rooms, which inexplicably, almost all were bedrooms (and yet, you had yet to see more than a single bathroom).

“Well, we’re still missing a couple rooms like the kitchen, oh! I know, how about the master bedroom since you’ll be spending every night there.” She said with a beaming smile.

“That’s awfully optimistic, Ms. Abby.” You noted, at this you received a good-hearted chuckle.

“Oh, this place is too lovely to pass up on, I think it likes you – it’s a match made in heaven. If you don’t like some of the features or decorations, it’s easy to change those, so it would be a waste not to live here.”

“I can’t imagine a house as empty as this holding much affection, and I’m not up for a big project.” All you wanted was a small but cozy house, a simple place. You felt exhausted just thinking about the amount of work you’d need to pour into a house like this to make it feel like home.

“Well, it’s perhaps not an easy house,” Ms. Abby admitted, her cheer at this point an unshakeable force, as a sense of confidence seemed to have sprouted in her. “But that’s why when that rare fit comes by one must take the leap and hold onto it.”

You’d feel insulted by the suggestion you were a good fit for this distasteful and unpleasant house, had Ms. Abby not already shown herself as incompetent but well-meaning. You simply sighed, giving up the conversation, figuring you’d find another real estate agent when you came home.

“Well, take me to the master bedroom then.”

Ms. Abby led you through the foyer again, the bedroom apparently at the other end of the house. Your eyes were drawn to the painting once more, its eyes felt more sunken in than before, shadows forming beneath, to which you tiredly sighed. “Me too, buddy. Me too.”

The master bedroom seemed to be at the stopping point to the sprawling hallways on the right. You were just aghast at the fact you had gone through another set of sprawling hallways, you wondered who had come up with the confusing layout of the place.

Ms. Abby tried to imitate a trumpet to build up suspense but trailed off after you shot her an impatient look. After a weak cough, she simply said “Tadaah” and opened the door.

You stopped up, your right foot hanging in the air, about to cross into the room. A sense of foreboding filled you; it was a bit different from the first time, however. The prickling sensation you felt and the cloying attention, it felt smothering, less like a shove away and more like… Being held in place.

Ms. Abby waited patiently inside the room, not commenting on your hesitation, though you had been snarky and displeased the entire tour, so perhaps this just seemed like more of that. You swallowed and ignored the pressure as you put your foot down and entered the room.

The air felt different here. You had hoped the odd sensation would disappear if you just carried on, like when you entered the house, to begin with, instead, it worsened. The air clung to you, terribly heavy and sticky. It took you a moment to actually focus enough to realize Ms. Abby had spoken, so when you finally snapped back to reality, Ms. Abby was standing in the hallway.

“-tively spellbound already. I’ll give you some time to look around and get acquainted together, one-on-one.” And then she closed the door in your face. The room was, oddly empty, compared to every other room. Nothing but a big, red bed, the empty walls that you could’ve sworn were further away when you entered, and that feeling of being watched, lodging into your skin like stitching.

Nothing except an almost empty room that didn’t feel empty enough.

That’s it. Ms. Abby had officially used up all her pity points, you were leaving. You opened the door, a tad more aggressively than what was perhaps called for, but Ms. Abby was nowhere to be seen in the hallway.

For how annoyed you were with her at this point, you found that you missed her company as you walked down the hallway, nothing distracting you from the odd sounds of the house that seemed to have increased. It felt as if the floor beneath your feet moved and rumbled slightly, the velvety carpets uneven and bumpy, as if walking on something breathing, something living.

You wished that Ms. Abby had given you the floor plans, as you struggled to remember how to return to the foyer through the hallways and occasional rooms you had to cross seemed to hold no real rhythm and didn’t feel as if it obeyed any rules about directions.

At one point you could have sworn you turned back, only to be in another room than where you had emerged from originally. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, you found the foyer again. Even in your rush to find the door, your eyes were drawn to the painting, though you continued to rush by it. In your haste, it almost looked as if the painting’s colors were smudged.

You attempted to open the door but found it didn’t budge. It was an odd choice to lock the door, but you were certain that was the reason, it had to be. A locked door was no issue from the inside, but even after hearing the click of the lock, the door didn’t budge when you attempted to open it.

You attempted to kick, pry, tear, and even throw your body weight at the door, but with no luck.

Settling in the foyer after your final attempt at prying the front door open, you huffed, out of breath. You laid on the stairs, trying to settle your heart and pulse, when your eyes landed on the painting again.

…You rubbed your eyes and sat up, thinking what you had seen was owed to your tiredness and the upside-down angle, but no. The painting really did look smudged. Like someone had blurred colors and borders together, the hair’s vibrant color having lost its radiance.

And the mouth, it was oddly smudged between the lips, that it almost gave the impression of a mouth being pried open.

…

No, that was silly, you were being silly. The painting was smudged out, which was already creepy enough on its own, or rather, the house was already creepy enough on its own – your mind was just working overtime and was making up new things to get scared over.

“Well brain, if you like overtime, I guess I’ll have to put you to use and think of an escape. But you don’t have a union, so it’s unpaid hours for you, I’m afraid.”

If the front door was a bust, then you’d find a window. You struggled to recall any windows on the ground floor, but surely there had to be some. Or… That’s right! The kitchen, it had a glass door. You never got around to seeing the kitchen, having mainly been shown the upstairs so far, but you recalled Ms. Abby mentioning it back when she had given her pitch for why you should show up.

You hadn’t been on the left side of the house, at least not on the ground floor, so you figured that was a good direction to begin, in your search for the kitchen. You opened the door, urgency in your steps, only to find you weren’t in an unfamiliar room.

Instead, you were back in the empty master bedroom, which somehow felt much more crammed than any of the other rooms. But… That didn’t make sense. The master bedroom was upstairs, you had fought through a confusing hallway to find the foyer, so this… this didn’t make sense at all.

The air felt oppressive in the room as if your heart would be forced to a halt from the sheer weight of it, like a physical presence. This time you were sure that the walls were closer than they had been before. A bed table had been added next to the bed, and the part of you still delusional enough to hope thought maybe it meant that Ms. Abby was still around. As if this was an elaborate prank.

You tried to swallow despite how dry your mouth felt, your heart hammering painfully against your chest. This was ridiculous. You slammed the door open again, the door shaking on its hinges. Beyond the door, it revealed a hallway, but even if the hallway was confusing, you had been through it twice by now, you could do this, you could find the kitchen or a ground-floor window.

Hurrying along the hallway, it felt as if the floor and walls shifted and moved. Were you dizzy, or was this actually happening? The restrictive air of the master bedroom followed you, as you dragged yourself through.

“Huh?” you furrowed your eyebrows when you opened one of the doors. You were sure this was the one you had gone through before, but the room behind was unfamiliar. Cold dread filled you as a horrible thought crossed your mind.

No, no, no. You ran to the next door but behind it was another unfamiliar room. Were the layout… Changing? Your hand trembled as you tried to open a third door, and you felt like crying when all it revealed was the master bedroom again.

A lamp now stood on top of the bed table. Were new things going to be added each time you returned to the room? You thought back to the cramped bedrooms Ms. Abby had so cheerfully shown off. You weren’t sure what to make of it but felt sick all the same.

“I don’t have time for this.” You had to snap yourself out of it. You could spiral and panic later, but for now, you needed to get out. So, turning on your heel, you returned to the hallway. You’d go through each door that didn’t lead to the master bedroom, hoping to somehow find your way downstairs.

You almost cheered audibly when you finally saw the staircase, rushing to it. Once again, as you passed it, your eyes were drawn to the painting.

The painting no longer looked the same as before, the person it had been long erased by smudged and changing lines. You couldn’t tell what it was changing into but felt your heart race with familiarity all the same.

The mouth was a gaping hole by now, outstretched awkwardly. You thought it might have been a smile, but it looked much more like a pained grimace to you.

You only took this as further encouragement to get out of there.

When you failed to find anything of use, you realized there was one room that you seemed to always find. So, as counterintuitive as it seemed, you walked upstairs again, and as confusing as the changing layout was, it didn’t take you long to find it.

You saw the familiar bed, the bed table, the lamp, and the newly added clock on the wall (which didn’t seem to be working) and closed your eyes for a moment. You took a deep breath. And then you decisively walked in to grab the lamp, shivering a bit as you brushed against a much-too-warm wall.

If you couldn’t find the kitchen or a window on the ground floor, then fuck it, you’d find one up here. Whatever broken bones or bruises you’d get from the fall, you’d accept. Finding a window upstairs proved much more doable, as one would line the walls every now and then.

You threw the lamp against the window and braced yourself for impact.

But nothing happened.

The lamp fell to the floor with a hollow thud. When you opened your eyes, you found not a single scratch on the window. So, you tried again. And again. You tried punching the window, earning nothing but a stinging fist.

Yet you continued. At some point, it became more of a tantrum, an expression of your desperation colored in violence, than an attempt to escape. Hitting the window, kicking the wall. “Why-“ you hated this house. You hated it. Hated, hated, hated it. You just wanted to leave. Your ears rang, whether it was from your headache, or the way the house’s groans and creaks had grown in severity, you didn’t know, didn’t care, couldn’t care.

Already unsteady on your feet, your final kick caused you to lose balance entirely.

Stumbling and falling onto the floor, without realizing it, you found yourself by the stairs, and face to face with the painting. Your blood ran cold as you stared into your own lifeless eyes staring down at you from above.

 

Quiet had fallen over the house like a blanket, only the slow rumble throughout the house bellied any activity. In the heart of the house rested a painting, donning a toothy smile and a certain glint in their eyes.

A satisfied Ms. Abby removed the “For Sale” sign out front and drove away with a hum.

[covid-safer-hotties]

Also preserved in our archive

No mention of covid or long covid, but lots of mention of "cost to taxpayers" and "learning losses." I wonder what *specific* actions should be taken besides forcing sick people to stay in the classroom? Hmmst...

By Poppy Wood

Concerns that absence crisis provoked by the pandemic continues to disrupt learning

About 14,000 teachers in England called in sick every day last year, analysis has found.

Department for Education (DfE) data show that about 2.5 million school days were lost in 2022-23 as more than 326,000 teachers missed class owing to sickness.

Each teacher who took sick leave reported an average of eight days off work last year. It equates to almost 13,700 teachers calling in sick on any given day during the 190-day school year.

About 66.2 per cent of England’s teaching workforce were off school because of illness last year, according to the DfE’s school workforce statistics.

It marks a slight decrease on the 67.5 per cent of teachers who called in sick in 2021-22, but is still far above the pre-pandemic rate of 54.1 per cent.

The figures will raise concerns that an absence crisis provoked by the pandemic continues to disrupt learning, with the number of pupils missing school also significantly higher post-Covid.

In total, 7.8 million school days have been lost to sickness since in-person teaching resumed following the pandemic, according to analysis of DfE data by the TaxPayers’ Alliance.

Compared with the 2018-19 academic year – the year before the pandemic – an extra 461,500 teaching days were lost last year because of staff illness.

Joanna Marchong, investigations campaign manager of the TaxPayers’ Alliance, said: “Taxpayers will be shocked by the sheer number of sick days taken by teaching staff.

“Alongside their generous holiday entitlements, hundreds of thousands of teachers are frequently absent, leaving classrooms in disarray and forcing taxpayers to bear the significant costs of finding covers.

“Schools must tackle this issue if they want to deliver a consistent quality of education that is value for money for taxpayers.”

‘Deteriorating mental health’ While the Government does not collect statistics centrally on the reasons for teacher absence, experts have pointed to increased stress and deteriorating mental health.

In some secondary schools, as many as 166 teachers took sick leave at some point during the 2022-23 academic year, compounding financial pressures on already stretched school budgets.

Most teachers in England receive full sick pay for 25 working days off work in their first year in the profession, rising to 100 working days in their fourth and successive years of teaching.

The Telegraph revealed last week that teacher absences are forcing schools to spend billions on supply staff each year as headteachers scramble to plug gaps in the workforce.

In 2022-23, schools gave £1.2 billion of taxpayers’ cash towards expensive teacher supply agencies to fill vacancies and cover long-term sickness. It is almost double the £738 million spent on supply teachers in the year before the pandemic.

Labour has promised to allow teachers to complete more tasks from home in an attempt to make the profession more attractive. The Government is also exploring how to use artificial intelligence to reduce staff workloads, after almost one in 10 teachers quit the profession last year.

It is hoped the measures will help tackle the recruitment and retention crisis and stem the tide of staff calling in sick each day.

Daniel Kebede, the general secretary of the National Education Union (NEU), called on the Government to improve teacher pay to prevent a growing exodus from the sector.

“We need to see a concerted effort by the Government to retain teachers in the profession. This will need changes to accountability so we have a collaborative and supportive system,” he said.

“This will also require action on closing the pay gap between teachers and other graduate professions, reducing workload and more flexible working in education”.

Mr Kebede blamed the rise in the teacher absence rate since the pandemic on “excessive teacher workload driven by a high-stakes assessment and accountability system”.

He warned this would continue to “leave many teachers burnt out, leading to stress, sickness and people leaving the profession” without urgent government action.

Labour has come under fire for bowing to pressure from education unions on above-inflation public sector pay deals and demands.

Last month, the NEU voted to accept the Government’s pay offer of a 5.5 per cent uplift for most teachers this year, but warned that it will push for a bigger hike next year.

It suggests the UK’s largest teaching union will continue to wield the threat of further strike action as it seeks long-term funding to address the retention crisis.

‘Severely absent’ pupils Bridget Phillipson, the Education Secretary, has warned of a “dire” inheritance from the previous government as she faces calls for further funding from across the sector.

Schools are also struggling with dwindling pupil attendance levels since the pandemic, with Ms Phillipson warning recently that it was quickly becoming an “absence epidemic”.

More than one in 50 pupils in England are now missing at least half the school year, official figures show.

The proportion of children classed as “severely absent” – meaning they failed to show up for 50 per cent or more of classes – rose to 2.1 per cent in the autumn and spring terms of 2023-24.

It means that about 158,000 pupils were severely absent from school during those teaching periods, according to DfE data.

The DfE was approached for comment.

[slippinmickeys]

The Unseelie Court (3/16)

Scully was surprised to find that the Adrian County morgue had the budget to employ a diener, who met her at the autopsy bay door with a scowl. He was a gruff looking man, short and stocky though his hands were as big and thick as baseball mitts. His face was like a cartoon character, a Looney Tunes mob boss with a big nose and a jutting chin. He had inky hair and what looked like a perpetual five o’clock shadow with eyes so dark she couldn’t make out his pupils, even from up close. 

She introduced herself, and he grunted. 

“Aeon,” he said, shaking her hand and pointing out the locker room. “Have trouble finding the place?”

Scully shook her head. They’d come right from the crime scene. Mulder had dropped her off and headed to the hotel to check in.

“Have you been waiting long?” she asked him. 

He looked at her with his head cocked to the side. On his left eyelid were a constellation of skin tags. He shrugged and turned away. Scully hefted her small bag over her shoulder and walked in the direction he’d pointed. 

The locker room was small, cramped. She banged her elbow into the locker behind her as she changed into scrubs, and swore, shaking out her arm. Adjusting her watch band after the pain began to subside, she got a good look at the face. Her watch had stopped working. 

She sighed, knowing what Mulder would say, and pulled out her laptop. If he was going to throw wild theories at her, she was determined to walk into the conversation prepared. Armed for bear. 

There was nowhere to really sit, so she wandered down the hallway until she found a room with a few scattered tables and chairs. 

It was a break room like any other—a few crumby tables, a gummy bottle of Dawn next to the sink, a microwave that probably needed to be cleaned. The walls were bare but for the ubiquitous Family and Medical Leave Act poster and the air was reedy with the chemical smell of Lean Cuisines. Scully scrunched her nose distastefully. Opened a search engine and dug in. 

***

Mulder breezed into the autopsy suite with the sweet smell of the outdoors on his clothes, a marked contrast to the redolent Eau de dead of the morgue. 

Scully looked up from the table, surprised and pleased to see him. 

She pulled up the protective eyewear she was wearing, her eyes bright above the surgical mask. Mulder couldn’t help but grin at her, even over a body. Behind the cage of his ribs, he felt his heart soften at the sight of her. 

“Hey,” she said, leaning gloved hands against the edge of the autopsy tabletop. “How’d it go?”

“Not great,” he said, coming to a stop a few feet away from the body. “They had enough vacancy for separate rooms.” 

Scully’s eyes darted to the door nervously.

Mulder regretted teasing her. He watched as she shifted gears, and he moved his gaze to the body in front of them. The autopsy tech had removed the young man’s clothes, but it was clear Scully hadn’t gotten very far into her examination. There was not yet any Y incision, and the blanket offering the deceased what little dignity could be provided in his situation was still pulled up to his shoulders. 

“I thought you’d be half done by now.”

“I got a late start,” she said, shrugging. She pulled the mask below her mouth and leveled a look at him. “I take it you’re still married to this fairy idea?”

“Personnel file lists me as Single, Scully, you know that.”

“Cute,” she said humorlessly.

“My mother always said so.”

She gave him a look, her mouth a long, thin line. Yep. Shouldn’t have teased her with the hotel remark, he thought. She wasn’t big on being teased to begin with, and he’d probably just cratered his chances of an on-the-case dalliance. 

“The fae, or people like them, exist across nearly all cultures,” he finally said, tipping his cards so she could see his hand. “That kind of prevalence usually indicates at least a foundation in authenticity.”

“A version of Santa Claus exists in many cultures, Mulder, and I think we can both agree he’s not real.”

Mulder felt them settle into their usual routine. Odd how it sort of turned him on. Teasing was one thing, he thought. Honesty was another.

“I got what I wanted this year,” he shrugged.

At Mulder’s declaration, Scully’s eyes flitted immediately to his and she felt a flush rise up and spread along her collarbones. For a moment she could feel his rapacious mouth clamped over her vulva, his long, thick fingers curled into her, three knuckles deep. She gripped the metal countertop in front of her and inhaled before speaking.

“There is a theory that fairy folklore evolved from folk memories of a prehistoric race,” she said. “Newcomers superseded a body of earlier human or humanoid peoples, and the memories of this defeated race developed into modern conceptions of fairies.”

A slow, impressed smile crept up the corners of Mulder’s mouth. “…you’ve been doing some research,” he said.

“I may have spent a little time on the computer, yes,” she said, trying not to appear too pleased. “I think I pissed off my diener.”

“He’ll get over it,” Mulder said with a dismissive wave. Her diener must have been the dour fellow that showed him into the suite. Mulder shuffled his feet and leaned back against a metal countertop with an eager look on his face. “Hit me with it.”

Scully licked her lips before continuing, feeling a surge of sensual energy. 

“Proponents of the theory find support in the tradition of cold iron as a charm against fairies, viewed as a cultural memory of invaders with iron weapons displacing peoples who had just stone, bone, and wood at their disposal and were easily defeated. In folklore, flint arrowheads from the Stone Age were attributed to the fairies as ��elfshot,’ while their green clothing and underground homes spoke to a need for camouflage and covert shelter from hostile humans, their magic a necessary skill for combating those with superior weaponry.”

“It’s a decent argument, but it’s not much fun,” Mulder said. 

“I’m going to remember that you said I had a decent argument,” she said, feeling ever so slightly smug. 

They were quiet for a moment and both turned their attention to the body before them. 

“Have you done an initial examination yet?” he asked. 

She shook her head, moving to stand next to the victim’s head. She reached up and turned on the microphone recording, rattling off the salient details. 

“I’ll begin with a visual examination,” she dictated, beginning by looking around the victim’s head and neck for signs of what might have killed him. 

Mulder slumped back against the shelf he was leaning against. He’d asked one of the deputies working the case to bring him a few more of their local missing persons cases just to compare notes, but now he thought maybe he should just head into the local station. Autopsies could take hours, and he wasn’t the biggest fan of the sounds and smells that came with the territory. He tapped the battered old file folder against his leg trying to decide what to do. 

Scully, for her part, was now fully engrossed in the work that lay before her. Getting to the victim’s face, she peeled back his eyelids, looking for petechiae. She didn’t see any, but she did notice that the man’s eyes were two different colors, as though he’d been assembled by a doll maker whose attention had strayed. One was a startling blue, like her own, the other brown, as dark as the oily depths of a cup of diner coffee.

“Mulder, can you hand me the missing persons file?”

He pushed off the tabletop he was leaning against and passed it over without a word. 

She flipped up a few pages. The purported victim, Daly Carmichael, had eye color listed as hazel, with no mention of heterochromia. She made a dull puzzled sound in the back of her throat. 

“Everything all right?” Mulder asked, stepping forward. 

“I don’t think this is Daly Carmichael,” she said. 

Mulder approached the table. “What do you mean?”

“The eyes are the wrong color,” Scully said. “Look.”

She handed over the file and shined a small flashlight into the victim’s eyes. 

“Two different colors,” Mulder said. 

“Yes,” Scully said. “The file lists his eye color as hazel.”

Mulder looked down at the picture of Daly. The man before them was identical to the picture in the file. Mulder squinted at the photograph, but it was old, taken in the 70’s, washed out pigment on textured paper; eye color was impossible to make out.

“Maybe the information on file is wrong,” he said.

Scully sighed.

“We’re still waiting for dental confirmation?” Mulder said. 

“Yes,” she confirmed. “The diener took dental X-Rays. They’ll go to a specialist.”

“Then maybe we shouldn’t make the call now,” Mulder said. He decided right then that he wasn’t going anywhere. This was too damn interesting. 

“I find it hard to believe the information in the file is wrong, Mulder. It’s a notable discrepancy. Heterochromia only occurs in 1% of the population. Of the world.”

“What if I told you it was common in fairies?”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” She reached up and turned off the mic.

“Not kidding,” he said. “There’s evidence going back roughly 500 years that Changelings have shown evidence of changing eye color.”

Changelings , she thought. Fucking changelings . Even her Aunt Olive didn’t believe in that one.

“Mulder, Changelings aren’t real!” she sputtered, letting frustration get the best of her. “They’re European folklore meant to make parents feel better about giving birth to children with chromosomal abnormalities and babies who succumbed to childhood illness!”

“By swapping out healthy infants for the imbecilic offspring of fairies or elves,” Mulder explained, feeling as though he were doing a good job keeping his own feelings in check. 

Scully leveled a look at her partner and took a deep, calming breath.  “Look at the file for Daly Carmichael,” she said, reclaiming a calm tone. “Tell me what religion he was.”

Mulder flipped open the file. “Catholic,” he said. “An altar boy at St. Francis.”

“The existence of changelings is believed to stem from the idea that infants are susceptible to demonic possession,” Scully said. “In the Medieval Chronicles, by Ralph of Coggeshall and in other sources, fairies are said expressly to prey upon unbaptized children.”

Her vigor and determination was something to behold.

“Scully,” he said, a little breathless, “are you trying to seduce me?”

She shook her head and turned back to look at the body, leaned in to get a better look at the victim’s face.

“Mulder, if I were trying to seduce you,” she said without looking up, “you’d know.” She reached back up and began recording again.

Something electric zipped through his veins. His mind spent the next thirty seconds buffering, interrupted only by a knock at the door. 

He turned to see Deputy Avery hovering outside, looking affable but maybe a little uncomfortable. He gave Mulder a friendly smile. 

Mulder gestured at him to come in, but the deputy only poked his head through the open doorway, holding out a couple of file folders. He never took his eyes off the body on the slab. 

“I’ve got those other Missing Persons files you wanted to see Agent Mulder,” he said, then took a thick swallow and stepped into the room, holding the folders out as if he didn’t want to be any closer to the victim.  

Mulder understood the impulse and put the poor deputy out of his misery, stepping forward to take them off his hands. 

“Appreciate you making the trip down here, Deputy.”

“Don’t mention it,” the blond man said, blinking rapidly at the body on the table. 

Scully finally looked up.

“He going to be okay?” she said, a little bemused. 

“Deputy Avery?” Mulder said. 

Avery darted his eyes to Scully and then straightened his posture.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, and approached the examination table. Mulder wasn’t sure if he was trying to prove his mettle to himself or the pretty FBI agent, who, Mulder couldn’t help but notice, looked radiant, even with safety glasses and a mask. 

A second later, a mop that had been standing up against the wall on the other side of the room—one Scully hadn’t recalled seeing before—fell to the floor, handle first. The sound made all three of them jump, and Avery shot out a hand and grabbed Scully’s arm.

“Jesus!” Avery said, his other hand to his heart. 

The sound had startled Scully too, the hairs on the back of her neck standing up, an uncomfortable chill racing through her. Still, she gave a small chuckle and Avery looked down to where he was grabbing her and immediately let go. She turned back to the body. 

Mulder stepped forward and put his hand on Avery’s shoulder. 

“Appreciate you bringing the files by, deputy,” he said. “You can go.” 

Avery swallowed hard and gave the body one long last look, darting his eyes briefly to Scully. 

“Thank you, sir,” he said, scooting quickly out of the room, leaving the door swinging in his wake.

When Mulder turned back to Scully, she had an odd look on her face, peering closely at the victim, leaning in. 

“Huh,” she said after a long minute of examination.

Mulder had to give himself a mental shake. “What is it?”

She turned to the tray of instruments that had been carefully set up next to the autopsy table and grabbed a pair of long tweezers. She worked the victim’s jaw open a little and pressed the instrument past his lips, pulling out, a moment later, a broad, dark green leaf, stiff and glossy. 

Mulder stood up straighter.

“What is that? A leaf?” 

“Appears to be,” Scully said, twisting the tweezers to get a better view. “Magnolia, maybe. I don’t know.”

Then, suddenly: “Aeon?” she called out. 

Mulder was confused for a moment when the dark haired diener stuck his head through the bay door. 

He grunted in acknowledgement. “Yeah?”

“Magnifying glass?” she asked, looking around. 

“In the lab,” the man said, hooking a thumb toward the room opposite the autopsy suite. “Through here.”

Scully moved efficiently, stepping out of the autopsy bay and through the doors of the  lab. In the corner was a small examination station. Mulder followed, watching her curiously. She pulled down the lighted magnifying glass to get a better look at the leaf. 

“Mulder, look at this,” she said, holding the leaf under the light with the tweezers.

He looked through the lens. Etched into the back of the leaf was a seven-pointed star. 

“Bag this, would you?” Scully said, pushing the leaf toward him, an energized look on her face. 

She wasted no more time getting back to the body. She wouldn’t admit to Mulder, but she kind of liked it when things got weird. 

She wasn’t quite prepared for how weird things were about to get, and how fast. When she stepped back into the autopsy bay, the body on the table was just as she’d left it, mouth wide open. 

But it wasn’t the young man she’d left there. It was someone much, much older.

[theemporium]

[1.6k] your co-worker eddie munson had a knack for making you blush so it was only fair to return the favour.

.

Nobody was a bigger flirt than Eddie Munson.

Whether it was intentional or not, at least everybody who had ever spoken or interacted with the boy could vouch that he was a flirt. It was like a switch he couldn’t quite turn off, or a dial that was turned all the way to full. He was a flirt no matter who it was or what the situation was. 

And despite the reputation he held around town and what people whispered when he thought they couldn't hear, nobody was immune to Eddie Munson’s flirting because he was just so goddamn good at it. 

You didn’t quite understand how or why, but he was. 

Hell, you had seen a lady pushing her eighties fully fucking blush because Eddie apparently had enough game to even catch a senior citizen if he wanted to. 

Eddie Munson was a big fucking flirt and the reason you knew that so well was because you worked with him. 

You had both started around the same time at the record store. It was a small establishment, based downtown but it was loved and a staple in the community. From second-hand records to new tapes, to old instruments donated in to even some half decent equipment, the store had everything you’d want as a music fanatic for an affordable budget. 

You guessed pretty quickly that was why Eddie loved it. 

It didn’t take a genius to figure out that the boy loved nothing more in his life than music. He treasured his tapes like they were his most prized possession, he treated his guitars better than some people treated their kids and he could ramble on for hours if you let him (and sometimes you did let him because you liked the sound of his voice). 

For you, it was more so that you needed a job and a vacancy happened to pop up. You were nowhere near as passionate or well-versed as Eddie was, with your instrumental skills going as far as being able to play a solid two chords on the piano without it sounding too bad. But you clearly knew enough to be hired, plus you were more in charge of the genres Eddie didn’t really dabble into. 

It took a solid week of working with Eddie Munson for you to realise he was a flirt.

It took a solid five minutes for Eddie to work out that nothing got you blushing like some good ol’ cheesy pick up lines. 

And as the weeks passed and you two continued to work and share shifts together, an unspoken game had sort of settled between the two of you. One that neither of you ever really established, nor did you set down any rules. But it was a game you both went along with for reasons neither of you were quite sure of. 

“Hey, sweetheart?” 

You let out a small hum of acknowledgement, not looking away from the pile of vinyls you were currently sorting through. Whatever asshole that had taken the shift before you had done it all wrong and now you were left cleaning up their mess. 

“Are you a parking ticket?” 

You paused what you were doing, lifting your head to stare at the grinning boy who stood on the other side of the counter from you. “What?” 

Eddie’s grin only seemed to widen with your obliviousness. “Because you’ve got ‘fine’ written all over you, baby.” 

You let out an amused snort, tucking your chin against your chest in hopes that he wouldn’t see the blush growing on your cheeks but he always did. He always fucking did. 

And you never understood why you reacted the way you did. The pickup lines were nothing short of horrendous or bad. They were funny, sure you would give them that and you were almost certain he was reading them from some bad book or magazine, but you never quite understood why they made you blush. 

That never mattered to Eddie, because he loved to see the way your cheeks grew pink and the way you tried to act like they didn’t affect you. He liked pushing your limits, seeing how flustered he could get you in different situations, to see if you’d ever tell him to stop—but you never did. 

“We have a new shipment coming in later this week,” you told the older man on the other side of the phone, leaning against the counter as you went through the same speech you had already given him three times. “I would be happy to note down your name and reserve a copy for you to come and pick up. 

Blah Blah Blah

“Yes, I know this is frustrating, sir, but it is all we can do at the moment.” 

Blah Blah Blah

“Yes, I can give you a few moments to think over your options.”

You had been so caught up in the phone call that you hadn’t even noticed Eddie approaching you until you felt the heat of his body pressed up against your back, an involuntary small noise squeaking past your lips when his hands rested on either side of the counter, essentially caging you in. 

He didn’t say or do anything at first, his mere presence driving your senses into overload as you tried to act like the proximity didn’t bother you, that you were fully capable in acting like he wasn’t there. And you probably could have lied to yourself if it weren’t for the fact you weren’t even totally sure you were still holding the phone or not. 

And then he leaned his head down, the curls of his hair tickling against the skin of your neck and his breath warm against the shell of your ear as he leaned close enough so his lips were almost touching your skin. And then, only after holding that position for what felt like hours, did he finally fucking speak.

“If you were a fruit, you’d be a fine-apple.” 

And just like that, he was gone. Fucking gone. Leaving you with burning cheeks, a thundering heart in your chest and a very pissed off customer on the other side of the phone. 

It wasn’t until the three month mark when it became clear to you just what the game between you and Eddie was—and then again, you only realised it because it was spelt out to you by a mutual friend, Steve Harrington, who had all but enough of the runaround games you two were playing.

Because yeah, Eddie was a pretty boy. And yeah, he made your heart feel like it was gonna beat out of your chest and your stomach erupt in butterflies. And yeah, sometimes you just wanted to pull him closer and drag your fingers through his girls and down his shirts where you knew he hid a slightly toned stomach from the times you ogled him when his shirt rode up and—

Yeah, it was honestly a little embarrassing that it took Steve saying it to you for you to realise you had a crush on your co-worker.

And even more embarrassed when your friend told you that all those cheesy fucking pickup lines were Eddie’s stupid little way of trying to ask you out, to get your attention and see if you reciprocated any of his feelings. 

So, with some newfound determination and an urge to reimburse the three months of running around in circles over the stupid little game that formed between you both, you had a plan set in place. 

A plan that seemed to work perfectly on the next shift you shared together. 

It was the closing shift, the sign had already been turned over at the door and you both were just cleaning up the shop for the morning shift. The radio was humming with music, filling the space as you shuffled around each other until you had to move some boxes into the storage room in the back. 

You could see the glint in Eddie’s eyes that told you he had a pickup line planned, that there was one on the tip of his tongue and he was excited to use it on you. You couldn’t remember when you started noticing it, but you’d be lying if you said it didn’t make your chest warm at the mere sight. 

Grabbing the last box, you shuffled into the small storage room, struggling with a small huff to get the box on the shelf until a pair of arms wrapped around you, easing the box onto the shelf like it weighed nothing. 

Letting out a small sigh, you turned to face the boy and flushed him a grateful smile. “Thanks.” 

“No problem, sweetheart,” he said with a grin, and you knew he was gonna say it. You knew it was right there, ready to spill past his lips but you bet him to it. 

“Hey Eddie?”

He paused for a second. “Yeah?” 

“Kiss me if I’m wrong, but dinosaurs still exist, right?” 

Eddie blinked. And then blinked again. And then blinked a third time because he was still not sure he heard you right. 

“What?”

A grin slowly started to spread across your face. “I said, kiss me if I’m wrong but—” 

“Yeah, you’re fucking wrong,” he grumbled before he reached to grab your face in his hands, his lips on yours before you even had the chance to say anything. 

Your hands tightened on the fabric of his shirt, tugging him closer until your back was pressed against the shelves of boxes and his body was pressed completely against yours. You let out a soft moan when his tongue swiped over your lip, teasing you, taunting you. 

“Guess those pickup lines worked after all, huh?” he whispered against your lips and you could feel the smile on his lips. 

You snorted, slapping his chest lightly. “Don’t push it, Munson.” 

“Oh baby, it’s only gonna get worse now that I know you can kiss like that,” Eddie said with a grin that told you he was pretty damn serious about his threat. 

“At least take me on a date first.” 

His grin widened. “Deal, sweetheart.”

.

[syndrossi]

will Rhaenyra ever find out that the boys were the ones to send her that letter? follow up question, will Daemon find that out as well?

extra:

how does Daemon feel, after spending a fortnight fixing the subpar education in the Red Keep, that regardless of him implementing better maesters and masters at arms that his children are essentially prodigies in both? does he shout it from the rooftops? does he gloat about it in front of Otto? does he post flyers throughout the castle saying his sons are the best? (as of he doesn’t already)

The letter may become a bit of a thing later, so I'm going to plead the fifth on that for now.

Daemon will work it into every possible conversation, I'm sure.

Rhaegar spotting an accounting mistake in the war budget that Daemon is reviewing at their apartments? You bet Daemon's bringing that up at the next small council meeting. "I had my eight-year-old son submit some corrections, Lord Beesbury..."

Knights arriving to practice in the yard for an upcoming tourney under Jon's discerning eye? "Ser Harrold, here is a list of promising candidates for any future Kingsguard vacancies, per Jon's evaluation..."

Those suppers with Viserys that Daemon negotiated with his brother in exchange for a ride on Caraxes? They're basically a weekly oneupmanship event with Otto while Jon and Rhaegar try to disappear into their chairs.

[shih-coulda-had-it]

!! for the hugs list, 35 with whatever OfA holders are your fancy!

35. cuddle pile || wc: 400+ || it's the OFA band AU, and specifically, it's holders 1-5!

(had to illustrate the final configuration)

//

On the occasions where One for All didn’t get their perfect room order--doubles, down the line, with three people to a room--it was rarely a matter of money. Bruce knew how to take a budget and make it work, especially when their hotel budget doubled as their purse for medical expenses. His greatest enemy, even more than Yoichi’s brother’s persistent demand that One for All contract under his record label, was their trip schedule.

It’s all well and good to say that One for All goes where the chaos does. It’s another thing entirely to be forced into two singles, five and four to a room, because Bruce had to find a last-minute motel.

The motel has a one-star review. And still, there’s just the two vacancies.

“This is cozy,” says Banjo, deeply amused.

Shinomori, by virtue of being the tallest, is consigned to the center of the Western-styled queen-sized bed. He refused point-blank to get under the covers, so they had to break out the emergency blankets and arrange themselves on either side of Shinomori.

“I’ll sleep on the floor,” Kudou declares. He jostles Bruce in an attempt to get away from the edge of the mattress, and the force pushes him into Shinomori, which affects Banjo, and to a lesser effect, Yoichi.

“You’ll catch something,” says Yoichi. He’s skinny enough to get away with slinging half his body over Banjo’s broader frame; his tendency to be a strangling octopus in the middle of the night might cause Banjo to flail. Bruce will care about that later, when he’s not sweating his ass off being tucked between Kudou and Shinomori. He has to keep his hair up in a bun.

“If it’s cold enough that I’ll get sick, that’s a huge bonus.”

“Did I say you’d get sick?” Yoichi asks, dry. “I said you’d catch something.”

“Cockroaches,” Shinomori offers.

Bruce recalls the multitude of one-star reviews he forced himself to ignore. Reluctantly, he traps one of Kudou’s legs. They’re already lucky that the bed was clean under the UV light. It would be a miracle for the carpet to appear the same.

“You think they’re having this problem in the other room?” Banjo wonders out loud.

“If the line-up is Toshinori, Shimura, Torino, and En, it should be fine,” Bruce says. “Any other arrangement, and we’ll see who survives to morning.”

“I’m not going to survive,” Kudou grouches.

“Hush,” Yoichi orders, and Bruce feels long spidery fingers skate over his stomach to touch Kudou. There’s a huff of amusement that can only come from Banjo, because Yoichi guiltily murmurs an apology.

Banjo says, “No problem, Shodai. Who said personal space was a necessity, again?”

Placidly, Shinomori declares, “Danger Sense will alert me if you try to climb over, Nidaime.”

[allthecanadianpolitics]

Although summer is in full swing, many post-secondary students in Halifax already have their attention on the fall, as the city’s one per cent vacancy rate has some students struggling to access secure housing options.

G. Saleski, executive director of Students Nova Scotia, a non-profit advocacy group, said concerns are “year-round” for students when it comes to balancing schoolwork and budgets.

“Here in Nova Scotia, students are paying grocery costs that are the highest among students across the entire country,” they said, adding that about 50 per cent of the province’s students have to occasionally limit their grocery bill to afford housing.

Although it depends on the region, Saleski said many students begin searching for housing about six months before their course start date.

“The difficult part now is that even though students are searching earlier, there’s still less affordable and accessible options,” they explained, noting that housing remains one of the biggest barriers between someone obtaining a college or university degree in Nova Scotia.

Continue Reading

Tagging: @newsfromstolenland

[wildfangz]

THE OASIS

Looking for shelter from the desert heat on a budget? The Oasis is ready to fill their vacancies for prices you wouldn't believe! Perfect for students, young couples, and other adults either taking their first steps towards independence or in their flop era. Enjoy a studio with a full kitchen, a shower-tub combo, stylish brick, and even your own private balcony or patio. Laundry facility available. Not furnished. Minor moisture problems.

Residential Rental

30 x 20 Lot

§ 77,652

4 Units, 1 bed 1 bath each

Uses objects from: *For Rent, Horse Ranch, High School Years, Snowy Escape, Eco Lifestyle, Island Living, Seasons, City Living, Get Together, Get To Work, *Werewolves, *Vampires, Dine Out, Outdoor Retreat, Laundry Day, Romantic Garden, *Basement Treasures. (Apologies for any missed packs, I haven't gotten around to updating tray importer yet/it's not showing everything.)

A lot I was working on originally for my Base Game overhaul project, for Don to live in. As soon as the new pack was announced, I knew it needed an upgrade!

Download

Gallery ID: wildfangz Or get the tray files here (Simfileshare)

[hbyrde36]

No Vacancy

Chapter 3: Out of Order

WC: 5248 | R: Explicit | CH: 3/12 | AO3 | Now Complete!

Ch 1 Ch 2

*CHRISSY*

Chrissy was hiding in her small office tucked in the back of the lobby, behind the front desk, hunched over in her chair and staring at the stack of bills that were threatening to overwhelm her. 

No sooner would she pay off one invoice than two more pop up in its place. They just kept on piling up no matter how hard she tried. 

She was alone for the moment, keeping an ear open and the door cracked to keep an eye on things while Robin was busy outside playing in the dirt with Steve. Chrissy didn't mind, though. it wasn’t as if they were that busy in the mornings. Someone just needed to be around on the off chance that one of their very few guests stopped in for some extra towels, or if by some miracle someone popped in needing a room.

She sighed.

If things didn’t pick up soon she didn’t know how they would make it through the coming winter, when business would grind to a halt as the weather cooled and the beaches were abandoned.

It was normal for a new business to struggle and Chrissy thought she’d budgeted well enough for the possibility but the motel had needed far more repairs than either she or Robin had anticipated—not to mention the fact that they had dropped the ball a little on advertising. 

They'd been too late in signing up for the local Community Guide, which meant they hadn’t been listed with the other hotels, motels, and b&b’s in town, and had only just gotten a tri-fold pamphlet printed and delivered to the welcome center on the way into town a few weeks ago.

For what it was worth, Robin did have a cousin who was getting into computers and promised to build them a website. They agreed to let him do it, mainly because it wasn’t going to cost them anything, but the internet was new and Chrissy doubted anything would come of it. 

No one would be booking vacations on there.

Suddenly Chrissy heard the main lobby door swing open, wincing as it slammed loudly into the wall from being thrown open too hard. 

And, that would be Robin.

They really needed to invest in some door stoppers.

Chrissy hastily grabbed the stack of mail that she’d been scowling at for the past forty five minutes and shoved it into her bottom drawer, just managing to get it closed again before Robin peeked her head in the doorway.

“How’s it going?” Robin asked.

Chrissy’s response died in her throat as she took in the other girl’s appearance with wide eyes.

Robin wore only a black sports bra and a pair of small electric blue running shorts, and her face was flushed the most lovely shade of pink. A side effect of the heat, the hard work, or both, but Chrissy couldn't take her eyes off the beads of sweat that ran down Robin’s chest to disappear between the well of her breasts.

“Chris?”

Oh, right. Robin had asked her a question. 

Shit.

“Fine, yup! All good here!” Chrissy giggled, the sound a little higher than usual. 

Her voice did that when she was nervous—and these days she was always a little nervous around Robin, terrified that her friend would realize that she had fallen head over heels in love with her.

Chrissy cleared her throat and changed the subject, trying to regain some dignity. “So, what did Steve have to say?”

Robin pulled her bottom lip between her teeth, shaking her head. “It wasn’t him. That asshole… I mean, your best friend, brought a hook-up back to their room.”

“He didn’t!” Chrissy gasped, throwing a hand over her mouth.

“Oh yes he did!” Robin said, eyes filled with murderous intent.

“Please don’t kill him.” Chrissy squeaked, nervous now for an entirely different reason. She knew how much Robin loved Steve, and how protective she could be of him. Why did Eddie have to be so predictably stupid! 

“I’m sorry, he can be such an idiot sometimes!”

Robin shook her head. “He’s safe, for now, but he’s on thin ice.”

“How did Steve take it?”

“He pretended like it was fine, but you know how he can be. He thinks Eddie hates him. I did finally get him to admit his crush out loud though.”

Chrissy rolled her eyes. “As if it was a big secret.”

Robin didn’t smile at the comment the way Chrissy thought she would, and was quiet for a long minute before she spoke again. 

“Do you think… maybe he’s right? Are we wrong about this?” Robin asked, tentatively.

The thing was, Chrissy knew her best friend better than he knew himself sometimes.

Eddie tried to present himself to the world as this hard, carefree, badass guy, when deep down he was the most sensitive soul she’d ever met. She knew he was growing homesick, in a way. Not for Hawkins or some other specific place exactly, but a connection, someone to call his own. 

He hadn’t said as much to her directly, but she could see it in his eyes and read it between the lines of his letters. He acted like love was the worst thing in the world, like he didn't need or want it, but she knew it was a lie. 

Everyone needs love. 

And Eddie—poor, sweet, beautiful, infuriating knucklehead that he could be, deserved it more than most. He’d been there for her, time after time, whenever she needed him, and God help her she was going to do this for him. 

This would work, she was sure of it, they just had to stick it out and hope Eddie got out of his own way. 

“No,” Chrissy answered eventually. “ we’re not wrong. Eddie’s just in denial and too stubborn for his own good. He pretends to forget who Steve is one minute, then complains non-stop about him the next, and yet can’t tell me a single thing Steve ever did directly to him except stare at him too hard. Which, of course, you and I both know was for gay reasons, and not because he wanted to beat him up.”

“Right, but does Eddie know that?”

“Fair point. But c’mon, Robin!” Chrissy stood, taking both of Robin’s hands and squeezing them. “I just know if they spend a little time together they’ll figure it out!”

Robin's face softened a bit, but she still looked a little skeptical. “Are you sure? Steve was trying to hide it but he was really upset. Maybe we should just tell them the truth.”

“Absolutely not Robin, are you kidding?!”Chrissy’s heart began pounding in her chest. “Eddie would never speak to me again if he knew I set him up like this!”

Robin stilled, and Chrissy felt all the blood drain from her face. 

“What is it?” She was almost afraid to ask.

“The sign, the no vacancy sign—Steve noticed and I panicked. Told him we were waiting for a maintenance guy to fix it.”

Okay, no need to freak out just yet.

“Did he believe you?” Chrissy asked.

“I think so? But honestly I’m kinda surprised they haven't caught on already since there's hardly ever anyone else around.”

“Because they’re both too distracted with each other to notice!” Chrissy insisted excitedly, even if she wasn’t feeling quite as confident as she was trying to sound. “See, our plan is working!”

“I hope you’re right.” Robin said, squeezing her hands back before finally stepping fully into the room and plopping down in the only other chair. She smelled like coconut tanning oil and sunshine.

Chrissy swallowed thickly. “D-did you send him to the laundromat on Broadway, like we talked about?”

Robin nodded. “Yeah. When did Eddie leave?”

“About 25 minutes ago,” Chrissy answered after checking her watch. “He should be just going into the dryer when Steve gets there. They’ll be stuck together for at least 45 minutes.”

“Okay.” Robin released a long breath, sinking down in her seat. “Let’s just hope this works.” 

*EDDIE*

Eddie felt like he’d been set up. 

Sure, it had all worked out fine, even if it did turn out that he was maybe, slightly, a little bit wrong about Steve Harrington. 

He’d heard the guy out and it’d all seemed genuine enough, but fuck, when Steve had walked into that laundromat so scantily clad—sweaty, smeared with dirt, and all that fucking chest hair peeking from under his tank top?

Eddie never stood a chance.

He could have resisted, probably, had the guy been even the slightest bit of a dick, but no, he had to be sweet, and charming, and a little bit pitiful, and oh god. 

Steve said that Eddie made him nervous. What a fucking notion. 

So yeah—he’d folded like a card table.

In the days following their impromptu lunch hangout, Eddie found that life in the motel room was still fraught with tension, it was just a different kind of tension now. 

He was suddenly glad for their opposing schedules on a whole new level. It turned out that the only thing worse than living with renowned asshole Steve Harrington, was finding out that he was in fact, not an asshole at all. He was thoughtful, kind, funny, and a little bit dorky, and so, so incredibly hot.

How could one afternoon have changed things so much?

Okay, fine. He’d been hot before, Eddie could admit that much to himself now, but being attracted to someone based solely off looks was a completely different problem than admiring the way Steve chewed on his lower lip when he was nervous, or the way he’d giggled anytime Eddie cracked a joke, even if it wasn’t remotely funny, and– 

Oh.

Oh shit.

Not good. 

This was not good.

Eddie hadn’t had a crush on a straight guy in years. Honestly he hadn’t had a crush on anyone in years, but that was by design. He’d been witness to heartache before and been there to pick up the pieces for his closest friend more than once. He had no interest in ever going through something like that again, least of all for himself, and It seemed to him that the best way to keep from getting your heart broken was to just not let your heart get involved in the first place. 

He needed a hookup and he needed it now. Anything to clear his mind of these thoughts of Steve.

Steve spread out beneath him, sun kissed thighs begging to be caressed.

Steve kissing him goodbye to the backdrop of the sunrise as he left for work.

Steve shooting him soft smiles through the mirror as they brushed their teeth side by side.

Eddie could deal with the horny thoughts, those were normal, but this domestic bliss fantasy bullshit?

That was more than he could handle. 

It was Saturday morning, about a week after the fateful day that Eddie had finally surrendered and given Steve a chance to explain himself. 

He woke slowly, stretching like a cat as he rolled over and opened his eyes for the first time that day. The sight that greeted him stole his breath away. 

Steve was still there, sitting up in his own bed, a pair of wire rimmed glasses perched on the end of his nose and a book resting in his hand. He didn’t seem to have noticed Eddie’s return to the land of the living yet, too engrossed in what looked like a romance novel of all things to notice Eddie's eyes on him. 

Unable to look away, he studied Steve openly while he had the chance, taking in the way his glasses—

Since when did Harrington wear glasses?

—complemented his face and made him look so much different, and somehow even more attractive than the teenage Steve he remembered. His hair was a mess, stuck up in all directions as though he had been fighting enemies in his sleep, but that only added to the cute factor. And though his bed was made, the blanket tucked in tighter than even the housekeeper could manage, Steve was still in his pajamas and just generally looked comfy and snuggly. 

Ugh, Snuggly?

Eddie coughed loudly, choking on the thought which finally managed to rouse the other man’s attention.

Steve smiled at him, wide and unguarded, eyes sparkling. 

Eddie’s stomach flipped, and he forced a yawn, trying to hide whatever it was his face might be doing. 

“Day off?” He forced out, throat dry from sleep and absolutely nothing else.

“Yeah.” Steve answered softly. “Coffee?”

Eddie nodded dumbly and sat up, shivering a little as the cool air hit his suddenly exposed chest. He never slept with a shirt on—truth be told he usually slept naked, but he didn’t think Steve would appreciate that.

Steve spun, stepping towards their small kitchen. “And, uh, how do you take it?” His voice sounded a little rough too. Maybe they had the air conditioning turned down too low or something. 

“Oh,” Eddie hesitated, he hadn’t expected to be like, waited on. “Um, just fix it how you’d make it for yourself.”

A moment later Steve was back, handing him a steaming mug and Eddie… Eddie didn’t know how to handle that.

No one had ever brought him coffee in bed before.

It did not seem like something that should have made his cock twitch with interest, but that’s what happened. He nearly spilled the cup, rushing to sit up straighter, shuffling around to make sure the mound of blankets in his lap would hide his predicament. 

He was half hard from being handed a cup of coffee. 

Pathetic. 

Mercifully, Steve began to talk, seemingly unaware of Eddie’s situation, and clearly felt more comfortable now after their day at the laundromat. As much as Eddie was struggling with his newfound and unfortunate attraction, he was glad. Steve looked so happy as he animatedly shared stories from his long days at the beach—missing children found safely after wandering off to make new friends, seagulls swooping down to steal an entire sandwich right out of a man’s hand, teenagers who thought they could sneak beer onto the beach in coolers without anyone noticing.  

He practically glowed, telling Eddie about it all as he walked around the room getting ready for the day, even shouting through the open bathroom door while he fixed his hair at one point, which was fucking adorable and definitely not helping.

Eddie didn’t even need to add much apart from a hum here or a single word answer there. Steve seemed to know somehow that he would need to carry the conversation until Eddie was more fully awake. Eddie was happy to let him do it, too. On top of being his normal not-a-morning-person self, he was kind of at a loss for words. 

Steve just kept surprising him. 

At one point though, the other man trailed off, looking at Eddie in that nervous way that he had before things had changed. “Did you maybe want to get lunch today? With me, I mean, and–uh, my treat this time. Only fair after last week." 

And Eddie had never been so glad that he had to work, and had a legitimate reason to say no. He didn’t want to be rude to the guy, not anymore. They were friendly now, if not exactly friends, but he couldn’t handle another afternoon in the face of Steve Harrington's charm until he got this thing under control and out of his system.

“Sorry, man. I would but it’s Saturday, I have to be at the bar early. I think I'd have to sell my soul to get a Saturday night off. It’s alright though, I make some of my biggest tips on weekends.”

“Oh.”

Steve looked so disappointed, and it was all so unexpected that without thinking Eddie quickly added, “next time though. I’m all yours.”

And immediately wished his bed would swallow him whole. 

Why did he have to say it like that?!

At least Steve didn’t seem to pick up on the flirtatious nature of the comment. He just smiled, nodded, and began pulling clothes out of his drawers. 

That was it for Eddie, the last straw. He finally jumped out of bed, leaving the remainder of his coffee to go cold on the night stand as he hightailed it to the bathroom and slammed the door without another word. He needed a shower anyway, and he definitely did not need to watch Steve get dressed.

Eddie turned on the spray and once the water warmed up, stepped into the shower, letting the warm water pour over him as he lightly banged his head into the wall over and over again. 

This was an absolute nightmare. 

To make matters worse, he’d always had a bit of an overactive imagination but today it had a mind of its own, leaving him fully hard and aching within seconds—overwhelmed by fantasies of Steve sneaking into the bathroom and slipping into the shower behind him. His big hands reaching around to grasp firmly onto Eddie's cock, as his own hardness was pressed firmly against his ass. 

He could practically feel it.

Eddie moaned involuntarily and took himself in hand, setting a brutal pace right from the start. He threw the other hand over his mouth, terrified of what might come spilling out, of what Steve might be able to hear when he was just on the other side of the thin wall. 

Of course, the idea that the other man might hear him was apparently a major fucking turn on, and Eddie resorted to biting down on the heel of his hand to stop himself from shouting Steve’s name as he came in spurts, painting the wall of the shower with his release in record time. 

He hadn’t even caught his breath yet when there was a knock on the bathroom door.

Fuck. 

Eddie’s heart hammered in his chest like he'd been running a marathon, but he tried to sound as normal as possible when he called out, “Yeah?”

Steve's hesitant voice carried through the door. “Sorry, I just wanted to let you know I was gonna head out. Robin said something about painting a shed today, figured I would go help her since you're busy.”

Eddie rested his forehead against the cool tile and squeezed his eyes shut. Relieved that Steve hadn’t heard what he was up to, but—what he was supposed to say? And was he crazy or did Steve sound genuinely sad that Eddie had to work?

A long beat of silence went by where Eddie assumed Steve must have left, but eventually his voice came again from the other side of the door. “I’ll uh, see you around?”

“Yeah, okay! See you around, Steve!” Eddie shouted back, feeling a little like an idiot, and a creep.

He waited until he heard the outer door close to finally relax and begin the process of actually showering. He washed quickly, but took care to condition his hair a little longer than usual so he could work his best feature to its full advantage later that night. He was even more sure now that he needed to fuck or be fucked by someone else, anyone else, a soon as possible, before this thing about Steve got out of hand. 

In that same interest, Eddie took his time getting dressed. He was working, ultimately, so his outfit choices were limited, but his uniform of sorts had worked just fine for him before. Again pulled on his tightest black jeans with the rips in the thighs and his cropped work tee—he even added a few extra rings to really draw attention to his deft fingers. After smoothing some product through his hair, he called it done, deciding to leave his curls down for the night for good luck.

Eddie was on the prowl all night, as much as he could be anyway when he was stuck behind the bar mixing drinks and pouring out beer after god-awful beer. He might have grown up in a trailer park, but even he thought Bud Light was an atrocity. 

This Saturday was even busier than the last, meaning Eddie was being run absolutely ragged, but that also meant it didn’t take long for him to find a perfect willing target for his mission. 

He was a pretty young thing, with bouncy chestnut hair and hazel eyes that kept catching Eddie’s own from across the room with a shy little smile. 

Eventually pretty-boy made his way up the bar, getting a round for himself and his friends. He was shy at first, blushing and stumbling over his words as he attempted to rattle off his order, but opened up beautifully once Eddie started peppering him with compliments. 

Though the young man’s style was a little preppy for Eddie’s taste, he still laid it on thick, telling him how good he looked in his shirt, how the color set off his tan. And he might have been talking out of his ass, but it was working!

By the third round of drinks he’d managed a lingering arm touch and flustered pretty-boy into a whole new shade of red. He also found out that his name was Evan.

Unfortunately, somewhere around midnight Eddie got slammed and lost track of his hopeful conquest for over an hour. 

When he finally came back up for air, and the line was no longer three deep in all directions, Eddie took a look around, bummed to find that the corner Evan and his friends had been hanging out in all night was now empty. 

The idea briefly crossed his mind to try and find someone else to play with tonight, but it was nearing closing time, and if he got a head start on his side-work at least he could get home early and get some sleep.

He began to clean, and had his back turned, putting clean cups away, when he heard someone plop down a bunch of empty pint glasses on the bar behind him. He groaned, turning, ready to be annoyed but was pleasantly surprised to find that it was Evan.

“Hey there sweet thing, I thought you left without saying goodbye. Another round?”

“No, thanks, um,” Evan stuttered out. “My friends left a little while ago. I just thought maybe I'd help out a little by bringing these up here.”

Eddie smirked, raising an eyebrow. “You wanted to help out, Is that right? Any particular reason you wanted to help get me off as quickly as possible?”

The younger man blushed for what had to be the dozenth time that night, looking adorably nervous. For a second it reminded Eddie of Steve and Christ, he had to knock that shit off right now.

He took pity on Evan and poured him one last drink on the house, sitting him down at the end of the bar where he would have the best view while Eddie bent and stretched as he reset the bar for the next day. Anytime he looked up Evan’s eyes were glued to his body and Eddie knew he had hit his mark well.

He couldn’t believe he was going to have to do this again. 

When the bar finally closed, Eddie had tried to convince Evan to bring him back to his own hotel room, but apparently pretty-boy was a poor college student sharing a single room with no less than six other guys, and not even in a sexy way.

He had no other choice but to take him home. 

Finally feeling a little more comfortable, or perhaps loosened up by the last drink Eddie had given him, Evan talked a bit about himself as they walked towards the Buckingham—telling Eddie how he was the only gay guy in his friend group but that they all knew and accepted him.

It stunned Eddie a little to hear first hand how things were changing for people like him. They still had a very long way to go and he doubted they would ever be fully welcomed in the mainstream of society, but inch by inch people were opening their minds to different lifestyles and possibilities. If frat boy Evan from North Carolina could find a group of friends willing to accept his sexuality, then maybe there was hope for the future.

As happy as Eddie was for him and his support system, he really needed the guy to stop talking. This hook up was starting to feel a little too much like a date, and that was not the objective here. 

At the next opportunity Eddie took matters into his own hands, pulling the other man into a dark alley between buildings, and crashing their lips together.

Pretty-boy quickly grew long and hard against his thigh and Eddie smiled into the kiss, breaking it soon after so they could complete their journey—at a much more reasonable pace this time and one hundred percent less talking. 

When they reached the motel, Eddie—once again—slipped into his and Steve’s room while his guest waited outside. 

He crept quietly across the floor until he was right next to Steve’s bed—no idea why he was being so careful when he was going to wake the guy anyway, but he couldn’t seem to help it.

Eddie reached down to shake Steve’s shoulder, trying and failing not to look at the other man’s face as he scrunched his nose and slowly roused, taking a deep breath and letting his eyes flutter open.

He smiled softly as his eyes fell on Eddie, but the happy expression dissolved quickly as he seemed to realize what was going on. Eddie was taken aback for a second, not sure what that was about, but decided Steve was probably just annoyed at being kicked out again. 

Which was fair.

Steve rolled out of bed, blanket in hand, and headed straight for the door, looking everywhere but at him.

“I’m sorry.” Eddie found himself saying to the other man’s back as he followed.

“Don’t worry about it.” Steve threw the words over his shoulder, not stopping or turning around.

Eddie’s throat tightened, a weird chill working its way up his spine. He almost called out for Steve to come back, though he didn’t really know why or what he’d say. In the end he kept his mouth shut and stuck to the plan. 

It was better this way. 

He would get this shit out of his system so he could be normal around Steve. He could make it up to him later for interrupting his sleep. 

It would be fine.

Eddie took his time with this one. 

No amount of rushed blowjobs against a wall were going to do what he needed done. He needed to fuck, deep and hard. 

They started out slow, making out for a while but eventually ending up with Evan on all fours while Eddie worked fingers into his hole, getting him warmed up and stretched out, brushing over that sweet spot inside of him. 

It wasn’t long before it became too much and Evan’s arms gave out, sending him face down into the mattress—not that either of them were complaining—and Eddie wasted no time rolling a condom on and getting himself lubed up. 

He bottomed out quickly and easily after the prep work and was soon pounding into Evan's hole with reckless abandon until the other man was a drooling mess and they both shouted their release.

Eddie pulled out carefully, collapsing to the bed beside Evan as he relearned how to breathe—tears he couldn't quite hold back suddenly pricking at the corners of his eyes.

This was getting out of hand now.

He’d been doing fine at first, enjoying the various moans and whimpers he pulled from the other man, until he realized with sudden horror that Evan looked a lot like Steve. Once he’d seen it, he couldn’t unsee it, and by the end it was only by the skin of his teeth that Eddie managed to cum with a wordless sound and not the wrong name falling from his lips.

He wanted to scream. 

Eddie was losing his damn mind and that was the only excuse he had for why he allowed Evan to scoop him into his arms and hold him as he silently cried. If the other man noticed his tears, he was polite enough to ignore it—a gesture Eddie was incredibly grateful for—and in a moment of weakness, or maybe in return for Evan’s kindness, when his cheeks finally dried, Eddie offered to walk him back to his hotel.

But first he had to find Steve and let him know the coast was clear. 

It was awkward as hell striding up to Steve where he sat by the pool this time. Eddie felt guilty about the fact that he had just cum for the second time that day with his roomate on his mind. 

He had a hand out ready to nudge Steve awake but found he already was—staring off into the distance with a dazed look.

“Hey, are you okay?” Eddie asked.

Steve startled, all but throwing himself from the chair, and with arms wrapped tightly around his middle he finally looked up to meet Eddie’s gaze. His face was puffy, eyes red rimmed like maybe he’d been crying too. Or maybe Eddie was just projecting.

“I’m good, um, fine,” Steve said, rocking back on his heels. “I guess this means I can go back to bed now?”

“Yeah,” Eddie breathed, the word, hooking a thumb over his shoulder. “I'm uh, just gonna walk Evan back, so the room is all yours again.”

“Evan, right.” Steve mumbled, moving past to head towards the stairs.

Eddie followed. “Thanks, by the way. For being so cool about all this.”

Steve stilled, pausing his stride though he didn’t look back. “Like I said, don’t worry about it, Eddie.”

Evan’s hotel wasn’t far from the Buckingham, so it didn’t take long to get there. They didn’t really speak as they walked—Evan looked tired and frankly too fucked out to care, and Eddie’s head was too much of a mess to make small talk.

They shared a passionless goodnight kiss at the hotel’s front gate, and then Evan was gone, and Eddie was left alone with his thoughts.

It was the last place he wanted to be. 

He made his way back to the motel growing more furious at himself with every step, even taking his anger out on a very full trash can at one point, toppling it over and sending garbage spilling all over a neatly manicured lawn. 

No one would be around to see at this hour, but still he ran, and kept on running until his legs burned and he was too out of breath to continue. He’d passed the Buckingham a while back but just kept going. He wanted—no—he needed to make sure Steve would be asleep before he went back, he could not face him again right now. 

When Eddie did finally make his way home, Steve was softly snoring.

Exhausted, both mentally and physically, he stripped down to his boxers and climbed into bed, finding that his sheets now smelled like a stranger. The whole room smelled wrong, in fact. Where before the air had held a mixture of his and Steve’s natural scents, with a hint of the fancy cologne that the other man would sometimes wear, now it was tinged with sex and regret.

Chapter 4

Special thanks to @penny00dreadful 😘

@manda-panda-monium @every-aj-needs-an-angel @hellion-child @dreamwatch @brbsoulnomming @epiclazershark @estrellami-1 @lokfae @raisedbylibrarians @impala314 @meganwinchester @kacatshi @warlordess @eddie-munsons-lunchbox @garden-of-gay

As always just let me know if you want to be added to or removed from the tag list!

[thebusylilbee]

" Après 2024, 2030 sera-t-elle une nouvelle année olympique en France ? Le Comité international olympique (CIO) a désigné mercredi 24 juillet les Alpes françaises comme site organisateur des Jeux olympiques d’hiver. Après plusieurs semaines d’incertitude liée à l’actuelle vacance du pouvoir, c’est une victoire pour Emmanuel Macron qui a défendu personnellement la candidature de la France devant le comité mercredi 24 juillet au matin. 

Le CIO conditionne néanmoins la validation définitive de ce projet à la présentation des garanties financières et juridiques par lesquelles le pays hôte s’engage à couvrir les éventuels déficits de l’événement et à livrer les équipements en temps voulu. [...]

À quarante-huit heures de la cérémonie d’ouverture de Paris 2024, le sujet des Jeux d’hiver apparaît lointain. C’est pourtant maintenant qu’il faut s’en préoccuper, tant qu’il est encore temps de les arrêter. Coûts financiers, flou budgétaire, impact environnemental et verrou dans un modèle économique mortifère pour l’écosystème alpin : les problèmes posés par d’éventuels JO dans les Alpes sont nombreux et sérieux.

Si les plans climat et les schémas bas-carbone adoptés tant bien que mal par nos institutions ont un sens, si le souci budgétaire affiché par l’exécutif est réel, le projet de JO 2030 devrait être remis en question. Mettre en suspens la candidature et offrir aux citoyennes et citoyens la possibilité de se prononcer sur sa pertinence serait un signe de santé démocratique.

Ce serait aussi un geste de confiance envers la population, trop peu consultée sur les grands projets. Ceux-ci engagent pourtant les habitant·es, riverain·es et contribuables pour des années dans des trajectoires souvent polluantes et coûteuses.

Un demi-milliard de dépenses publiques

Le budget de fonctionnement annoncé pour les JO d’hiver s’établit à 2 milliards d’euros, selon le rapport du mois de juin de la commission de futur hôte – document qui comprend l’analyse du projet par un jury désigné par le CIO.

Cette enveloppe représenterait un coût de 462 millions d’euros pour la puissance publique – à partager entre l’État et les régions organisatrices. C’est autant que l’aide exceptionnelle débloquée par le gouvernement en février pour les hôpitaux. Ou que les financements annoncés en 2023 pour le plan logement devant permettre aux personnes sans domicile d’accéder à des solutions de logement pérennes. Ou encore que le fonds annuel de rénovation du bâti scolaire. C’est donc beaucoup d’argent, surtout dans le contexte du plan d’économie de 10 milliards d’euros décidé par Bruno Le Maire en février 2024.

Est-ce le meilleur usage à faire des subsides publics ? La question est d’autant plus pertinente que le montant à débourser sera en réalité sans doute beaucoup plus élevé : 2,4 milliards d’euros au total, pour une dotation publique comprise entre 800 et 900 millions d’euros, selon un rapport de l’Inspection générale des finances non publié, mais cité par le media La Lettre. Matignon, qui a commandé ce rapport, n’a pas répondu aux questions de Mediapart.

Une forte contribution de l’État

Dans le détail, les quelques informations publiques sur le volet budgétaire de cette candidature interrogent. La part de financement public, autour de 23 %, est beaucoup plus élevée que dans les dossiers d’autres pays, a remarqué Delphine Larat, membre du collectif No JO : 0 % pour la Suède pour les JO de 2026 – et retoqué de ce fait, 4 % pour l’Italie, 6 % pour la Chine (2022), 14 % pour le Kazakhstan (2022). Le montant et la part de provisions pour imprévus sont également « hors norme », autour de 258 millions d’euros pour la France, ajoute-t-elle.

Or les économistes des infrastructures ont bien documenté la sous-estimation systématique du coût des JO, dont les budgets ne prennent pas en compte tout un ensemble de dépenses plus ou moins cachées : les exonérations fiscales (nombreuses), les dépenses de sécurité ou de transports publics, etc.

Les rapporteurs de la commission de futur hôte s’inquiètent d’ailleurs à plusieurs reprises de la soutenabilité financière du projet, citant la construction des villages olympiques et d’une patinoire à Nice (Alpes-Maritimes).

Constructions massives dans les Alpes

Tout en promettant de « s’attaquer aux conséquences du changement climatique », le dossier des JO 2030 prévoit des constructions massives. Pas moins de cinq villages olympiques sont annoncés, avec 700 lits en projet au Grand-Bornand (Haute-Savoie), 700 supplémentaires à Bozel (Savoie), 1 500 à Nice – où la patinoire pourrait coûter 50 millions d’euros. Celle-ci pourrait prendre place sur des terrains destinés initialement à construire des logements sociaux. Et le projet serait particulièrement énergivore compte tenu du climat méditerranéen de la ville – un choix baroque pour des Jeux d’hiver.

Un « réseau routier olympique » devra par ailleurs être mis en place, notamment pour pallier les routes « étroites » dans les zones de montagne. L’empreinte carbone de l’ensemble est estimé entre 700 000 et 800 000 tonnes équivalent CO2 – sans aucun élément pour le vérifier –, soit autant que la consommation annuelle moyenne de 80 000 personnes en France.

Avec le réchauffement des températures, la neige tient de moins en moins en petite et moyenne montagne. Lors de l’édition 2022 de la Coupe du monde de biathlon au Grand-Bornand, en Haute-Savoie, elle a dû être livrée par camion avant la tenue des épreuves. Comment imaginer que la situation sera différente en 2030 ? Les canons à neige et retenues collinaires sont très consommatrices en eau, et, de ce fait, remis en cause par les défenseurs des écosystèmes. En 2022, la justice a suspendu l’autorisation d’une retenue d’altitude à La Clusaz, en Haute-Savoie, que la mairie voulait construire pour produire de la neige artificielle. C’est l’un des lieux choisis pour les JO de 2030.

Opacité antidémocratique

En l’absence de consultation et de référendum sur la tenue de JO d’hiver en France en 2030, il n’y a pas eu d’information correcte du public : le budget n’est pas publié en détail et le dossier de candidature n’est pas consultable en ligne. La clé de répartition entre État et régions n’est pas connue. Il n’y a pas eu d’étude alternative à la construction des nouvelles infrastructures, ni de contre-expertise du budget présenté par la France.

Avoir des JO dans les Alpes en 2030 « serait formidable pour inventer le modèle de Jeux d’hiver de demain qui doit être plus durable, qui doit s’adapter aux changements climatiques », a encore déclaré Emmanuel Macron au JT de France 2. Le chef de l’État semble se tromper de priorité : plutôt que le business olympique, c’est la montagne, son milieu naturel et les personnes qui y vivent qui doivent être défendus pour avoir une chance de perdurer.

La bonne question à poser est simple : cela est-il compatible avec des JO d’hiver ? Car, au vu des investissements nécessaires, ils enfermeraient ces territoires en plein bouleversement climatique dans un modèle touristique inadapté et dépassé.

Jade Lindgaard "

[judieccfinds]

--Winnie Legacy--

Règles de base :

Codes de triches interdits, mods pour rajouter du gamepaly autorisés (voire même conseillé)

Aucune limite d’enfant par génération.

Vous pouvez choisir quel enfant deviendra l’héritier.

Chaque génération possède une couleur dominante. A vous de jauger selon vos envies (vêtements, décoration…)

Vous pouvez choisir la durée de vie.

Pour valider une génération, compléter l’aspiration, la carrière et les compétences.

GEN 1 (vert) :

La vie n’a pas toujours été tendre avec vous. Ballotté de foyer en foyer toute votre enfance durant, vous n’avez jamais eu la chance de vous épanouir dans une famille aimante.

A votre majorité, quand l’orphelinat ou vous avez grandi a décrété que vous étiez capable de vous prendre en main, ils vous ont mit à la porte… sans aucun bagage.

La seule chose qui vous a maintenu pendant tout ce temps, c’était la nature.

Dans votre dortoir, assis face à la fenêtre et observant le monde extérieur, vous vous étiez juré que si vous vous en sortiez vivant, vous vivrez dans une maison entourée par la nature, et donnerait amour et chaleur à vos enfants.

Alors quand vous vous êtes retrouvé dehors, vous n’aviez qu’un objectif : réaliser ce rêve.

Ville : Henford on Bagley

Aspiration : Botaniste indépendante

Traits de caractère : Adore la nature, généreuse, proche de sa famille.

Carrière : Jardinage

Compétences : Education, jardinage

Règles & objectifs (au début) :

Vous débutez sur un terrain vide à Willow Creek (votre ancien orphelinat s’y trouve)

Vous commencez la partie avec 0 simflouz

Avant de pouvoir quitter Willow Creek pour Henford on Bagley, vous devez avoir réuni la somme de 5 000 simflouz. Vous pouvez utiliser n’importe quelle méthode pour y parvenir (sauf triche).

Règles & objectifs (à Henford-on-Bagley) :

Vous vous installerez sur le terrain de votre choix, mais celui-ci doit contenir une maison plus ou moins délabrée ou vieillotte, que vous allez retaper par la suite. Pour vous installer sur le terrain, le code de triche “freerealestate on” est autorisé.

Une fois sur votre terrain, retirez 5 000 simflouz de votre budget. (vous pouvez le faire avec le code “money X”)

Vous activerez le défi de terrain vie simple

Vous devez compléter votre aspiration et atteindre le niveau maximal dans votre carrière

Vous devez posséder minimum 5 plantes d’une qualité excellente

Vous devez vous marier

(facultatif) Vous adopterez tous vos enfants, pas de grossesse ni de bébé éprouvette

GEN 2 (marron) :

Vous avez grandi au milieu de la campagne d'Henford-on-Bagley, et avez toujours adoré vivre aussi proche de la nature.

Mais... vous avez souvent trouvé que votre quotidien manquait de challenge. Un jour, lors de vacances au ski en famille, vous avez découvert le Mont Komorebi, et en êtes immédiatement tombé amoureux. La grandeur de cette montagne vertigineuse a piqué votre curiosité : Qu'y-a-t-il tout en haut ?

En grandissant vous avez gardé cet objectif dans un coin de votre tête : Vous entraîner dur, afin d'un jour être capable de gravir cette montagne.

Alors ni une ni deux, peu de temps après votre majorité, vous avez quitté le cocon familial pour partir à l'aventure.

Ville : Mont Komorebi

Aspiration : Passionné de sports extrêmes

Traits de caractère : Aventureux, actif, adore la nature

Carrière : (mod : https://modsims4.fr/carrieres/bundle-kiara-2/) Entraîneur personnel OU Athlète si vous jouez sans le mod

Règles & objectifs :

Vous débutez sur le terrain de votre choix à Brindelton Bay

Vous activerez le défi de terrain vie simple

Vous devez compléter votre aspiration et atteindre le niveau maximal dans votre carrière

Vous pouvez avoir recours à n'importe quelle façon pour avoir des enfants (grossesse naturelle, adoption ou bébé éprouvette)

GEN 3 (bleu) :

Vous avez été l’enfant surdoué de votre famille. Diplômé du baccalauréat en avance, et entré à la fac alors que vous étiez encore adolescent, vous faites la fierté de vos parents.

Vous avez visé le diplôme prestigieux d’histoire dans un seul but : Devenir militaire et vous engager dans l’armée.

Malgré vos rêves de grandeurs, vous gardez une petite place dans votre cœur à votre désir de devenir un jour parent, et espérez parvenir à lier une vie de famille et votre carrière très prenante.

Ville : Oasis Springs

Aspiration : Culturiste

Carrière : Militaire (Vous pouvez installer ce mod pour avoir une carrière militaire active ! (https://modsims4.fr/carrieres/carriere-militaire-active/)

Compétences : Fitness

Pendant l’adolescence de votre sim, vous devrez lui faire atteindre le niveau maximal dans deux compétences de votre choix (en plus de lui faire obtenir un A au lycée) afin qu’il puisse passer son baccalauréat en avance.

Sachez également que pour débloquer le cursus “histoire” à la fac, vous devez pratiquer les compétences logique, charisme et recherches et débats (sans pour autant avoir besoin de les compléter au maximum)

Règles & objectifs :

Vous débutez sur le terrain de votre choix à Oasis Springs, une fois votre diplôme d’histoire obtenu. Avant, vous pouvez vivre ou vous le désirez.

Vous devez vous marier

Vous aurez un enfant unique (naturellement, bébé éprouvette ou adoption)

GEN 4 (orange) :

Même si vos parents militaires ont fait de leur mieux, vous avez souffert de ne pas avoir vécu la même vie de famille que vos amis de l’école.

Oasis Springs ne vous convient plus, et depuis vos vacances passées à Chestnut Ridge pendant votre enfance, le monde équestre vous a attiré.

Vous désirez plus que tout au monde vous éloigner de l’armée qui vous a volé vos parents, et souhaitez participer à tous les concours équestres possibles et inimaginables.

Vos parents comprennent votre choix et vous soutiennent.

Si bien, qu’ils vous payent un terrain vaste ou vous pourrez vivre dignement votre passion pour les chevaux.

Ville : Chestnut Ridge

Aspiration : Cavalière de championnat

Carrière : Aucune (vous vivrez des concours hippiques et d’autres activités indépendantes si vous le souhaitez)

Compétences : Equitation

Règles & objectifs :

Vous débutez à Chestnut ridge, sur le terrain de votre choix

Le mariage n’est pas obligatoire

Le nombre d’enfant pour cette génération est illimité

[ANCIENNE GEN 2]

Vous avez grandi au milieu de la campagne d’Henford-on-Bagley, et avez supplié vos parents pour qu’ils adoptent un chien. Et pour cause : Depuis très jeune, vous êtes un amoureux des animaux.

Vous passiez votre temps à les dessiner, rêvant enfin de ce jour ou vous pourriez à votre tour donner tout votre amour à un animal.

En grandissant, cette passion s’est transformée en une véritable ambition de vie.

Tenir une clinique vétérinaire afin de redonner santé et vigueur à tout un tas d’animaux, c’était un projet qui vous animait.

Alors en quittant le cocon familial, vous prenez la décision d’ouvrir votre propre clinique.

Non loin de l’air marin, Brindelton Bay vous a semblé idéale pour lancer votre entreprise.

Et si votre futur âme sœur se trouvait parmi les clients de votre clinique ?

Ville : Brindelton Bay

Aspiration : Ami des animaux

Traits de caractère : Amoureux des chiens, adore les animaux, ambitieux

Carrière : Vétérinaire

Compétences : Dressage

Règles & objectifs :

Vous débutez sur le terrain de votre choix à Brindelton Bay

Vous activerez le défi de terrain vie simple

Vous devez adopter au moins un chien et un chat, si vous en voulez davantage, vous pouvez

Vous n’êtes pas obligés de vous marier

Vous pouvez avoir recours à n’importe quelle manière pour avoir des enfants (naturellement, adoption ou bébé éprouvette) mais vous aurez deux enfants maximum