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[exhaustedwriterartist]

I may be tired and delusional, but I'm still alive and kicking.

[permanentreverie]

i want a fucking drink but i left my case of coolers in my friends car when we last hang out >:(

[parkercore-69]

me offhandedly telling a friend that i’d really like to get a few of the saw dvds from cex to add to my dvd collection but being unable to due to complications with being a minor who can’t by 18s alone, to which she responded “yeah but is it really a matter of life or death??” while i sat mouth agape gawking at the audacity she had to say such a thing.

[lovesickeros]

zhongli and neuvillette fighting over their reader 🤭🤭

scary dog privilege wherever you go, draconic courting gestures that would scare any regular person, they send each other deadly glares the moment you turn away,

stealing your clothes to just get a whiff of your scent, marking their territory all over your house - making it a battlefield basically, neuvillette (in my hc) is cooler and zhongli is warm so the cuddles are always so comfy ☺️😍,

they give you anything you want - you don't even have to lift a finger, they make you travel between the nations a lot though 😒 sooo clingyyy, extra gentle in their dragon forms as to not squish you, don't even get me started on the size difference 😍😍

just a little thought 🤭☺️

- 🐈‍⬛

Neuvi being colder is so real and canon. I see him as being colder + a lot more lithe, kinda lanky with smaller but sharper canines versus Zhongli who's warmer and a bit shorter then Neuvi + bulkier with bigger but not as sharp canines.

They've also got very different habits – Zhongli is very prideful not just of himself but his nation. He'll personally give your a tour and purposely drag it out as long as he can. Complimenting Liyue is basically complimenting him, checkmate Neuvi. Especially if he convinces you to try on some local Liyue fashion. Harmless and just a nice gift to anyone else but Neuvi sees it for what it is (since your wearing something from Liyue, technically wearing something of his. He loves his technicalities when it comes to staking a claim over you). Adds salt to the wound by touching you in totally innocent ways like to adjust you towards something he wants to show you or accidently brushing against you when he takes the bags of spoils he's practically drowning you in but really he's just making sure his scent sticks. He's just a sweet, nice gentleman with absolutely no ulterior motives trust.

Neuvillette does love Fontaine, but his habits are more about himself then the nation. He'll take you around if you ask or if the idea strikes him, but you'll probably stay around the making city area or the opera house specifically. He enjoys more personal time with just you and him then anything else. He values the immaterial to the material. Zhongli spoils you with gifts, but Neuvi tries to offer quality time irregardless of physical gifts (though he still gives them just not to the extent of Zhongli). He'll take you to see different operas if that's to your fancy, or leverage a bit of his authority to maybe see a few films since those seem to be hitting off in Fontaine recently. Bet that creaky old archon doesn't have those huh. He feels awkward if you want to watch a trial, but he'll reluctantly agree because. well. it's you. just don't wave or anything he's trying to work and he just Really wants to see you smile at him like that again and it makes him lose his train of thought. gets custom clothes designed by Chiori to replace your clothes from Liyue because they smell of Zhongli and it makes him sulky + he likes to match.

G-d forbid these two are in the same room as you because it's a war of attrition at that point. Constant accidental brush of the hand against your shoulder or elbow but it's just them trying to get rid of the others scent. they are side eyeing each other behind your back while being all smiles whenever your looking. If it's hot and you lean into Neuvi more he's practically GLOWING. not even smug he's just absolutely smitten and happy to be of service. immediately takes off his gloves and presses his hands to your face asking if your okay and if you want to go back with him. if it's cold out and you seek out Zhongli more hes smug as hell beneath the calm veneer. Offers you his coat and stay as physically close to you as he can under the pretense of being worried you'll catch a cold if he doesn't warm you up.

don't even get me started on your house either because you probably have tons of gifts from both of them accumulated everywhere. if Neuvi sees you use a tea set from Zhongli suddenly he had a fantastic gift idea he thought you'd like. he even got some tea included with it so why don't you let him make you some? Zhongli sees you using a goblet Neuvi gave you (totally a coincidence it's similar to his) and suddenly you have 27 square cups in your cabinets that you have no idea where they came from. if the goblet is mysteriously missing oh well. who knows :]

[couldsewyouastitchandsavenine]

Simmer — Javi Peña

pairings: modern times chef!javi x f!reader

word count: 4.2K

a/n: so this happened... been obsessing over javi peña as a head-chef for a long, long time. anyway, hope you enjoy it. huge shoutout to @pedroschka for reading the very first draft of this and to @iamasaddie for NOT being immune to my dad jokes. babes, this one is for you. like, share and subs— *runs out of the room*

warnings: javi peña AU, explicit smut with a bit of angst, closet sex, sneaking around, unprotected p in v., fingering, dirty talk, javi is an asshole (just a little), obligatory use of cariño (sue me!)

The air shimmers with heat as you push through the double doors into the kitchen, the weight of the produce in your arms making your muscles burn. Sweat beads along your hairline, trickling down the back of your neck to soak into the collar of your already damp shirt. You grit your teeth against the discomfort, blowing a stray tendril of hair out of your eyes with a huff of irritation.

It's too goddamn early for this, but the dinner rush waits for no one. Least of all you.

Lost in thought, you navigate the familiar maze of stainless steel countertops and simmering stovetops on autopilot. Your mind is already ten steps ahead, running through your prep list and mentally cataloguing what still needs to be done before service. So preoccupied are you that you don't notice the solid wall of muscle looming in your path until it's too late.

The collision sends you reeling, the crates tumbling from your arms to hit the floor with a dull thud. Produce scatters in every direction, onions rolling underfoot and carrots skittering across the tiles.

A large, calloused hand closes around your elbow, steadying you before you can add your body to the mess on the floor.

“Easy there, hermosa.” The low rumble of Javier's voice washes over you, his amusement evident in the way the endearment drips like honey from his tongue. Cloying. Sticky-sweet. It raises your hackles even as your traitorous pulse kicks up a notch at his proximity.

You jerk away from his touch, your skin scorched where his fingers branded you. Heat crawls up your neck to set your cheeks ablaze as you force yourself to meet his gaze head-on.

Javier's lips twitch, a ghost of a smirk playing at the corners. The urge to slap it off his face is nearly overwhelming.

Because honestly, it unsettles you—the way he can peel you open with a glance. The way he seems to see through you, right down to your core, to all the secrets you keep buried deep. It makes you want to squirm, to hide. To lash out just to prove him wrong.

But you don’t. You never do.

Instead, you swallow hard. Ignore the way your tongue suddenly feels too thick and clumsy for your dry mouth.

"I'm fine," you rasp eventually, wincing internally at the breathless quaver in your voice.

He says nothing, just raises his hands in mock surrender and takes a deliberate step back. You tell yourself it's relief that shivers down your spine.

You're lying.

Determined to put some much-needed distance between you, you bend to start scooping up the wayward produce, dumping the armload of carrots and onions onto the counter with more force than necessary. It’s childish and it’s petty, but you have no other way to fight it. Because Javier’s gaze is still on you, a leaden weight between your shoulder blades.

So, you do the one thing that seems to be the solution. You run. Whirl on your heel and stalk towards the walk-in cooler without a backward glance.

The cool air that hits your overheated skin as you step inside is a balm to your fractured nerves. You suck in a shuddering breath, relishing the way the cold sears your lungs and clears the haze from your head. But it does little to quell the restless energy thrumming through your veins, the ache of of want that sinks its hooks into you whenever Javier is near.

With a low growl, you drag a hand through your hair, fingers snagging in the wild tangle of knots and snarls. You tug until your scalp burns with pain. Grounding you.

God, what the hell is wrong with you?

It must be the heat outside because you can’t seem to remember the last time everything felt slightly off-kilter as today. As if the whole world is just slightly out of focus, and with Javi’s dark eyes tracking your every move and that knowing half-smile playing at the corners of his unfairly distracting mouth under that ridiculous moustache, you half-wonder if you’re are caught in some strange waking dream.

You half expect to blink and find yourself waking in your own bed, tangled in sweat-soaked sheets. Alone. Untouched. Wanting.

But no, this is real. The chilly bite of the air, the clatter of pots and the hiss of the grill just beyond the fridge door, the ache in your shoulders from too many hours hunched over a too-small apartment stove—all of it is real.

And Javi. Javi is real. Had been for a year now, ever since you started at Ríncon as his saucier. His presence is as tangible as the stainless steel counters and the scuffed tile beneath your feet, as constant as the ebb and flow of orders and the controlled chaos of the dinner rush.

He’s real and so is the memory of that night. The ghost of Javier's lips on your neck, hot and hungry as he backed you into the shelving. The rasp of his stubble against your jaw, the slick slide of his tongue against yours as he swallowed your needy whimper. The way his big hands flexed on your hips, yanking you flush against the hard planes of his body like he could fuse you together through sheer force of will alone.

And you’d like to say that you put up some token resistance that night. That you were the kind of person who had self-respect and standards and lines that couldn't be crossed.

But that would be a lie. Because the truth is, you’d spun in his arms and yanked him closer, hands fisting in the front of his chef’s jacket. The truth is, when he'd walked you backwards until the shelving bit into your spine and sealed his mouth over yours, you’d whimpered embarrassingly into the kiss.

The truth is, you’d wanted it.

Afterwards, once you’d righted your clothes and avoided each other's eyes, shame and exhilaration warring within you, he'd cleared his throat and said gruffly that it could never happen again. That it was a one-off, a momentary lapse in judgement. Nothing more.

And you had agreed. Had nodded. And then went on with your life as you normally would.

Except you couldn’t. Not even a little bit. Because that one slip had been like a crack in a dam and now the want was flooding through, unstoppable.

And so it happened again. And again. Stolen moments, illicit touches. The slam of your back against the walk-in door, the cold metal a stark contrast to the fevered heat of his skin. His fingers digging into your hips hard enough to bruise as he hitched you higher, urged your legs to wrap around his waist. Frantic coupling in the alley behind the restaurant, brick rasping your palms as you braced yourself against the wall, biting your lip till you tasted copper while he drove into you hard and fast.

Once, memorably, he’d taken you in the backseat of his car after a late catering gig. It was graceless, awkward, his elbow jabbing painfully into your kidney at some point, but God, the way he’d felt inside you. Like he was trying to crawl beneath your skin; possess you from the inside out. Like if he just fucked you hard enough, deep enough, he could leave an imprint. A mark. Proof that you were his, even if neither of you would ever say the words aloud.

And you know it's fucked up. Know that despite the dark thrill, the toe-curling pleasure, this thing between you is a disaster waiting to happen. One of you will get careless, too drunk on pleasure to maintain discretion, and it will all blow up in your faces. You’ll be the one to lose your job, your reputation in tatters. He'll be the subject of high fives and envy in the kitchen, just another conquest to boast about.

You know this. You really do.

But when he looks at you like he does, all your good intentions seem to crumble to ash. He’ll crook a finger at you, head cocked towards the storage room, and you’ll follow. You always fucking follow. Because for those stolen heartbeats when he’s buried inside of you and his hands are branding your hips, you can pretend it means something. That you mean something. To him. That you are more than a convenient warm body. More than a willing repository for his lust and stress and pent-up frustrations.

It's pathetic. You’re pathetic. Panting after him like a dog whining for scraps from the table. But self-awareness has never been much of an aphrodisiac.

So you hide.

In the walk-in where the frigid air can leach the fever from your skin. Where you don’t have to see the way his throat works when he swallows or the flex of sinewy forearms revealed by rolled up sleeves. You hide until your nipples are hard from cold instead of shameful arousal and your chest no longer feels like it might crack open from the strain of containing your idiotically rioting heart.

Sucking in a fortifying breath, you push off the shelves. Run damp palms down your thighs, thankful for the wicking fabric of your chef's pants. You just have to get through service. Keep your head down and your knife steady. Just a few more hours and you can escape to the sanctuary of your shitty apartment. Where you absolutely will not fuck yourself on your own hand to the memory of his low groan in your ear. Again.

You’re fine. It's fine. Everything is fine.

The fridge door swings open with a gust of frigid air, startling you out of your spiralling thoughts. You twist around only to find Javi leaning against the frame, arms crossed over his chest. There is a smudge of flour on his cheek. You want to lick it off.

Instead, you curl your hands into fists, nails biting into your palms. Swallow hard around the knot in your throat.

“You plannin’ on hiding in here all day?” His voice is light, teasing. But there's an undercurrent of something else, a tension that crackles in the air between you.

Straightening, you tug at the hem of your tee. A nervous habit, one you can’t seem to break. "Just needed a minute."

He nods, dark eyes watching you. Seeing too much, as always. The silence stretches, heavy with all the things you don't say. All the things you can't say, not without shattering this fragile truce you’ve built. This careful dance of almost, maybe, not quite.

Clearing your throat, you drop your gaze. Fix it on the collar of his shirt, the sliver of bronzed skin at the hollow of his throat. The thin gold chain resting against his collarbones, glinting in the harsh fluorescent light.

The same chain you sometimes catch between your teeth when you’re tangled together in the dark, skin slick with sweat and hands grasping, claiming. When you’re biting back the obscene sounds that claw up your throat, desperate to hold on to some shred of control even as he takes you apart with clever fingers and wicked tongue.

Heat flares low in your belly at the memory, prickling across your skin. You shift, restless. Aching. "Well, I guess I should get back to it."

You move to brush past him, to escape the charged air of the fridge and the wanting that coils like a snake in your gut. But he's too quick, too close. Long fingers wrap around your wrist, calluses dragging against your racing pulse.

"Wait." There's a rasp to his voice, a rough edge that sends a shiver skittering down your spine.

You go still, hardly daring to breathe. This... this is new. Uncharted territory. You don't linger in each other's space like this, not when you're both fully clothed and clear-headed. It's too dangerous, too much like tempting fate.

"What is it, Javi?" It comes out softer than you intend, almost breathless.

He sighs, a harsh exhale through his nose as he drags his free hand through his hair. The dark strands fall back into artful disarray almost immediately. Everything about this man is effortless, from the way he commands a kitchen to the way he commands your body. Confident. Self-assured.

"Nothing, just..." He trails off, shaking his head. Something flickers in the depths of his dark eyes, there and gone too quickly for you to decipher. Frustration, maybe. Regret. "Nothing. Never mind."

And then he's gone, shouldering through the door and leaving you standing there, stomach twisting with that all too familiar mix of frustration and anticipation.

So you return to your station. You chop and sauté, season and taste, hands moving on autopilot as your mind wanders. Steve, the sous chef, drops by your station to crack a few jokes, his easy smile and laid-back demeanor a welcome distraction from the tangled knot of emotions in your chest. He updates you on his ideas for the new tasting menu, shares a bit of gossip he heard from the chatty sommelier—anything to fill the charged silence of the kitchen.

But even as you nod along, making all the right noises in all the right places, you can't ignore the shiver that races down your spine every time Javier passes behind you, his arm brushing yours as he reaches for a pan. Can't seem to tune out the low, authoritative cadence of his voice as he calls out orders to the line, each word wrapping around you like a physical touch.

It doesn't help that he's foregone his usual chef's whites today in favor of a thin grey tee, the worn fabric clinging lovingly to every curve and plane of his torso. So it isn’t much of a surprise that by the time service ends and the last of the dishes are washed and stacked, you’re wound tighter than a clockspring.

—

The dishrag makes a damp squelch as you wring it out, the white cloth slowly soaking up the smears and crumbs littering your workstation. It's mundane work, the kind that usually lets your mind drift, but today all your senses feel heightened, electrified. Because you can feel him behind you.

Even without looking, you know exactly how close Javi is standing - mere inches away, his body a live wire of coiled energy. The hairs on your neck prickle to attention as his breath washes over your skin, his low rasp sending a shiver down your spine as he murmurs, "Storage room. Five minutes."

And then, just like that, his warmth is gone. Out of the corner of your eye, you watch Javi shrug off his apron, the stained fabric hitting the hook with a dull slap as he strides purposefully towards the back.

"Fuck." The curse is barely a whisper, more a shaky exhale that you didn't realise you'd been holding in.

Your pulse pounds in your ears as your gaze darts around the bustling kitchen. Steve is leaning across the steel counter, flashing the cute new pastry chef a crooked grin as she carefully pipes delicate swirls on a tray of mille-feuille. Over by the sinks, a trio of line cooks laugh uproariously, their voices bouncing off the tiled walls as they no doubt swap exaggerated tales of culinary glory.

No one is paying you any attention. It would be so easy to slip away unnoticed, to grab your bag and walk out into the night, pretending you never heard Javi's summons. The rational part of your brain screams at you to do just that, to put an end to this dangerous game before someone gets hurt.

But even as the thought forms, you know you won't do it. Can't do it. Because as much as you hate to admit it, you crave this — the illicit thrill, the rush of sneaking around, the electric snap of connection that sizzles between you and Javi. It's a drug, and you're addicted.

Suddenly, your hands are way too clammy so you wipe them against your pants, the rough fabric scratching your skin. Then, with a last glance around to make sure no one is watching, you slip out of the kitchen and down the narrow hallway.

When you reach the storage room door, you pause, palm hovering over the knob. From within, you can hear Javi moving around - the clatter of bottles, the scrape of crates across concrete…

This is it. Your last chance to turn back, to walk away and pretend this never happened. You close your eyes, inhaling deeply. You think of Javi waiting on the other side of the door, all coiled intensity and wicked smiles. Of the way his hands feel on your body, the rasp of his stubble against your throat. The broken sound he makes when he comes undone.

Fuck it.

Twisting the handle, you take a deep breath and step inside.

Javi stands in the center of the tiny room, a bottle of sherry vinegar forgotten in his hand as his gaze rakes over you. And then he’s setting the bottle down with exaggerated care, his eyes never leaving yours.

"Lock the door."

“Already did.”

Though it's unnecessary, you take a lean into the solid wood at your back. Your already racing heart kicks into overdrive as Javi stalks towards you, his movements fluid and predatory. He cages you in with his arms, his body a hot, hard line against yours. This close you can see the faint shadow of stubble along his jaw, the fan of his lashes against his cheek.

His lips hover a hairsbreadth from yours, his breath a feather-light caress. "We shouldn't," he murmurs, even as he rolls his hips into you.

"I know." Your hands come up to map the broad expanse of his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his tee. "But I don't care."

Javi makes a low sound, almost pained, and drops his forehead to rest against yours. The rasp of his stubble ignites sparks across your skin. "Me neither."

Then he's kissing you, deep and hungry, and whatever lingering reservations you had melt away like spun sugar. You open to him eagerly, hands fisting in his hair as you arch into the cradle of his hips. He licks into your mouth, hot and filthy, while his hands skim down your sides to cup your ass and pull you impossibly closer.

It's too much and not enough all at once. You hook a leg around his waist, desperate for more contact, and he growls into the kiss. His fingers dig into your flesh hard enough to bruise as he grinds against you, the thick ridge of him hitting you just right through the layers of denim and cotton.

You tear your mouth from his with a gasp, head tipping back as he blazes a trail of open-mouthed kisses down the column of your throat. "Javi, please..."

He shushes you gently even as he walks you backwards, only stopping when you hit the edge of the stainless steel prep table. The cold bite of it against your overheated skin makes you hiss, but the sound is swallowed by Javi's lips as they find yours again. His clever hands make quick work of the buttons on your fly, and then he's gripping your hips and hoisting you up onto the tabletop like you weigh nothing at all.

His fingers are on you before you can fully process what’s happening, pressing against the damp cotton of your underwear. Helplessly, you buck against his hand, head falling back and eyes rolling in their sockets.

"Always so fucking ready for it," he rasps, fingers skating over the heat of you. "So wet for me, cariño."

You mewls, hips canting frantically as he circles your clit. "Please, Javi, I can't—"

"Shh, I've got you."

He sinks two fingers into you. Crooks them just right and just like that you’re gone, the tension and the waiting too much to handle. You clamp your hand over your mouth to stop yourself from screaming out, your body spasming and shaking. Javi just grins slowly as he wraps his other arm around you, gentling his touch before bringing his fingers to his mouth to lick them clean.

“Want me inside you?” he asks and there’s that smirk again, tugging at his lips, but you’re too preoccupied with the need and want to care. So you nod, frantically. “Well, then, turn around. Hands on the table.”

You scramble to comply, anticipation zipping down your spine as you flip over and brace yourself against the cool steel.

This is wrong, some distant part of you whispers. It's reckless and stupid and is going to blow up in both your faces. But as Javi steps in close behind you, the hot press of him against your back and the whisper of his breath on your neck, you find it impossible to care.

“Ja—” you bite out as he nudges his thickness against your entrance.

“Say you want it,” he rasps, bending over you, lips brushing the shell of your ear. One hand slides around your hip to press against your belly, holding you steady. "Say you want me to fuck you."

"I want it," you gasp, pushing back against him. "Fuck me, Javi, please—"

He doesn't make you ask twice. With a growl that vibrates through you, he snaps his hips, sheathing himself in your heat with one hard thrust. The breath punches out of your lungs, fingernails scrabbling against stainless steel for something to hold onto.

Dimly, you register the harsh screech of the table beneath you, the way it shudders with each slam of Javi's hips against yours. But it's distant, drowned out by the roar of blood in your ears and the filthy litany falling from Javier's lips.

"Fuck, you feel incredible." His chest drapes along your back, damp with sweat, as he mouths at the side of your neck. "So tight. So perfect."

He snakes a hand around your hip, fingers seeking out your aching clit. The first rough press of his fingertips against the sensitive bundle of nerves has you jerking in his hold, a high, threadbare sound tearing from your throat.

"That's it, baby." Javi's breath is a humid rush against your ear, his words nearly lost in the damp tendrils of your hair. "Let go for me. Wanna feel you come on my cock."

It's like a tripwire snapping. Your orgasm crashes into you, a tidal wave of sensation that obliterates everything in its path. You're vaguely aware of Javi cursing, of his thrusts losing their rhythm as he chases his own release. Then his body goes taut against yours, a low groan rumbling through his chest as he spills himself deep inside you.

For a long moment, there is only the ragged sound of your breathing and the rapid thud of your heartbeat. Javier doesn't move, his forehead pressed between your shoulder blades, his softening length still nestled in the clutch of your body.

And then he's pulling away and you can only push yourself upright on shaking arms, biting back a wince at the protestations of your muscles. Behind you, the rustle of fabric tells you Javier is making himself presentable, but you can't bring yourself to turn around.

When you finally do, he simply hands you your clothes without a word. You take them, grateful for the excuse to keep your eyes averted. The silence stretches, thick and cloying, as you both dress with perfunctory movements.

This is always the worst part. The part where reality reasserts itself, cold and unforgiving. The part where you're forced to confront the stark truth of what you've done, of the lines you've crossed.

Your fingers fumble with the buttons of your trousers, clumsy and numb. Across the cramped space, you can feel the tension radiating off Javier in waves. See the rigid set of his shoulders from the corner of your eye. Your chest aches with a nameless emotion, the jagged pieces of your heart grinding together like broken glass.

This has to stop. You can't keep doing this, can't keep tearing each other apart in dark corners and hidden rooms. It's not sustainable, this twisted thing between you. Sooner or later, something will give. Someone will give.

And you're terrified it will be you.

"Javi..." The word feels too loud in the oppressive quiet. You swallow hard, dragging your gaze up to his face. His expression is carefully blank, but you can see the tick in his jaw, the way he won’t meet your eyes.

He cuts you off before you can continue. "I'll clean up in here." His voice is rough, scraped raw. "You should go."

It's an out, and you're too much of a coward not to take it. You nod, more to yourself than to him, not trusting your voice. Then, on numb legs, you slip past him into the deserted hallway, the snick of the door closing behind you sounding like a gunshot in the hush.

The back alley is blessedly empty when you stumble out into the balmy night air. The rough brick of the restaurant's exterior scrapes your spine through your thin shirt as you sag against it, eyes squeezing shut. You breathe deeply, trying to will away the hot press of tears, the yawning emptiness carving itself into your chest.

This has to stop. It will stop.

The lie tastes bitter on your tongue.

[morganbritton132]

I love the newer teachers not knowing who Eddie is and visiting Steve at his house and wondering how they can afford such a nice house. I can imagine that they live in a house way above a teachers salary, much less a teacher with presumably, a lot of medical bills. They see gold records hanging on the walls and all of Eddie’s awards on a bookshelf and they are trying to connect the dots to who Eddie is.

David’s first impression of Steve is, admittedly, not great.

He was hired as a long-term substitute halfway through the school year and technically, Mr. Harrington was the only teacher on their floor not to introduce himself to him. They’re supposed to cover the eighth grade lunch period together, but Steve hasn’t shown up once since David was started three days ago.

Instead, the principal covered for him.

Cindy McCullen, the gossipy history teacher across the hall from him, says that it’s because of favoritism. She says that Principal Moreno always lets her favorites run rampant around the school and lets them do whatever they want, especially if they’re tenured. Steve Harrington is the most egregious example of blatant favoritism.

David starts to form an opinion about Mr. Harrington in his mind that only gets worse with every story he hears from Cindy. So, it’s a bit of a shock when Steve shows up for lunch duty the next day with a whole ass service dog.

He feels like an asshole.

Especially because Steve is so apologetic about missing the last three days and leaving David to ‘the wolves’ during his first week, “Is this your first teaching job? I’ve heard from the kids that you’re doing great!”  

He makes a conscious effort after that to get to know Steve and to stop letting other people form his opinions for him. Though, admittedly. He kinda fucks that up too.

The first time David meets Eddie, he thinks that he’s Steve’s brother.

It’s not that Steve doesn’t talk about his life outside of work. It’s just that he doesn’t go into a lot a detail. David knows that he’s married to a man, that he’s from Indiana originally, and he might have a kid. Maybe? A girl name Erica that tells him what a brony is and how they ruin everything.

Hell, David’s not even entirely sure he knows what Ozzy is in service of. Steve just said that he bumped his head one too many times and now he has a dog so his husband stops worrying so much.

The only surefire thing that David knows is that Steve has a brother that’s a bit of a dork. He has great hair and is really smart, but lacks tact. Steve loves him. You can tell by the way that he talks about the guy.

So one day, David is in the teacher’s lounge heating up a cup of Easy Mac while Steve is sitting with his head down at one of the tables. He’s about to suggest that Steve go home and sleep off whatever cold he has when a guy with long hair and a leather jacket sticks his head in the room and declares, “You look like shit.”

Steve doesn’t even lift his head when he flips him off which is – whoa, not something that David would expect from Mr. Harrington. He makes himself busy with stirring his mac and cheese while the two bicker with each other which is, admittedly, childish.

Leather Jacket’s main argument for why Steve has to listen to him and go home is because he’s older. Steve croaks out that that is bullshit and Leather Jacket threatens to call their Uncle Wayne if Steve doesn’t listen. He eventually agrees.

Before they leave, Leather Jacket sticks his hand out to David and introduces himself as the cooler Mr. Harrington (that gets a laugh out of Steve).

So, color him shocked when Steve invites their event committee over to his house.

David hasn’t even fully gotten over how nice of a neighborhood Steve lives in on a teacher and retiree’s salary when Leather Jacket gets introduced as Eddie, the husband Steve has mentioned. Then he just casually mentions a red carpet like, what?

And the craziest part is that he’s asked about his husband before!

Steve mentioned once that his husband was out of town and when David asked what he did for work, Steve said that he was retired. He said that his husband can play guitar and that one of their friends (James Hetfield) needed a last minute guitarist for some kind of fair (Coachella) so Eddie went to help out.

He definitely worded it like playing guitar was just a hobby that his husband has, not like. Not like platinum records lining the hallway to their bathroom or the picture of Steve and Eddie in Vegas with KISS stuck to the fridge. He swears the note on the dry erase board by the garage entrance signed ‘Dave’ is in Dave Grohl’s handwriting.

There’s an Grammy on the bookshelf by the fireplace.

Who the hell is Steve Harrington?

Better question: Who the hell is Eddie Munson?

Kathy laughs the entire drive to her house and she is still laughing when he drops her off. The only thing she says that could even be considered an answer is, “I think he’s on Tiktok. Start there.” 

[merbear25]

For Kinktober, can I please request Sensual Massage with Sanji?

Hey! Hope you've been well. I think I got a bit carried away with this 🤭 Hope you like it 💜🧡

You’d been working yourself to the bone for what felt like forever. It’d been a while since you did anything for yourself. Among some of your female coworkers, there was word buzzing of a spa that could offer more than just the typical services.

CW: NSFW, MDNI, fem!reader, some fluff, vaginal fingering, sex work

Tender hands (Sanji)

Rubbing your neck, you lingered over by the water cooler ideally. With your boss piling heaps of assignments on you, the stress of responsibility was affecting you physically.

“Feeling alright?” Your coworker chirped.

You glanced over at her and gave her a reassuring smile. “Yeah, just a bit overwhelmed if I’m being honest.”

The older woman nodded. She showed some hesitation to continue, deciding to take a quick look around to avoid any of your nosey colleagues.

“Between you and me,” she leaned in. “I was feeling the same as you not too long ago. But then, I discovered this spa and let me tell you, those masseuses certainly have magic fingers.”

The implications had you nervously fidgeting. “Oh, yeah?” You smiled politely.

She reached into her purse and pulled out a card. “Here, darling,” she soothed your nerves. “You go here and tell them you want this special. They’ll take good care of you.” She grinned at you before shuffling away to her cubicle.

Glancing at the card, you saw that the phrase ‘Sundae’ was scribbled on the back. You promptly shoved it into your pocket before continuing the workday—the business card seemingly burning for you to give into your curiosity.

Staying behind the others to finish the last bit of paperwork you’d been given. The heavy footsteps of your boss was the most dreaded sound imaginable.

“Just got these in. I’ll need these by the end of next week.” The way he smiled came off as if he thought he was doing you a favor by extending the due date. He patted the stack before excusing himself for the evening. He called back a ‘see you tomorrow’ with his back turned to you, waving lazily.

Rubbing your eyes from exhaustion, you could hear the strange offer from earlier calling out to you. As you stared at the card, you felt yourself being pulled more and more into temptation. It was such a bizarre recommendation, one which your curiosity couldn’t resist seeing through.

Upon arriving at the location, the dim lights made you second guess the hours. No, it should still be open. The door wasn’t locked but the lights were kept suspiciously low.

You tapped on the service bell and anxiously waited for someone. No more than a few moments must have passed before your nerves started getting the best of you. Wondering what on earth you were doing there, you slowly turned towards the door.

“Sorry to keep you waiting!” You heard a friendly voice call out.

“Oh! No, it’s fine… I-I don’t really know if I’ve got the right place actually.”

“What is it that you’re looking for?” The blonde man’s face made him appear kind and his voice was rather comforting.

You peeked down at the card and said in an almost mousey tone, “A sundae?” What a ridiculous code name… you thought to yourself.

His eyes lit up. “Ohh, okay,” he let out a good-natured chuckle. “First time?” The rhetorical question made you stumble over your words.

“Don’t worry. There’s no judgment here and everything will be kept confidential.” 

As he talked you through the basics, wanting to be sure this was something you were fully aware of and consented to, you were so flustered that you nodded and agreed to nearly everything he said.

“You can say ‘no’ if this isn’t for you, you know.” It came from a place of concern due to your unnatural eagerness.

“N-no! I…I want to do this. I’ve just never done anything like it before,” you admitted.

“In that case, I can assure you that you won’t regret it.”

He led you towards one of the massage rooms in the back. He informed you that he needed to prepare some of the oils and that you should go ahead and undress and lay down on the table. Giving you a warm smile, he left you momentarily.

Looking around the room, the candles gently placed throughout were not yet lit and the colors were an earthy tone, which did well to set a calming atmosphere.

Laying down on the table, you buried your face into the headrest in an attempt to hide your shame. As you were lost in your thoughts, the door clicking pulled you out of your fog.

As he apologized for the delay, he kept the conversation friendly and open in an attempt to ease those nerves of yours. He lit the candles and pressed play on the playlist, which was set to peaceful sounds of nature.

The squirts of warm massage oil coaxed a slight shiver from you.

“Is it too cold?”

“No, just wasn’t expecting it.”

His laugh was soft, endearing even. When his hands found their way to your back, you took a deep breath and closed your eyes. As his touch kneaded over your sore spots, your murmurs signaled for him to be gentle. When he came across tight knots, his skillful fingers worked them out—your soft moans being the encouragement he needed.

He focused on your lower back, and then eventually your glutes and thighs. You clung to the table in anticipation, only to be hushed by Sanji, “Just relax.”

He watched your movements closely, trying to gauge how you were feeling. Your legs parting gave him his answer. Massaging your inner thighs, his thumbs pressed small circles into your fatty flesh. The oil was warming your skin, making his fingers the welders of your pleasure.

Working his way closer to your pussy lips, your arousal was obvious—the wetness glistening slightly even in the dimly lit room. His thumbs tenderly massaged around your labias, which made the slick between them seep out a little. His other fingers kneaded your ass, causing you to involuntarily arch your back. The sweet moans coming out of you filled the room. As one was placed on your hip, rubbing it gently, the other traced over your folds.

Your body quaked and your breath hitched in your throat. The warmth from the oils was fanning the flames within you. His fingers glided over your clit, prompting your hips to shake and a whimper to pass over your soft lips.

His thumb circled over your sensitive bundle. Each gasp and tremble only made him work you harder to squeeze each euphoric laced cry out of you. As you groaned from your orgasm, his hands returned to your back—his hands firmer in order to work out the lingering bit of ecstasy.

He moved to your shoulders, letting you enjoy the stress of the day being released. Your huffs and soft pants were subsiding, which meant you were perfect for the next round.

Your hips were the center of attention again. The masseuse’s hands roamed over them, being sure to give an ample amount of affection to your lower back and sides, as well. You whimpered while his fingers teased your entrance. Instinctively, you bucked your hips slightly into his touch, yearning to be completely and utterly satisfied.

Though you couldn’t see his face, it held a look of relief. Seeing his clients go from a nervous and stressed wreck to ones so willing to put their trust in him never ceased to leave him in awe of their courage, their beauty.

He plunged one finger in to start. As your body adjusted to it, he could feel your walls spasming already. The feeling of a gorgeous woman coming undone from his touch was like no other. He couldn’t help but give in.

“That’s it, my sweet thing,” he cooed at you. “Just let go.”

He put another finger in you, followed by another shortly after. Your cries of ecstasy were making his head spin. Watching you grip at the table, the way you convulsed on his fingers, and the faint slapping of his hand against your slit: you were a depiction of pure angelic imagery.

Your groans and pants were evident that you were close to that long sought after edge. Leaning in slightly, he whispered for you to cum for him. Burying your face into the softened table, you could feel yourself slipping. 

Filling you completely with his experienced fingers, your body couldn’t hold on any longer. Your cries of reaching the peak of euphoria sounded throughout the room. As he guided you through your orgasm, a faint smile found its way to your spent complexion. Your body, now totally relaxed, went limp on the table.

“Thank you,” you murmured, your voice still raspy from your high.

Your politeness was much too sweet. He rubbed your hips again, beaming down at you. “That wasn’t so bad then, was it? You did great.”

He gave you some time to get dressed as he rang you up. Exchanging pleasant chit-chat, his inviting demeanor might be the most intoxicating thing about him.

When he handed you your receipt, his fingers ran lightly along yours. With a friendly grin, he added, “Hope to see you again.”

Your heart was pounding so hard against your chest, it was as if it was about to leap out of you. Once in your car, your eyes caught sight of a small note he left on the paper.

“Come by anytime during the evening on weekdays. I’ll be here to help you relax. Xoxo.”

Fawning over the note, you made sure to drop by every once in a while. Who knew? Maybe there was something other than business to explore.

[hannibals-favourite-meal]

.⋆｡A Big Night In｡⋆.

Dick Grayson x plus size reader

The one where Dickie and Dove finally have a night to themselves

Warnings: smut, unprotected sex, fluff, mom!reader, embarrassment, sort of breeding kink?

WC: 1.8k

Minors DNI

The Graysons

Library- @hannibals-favourite-meal-library

“Now, if she gets fussy, she really likes the koala with the missing ear. She literally can’t sleep without it.” Dick was panicking, that much was plain to see and Bruce couldn't help but smile. It was moments like this, where his boy was filled with anxiety about something so normal as leaving his 6 month old baby with her grandparents overnight, that made his heart ache in the best way.

“Chum, I know how to take care of Alice, I think the 20 page binder you gave each of us on her needs helps.” He glared at his father, arms tightening around his baby as she sat on his narrow hips, happily playing with the buttons on his shirt.

“Oh leave him alone.” His mother scolded, giving her husband a light slap on his arm. “Don't pretend you weren't even more upset when you had to leave Dick alone for the first time. I seem to remember you calling me every ten minutes to get updates on how he was doing.” A light pink flush spread across Bruce's cheeks at the memory.

Grumbling, his eyes dropped to the floor like a petulant child. “It wasn't every ten minutes.” Dick shot his mother a grateful smile before turning his attention to Alice who didn't seem to share her father's level of anxiety.

It was a big day, her first sleepover without her parents. It would have happened sooner, in fact the first attempt had been when she was three months old. You and Dick needed some 'alone time' and your in-laws had been more than happy to extend their babysitting services. But an hour before they would come to pick her up, you and Dick had a breakdown and cancelled, instead spending the night curled up together in bed, Alice between you.

But, you couldn't put it off any longer. Alice needed to be socialised with other people and you needed to get laid.

So after a tearful goodbye, Dick drove her to Gotham, insisting on a little daddy-daughter bonding time before she was handed over to her grandparents.

“She likes thunderstorm sounds when she goes to sleep. And if she's still fussy, there's some frozen milk in the cooler bag.” Said bag was handed over to the awaiting hands of her grandfather, along with a Wonder Woman themed duffle-bag that held everything else she could possibly need.

“Ba.” Alice spat out, chubby arm pointing to her grandmother. Dick knew he had to get this over with, like pulling off a bandaid.

He pressed a long kiss to the patch of dark hair on the top of her head, inhaling that baby smell she hadn't yet grown out of. “You’ll be good for nana and pops won't you?” She cooed, eyes still locked on the older woman. He sighed, pecking her soft skin a couple more times before she slipped from his arms and placed safely in his mother's.

“Everything will be fine, I promise baby bird. You two have fun tonight.” Dick was quickly shooed out of the manor but not without a vague threat to Bruce to keep her safe, which he brushed off with his usual nonchalance.

By the time he had returned to his apartment in Blüdhaven, his mood had improved, especially with the text he received from you telling him to come straight to the bedroom when he got home.

“Dove?” He called into the darkened apartment, slipping off his shoes as he stumbled forward. A trail of clothes, haphazardly thrown on the hardwood guided him forward. There was a dim glow coming from the room just off of the kitchen, the smell of vanilla like a siren's call.

“Come on Dickie, we have a lot to make up for and not a lot of time to do it.” Your voice called out to him.

Dick groaned and palmed his already throbbing cock- it had been a long time, too long. “You're playing a dangerous game, Dove.” His voice thick with arousal as he called back to you.

His own clothes quickly joined yours, leaving him in just his boxers as he stepped into the bedroom where all the air was knocked from his lungs.

Your perfect, soft, naked body was completely on display for him as you lounged on the bed. 

Your skin glowed in the soft orange light of the room and for a moment, Dick thought that there was no way you were real and that you were his.

“Holy fuck.” He watched with wide eyes as your legs fell open, revealing paradise to him, your fingers already tracing over your clit. “Leave it!” He suddenly shouted, now furiously tugging at his boxers. “That's all mine baby!”

Your giggles quickly turned into moans as your husband's strong body forced you further into the mattress and his lips met yours in a truly desperate kiss. Your nails dug into his muscular back making his hips buck into yours.

“Well, what are you gonna do about it daddy?” You cooed into his mouth, your left hand travelling down his front deliberately slow.

He caught your hand before you could reach his cock and with a dangerous gleam in his eye, he responded. “How about baby number 2?”

The cold metal of his wedding ring against your heated thigh sent a shiver up your spine, making his smirk grow as your nipples pebbled beneath his gaze. His fingers inched towards your centre, quickly gathering the arousal that had smeared onto your skin.

“God, you get even sexier by the day.” You gasped as he finally touched where you needed him the most, both easing and adding more fuel to your lust. His own patience was quickly wearing thin so your husband wasted no time in sliding two thick fingers inside you.

“Dick!” You threw your head back with a moan of his name.

“That's it, that's my pretty dove.” With his other hand planted by your head, Dick watched his fingers pump in and out of you, his skin now shinny with your wetness. “You're so fucking wet dove, must be aching for me.”

Your only response was to tighten around his fingers, your orgasm dangerously close. “Please please.” You begged.

“Do you want to cum on my fingers or my cock?” Dick breathed into your ear but the way that he was pressed so tightly against you, you could feel his thick cock throbbing against your thigh, the decision was already made for you.

“Want you inside, wanna feel your cock again.” His body sagged against you as he groaned from deep in his chest.

“Fuck, you can't say stuff like that- gonna make me cum before we even get to the good part.”

“Then you better fuck me already Grayson.” But the bite of your words was softened by the moan he forced from you as he ripped his fingers from your aching cunt and replaced them with the fat head of his cock.

“If you insist.” The first thrust was always deliciously painful as he stretched you out, making you feel every inch of his perfect length until he was nestled against your cervix and his balls pressed tightly to your ass.

Your groans mingled together in a beautiful lewd symphony, filling the bedroom like music. “So fucking tight.” Dick moaned through clenched teeth. “Need to fuck you more.”

“Yes.” You hissed both in response to your husband and because at that moment, his hips twitched causing his cock to brush against that sensitive bundle of nerves inside you.

“My poor girl, been neglecting my perfect wife. Gonna make it up to you, make you sit on my face till you beg me to stop.” His first thrusts were tentative, almost shy just like the first time you fell into bed with him but as you began to relax beneath him, he switched it up.

He knocked the moans from your lungs as he jackhammered into you, his own desperate need for release blinding him to everything else. “Never gonna let you feel empty again, I'll make sure you're always full of me one way or another.”

You sobbed with a particularly brutal thrust to your cervix and you dragged your nails down his back, leaving bright red marks. “Yes!” You cried.

“Fuck, your pussy is so fucking warm and tight, need to cum.”

“Inside, need it inside.” Your ankles locked around his hips. Your stomach began to pull tight just as Dick's thrusts began to waver.

“C'mon dove, cum for me- please.” And you shattered below him, melting into a puddle of ecstasy as your husband filled you with his cum, prolonging your orgasm.

Your left hand tangled in his dark hair and tugged his lips into yours. Your breath mingled as you both came down from your highs but Dick remained inside you, neither of you keen on having this end just yet.

“I love you.” You whispered to him and your husband smiled against your lips.

“I love you.” He replied with a gentle peck. “Soooooo, round 2?”

——————

“Dick's late.” Bruce's eyes once again flicked to the grandfather clock in the corner of the living room and then to the entryway but once again, there was no indication that his son had arrived.

Looking up from the floor where she had been playing with their granddaughter, his wife rolled her eyes. “Bruce, we've just given them their first uninterrupted date night in months, of course they're gonna be late. And hopefully they spent the night productively.” She said this last part almost to herself as she turned back to Alice who suddenly believed her right foot to be the most delicious thing ever.

Bruce raised an eyebrow at his wife. “What's that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing!” She sing-songed. “Oh look! They're here!”

And sure enough, Dick and a limping you walked through the door, not looking as well-rested as Bruce assumed you would be but both of you had big smiles on your faces.

“My girl!” Of course Dick immediately dove for his daughter, sending her into peels of laughter at seeing her father trip over his own feet in his hurry to get to her. You instead approached your father-in-law, greeting him with a warm hug and kiss to the cheek.

“Thank you for watching her, I hope she didn't give you too much trouble.” Bruce waved you off.

“She was an angel, like always. I thought you and Dick were going to get some rest, you look like you haven't slept a wink.” Dick snorted but immediately stopped when both you and his mother shot him a look.

You cleared your throat and with a look of embarrassment, you avoided Bruce's eyes. “We lost track of time and didn't get to bed until late.” You were content to leave it there but apparently, your husband had other ideas.

“Alice, what do you think about having a baby brother?” You and your mother-in-law sighed heavily as Bruce went pale, the realisation finally dawning on him.

“Oh-oh god. I think I need a drink.” 

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[issdisgrace]

I'd love to request, jason x male reader, who has a prosthetic arm and leg, you can decide. And the reader meeting the Wayne family for the first time, and Bruce being a bit judgy. Maybe Bruce even asking Jason in Private if he's sure the reader is the right person

I hope you're comfortable writing this :)

YOU SURE ABOUT THIS

WARNINGS: None unless you count swearing.

A/N: Y/n just has a prosthetic arm. Also when i was writing i wrote this with Bucky Barnes in my mind.

I look over at Y/n as I park in front of the manor.

“Are you sure about this? We can go home and order takeout.”

“I can do this, Jason. I need to, they are your family.”

“You don’t need to do anything that you don’t feel comfortable with.”

“If I didn’t step out of my comfort zone, then I wouldn’t be here with you right now. So let’s get this show on the road.”

“Ok and remember we can leave at anytime.”

“I’ll be fine Jason and stop worrying so much, it will give you wrinkles.” Y/n days before giving me a quick kiss on the lips before getting out of the car. I sigh to myself before getting out as well. He’s right. He’s always right. Can’t he ever be wrong? I reach out for his hand and gently lead him up the steps of the manor. As I got to knock on the door, it opens and revealing Alfred.

“Master Jason and you must be Master Y/n pleasure to meet you. I’m Alfred Pennyworth, the butler. Please do come in.” Alfred says, stepping to the side to let us in. Walking in the warmth of the manor is comforting, like always, especially on cooler evenings like this.

“Pleasure to meet you to Alfred. I’ve heard a lot about you from Jason.” 

“All good, I hope,” Alfred says as he closes the door.

“Very much. I heard that you are an excellent cook.”

“And baker. He makes a mean snickerdoodle.” I add.

“You always know how to falter me, Master Jason. Anyway, your father and brothers are in the living room. I must get back to the kitchen to make sure nothing burned.”

“Alright, thanks Alfred.” I watch as Alfred walks down the hall and when he’s out of earshot, I ask.

“You good.” Y/n grabs my face with his hands.

“I’m good Jason.” He says before giving me a kiss.

“Ok.” I say as I pull away.

“Now, how about you introduce me to your family?”

“Alright, it’s just this way.” I say as I start to lead him towards the livingroom. I notice the way he looks around. It’s in admiration.

“This place is very beautiful.”

“I guess.” I say, leading them into the livingroom.

“Jason, my son. It’s good to see you,” Bruce says, getting up from his armchair.

“Good to see you too, old man. This is Y/n, Y/n this is Bruce.”

“Nice to meet you, Bruce.” Y/n says, reaching out to shake his hand. Bruce shakes his hand and I can see the way his eyes flicker to Y/n’s prosthetic arm. We take a seat on the empty couch and I silently pray to the gods he doesn’t say anything as my brothers introduce themselves. Of course, the last one is Tim.

“Tim and that a nice piece of metal you got there.” I try to contain myself, feeling the urge to strangle him.

“Yeah, a friend of mine made it for me shortly after I lost my arm. And I’ve been rocking with it sense then.”

“Cool, does it function?”

“It does see,” Y/n says, showing how the arm and hand can move around.

“Thats neat. How do that?”

“I have a plate built into my shoulder that my arm attaches too and that is hooked up to my brain and that’s how I control it.”

“Damn that pretty high tech.” Tim says.

“It is, Drake. May I ask how you lost your arm?” Damian asks surprisingly kindly. Hmm, that is weird. I look over at Y/n and take his hand, giving him a gently squeeze. 

“I lost it during my time as a P.O.W..”

“Thank you for your service.” Dick is quick to say with a smile. I sigh to myself, finally relaxing, Its was nice to see Dick

being Dick. I just hope short stack and Bruce don’t say anything insensitive. 

“It was my honor to serve.” Y/n days.

This whole thing definitely went better than I suspected. I smile to myself as watch as Dick practically pulls Y/n out of the dining room behind him, wanting to show him around the manor. Tim and Damian following behind them. As I go to join them, I feel a hand on my shoulder. I brush the hand off and turn around to look at Bruce. 

“I know this isn’t my place, but are you sure about them? Are you sure they’re the one?” He asks. When he asks that I see fucking red.

“Why? You think they're damaged goods because they lost one of their arms. Well listen here, old man, I love them and I will marry them one day. So keep your shit opinion to yourself and go fuck yourself.” I say making sure my anger was on full display. I then turn around and leave the dining room to go find where my brothers dragged my boyfriend off to.

EXTRA:

“Master Bruce, that was very out of line of you.”

“I just want to make sure he’s making the right decision.”

“He is an adult. He can make his own decisions and, remember don’t judge a book by its cover, Master Bruce. I raised you better.”

[vixenvoider]

intention setting practice

step 1 spend one week practicing simple intentions

intention setting is easier than you think. i think living in the end can sound confusing, if it works for you thats fine but a word i prefer is expecting things to happen, so this is what i want you to do.

decide what time you are going to get sleepy each day by expecting it to happen. intend that you will get tired at 8pm tonight by just expecting that you will get tired at 8pm tonight

decide what time you will wake up each day by expecting it to happen

decide that you will remember your dreams each day by just expecting that you will

REMEMBER: make sure to change the times each night and morning. if you expect to wake up at 7am everyday your body will just get used to it and it's not your actual intentions working each day

step 2 spend another week practicing slightly harder intentions

decide what temperature each day will be. you don't need to go too crazy, do it simply. if it's raining, expect that the rain will stop when you're outside and will only resume once you're inside or covered and can't get wet. or expect that even if it's hot that whatever room you're in will be cooler and comfortable.

decide you will get a text from someone or a text from a friend telling you something specific by expecting it to happen

decide that people will be in a good mood around you. this works best if you have someone in your life that is a moody person, like if you have a teacher who's class you worry about going to because they are so moody, just expect when you go into class they will be in a good mood today.

if your confidence has boosted after these two weeks, then start deciding on your own intentions and watch them come true. after you have proven this to you, then most void methods should work for you. intend that meditation works, intend that subliminals work, intend that you will lucid dream. if you think you need to practice more, then repeat this process until you are confident and every single intention is working for you.

come up with other intention ideas of your own as you wish too btw i just recommend starting off with easy ones and moving onto slightly harder ones just so you don't overwhelm yourself. other ideas for you could include, your fave chocolate bar going on sale when the sales change, finding money on the ground, if you live at home and someone cooks for you that they will cook your fave dinner one night, that customer service workers will be really friendly to you, that a friend buys you something small like a coke or friendship bracelet, homework or an assignment or exam being postponed.

and if the word expecting does not work for you, change it to what makes sense for you. you can choose believe, intend, or whatever else resonates.

if you try this please let me know how it works for you, this is all based on what advice i would have told myself :)

[abbysimsfun]

Sims In Bloom: Generation 2 Pt. 88 (Bringing Home a Ghost)

After Ghost Night ended at the Salty Paw, Heather, Conrad, and their new friend Felix Psyded left Fisherman's Wharf and returned to their home on Sable Square. Heather entered first, finding Hazel on the sofa watching TV. "Hey, how were the kids tonight?"

"They were great! Ashy said you guys usually read him two bedtime stories but he fell asleep after the first one, and Lava hasn't woken up since I put her to bed. I got to watch Moonlight Massacre after all! How was your night?"

"It was nice! We went looking for a man we didn't find, but we met someone else while we were there..."

Conrad walked inside the front door as Felix floated in behind him. Heather stood, and Hazel looked up from her phone in quiet awe. "Felix Psyded, Esquire. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, miss."

"Hazel Moody-Nesbitt," she replied. "Heather's cooler younger sister. You're, like, really a ghost!"

"Since 1915." He warmly tipped his bowler hat. "May I say, you're stunning like your sister."

"You may say! But I'm married."

"Of course the lovely Nesbitt women would all be spoken for. Though I hope your husband is friendlier than Sargent Gordon."

Hazel laughed. "My wife is sweet, but Conrad's great! Are you the one guy in the world he doesn't get along with?"

Heather sighed, sliding over to make room for Conrad on the sofa. "They got off on the wrong foot."

"Well, why'd you bring him home? I know you love strays, but I didn't think that meant sims who've been dead for over a century!"

"They've promised me a plate of ambrosia in exchange for my services."

Hazel gaped. "When you guys said you were doing this challenge I just thought it was, like, a team building exercise. I didn't think you were really going to resurrect anybody!"

Heather shrugged. "Well, why shouldn't we? We went through all that to learn how to do it, so we might as well help someone with unfinished business while we're at it."

"So is that it, then? No one dies, they just get to live again with ambrosia?"

"Not everyone's unfinished business is to live again. Some die so old, with bodies so used and broken, living again isn't worth it. Even some of the younger ones. Everyone is different and fascinating in their own way, which is why I took to studying ghosts and their stories in the first place."

"He's going to help us figure out if Conrad met a ghost out on Deadgrass Isle."

Hazel grinned as Conrad stood to shoo one of their chickens back outside. "You're fighting crime by day and paranormal activity by night? Holly was right, Conrad. You're basically a superhero."

He blushed, and Felix turned a dour look in his direction. Ending the tense conversation in the living room, Hazel left to return home.

Heather and Conrad left Felix on the sofa and headed to bed. But before they'd changed into pajamas, she blurted her question with concern. "What's going on with you? I've never seen you snappier with anyone than you were tonight with Felix. Like I brought home two ghosts tonight instead of one."

"He was kind of acting like a dick."

Heather nodded. "And you met him there. That's not like you. Is it George Brindleton again?"

"No, George has been quiet. He and his wife spend a lot of the winter in Sulani every year." He could see Heather found this insufficient and kept talking. "I'm just dealing with a lot. I know I wasn't really myself tonight. There's this one case I can't crack and it's making me a little crazy."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"I do, but I can't say much about it."

"I know. Confidential. But I want to give you whatever you need to be able to keep your work life at work, and not take the stress home. Not even for me and the kids, because you're so good to us. That's not the issue. I'm worried about you, and I want you to talk to me. The night we got engaged, you promised you would always tell me how you're feeling."

Joining her on the bed, he held her hand against his chest. "When I've finally solved the case, I'll tell you everything. I promise."

She grinned. "Not every gory detail, I hope."

"Do I ever? I don't want to think about the case tonight. I don't want to think about the ghost in our living room. All I want to focus on the rest of the night is you."

They made love before Heather fell asleep in Conrad's arms, (at least temporarily) satisfied by their conversation. ->

<- Previous Chapter | Gen 2 Start | Gen 1 Summary | Gen 1 Start

NOTE: I debated whether or not to bring Felix Psyded and his lore into this generation because there's a university generation much, much later in this challenge, but Felix was the first ghost that showed up to Ghost Night, sat right next to them and was immediately enamoured with Heather. So my mind spun with a bunch of possibilities for him and I went for it, even though he's mentioned in urban legends for UBrite students and those obviously won't be canon to my timeline anymore.

The In Bloom challenge doesn't have anything related to Felix in the challenge rules, even in the university generation, and Reaper Rewards didn't even require use of the ambrosia Heather made. But I wasn't going to do all that and not fully finish what they started. They're not really the type to lure sims into a cowplant just to test whether ambrosia works, no one in my save needed to die and be brought back, and I have a plan now for Felix! @pixeldistractions mentioned a possible prequel flashback and I'll never say never, but setting up an early-20th Century photo save will take a while if I do it, so no promises. I am invested in him getting a happy ending to his second life, however!

[ghxstwrites]

Fireside Feelings

 Pairing: Non Idol! Han x GN Reader

Summary: What was supposed  to be a weekend out with your friends turned into much more than you were expecting. 

WC: 2K

AU: Friends to Lovers (shocker) 

Genre: Fluff, pure fluff

Warning(s): Swearing, Seungmin and Minho being smartasses(what's new), Mentions of alcohol - sorry if I missed anything!

A/N: As always a big thanks to my beta reader @bunnliix

Tag List: @bethelighthalazia @a---shura @kpop---scenarios (send me an ask if you'd like to be added!)

Nets: @mirohs-aurora-society

Kinktober & Flufftober Masterlist

You rolled over in your bed to your phone vibrating, glancing at you and seeing “Hannniiiieeee” flash across your screen, you groaned loudly before swiping your finger across the screen.

“Yes, Jisung?” you groan out, shoving your face in the pillow, still half asleep.

“You slept in? Really? I'm outside your house, goof” he laughs into the phone as you shoot up out of bed.

“Shit! That was today?!” you say in panic, “I thought we left tomorrow! Fuck… Felix and his need to be everywhere early” you grumble into the phone as you struggle to put pants on one handed. “At Least i was already packed…” 

Han couldn't help but laugh under his breath. He knew that camping wasn’t something you were thrilled about but after some pleading and the promise of your favorite take out and a “spa night” as you called it, once the two of you returned - you agreed to take this trip with your friends. 

He’s pulled out of his thoughts as you basically fall out of your house, throwing your camping bag out on the front lawn as you come running out. “Sorry!” you shout, laughing as you run toward him leaned against his car.

 “Yeah… tell that to Chris when we’re late to pick him up because you decided to hit the snooze button one too many times.” he smirked at you helping you load your bags into the trunk as you shove him playfully.

It was another 2 hours before you all reached the campsite, it was a nice drive. You’d lost service long ago resorting to playing the same games you recount playing in the car on road trips with your families as children, and just singing along to whatever he’d downloaded to his phone, much to the elder in the back seats disappointment when trashy pop tracks would come on and Jisung decided this would be the perfect opportunity to audition for American Idol. 

“Hey! I hope we aren’t too late…” you’d spotted your Felix as you’d  gotten out of Jisungs car, running up to hug him. “I may have… forgotten we left today” you chuckled under your breath as he smiled softly at you.

 “Nope! The others are still on their way” the blonde reassured you. You smiled at him as Jisung came up behind you. 

“Stop flirting and grab your bags, sleeping beauty” he smirks at you before heading into the cabin. You can’t help but roll your eyes 

“You sleep in once and it’s the end of the world!” you laugh before heading over to grab your bags out of his trunk. 

You make your way inside the cabin as you find Jisung already sprawling his things over the room, making himself comfortable as you look at the slowly growing mess covering the cabin. You sigh and go put your own bags away, unpacking what you would need for later tonight. 

As the sun started to set, you all gathered outside Felix carrying with him the things for s’mores while Minho and Seungmin brought out the coolers full of drinks for the evening, everyone gathering around the fire pit that seemed to crackle and blaze as the night drifted on. You found a spot you deemed perfect for optimal s’mores making, but in reality it felt like the warmest, directly in front of the large fire. 

Jisung sat down next to you, handing you a spiked cider and you smiled softly, “you remembered I liked these?” you chuckled softly

 “What kind of friend would I be if I didn’t have your quirks memorized?” he smiled at you.

You found your mind wandering, wandering to the way he looks lit up by the bonfire, the gentle gestures and the… the fucking cider? Is that why your mind was turning to mush? No, you shook your head as if trying to shake the mere thought of having more than a friendship with Jisung, he was doing a kind gesture for you. 

“Does anyone have any Ghost stories?” Seungmin’s voice brought you back to reality as you reached for the marshmallows.

“Really? We’re in the middle of the woods and you wanna tell urban legends and ghost stories?” Changbin grumbles and the younger boy. 

“Oh c’mon! It’s not a camping trip without 'em’! Plus it’s October, it is prime time to get the shit scared out of you in the middle of the woods” Seungmin laughed back at him. 

The older boy couldn’t help but give a hard side eye at the younger as Chris chimed in,

“I have one about a vanishing hitchhiker that my little brother likes to tell” he smiled.

Changbin rolls his eyes and readjust in his seat as Chris starts to rumble out some crazy story about some guys who picked a girl up off the side of the road headed to a dance, the same story you’ve heard hundreds of different versions of from various podcasts. 

You weren't sure if it was the alcohol or the warmth from the fire but you found your eyelids growing heavy, so you leaned on Jisung, the sudden weight catching him off guard. He looks down at you, smiling. 

“Sleepy?” He says softly down at you.

“Yeah…” you mumble softly.

“You know,” he wraps his arm around you in an attempt to make you more comfortable. “You can always head to bed if you’re getting tired.”

“Don’t wanna…” You quietly whined, adjusting yourself to rest more on his shoulder causing him to smile. “You’re here,” you looked up at him, smiling softly.

You and Jisung had been friends for years, you’d been randomly paired up for a science project with him in the beginning of high school and the rest was history. He was the shy nerdy boy in the back of the class who didn’t talk much, or so you thought, when you guys would hang out after school to work on the project he blossomed into a social butterfly. 

You quickly learned he was musically gifted, he constantly scribbled song lyrics into a notebook in study hall or when he had free time, you’d learned of his travels when he was younger, but most importantly you learned about him. He was shy, usually nervous but with people he cared for he thrived. 

As you’d gotten older and gotten into college, miles apart from each other, you never let that stop you. As you grew up you seemed to grow closer, maybe too close, and your friends seemed to notice. 

Just as they did now.

You two were cuddled up in front of the fire, you felt comfort, at home. The smell of the fire and its crackle, Jisungs faint cologne lingering in your nostrils, the banter of him and his friends as he reminds you faintly of his presence by rubbing small, slow, circles on your side. 

But you guys were just friends, right? Just really close friends.

Han had woken up pretty early the next morning, making his way out into the kitchen to make himself coffee, hoping to dull the slight headache from the night before. When he’d reached the kitchen he found Minho cooking breakfast. They'd exchanged greetings before Minho chuckled. 

“What's so funny?” Jisung looks over at the older boy.

“You really don’t see it?” He quips

“See…what?” Han runs his hand through his hair, trying to rack his brain.

 “You and Y/N,” he starts as he moves to flip the bacon in the pan. “I know you said the two of you have been friends for a while, but ‘Just Friends’ don’t act the way you two do.” He looks up from his food at the younger boy. 

Han looks away, the steam from his coffee fogging up his glasses as he looks away, a slight blush appearing on his cheeks.

 “We’ve just been really close for a long time, they were there when I felt like I had no one else.” he mumbled.

Minho just smirked “Whatever helps you sleep at night man, but I think you should make a move especially if they have you blushing like that”  Jisung just stared back at him, speechless. “Now come one, I’ve made breakfast.” 

You found yourself in the same position later that evening, sat by Jisung as the sun started to set, and your friends carrying on the conversation around you as the faint crackle of a bonfire filled the silence between conversations. 

You’d notice one voice missing whenever you’d lean in to add to the conversation, Jisung goes quiet. You noticed him studying your movements  out of the corner of your eye. Did you say or do something to hurt him? 

You’d sighed softly, just as you were about to say something, a voice rang out. 

“Ah man!” You heard one of the boys cry out, “We’re all out of beer!”

As you looked over, you found Changbin pouting at the empty cooler.

“I can go get some more,” you told them, moving to stand up, “I want to grab something from inside anyways.”

You made your way inside as you started rummaging around the kitchen, grabbing the room temperature bottles of spirits as you heard the door slide open, standing back up you see Jisung entering the room. 

“Hey you,” you smile softly before reaching down to grab more stock. 

Minho’s words had been ringing in his head all day, maybe he was right, maybe it was time to admit to himself that the person he’d met in science class nearly 10 years ago had changed him, and for the better, and maybe he’d fallen head over heels for them without even realizing it.

“Is everything okay?” your words brought him back to reality.

“Yeah I.. I just wanted to see if you’d like some help,” he stammers, walking closer to you. 

You sigh, sitting the bottles down on the counter.

“Did I do something?” you ask softly, looking up at him “Ever since we’ve been outside it's like you’re… ignoring me.” 

“No - I…,” He pauses, sighing softly, “I… don’t know how to say this…” 

You pause, looking in his direction your heart sinks, what was he about to say? In all the years you’d known Jisung, he’s never rendered speechless, even in times it was probably a wise decision for him to be quiet. 

“I… I think I’m in love with you.” 

What?

He stares back at you waiting for a response but the longer he looks at you the brighter your cheeks burn. In ten years you’d never imagined this, the shy boy at the back of science class you’d been forced to work on a project with, confessing his love to you in the middle of his friends cabin.

“What?” you quiz, softly.

“I… I’m in love with you.” He chuckles, almost as he’s reassuring himself.

You smile, almost as if you didn’t believe him, when in reality you were so glad. You’d kept it a secret for months, the feather light touches, the way he always looked out for you. You’d be lying to yourself if you tried to deny the way it made you feel, your friend's words echoing in your head when you’d tell them about your recent ‘Outing’ with him, the way you have each other saved in your phones, the way he’d do whatever you wanted at the drop of a hat.

“Just friends don’t act this way.”

You, finally, met his gaze. The panic had set in for him too, he had no idea what your silence ment, did he upset you? Had he thrown away years of friendship because he was in love with his best friend? Just as he’d accepted his fate, ready to spew apologies he was cut off. 

You’d taken every last ounce of confidence and reached up, placing a soft kiss to his lips, leaving him breathless. His only response was to reach out and hold your face gently in his hands, like he was holding the world's most precious piece of art, and to him he was, because he was finally holding you. 

You pull back first, a newfound sparkle in your eyes as you stare back at the fluffy haired boy as he smiles from ear to ear. 

“I think I'm in love with you too.” 

[melkyt]

It's so funny to me when Luffy is in a polycule with all of the strawhats on some level, platonic or otherwise, Vivi shows up and she is just brought in and acts like this is just how it is. Natural fit.

Law when he is brought in, he is more then a little overwhelmed

What do you mean when I date Luffy, I also have the option to date everyone else, not that he doesnt understand poly relationships, more like overwhelmed that they all casually flirt with him

*our boyfriend*

That is just a fact, now. Sanji will pack him lunches, Usopp will make him trinkets for one thing or another. Zoro does walk by check-ins, not ever admitting that is why he randomly walks past Law's room, and looks in before walking away without a word.

Robin will leave books for him, or randomly pop-in to talk about her latest hyperfixation that she thinks he would like with a smug smile.

Franky keeps trying to give him blueprints on how to make the polar tang more 'hard-boiled' and cooler.

Law so used to keeping his secrets and everyone at a distance to keep them safe, is constantly confused at how they just know things, they dont seem to pry much but Luffy just knows, and so do they all

Nami often hanging around with Ikkaku, they hit it off, so she gets all the gossip aswell, like the little things of how Law likes and does this or that

Nami gets him plushies with a little notes of 'stole this <3'

Law slowly coming about to the idea, and trying to learn as much as he can about everyone, discreetly so he can exercise his love language in acts of service xd

It took longer for him to find a spot in the strawhats relationship web, but he gets there. Not even realizing that as far they were concerned, he was part of them as soon as they left punk-hazard xd

[gumnut-logic]

Water ran down the glass windows.

The thing was that it wasn’t raining, it was just all condensation caused by horribly hot weather and their sudden lack of air conditioning.

“I don’t know if I can take this anymore.” Alan flopped dramatically on the lounge.

Gordon rolled his eyes. “You could go down to the hangars. It’s much cooler down there.”

“No way. Virgil and Brains would snag me to help them and I barely have enough energy to breeeeathe.”

“A bit dramatic there, little bro. Go for a swim. We have an entire pool and Pacific Ocean.”

“Pool’s in the sun and the ocean is full of things that want to eat me. You’ve proven that multiple times.”

Gordon groaned. “Fine. Sit your lazy ass there. I”m going to go find Virgil to see if he needs any help.”

“He’s cool. Got Brains and Scott as his slaves.” A pause. “Maybe I’ll go keep John company.”

Gordon dismissed him with a hand as he strode from the room.

The villa was not itself today. The entire air conditioning network had burnt out, plunging the house into relying on the weather. Which was failing them miserably. Due to the effects of climate change sometimes the tropics weren’t as fun as they could be and today was one of those. Gordon’s shirt was soaked with sweat.

He knew where he would find Virgil and his work crew. When they had initially split up - Gordon to take Grandma down to Aotearoa and Virgil to tackle the issue at its root – his brother had already been grumbling.

The profanity from the control room was not a good sign.

They had a massive network of temperature control mechanisms on the Island. If one thing was an identifier of a civilisation, it was its ability to manipulate temperature. Tracy Island needed all the controls. Habitability was only a small part of the equation. Heat controls for launching Thunderbirds was a major thing, airflow to the hangars and more hidden areas of the complex was another. And somehow all of them were down for the count.

The hangars were definitely warmer than usual - more to do with residual heat from machinery and humidity than the sunny 38C day outside.

He ran into Scott in the main doorway. His expression wasn’t a good one, but it lit up at the sight of Gordon.

“Grandma, okay?”

“Set her up in the house. She’s stress baking.”

“Oh.” There was so much to be said after that statement. “I can see why you didn’t stay.”

Gordon shrugged and grinned. “What can I say? I’m a survivor.” He peered into the room. “How’s Virg?”

Scott sighed. “Not happy. Still hasn’t found the source of the problem. Not even backups are behaving. Has to be systemic. But first step is to get minimal service running so we can launch. Brains is working on it.”

Gordon stared at his brother. Launching One or Three without heat dissipation was very much not a good idea. Two, they could get away with. There was a reason she didn’t launch inside the facility like the rest of them. She was the safety factor.

But without One and Three their ability to respond to a situation was not great.

But a sudden crash and yelp inside the room had both brothers moving, all other thought discarded.

They entered to chaos. Virgil was huddled on the other side of the room, a bright and raw arc of electricity bouncing from point to point in front of him. The lights had blown and the only illumination was the eerie blue white lightning.

“Virgil!”

Electricity danced around the room.

Scott’s arm held Gordon back.

“Thunderbird Five, kill all the power on the Island!”

John didn’t say a word, the command in Scott’s voice requiring immediate action.

Everything fell into darkness.

John’s voice was eerily calm in the sudden silence. “All switches thrown. All generators disconnected from the grid and winding down.”

Smoke and ozone tangled in Gordon’s nostrils. “Virgil?” Down here it really was pitch black when the lighting was out.

Beside him Scott was scrambling around in the darkness, likely looking for the emergency kit in this room. That covered, Gordon was going for Virgil. “Virgil? Answer me.”

The groan that answered him was wonderful.

The room was suddenly flooded with light and Gordon jumped, for a split second fearing the lightning had come back. But Scott had found the kit and the torch inside it.

They both beelined for Virgil who was still on the floor.

“Virgil, talk to me.”

Their brother turned his head to look up at them, and Gordon was convinced Scott could make anything happen just by issuing a command.

But Virgil didn’t speak. He opened his mouth but then looked back down at his hands.

Gordon’s eyes followed.

Oh, hell.

Scott was already moving, the emergency kit in his hands opening as he dropped down beside their brother. The torch was handed to Gordon and the mediscanner lit up the room.

Moments later, Scott was spraying burn foam all over Virgil’s hands.

Scott caught him as he slid sideways into his arms, his relief a physical thing.

“Thank you.” It was rough and more breath than voice. “‘xploded in my face. Wasn’t supposed to be live.” Virgil groaned and dropped his head against Scott’s shoulder.

A pair of lights bobbed into the room revealing Brains with Alan panting beside him. “What happened?” His eyes widened when he saw Virgil.

“Brains, don’t touch it. Keep away.” Virgil flopped one injured hand as if to swipe the engineer away from the console, but flinched. Scott caught his wrist and gently brought it back together with the other injured limb. “C’mon, let’s get you up to the infirmary.”

Gordon jumped in to help get his big brother of the floor.

Virgil’s groan hurt.

But they got him up and moving.

Unfortunately, the infirmary was quite a distance without the elevator network.

Behind them he could hear Brains talking with John a mile a minute. No doubt they would work out exactly what happened.

Alan was hovering behind him.

“Allie, go get a hoverchair.” Gordon didn’t need to repeat himself. No doubt his little brother was just happy to do something.

Helping Virgil out into the main hangars brought them all into the natural light from the massive skylight high up in the cavern. His brother straightened a little more as if he was a plant or something. “It wasn’t supposed to be live.”

“Don’t worry about that now, Virg. Brains will work out what happened.”

“No, you’re not getting it. My hands were on the console, not inside it.”

Scott stared at Virgil a moment. “Noted. John and Brains have it in hand.”

Virgil shook his head as if in denial, but groaned and closed his eyes.

Gordon gripped him a little tighter, his fingers fisting in flannel as his brother wavered. “They’ll work it out. You need treatment and rest.”

The swear word Virgil hissed was ever so appropriate.

-o-o-o-

[hometoursandotherstuff]

I have never seen anything like this- it's a mansion in the middle of a residential area. Built in 2000, in Dallas, TX, it has 0bds. 1ba, & is listed for $2.4M.

Surprise! The beautiful entrance foyer. Does anyone want to buy a Bitcoin Mining Center?

This looks like a break room.

According to the description: Formerly AT&T, this upgraded turnkey Tier 2 Data Center is a Full Liquid Cooling Immersion System. True multi-use facility whether you need AI services, cloud hosting, traditional data center, servers or even Bitcoin Mining - this site has it all! This property comes with all equipment included!

I don't even know what I'm looking at.

Steel Reinforced CMU, 3 Phase Power, 2 Power Grids, Backup Diesel Generator, Sites on Main Branch Lines of Communication Infrastructure for Dallas, Fire Suppression, Electronic Access, Bulletproof Glass, Double Safe Room Door, Raised Floor. There's a safe room?

Upgrades include: 500kw 3 Phase Panels with digital monitors, Full Liquid Immersion System, 500kw Dry Cooler, 3 Phase Pump, 3 Slic Tanks, 5 New HVAC Units.

So, they can just sell all this? They said it's turn key. So, is it bitcoin or what? I wonder why they're selling it. That's suspicious- maybe it's not making money, anymore.

Out back. That's all they have, a wood stockade fence around the property?

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/13229-Southview-Ln-Dallas-TX-75240/118222349_zpid/