#Express Entry without job offer

[inc-immigrationnewscanada]

🇨🇦 Canada’s Express Entry system scrapped bonus CRS points for job offers, effective March 25, 2025, shaking up immigration chances. 🇨🇦 Discover how this impacts your CRS score and get expert tips to boost your Express Entry success 👇🏻

[globalnest]

Canada Federal Skilled Worker Program (FSWP) A Leading Pathway to Permanent Residency

Introduction

The Federal Skilled Worker Program (FSWP) is one of Canada's most popular immigration pathways for foreign professionals and skilled workers. Designed under the Express Entry system, the FSWP allows qualified individuals from around the world to obtain permanent residency based on their skills, education, work experience, and language proficiency.

What is the Federal Skilled Worker Program?

The FSWP is a key economic immigration program that targets individuals with foreign work experience who can contribute to Canada’s economy. It offers a fast-tracked route to permanent residency for skilled professionals looking to build a future in Canada.

Key Features of FSWP

Part of Express Entry: Applicants are placed in the Express Entry pool and selected through the Comprehensive Ranking System (CRS).

No Job Offer Required: Unlike some other programs, FSWP candidates do not need a Canadian job offer to apply.

Fast Processing Time: Most applications under Express Entry are processed within 6 months.

Points-Based Selection: Candidates are ranked on a 100-point system and must score at least 67 points to be eligible.

Eligibility Criteria

To qualify under the Federal Skilled Worker Program, applicants must meet the following:

Work Experience: At least 1 year of continuous full-time (or equivalent part-time) paid work experience in a skilled occupation (NOC TEER 0, 1, 2, or 3) within the last 10 years.

Language Skills: A minimum of CLB 7 in all four abilities (reading, writing, listening, and speaking) in either English or French.

Education: A Canadian educational credential or an Educational Credential Assessment (ECA) report for foreign education.

Proof of Funds: Sufficient settlement funds unless you have a valid job offer from a Canadian employer.

Admissibility: You must be legally admissible to Canada and plan to live outside the province of Quebec.

Advantages of the FSWP

Permanent residency for you and your family

Access to Canada's healthcare, education, and job markets

Opportunity to apply for Canadian citizenship after meeting residency requirements

Freedom to live and work anywhere in Canada

No provincial nomination required (though it can boost CRS score)

Who Should Apply?

The FSWP is ideal for professionals such as IT specialists, engineers, teachers, accountants, healthcare workers, and other skilled individuals who have foreign work experience and meet the eligibility criteria.

Whether you're seeking better career opportunities, a stable environment for your family, or access to world-class services, VJC Overseas provides a straightforward route to Canadian permanent residency.

[chuluoyi]

࿐ ࿔ hot, hot summer !

in which you got the offer of a lifetime—takes place in 2006-2009 era! @mrrpmiao miao, you’re so responsible for the brain worm you’ve instilled in my mind🙂‍↕️

a part of gojo's love entries

summer is as hot as you are pretty.

it’s an undisputed fact to satoru. after all, he chose you. so of course you were the best. he supposed even strangers here would eventually come to realize it too… as it wasn’t the first time their kind had done so.

kamakura beach was packed in summer, and he stepped away a bit to get you shaved ice only to come back to this appalling sight.

“miss! ooh! you’re so gorgeous!”

this suspicious-looking middle-aged man—with goatee, long tied hair, wearing palm shirt and beach shorts—approached you so merrily as you were chilling under the parasol.

“ah thank you…?” you pasted a taut smile, totally clueless and spooked, hoping he would go on his way.

“i mean it! your body is so—wow!” the man gasped dramatically, appraising you from head to toe. “your bust—it’s perfect! you’d make a good cover girl, you know!”

you were wearing the bikini of the same brand inoue waka endorsed at satoru’s insistence, and true, it was indeed a sight for sore eyes.

his sore eyes, specifically. not others.

satoru scowled, and he marched towards where you were. he would do his job as always—chasing away no-good men from you.

“hey you,” he barked. “what business do you have with my girl here?”

the bearded man regarded him with surprise, before he assessed him from top to bottom. “oh! you’re mr. boyfriend? whoa, you don’t look bad yourself!”

“if you’re trying to bother my—”

“no, no! you’ve got the wrong idea!” the man defended, raising both hands in surrender. “you see, i’m about to offer the pretty lady a gig as a gravure model!”

wha? you gaped. satoru blinked.

“m-me?” you stammered, flabbergasted, pointing at yourself. “uh, are you sure?”

“yes! 100% sure!” the agent man replied with stars in his eyes. “miss, with your assets, you’ll outshine even inoue waka or kaoru sakurako themselves!”

“really?!” you almost laughed. it was a strange compliment, but a compliment nonetheless.

but next to you, satoru’s face darkened, his eyes obscured. his fists clenched around the paper bowl of shaved ice so hard it shook. the next thing you know—

“here, hold this.” he suddenly shoved the shaved ice to you, before he plucked his sandal off and—

“YOU!” satoru raised the flip-flop above his head, his eyes blazing with fury, ready to swing it at the man. “GET LOST YOU SLIMY BOZO!”

“—?! WAIT, YOUNG MAN!”

and then came the most disastrous scene before you: your boyfriend chased the agent with his sandal, throwing it at him that it bonked his head, then grabbed someone’s big-ass water gun without permission and continued the pursuit, determined to catch him.

. . .

“how could you?! why do you seem even remotely interested!?” satoru fierily questioned you after he was done cooking the gravure video agent, panting and sopping wet. in the end, the two of them got into a water gun fight that ended with him winning.

you turned to him, feigning an unimpressed expression. “he said i can outshine inoue waka. who wouldn’t want that chance?”

“you can’t!” he retorted almost immediately, aghast. “i mean, yeah you can! but no! no way! you can’t flaunt your body for everyone to see!”

“why?”

“you are mine!” he pouted hard, irked. “i don’t want to share you! you are for the consumption of my eyes only!”

his blatant response made you giddy, truthfully. and as if to stress his point, he suddenly pulled you to his chest from behind, wrapping both arms around you, making you squeal.

“satoru, you’re wet!”

“so? when i marry you someday, we’re going to share a lot of things together. wet is one of them.”

“does this mean you’d pick me over inoue waka?” you threw him a suggestive smile, looking up at him expectantly.

his face then turned pink, as he smooched you in the head. “you know the answer to that, dummy.”

who would have thought that he would really keep his promise and that you'd come to the same beach years later...?

[jjwolves]

I just thought of this right now. Could you please write something about ENA looking through human! reader’s bag that stayed with them as they were transported into ENA’s world? I would assume this would be a while of knowing and working jobs together, and ENA’s just curious about the world Reader used to reside in. I like thinking of the curiosity ENA might have, especially with something ranging from normal to complex like a Switch or pocket change.

Thank you for your time!

BORDER CROSSING -༻❁༺-ˎˊ❁ˋˏ-༻❁༺-

What: 5 ENA the Worker X Reader Headcanons of ENA Checking Out Earth Items

Who: ENA the Worker from ENA Dream BBQ (By Joel G)

How Much: ~900 words, ~4 mins

Credits: Image Banner -> Joel G

Warnings: None

ENA politely holds the door to the Ocean Connectivity Tunnel open for you. Thankful, you step inside as ENA’s head completes a spin and she slams the door behind the both of you, stomping forward to catch up. You ask her where you’re going next. Her head snaps in your direction. “We’re meeting up with some joker who’s obsessed with this red ticket. Speaking of which…” ENA starts patting her pockets down for said ticket, rummaging around in her inventory space. You ask if she’s having any luck. She responds with spiraling eyes and fangs. “Does it LOOK like I’m having any luck?! I’d be waving that paper in your face already if I found it! Where the hell IS IT?!” She keeps up the frantic search as the two of you continue through the tunnel. At last, she gives up and stops, turning slowly to you. You ask her what was up. In response, she narrows her eyes before lunging.

ENA rips your backpack off of you and begins inspecting it from different angles like there might be a button that she can press somewhere. “I’m not a fan of pranks, failface! Tell me how to get this thing open!” You insist that you wouldn’t hide the ticket in your backpack—that’s not something you’d do. “Well maybe I’M the idiot and put it inside without thinking. So how do you—how am I supposed to—well this is just… something, isn’t it.” She tried prying at the zipper lines with her clawed finger for a few minutes before shoving the bag back into your hands. “Get it open for me before I break it.” Slightly annoyed, you elegantly hold the head of a zipper and open the bag for ENA, sitting on a nearby coral bench to take a break for examination. ENA slams onto the far end of the bench, aggressively scooting over to you with speed like a malfunctioning jackhammer and crashing into your side to see what her dearest is holding.

You begin pouring through the contents of the bag and handing them to ENA for inspection. She undergoes another headrush and fixes the new item in her hands with a crimson expression of curiosity. It’s some sort of rectangle with a branching wire running out of it. She tries flexing it. No, it is rigid. “Hmm… I wonder if there’s…” She tries aiming it forward, squeezing an eye shut and tugging the wire with a seriousness you’re not used to seeing in her. “Well, it doesn’t terminate. I’d be worried if you had something like that on you.” You offer a helping hand and press a button on the rectangle. The small window lights up. There’s a bunch of titled entries and a bar at the bottom. “A transaction sheet?” No, not that. You select an entry and put one of the wire’s ends into your ear, and the other end into hers. She brightens when she hears electronic music spring forth and begins wobbling her arms with the music. It’s almost like she’s so used to dancing without music that she doesn’t know what to do when it’s present. “Oh! Oh. I like this. I like this a lot. It sounds… freshly minted.”

ENA is standing, now, trying to reel in a yo-yo while flicking a lighter on and off, teetering side to side as she splits her attention between the two. You don’t bring up the fact that you two aren’t making any progress—it’s rare to see ENA so elated by pleasure rather than business. “Haha! Look! The gadget lowers and gravitates back when done correctly! I’m! Trending!” She says, starting to get the hang of the yo-yo while her other side stays preoccupied by the tiny flame she flicks on and off again. “Burn! Cease. Burn! Cease. Finally, someone who can take orders around here!” You take a cigarette—you might as well, this was already a break—and lit the end using ENA’s new toy. Curious mode already engaged, ENA drew extremely close while you took a drag and immediately took the lit side of the cigarette into her mouth, trying to smoke it the way you were, placing her arms on either side of your body to be level with your face. Smoke puffed out from the top of her head and made her hat somersault. A red ticket flew somewhere. You rip the cigarette away and she coughs. “Ugh… That one isn’t very equitable.” You were blushing but tried not to make it too obvious—you had no idea if ENA knew what she was doing. Her smile was hard to read.

Your resealed backpack is handed back to you. ENA smiles. “Thank you for showing me the goods, kind vendor. I hope this isn’t presumptuous, but… could I buy the string-ball from you? It’s such fun.” She makes a show of checking her pockets for money that you know she doesn’t have. You take out the toy and place it in her hands, making a comment about it being ‘on the house’. ENA looks surprised. “Is this the real deal? The genuine article? I didn’t trade anything for this, so why are you giving it to me?” You explain that ENA already gives you a lot without realizing. A lot of… nonmaterial things. She’s silent for a moment, eyes wide at the gift. “I’ll pay you back,” she says, as she runs ahead and frantically attempts yo-yo tricks. Truth be told, you would have given her anything she asked for.

[stardustrebels]

On Paper - (Javi Gutiérrez x f!reader)

Pairing: Javi Gutiérrez x F!Reader Rating: 18+/ MDNI WC: 3.8k

A/N: A little later than I’d planned due to starting a new job, here is my entry for @mushgloomz PPCU smut challenge! I got Javi G and the boss/ secretary trope. Javi G to me, sweet baby angel that he is, has big subby energy, even if he is 'the boss', so I ran with that. This was fun to write, I hope it’s as much fun to read!! Enjoy :D  Tags: Boss/ secretary, power dynamics, power reversal, submissive!Javi, Domme!Reader, workplace romance, Domme/sub dynamics,established relationship, everything is safe sane and consensual, light restraint, spanking, oral sex (f & m receiving), reader POV, minimal descriptions of reader, no use of y/n.

Divider by @saradika-graphics

The office was quiet, save for the tick of the carriage clock on the fireplace mantle opposite your desk. A single lamp on the corner of your desk cast the room in golden light that caught on the deep tan leather of the chairs, the warm wood of the bookshelves, and the delicate glass decanter Javi insisted should always be kept full, “just in case.”

Your heels sat discarded beneath the desk. One leg was tucked under you, your blouse sleeves rolled up, collar open more than usual. It was Friday. There was no one left to impress, and no one to see either. 

Javi was out. 

He’d been invited to some exclusive charity auction. A candle-lit affair held in a villa you couldn’t even find on Google Maps. He hadn’t been offered a plus-one. You hadn’t asked to go. It wasn’t part of your job. Not officially. 

You wondered if he was enjoying himself. You hoped he was.

You could picture him too easily; you’d seen him in those environments so many times before. The flicker of the candlelight playing off his face, those expressive eyes a little too wide as he tried to pretend he belonged. He always looked as though he did, tailored to perfection with his self-effacing charm that made even the coldest investors pay attention. But you knew better. Knew how his hands fidgeted behind his back when he was introduced to new people. Knew he sometimes forgot to eat when he was anxious about making conversation for prolonged periods of time. Knew the weight of the mask he wore when he walked in to a room like that alone. 

He’d been working so hard lately, you wondered if the mask had fused to his face. 

If it wasn’t one thing, it was another; the film projects, his gallery opening, and the mounting pressure from investors. You’d watched it wear on him in slow, quiet ways. You thought back to when he wasn’t so tightly wound. When things felt easier, or maybe you both just felt more human. 

Spain. 

Late summer. The two of you standing barefoot in the tiled kitchen of a rented finca that smelled like orange blossom and sea salt, laughing over fruit he swore tasted better because he picked it. You remembered the way the juice dripped down your wrists, the sunlight catching gold in his eyes when he laughed. You’d both been hysterical, running around the counter, sticky hands reaching out, combined squeals of delight echoing off the surfaces around you when you’d collided and kissed the fresh citrus from each other’s tongues before collapsing on to the cool tiled floor, breathless with lust and laughter.

Then there was the long weekend in Paris— the rooftop bar he’d rented out just for the two of you because you’d once made an offhand comment about wishing you could watch the Eiffel Tower sparkle without other people around. He’d brought blankets and an absurd amount of wine, and fallen asleep half way through your third glass, head heavy on your shoulder, murmuring something soft in Spanish you hadn’t dared ask him to translate. 

He’d been happy then. Or at least, less frayed around the edges. 

Recently, his schedule had grown in to a tangle of meetings and calls that somehow always spilled past midnight, no matter how hard you tried to keep on top of it. Your carefully ordered calendar had become almost impossible to manage. It was no wonder you’d started staying later too, if only to make sure he was eating. 

Still, there was something to look forward to. Your upcoming trip to Vienna. 

Javi had booked it three weeks ago, and had been almost giddy telling you about it. 

“Just us, “ he’d said, voice soft and hopeful. “No meetings. Not even a schedule. I promise.” 

You hadn’t let yourself get too excited— not with the way things had been going. You might never make it to Vienna, but the idea of it tugged at a hope. A warmth that spread from deep inside your chest. The thought of cold air and Christmas markets, Glüwein in your hands, Javi’s fingers brushing yours, stolen kisses and snowflake- dusted noses bumping together. Getting warm by the fire, the look he would give you when he was totally at ease— those big brown puppy-dog eyes when he asked you in his sweetest voice to make him feel good. The swoop in your stomach before you steeled yourself, ready to take control. The whimpers and moans you could draw out of him while you teased and made him desperate while he promised to be good, just for you— 

A soft click echoed through the room— the door unlocking. Your heart gave a strange little lurch and you blinked away the thought.

Javi was back.

The door swung open just enough to admit him, and you heard the snap of the lock once it had closed. 

You resisted the urge to raise your eyebrow, harder when you heard his little exhale before he greeted you. When he turned, you almost ran straight for him, arms outstretched as if he could fall over at any second. His suit still looked impeccable, tie loosened only slightly, presumably in the car on the way over. His eyes gave him away. Glassy with exhaustion that you knew ran bone-deep. His mouth tugged in a faint attempt at a smile, but fell short of making his eyes crinkle in the way that you loved. 

“You’re back early,” you said, matter-of-fact, lowering the screen of your laptop just enough to lessen the glare of it. 

“I left,” he said, a little too fast. “It was—” his gaze dropped to the floor, then found yours again. “They won’t miss me.” 

You gave him a soft click of your tongue in admonishment and snapped your laptop closed. “Have you eaten?”

He had the decency to look sheepish. “Wasn’t hungry.” 

Your brow raised then. “That’s not what I asked, Javi.” 

His lips twitched. “No, I didn’t eat.” 

You fixed him with a firm stare. “No, I didn’t eat, what?” 

There was a pause, a couple of breaths that faded in to the tufted upholstery. More than enough time for him to change the tone if you’d read him wrong. An out. He considered you in the low lamplight, and you swore you saw his eyes start to sparkle. 

“No, I didn’t eat, Mistress.” 

He didn’t even flinch as he said it. If anything, he looked relieved. 

“Come here,” you said, and he obeyed without hesitation.

He stepped around the desk until he stood in front of you, head bowed like he already knew what was coming. 

You raised your hands and ran your nails down the back of his arms and back up— once, then again. Harder on the way down, you revelled in the twitch of his fingers. You leaned back in your chair and considered him for a moment, eyes following the line of his tie— silk, expensive, a deep shade of navy that brought out the warmth in his skin in the most gorgeous way. You took a slow breath before tilting your head up to him. 

“Take your tie off.” 

He swallowed, fingers pulling the silk from his collar as quickly as they could, looping the fabric over his fingers. You held your hand out and he placed the wound cylinder in your palm, tracing your fingertips deliberately as he moved his hand away. 

You stood then, eye level with him in an instant, but his eyes didn’t meet yours, they stayed cast down on the chair behind you. It had been a while since you’d had the opportunity to do something like this, but you were pleased that he remembered the basics. Proud of him, even. You pressed a gentle kiss to his temple to let him know, and the way he shivered only fuelled the fire that had sparked to life within you. 

“What you said,” you murmured, lips still close to his ear, “about no one missing you.” 

Javi tensed, but only slightly, before nodding once. “I know.” 

“You know what?” 

“That I shouldn’t have said it.” 

“Why not?” 

His breath hitched. “Because it’s not true. And because I know how you feel about me talking like that.” 

You took a few measured steps to move behind him, and gripped his jacket by the shoulders, before sliding it down his arms and discarding it over your chair. You leaned close enough to him that your chest brushed his back, tilting your head so that you could speak over his shoulder. “And how do I feel about it, Javi?”

He took a breath so deep his back pressed against you, grazing against your nipples that were hardening under your blouse. If you could see his face right now, you knew exactly what his expression would be. Vulnerable. Worshipful. 

“You hate it,” he said, shuddering on the exhale. 

You smiled, sure to adjust your tone so he could hear it. “Correct.” 

You pressed him forward by the shoulders until his hands were flat on the desk, body bent just enough to feel controlled, but still safe, still in control of himself. You let him adjust for a beat, to drift from that mindset into a different one, before reaching for his wrists, one after the other, and encouraging him to rest his whole weight on the desk. You tied his wrists with his tie— loose enough to give if he needed it, and kissed the back of his neck when you were done. You bit back a smile when you felt goosebumps rise against your lips. 

“You work so hard,” you murmured, fingers smoothing down his spine. “You wear yourself thin trying to be perfect for everyone else. You think I don’t notice when you disappear in to yourself?”

Your hand rested in the middle of his back, rising and falling with his rapidly increasing breaths. You scratched down through his shirt and the whimper he gave made your stomach flip. 

“Answer me, Javi,” you said, resuming your smoothing motions up and down his back.

“No, Mistress. I know you notice,” he said, voice muffled by the surface of the desk, so lovely that you wanted to push his face harder against it.

“That’s right, I do. I always notice.” 

Then your palm struck— sharp but measured— just below the swell of his ass. He jolted and gasped, but didn’t speak. 

Another. A little harder. 

“For the lie,” you said softly. 

Another. “For not eating.” 

And then a pause, your hand resting against the tender heat rising from his skin through his trousers. He was panting, knees trembling, fingers slipping as they grasped the silk of the tie around his wrists. 

“And this one,” you murmured, “is for forgetting how much you’re wanted.” 

The next swat made him moan— a shivery, deep sound that spilled out and rustled the papers on your desk. 

“You’re always wanted, Javi. I want you all the time,” you said, fingers tracing soothing swirls against his ass cheek, which must have stung just a little. 

He turned his head, cheek pressed harder with the effort to look at you. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, and the look in his eyes nearly broke your heart. 

“It’s alright Sweet,” you said, reaching over to caress his cheek, “I’ll make sure you don’t forget again. You’re going to be good for me, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” he rasped. “Promise.”

You smiled at him, then. It was genuine, but full of lust. It must have shown in your eyes because something shifted in his. He no longer looked tired— just pliant. 

You gave him a moment, let him stay folded over your desk, wrists bound in silk. It was a good look for him, you had to admit. You kept your hand on the base of his spine as his eyes closed and his breaths evened out, just enough pressure to remind him that you were still there, that you’d take care of him. That you knew exactly how to make him feel good, even if he didn’t always know to ask. 

“You’re so beautiful like this, Javi,” you murmured, voice honey-toned. “Bent over my desk. You’re happy to take whatever I give you, aren’t you?” 

He whimpered again— a sound so wrecked it made your thighs press together. 

You gave him a light swat on the ass. “I asked you a question, Sweet.” 

“Yes, Mistress,” Javi whined, “Fuck. Yes.” 

Your hands travelled down to ghost over the shape of his ass. He shuddered beneath your touch, breath catching as your fingers dipped between his thighs. Not quite cupping, just grazing. 

“Please,” he moaned, pressing back in to your hand. You tilted your head to look round at his face. His eyes were closed and his jaw was slack against the wood of the desk. You didn’t think he even knew what he was begging for.

You rewarded his manners by tugging his shirt untucked, working around his bound wrists with extra fervour, jolting him in a way that made him whimper. You pushed the shirt up and peppered kisses to his lower back, drinking in the gasp he made with each one. You reached around and worked the button of his slacks open. The zipper followed, torturously slow. You let the trousers fall to his knees, revealing taut muscles and the outline of his need, straining against his boxers. 

“Look at you,” you cooed. “Hard already. Just from a few words and a couple of spanks.” 

He groaned at that— an honest, needy little sound that made your breath hitch too. 

You moved so that your body was flush against his, one hand resting on his waist, the other tracing the line of his balls through the straining fabric of his underwear. 

“You want to be touched,” you murmured, “Don’t you, Sweet?” 

“Yes,” he gasped. “Please.” 

“Please what?”

“Please touch me, Mistress. I missed you so much. I need this, I need you—”

You moved your fingers to dip beneath the waistband of his underwear, shifting forward just enough to tease. “I missed you too, baby.”

He whined again and you could hear the desperation laced within it. God, he was so pretty when he was like this. 

Your hand dipped lower, cupping him, applying just enough pressure to make his knees buckle. He gasped and his head thunked against the desk with the jolt, back arching to your touch. You didn’t stroke, not yet.

“I’ve missed this,” you whispered. “Missed how you feel when you’re hard for me.” 

You pulled his underwear down just enough to slip his cock over the waistband. He breathed a muffled ‘fuck’ against the hardwood and you smiled, adjusting your fingers against him. His cock was hot and heavy in your palm, already leaking. He bucked into the touch with a desperate little groan.

“Ah-ah. No moving,” you said, tightening your grip.

You waited a few seconds, earning another needy whine from him, before starting to stroke him. Long, languid passes of your hand, just enough pressure to make him squirm. 

You pressed gentle kisses to his shoulder through the shirt, other hand smoothing up to cradle the back of his neck. 

“That’s it. Look how perfect you are for me.” 

He moaned and you felt his thighs start to tremble again. 

“Are you close already?” You teased. 

“I think so,” he gasped. “You make me feel so good—”

You let go. 

The noise he made when you released him was positively sinful— a broken, high whine of disbelief and need. His hips jerked forward, trying to chase the touch, but you placed a firm hand on his lower back to still him. 

“Shhh,” you whispered. “Not yet. You have to earn it”

You helped him upright, pulling the tie so that it loosened and fell from his wrists and shimmied between him and the desk.You adjusted positions so that your skirt shimmied up with each shuffle of the hips until it was almost at the top of your thigh. 

His eyes were blown, lips parted as he tried to regulate his breathing. Although you’d done this many times before— played like this— he always looked at you like he couldn’t believe it was happening. You caught his chin between your fingers, tilting it until his gaze met yours. 

“On your knees,” you said, voice low and sensual. 

He didn’t hesitate. He never did when you used that tone. He lowered himself as gracefully as he could with his trousers bunched at his ankles, eyes locked on yours as he did. You brushed your thumb across his cheek and felt the tension in his jaw melt under your touch. 

“There’s my good boy,” you murmured. He let out a shuddering breath at the praise and swallowed hard. You smirked down at him and continued. “You remember how you can earn permission to cum?”

“Yes,” he breathed. 

You slid your skirt higher and spread your legs, letting him see that you hadn’t put on any underwear that morning before you left for the office.

“You’re going to take your time and savour every second, aren’t you?.” 

“Yes, Mistress, please let me taste you,” he whined, voice rough with want. You smiled— Javi was always to easy to read when he was like this. So responsive. So eager. 

You slipped one hand through his hair, threading through the soft waves along his forehead, and guided him to where you needed him. You coaxed him, lavished him with praise for every kiss, every flick of his tongue, every desperate, loving sound he made in to your core. You came on his tongue with a cry of his name and a frantic breath of praise. You kept a hand in his hair the whole time, and when the time came to let him beg again, when he was so close to his own release that he trembled with it, you drew him back and gave him time to breathe. Again. And again. 

His face was slick with you, chest rising and falling like he’d run miles to get there. You wiped your thumb across the corner of his mouth, collecting a smear of wetness, and brought it to your lips. He groaned low in his throat, and closed his eyes, closing away the pleading glaze in his beautiful brown eyes. 

“Such a mess,” you said fondly, smiling when your tone made him jerk his hips toward you with want before he caught himself and stopped. “And so patient. So good.” 

“Fuck, I’m—” He gritted out, fists clenching with the effort of not bucking his hips. “I’m trying— trying so hard,” he whispered, voice dripping with need. 

“I know, baby.” You leaned down, just enough for your lips to touch his. “Don’t worry, I’ll reward you for your efforts.” 

You gestured for him to stand and guided him in to the leather chair beside the desk. 

“Keep your hands on the arms,” you instructed. “No touching.”

He obeyed, fingers curling around the leather, squeezing in to it so hard that it creaked. His cock stood flushed and leaking against his stomach, and you swore under your breath at the sight, before dropping to your knees between his thighs. 

“I’m going to take my time with you,” you said, lips ghosting over his inner thigh. “And you’re going to hold still and take it. Can you do that for me?” 

Javi nodded, his jaw ticking with the effort not to beg to come. 

“Words, sweet. Use your words.” 

“Yes, Mistress.” 

“Good boy,” you smiled, and licked the head of his cock. A soft flick of your tongue over the precum already gathered there. He cried out, hands tightening on the chair. You started with long, slow licks. Deep, wet kisses to the base. Gentle suction just where he liked it— just enough to drive him mad, and then you let go when he got too close. Again and again, edging him until his thighs trembled and tears gathered in his lashes. Until he could do nothing but beg— please, please, please let me come, please— and so you finally, finally decided to show mercy. 

“Are you going to come for me?” You said, mouth hovering over the head of his cock, smiling up at him as he nodded. You nodded back. Once, giving him permission. His head rolled back as he groaned a string of frantic thank yous and you moaned as your lips sank over his cock once more.

You took him deep, one hand stroking in time with your mouth, the other pressed flat to his trembling stomach to hold him in place— and when he came, it was with a broken moan of your name, hips stuttering, fingernails leaving crescent shapes in the arms of the chair. 

You didn’t stop until he was shuddering from overstimulation, gently pulling away to press soft kisses to his thighs, his stomach, his hips. You stood, wiping the corner of your mouth, and leaned down to press a slow, deep kiss against his lips. He was utterly boneless beneath you, completely spent. 

You rested your forehead to his, and when he finally opened his eyes to meet yours, they were soft, glassy and wide with adoration. You cupped his cheek and peppered kisses against his lips, nose and cheek, drawing a satisfied hum from him.

“Are you with me?” You mumbled. He reached for you, fingers brushing against yours lovingly. 

“Yes,” he breathed. “I’m with you.” 

“Good,” you whispered. “You did so well for me.” 

A noise escaped him at that, a sigh of incredulity, and he blinked, smiling in a way that finally reached his eyes. He reached for you, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you down into him with what little strength he had left. You allowed yourself to fall against his chest, knowing that he found your weight grounding. 

His breathing began to slow, the tension pouring out of him with every even exhale. After a few moments, you shifted just enough to press a kiss over his sternum, then his shoulder, trailing slow, tender touches wherever your mouth could reach. You made it to his jaw and shifted to move. 

“I’ll get you some water,” you murmured. “Stay right here.”

He let out a small noise of protest, clinging a moment longer before releasing you with a reluctant sigh. You moved quickly, returning with a bottle of water, and a blanket from the couch on the other side of the room. 

He drank, then leaned in to your hand when you brushed his hair back, a sleepy hum of contentment leaving him as he and laced his fingers with yours and held them on his chest, right over his heart. You pressed a kiss to his temple, settling in his lap as you had been before, and he was quiet for a while before he stirred and whispered something that made your heart skip. 

“I can’t wait for Vienna.” 

[wardenparker]

In the Still of the Night, ch 7

Zach Wellison x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

Grown up and looking to the future, Zach Wellison and bunkmate Shane Morrissey are working for a new cruise line that offers its guests a vintage Vegas experience on the Mediterranean. The romantic atmosphere is rubbing off on many of the crew members, and Zach finds himself to be no exception when he meets the beautiful lead singer of Shane's band.

But being wrapped in the seductive arms of an atmospheric cruise is a far cry from real life. How will their relationship fare on dry land? They can't know unless they try.

Rating: M for Mature but this blog is always 18+ Word Count: 7.3k Warnings: *Blanket warnings for this story include: Cursing, alcohol, food, cooking, eating, discussion of clothing/costumes. Mentions of prison time served, mentions of past homelessness.* Family death, unsupportive parents, unwelcome ex-partner, grief. Summary: Arriving back home in Oklahoma for your grandmother's funeral has a few more twists and turns than you expected. Notes: This week is for sitting with our grief, but looking to the future. As always, I apologize for an errors I may have missed. Have a lovely Sunday, all!

Ch 1 ~ Ch 2 ~ Ch 3 ~ Ch 4 ~ Ch 5 ~ Ch 6

Getting into the airport is easy enough, although after nearly twenty hours of traveling you're feeling punchy and exhausted. Thank goodness for being able to sleep on the plane, as having your sleep mask and Zach's arm around you had finally lulled you to sleep somewhere over the Atlantic. Now you're somewhat rested, despite your emotional and mental exhaustion, and tracking down the desk for rental cars is less daunting with Zach holding your hand.

“I’m very sorry, ma’am.” The regretful expression on the desk clerk’s face is more from anticipating a fit than actual regret. “The last compact car was just rented. I’m afraid without a reservation, we did not know you were coming.”

Zach sighs, knowing that the glitch with the WiFi at ten thousand feet would cause issues, but it had said that there was a hold. Your shoulders slump and he decides to speak up. “Do you have any vehicles?” He asks, smiling at the clerk reassuringly. “We are trying to get to a funeral, and she’s exhausted and I just want to her home to be with family.”

“I see.” The clerk nods, not unwilling to help just locked into the parameters of their job. “We have two options still available. Luxury sedan or midsize SUV.”

“Let’s do the SUV.” He turns to you to see what you think. “More room to haul people and things if we need to?”

“Sure. That will be fine.” It would be better than rolling up to your parents’ house in an Audi or something, that’s for damn sure. Even if they knew it wasn’t your car they would still give you hell for flaunting your so-called money at them. Money that you most certainly don’t have.

He turns back to the clerk and nods. “Does that sound like something we can get done?” He glances down at the name tag. “Tasha?”

"Certainly." She goes back to her computer, types a few things into different fields of entry on the screen, and looks back up at you. "There will be a price increase, unfortunately, but I can discount the upgrade to make it as small as possible."

"Thank you, I appreciate that."

"I'm sorry you've had to come home under unhappy circumstances." Tasha seems to mean it, because she works quickly to put the reservation through and pulls a key out of the drawer under her desk just moments later. She hands it to you along with your license and double checks your email for the receipt to be sent over. It doesn't take ten whole minutes for you and Zach to be out in the parking lot loading your bags into the back of the SUV.

“Thank goodness they had a vehicle at all.” Zach takes your bag out of your hand sets it in roomy trunk area, along with his old sea bag. Wellison is stenciled on the side and for the first time, he wonders if he should have gotten a suitcase. Several times in the airport, someone had thanked him for his service and he was slightly unsure of how to handle that.

"I guess that's a better way to look at it," you agree, squeezing his arm in thanks for grabbing your bag and moving to climb up into the front seat. This damn car is huge, but at least it exists.

He is surprised that you don’t want to drive, but he also knows you are still emotional. Zach climbs behind the wheel and hands you his phone. “Will you put in the address so I can use the GPS?” He asks.

“Shit.” You hadn’t been thinking, and heave a sigh at yourself. “I should drive. Sorry. I’m—this is going to sound weird, but I’m not used to driving with my significant other in the car.”

He tilts his head, curious as to what you mean by that and he decides it a conversation best saved for later. “I’ve got this.” He promises, reaching for your hand and pulling it up and presses a kiss to the back. “You just put that in for me and then you take a trip down memory lane, cry, whatever you need to do. I’ll get us there safely.”

"Thank you." All you can seem to do right now is thank him for his support, and you lean back in your seat after plugging your parents' home address into the GPS and sigh quietly. If you felt better you might turn on your old favorite radio station, but for right now it still feels disrespectful to enjoy anything.

He doesn’t talk, knowing that you are lost in thought, so he decides to turn on the radio. Hoping the comfort of music will help soothe the raw feelings and ease your spirits. Keeping the volume low he settles on a station and hums as he pulls out of the airport car port terminal and onto the highway.

From the airport, out past the edge of the city, and on to the shitty little suburbs on the outskirts of Tulsa, Zach eventually pulls the rental car into the driveway of a little two-story house with peeling yellow paint and a gate around the yard that hasn't locked properly since you were in high school. "Home sweet home," you murmur wryly, wishing you had been able to bring him here under better circumstances.

You don’t sound exactly happy about it, but he knows that family dynamics can be the most painful of situations. “We’ll survive.” He promises with a smile as he looks over at you.

"I know I'll be okay." You squeeze his hand tightly before undoing your seatbelt. "I have you."

He knows you are still tired, despite getting some sleep, and probably craving a shower. “Let’s leave the bags and I can get them later.” He suggests. Wanting to make sure that you don’t need to get a hotel or something.

"We can bring them in after dinner." That is a slightly less disruptive plan, you think, since it's already almost dinner time. "Come on, let's go in. I texted that we were on our way so they're expecting us."

“We can do that.” He climbs out of the SUV and immediately rounds the front of it even though he’s closest to the front door, so he can be by your side.

The front door of the house bears a wreath that was definitely one of your mom's crafting projects, and just inside the door begins the barrage of family photos from all the years of your life as well as theirs. "Mom?" Your voice is tired, you can hear it, but it is what it is. No one can blame you for that. "Dad? We're home."

It’s a comfortable home. Lived in. Zach can tell it needs some upgrades, but it’s been well loved. He immediately looks at the pictures and smiles when he sees you, probably all of five, wearing an adult cocktail dress with a big feather boa around your neck. “So it started early.” He hums.

“Oh yeah.” The photo he has zeroed in on is more special than he knows. “My Gram took that. We used to watch old musicals and stuff together whenever she babysat me. Which was all the time. I was a five-year-old Liza Minnelli fan.” It brings fresh tears to your eyes, having just lost the incredible woman who helped raise you, but you wipe them away as your parents come into the living room from the direction of the kitchen.

Zach would pull you into his arms and let you cry, but he gets the feeling that you want to have a stiff spine right now, so all he does is put his hand on your back as you greet your mother and father.

A soft chorus of hellos is the start, and your mother looks like she hasn’t stopped crying in days. Even if she was sometimes at odds with her mother — your Gram — the loss has clearly hit her hard.

Your father inspects Zach first, ultimately offering a handshake after a few too many seconds of assessment. “So this is the soulmate, huh kiddo?” His question is directed at you, but with an edge.

“Oh, sorry, yes.” You had been distracted by hugging your mother, but you take a shuddering breath to recollect yourself. “Dad, Mom, this is Zach.”

He greets them politely, calling them Mister and Missus, rather than going for anything informal. He wants to make a good impression on them since they are your parents.

“You’ll find everybody in town calls my wife Miss June,” your father explains. “But Tom is just fine for me.”

“Mom works in the town library,” you explain, finally hanging your coat by the door and taking Zach’s to do the same. “Children’s room. So every kid in town knows her before too long.”

“That’s so nice.” He says, wondering what your father does. “I’m sorry that we are meeting under these circumstances.”

“So are we.” Your father nods, putting one hand around his wife. She’s always a quiet woman but it’s even more so now. “Well, come on in kids, dinner’s just about ready.”

He follows you deeper into the house. There’s an air of mourning that’s to be expected, but he knows that it’s a tough time for everyone. “While we are here, I’d be happy to help in the kitchen.” Zach offers.

“That’s right.” Your mother nods, moving across the room. “Bunny said you cook?”

“He’s a chef, Mom.” You mumble, your whole face burning at the unnecessary resurfacing of that particular childhood nickname.

“Bunny?” His brow tics up in amusement as he watches you squirm in embarrassment. “How did that nickname come about?”

“I really really wanted a pet bunny when I was a kid.” As an adult you understand they’re not great pets and you never could have taken care of it yourself, but at the time you had begged. “To the point where I tried to catch one in the backyard several times.”

“So she was honey bunny,” your father explains. “Then eventually just Bunny. We’ve called her that practically her whole life.”

“It’s sweet.” He hums, finding it absolutely charming. “I love it. It matches her perfectly.”

“Shane does not know.” And the obvious implication is that he never, ever should.

Zach grins, shooting you a playful wink. “We can negotiate that later.” He teases, although he would never tell anyone anything you didn’t want known.

“So you’re a chef, Zachary?” Who knows why your father feels the way he does about nicknames, but he seems to call everyone outside of the family by a full or formal name, making it clear he doesn’t count your soulmate in that number just yet.

“Yes sir.” He nods and pulls out a chair for you at the homey dining room table. “Head chef of the supper club where your daughter performs.”

Tom grunts, though it’s anyone’s guess if it’s disapproval or reaching for something on the top shelf of the cupboard. “Been doing that for long?” He asks, coming down with a set of four drinking glasses. The nice glasses, you realize a second later. For when you have company.

“For the last two, almost three years.” Zach answers, aware that he’s being interviewed by your parents. He’s expected it, and tries not to feel self-conscious.

“And before that?”

“Dad, can we not do this now, please?” You’ve facepalmed at the table. “We’ve been traveling for twenty hours. Let Zach get some rest before you give him the Spanish Inquisition.”

“Military.” Zach answers quietly, becoming aware that for whatever reason he might have, your father doesn’t exactly approve of him. You had told him that your parents weren’t soulmates and didn’t really like the premise of the bond, but he had hoped that they would just be happy that you are happy.

“He was a Marine, Tom, we knew that.” Your mother gestures toward you at the table after taking a large baking dish out of the oven. “Bunny’s got the proof right there on her arm.”

“Right.” The way he says it makes Zach shift uncomfortably in his seat. Obviously not approving of him being in the military either. Strike two.

"Can we not do this, please?" You repeat, pushing away from the table despite the fact that Zach had sat you comfortably in a chair. You cross the kitchen to grab the stack of plates and silverware from the counter and bring them back over. "The next few days are going to be hard enough without any extra stress."

“I was just getting to know your soulmate.” Your father tries to play innocent, but Zach is pretty sure that he doesn’t like him. “Let me help, sweetheart.” Zach jumps up to take the items from you. He can help set a table even if he doesn’t know where things are in the house.

"Thank you, baby." Zach is always helpful, and you squeeze his hand in thanks before turning back to the refrigerator to get the pitcher of lemonade that your mother always has at the ready. "Getting to know him would be asking about sports, Dad. Or where he's from. Not interviewing him like he's coming into the garage looking for a job."

“Now let’s not fuss.” Your mother huffs, “this is a family dinner.” She glances at the table and tuts. “Get another place setting, Bunny.”

"I already did, Mom. There's four on the table," you tell her with your face on the refrigerator. There's two pitchers in here so you bring both out – lemonade and iced tea.

“We need five, dear.” She tells you as she starts to set the dishes on the table. “Darrel said he would probably drop by.” She turns to get the salad. “He’s been stopping by, checking on us. Such a good boy.”

The way your face goes slack in shock is only matched by the absolute slump to your shoulders as you almost drop the two drink pitchers all over the table. "Please, please tell me you're kidding."

“What’s wrong with that?” Tom huffs, acting affronted. “Someone checks in on us. Not like you are here to drop by.”

"I've been out in the middle of the ocean, Dad. It's not like I live a block away and just refuse to drop in." A heavy sigh escapes you, and you debate how smart of an idea it was to come home at all. You thought you were coming for your parents, but they don't exactly seem happy to see you. Or Zach. "Darrel is my ex," you explain, plopping down in the chair beside your soulmate after grabbing another place setting begrudgingly.

“Oh.” That’s all Zach says before he sits down and bites his lip.

"It was a long time ago," you promise him. Clearly your parents are the ones who have had trouble letting go.

Zach nods, although he somehow feels like this is not going to be good. It can’t have been that long ago if your parents still cling to hope.

"Darry's family," Tom insists, and looks at you pointed. "Aren’t you the one who always that you can choose family?"

You exhale deeply, because it feels like he's intentionally misremembering what you say. "Family can include who you choose to love," you correct gently.

The feeling of inadequacy starts to dig into Zach’s skin. He doesn’t want to feel this way. He had hoped that your parents would love him, or at least like him enough to tolerate him.

You hand fits firmly into Zach's under the table and you squeeze it twice, silently promising him that unwavering support that you are for each other every single day. If you had known Darrel would be here in any capacity, you would have told Zach not to worry about coming with you just so he could avoid the awkwardness. "You guys are perfectly entitled to have whomever you like in your house, but I just want to make it clear that I'm not very comfortable with him being around a lot while I'm home."

“Why should you be uncomfortable?” Tom asks. “You almost married the boy. You’ve known him all your life.”

Zach tenses slightly and reaches for the lemonade that you had poured him. His throat dry and his nerves on edge.

"I haven't seen or spoken to him in almost ten years," you remind your parents sharply. "And when he asked me to marry him, I said no."

“He’s still single.” Your mother tuts. “Poor boy, he’s never gotten over you.”

"Well, that's too bad." Your tone could not be any drier if you tried. "I got over him a long time ago. As clearly evidenced by my committed relationship to my soulmate. Who is in the room with us. And you're being quite rude to."

Despite their desire to reacquaint you with your former lover, they have the decency to look ashamed. “Let’s put that aside for now and eat.” Your mother huffs.

Most of the meal passes in relative silence. You're grateful that conversation restricts itself to plans for the wake tomorrow night and the funeral the next morning. Logistics are better than opinions for the mood you're in now. You might even have called things fairly civilized until the front door pulls open as your mother is bringing a tray of cookies to the table and you're in the middle of brewing a pot of coffee.

“Tom? Miss June?” The cheerful tone makes Zach freeze. “I brought in a package that’s been left on your porch.” He calls out. “And Mrs. Johnson wanted me to bring this pound cake with her condolences.”

“Thank you, sweetheart, come on in.” Your mother sticks her head out of the kitchen to wave him in. “We just finished eating but there’s plenty left if you want a plate.”

It only takes a few moments and Darrel comes into the dining room. His tread is surprisingly light in work boots and he lights up with he sees your parents, a smile on his face.

An already painful week in Oklahoma has just turned into a nightmare, as far as you’re concerned. Your parents had always adored Darrel. Put your relationship with your childhood sweetheart up on a pedestal and fully expected that you would spend the rest of your life perfectly content to be his perfect housewife raising many grandkids. It’s not even that it’s a bad dream, or a bad future — it was just never your dream for your future.

And now he’s strolling into your parent’s house like not a damn thing has changed. Like he didn’t ask you to marry him in the park half a mile away only to be turned down. For that to be the thing the made you realize how close to being trapped in this little corner of nowhere you had almost been. He’s just here. As if all he had to do was wait and you would realize how wrong you were to leave him.

It’s salt in the open wound of your grandmother’s death and if you weren’t so paralyzed with shock, you would scream until your head came off.

His eyes shift to you, a softness and happiness making his eyes crinkle even more. The son of a bitch is handsome, much to Zach’s dismay. Rugged and looks like he works outside all day. The very opposite of him, in his own opinion. And still very obviously in love with you. He says your name and moves to greet you like an old friend, setting down the box and the foil covered platter than holds the cake and gathers you up into a hug. “It’s so good to see you.”

“Hi Darrel.” The hug is as unwelcome as the rest of him, and you stiffen under the touch before backing out of his reach. If he’s as close to your family as he used to be — as close as your parents claim — then he’s grieving too and it would be cruel to treat him unkindly. But you won’t pretend to be happy to see him when you’re not. Instead you move back to Zach’s side and put your hand on his shoulder in a moment of instinctive connection.

The move makes Darrel aware of his breech in manners. “Oh man, where is my head?” He chuckles and wipes his hand on his thigh before he offers it to Zach. “Darrel Rodriguez.” He offers, sending him a charming smile. Bastard has perfect teeth. “Nice to meet you.”

"This is Zach." Your fingers dig slightly into the fabric of his shirt like you're trying to find purchase in the comfort of him. "My soulmate."

There’s a small pinch to his brow, a slight furrow before he swallows. “Soulmate?” He is obviously shocked, acting like it’s the first that he’s heard of this and for some reason, Zach doesn’t think he’s performing. It seems like your parents didn’t tell your old boyfriend that you had met your soulmate. “That’s…” he flounders for a moment but his hand doesn’t pull back and Zach takes it in a firm, but not aggressive handshake. “Wow. I can’t believe it. Soulmates.” He recovers and gives a smile. “Great to meet you.”

"Darrel, honey, sit down." Your mother waves him toward the table with the air of someone constantly bustling, which may or may not be true. It didn't used to be. Maybe it's nervous energy – the anxiety that goes with sadness over losing her mother. "Have some dinner."

“Oh, uh, I can’t stay.” Darrel tells her quickly. “I’ve got a heifer that’s about to calf. She’s got a big one, so I’ve got her in the barn. Need to be there in case she needs some help.” Of course he was a fucking cowboy. Zach doesn’t sigh, but he wants to.

"Oh, I see." She says in a tone that absolutely does not believe him. "Well thank you for bringing the cake by. I'll send Betty Ann a note."

“It was good to see you, Bunny.” His eyes linger on you for a moment before he looks over at Zach. “Nice to meet you.”

The room is stone silent except for the sound of the front door closing behind him, and once Darrel has left the house completely both of your parents turn frigid expressions of disapproval on you.

"What?" You defend, as angry with them as they are annoyed with you. "I said hello and I introduced my boyfriend. I was perfectly polite."

“You could have been a little nicer about that.” Your mother huffs. “You shocked him.”

"I can't imagine why he wasn't told, if he's around as often as you say." You know why. It's obvious why. And it stings that your parents are still holding on to this childish fantasy so many years later instead of being happy for you now.

“It didn’t come up in conversation.” Tom snorts. “Despite what you might think, we don’t spend every day talking about you.”

"I'm genuinely relieved to hear it." If it's a lie, it's condescending enough to be convincing, and that is fine with you for the time being.

Zach shuffles slightly and turns to you. “Sweetheart, do you want to….” He frowns. “Go get a hotel room?”

"I think that's probably a good idea." It's pretty clear that anytime you spend in your childhood home is going to be uncomfortable, so instead of sitting back down at the table, you move further away from it. "There's a few things I want to get from my room, that's all."

“Bunny.” Your mother looks positively devastated by the idea of you not staying here. “You don’t need to do that. I’ve already made your room up.”

To you, this is a two-person. So when you look to Zach for an answer and he doesn't have a clear expression on his face either way, you loop your hand around his arm in solidarity. "Can we all give it a try? Respecting each other and the relationship that Zach and I have? No surprise trips down memory lane or drop ins from Darrel while we're here? Keep the passive aggressive comments to ourselves, Dad?" That one is pointed, because your father is the king of the I'm just sayin comments when he wants to be. "We're only here for a couple of days to honor Gram, and then we have to get back to work. But if getting along isn't going to work, Zach and I will go into the city and find a hotel room."

“Of course.” Your mother quickly agrees but your father stays silent. “Tom.” She hisses, swatting at his shoulder and he sighs. “What? Alright, alright. We’ll be perfectly hospitable.” He grumbles. “It’s not like we knew you were serious about this fella. You’ve never cared about soulmate status before.”

"We started seeing each other before we knew we were soulmates." You had told them that, but apparently they hadn't remembered. Or at least your father hadn't. "We're together because we love each other. The fact that we're soulmates is like the icing on the perfect cake."

“Well, isn’t that nice?” Your mother coos, trying to salvage the evening and she points to the cake. “Why don’t we have a slice?” She asks. “Betty Ann makes the best pound cake.”

It's absolutely not the time to point out that your mother is surprisingly functional and upbeat for a woman who just lost her own mother, so you just file it away and look to Zach for confirmation of how you're both feeling. Exhausted. Same as you. "Maybe we should just head upstairs?" You offer. "Traveling is tiring and we should be at our best for the next few days. The arrangements will be hard enough without being tired on top of everything else."

“Of course.” She nods, understanding why as she deflates a little. “I’ve put you in your old room.” She reminds you. “And- well, Zach dear, we were going to put you into the guest bedroom, but I assume you want to stay in her room?” He doesn’t do anything but nod and she bites her lip. “Let me get you some extra pillows. I’ll bring them up in just a minute.”

"I can get them from the closet, Mom. I know where you keep them." You know she's trying to help but right now you're just even more exhausted than you were before. "We'll just get our suitcases out of the rental and head upstairs."

“I’ll get them, babe.” Zach knows you might need a moment with your parents, so he kisses your forehead and turns to go out to the SUV. Wondering what the hell he had gotten himself into as he goes.

You help your parents clear the table while Zach is outside. Dishes rinsed and deposited into the dishwasher, leftovers covered and put into the fridge in silence. It's odd how few of the regular signs of mourning there are, but you're still not willing to rock the boat tonight.

Zach drags the bags in, happy that each one of you only had one, but it still takes some maneuvering to get them inside without bumping into anything.

“We’ll see you in the morning.” Both of your parents get a hug, but you step away fairly quickly to meet Zach at the bottom of the stairs in the living room. “I can take mine, baby,” you murmur quietly. The night had gone from awkward to tense to downright uncomfortable very quickly and you’re not sure what to do or to say.

He lets you lead, since he has no clue where he’s going. Following you up and wincing when the second from the top step creaks horribly.

“It’s done that my whole life,” you laugh slightly but the sound feels awkward. Stilted. At the top of the stairs you turn right, and two doors down is your bedroom — still almost exactly the way you left it when you moved out. “I, um—” You sigh, letting the door shut behind him. “I’m sorry. About tonight. If I had known Darrel was still around, I at least would have warned you.”

“It’s okay.” Zach says automatically. He’s not quite sure how he feels, but he knows you had no ill intentions about this visit and he won’t put any kind of emotional baggage on you about it.

“Fair’s fair. If you have any questions, I’ll answer them.” Having never been anything but honest with Zach, you aren’t afraid of that promise. Nothing was being hidden from him and nothing about the situation could or would change your relationship.

He doesn’t say anything as he sets his bag down on the chair that’s just pulled out from the teenage desk you had probably spent a lot of time studying at. He doesn’t look at you. “He’s, uh, solid.” He says.

“He’s overbearing.” You reply, slightly unsure of where Zach’s mind is at right now.

“Overbearing?” He frowns at that descriptor. Looking up at you in concern.

“He has — or had — very certain ideas about what kind of life he was going to lead with his family, and that included his future wife.” It sounds stupid, almost a decade later, but that was the boy you knew. “I didn’t want to be a rancher’s wife with a brood of kids who deferred to her husband on all of life’s big decisions.”

“So your life goals didn’t match.” He can understand that, even sympathize with it. “He wanted the white picket fence.”

“Which is fine. It’s just not for me.” You shrug a little self-consciously. “I want a family. My spouse — you — and kids if you want them. It sounds beautiful. But I want to be able to contribute to our family and keep my music and have us be partners. And I’m sorry, but I hated growing up in the country. Even as close to the city as we are, New York is much more my speed.”

He smirks slightly, looking down at his hands and then back up at you. “So don’t have dreams of retiring to the country.” He quips, feeling a little better about the situation. “Did you ever want that? Even a little?”

“Maybe when I was young? If I did it’s so long ago that it was before I ever saw the big city in a movie.” A heavy knot of anxiety in your belly forms fast and pulls tight, and you step closer to Zach. “If that’s what you want, we can find a way to combine our dreams. I’d—” A soft sigh escapes you, and you reach out to slide your hands up his shoulders. “I’d do anything for you. Absolutely anything.”

Zach frowns, shaking his head. “I don’t want to live in the country.” He promises you. “Although the chef in me wants to see the grass fed beef on the hoof.” He jokes, relaxing slightly and reaching for your waist. “I don’t give a damn where I live, as long as it’s with you.”

“I really was hoping this trip wouldn’t be stressful,” you admit, letting your arms tighten around him. Standing there holding each other for a long moment feels like the most soothing thing you could possibly do. “Sad, sure. But not stressful. I’m sorry, my love.”

“You don’t need to apologize.” He murmurs softly. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Leaning your head on his chest, the steady beating of his heart reminds you to breathe. As long as he’s beside you, you can manage anything you need to. No matter how unwanted or painful the managing might be. “I—” The thought gets stuck in your throat and you hold back a shudder that might have also been a sob. “I really wish you could have met my Gram. She wouldn’t have put up with any of the bullshit that happened tonight. She’d have been so sweet and so welcoming to you.”

“I wish that I could have too.” He folds you against his body and lets you lean against him. Knowing that whatever feelings of inadequacy he might have are purely on him. You stood up for him, for your relationship, making it clear that you choose him to be your partner, being your soulmate is just a bonus to your connection. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’m not going anywhere.”

******

The wake is as somber as you had expected. Your grandmother’s book club friends of twenty years all give you tight hugs and welcome Zach to the family. They invite you around anytime. They promise to have supper for two extra mouths whenever you’re in town.

Your parents are quiet. Reserved. Accepting condolences with weary gratitude and shaking hands often. Darrel is there, acting like family, but he seems to have received the message the night before about Zach being your chosen partner. Or at least he accepts it enough to not make a scene at your grandmother’s wake.

Everything is relatively as expected until a man walks up to you and identifies himself as your grandmother’s lawyer.

Zach was talking to Ms. Betty Ann, complimenting her on her pound cake and hoping to get the recipe when he sees you motioning over to him. “Excuse me.” He pats her arm and smiles as he shifts past her to move over to your side. “You need me, sweetheart?”

“This is Tanya Flores.” You introduce the woman standing in front of you and take Zach’s hand tightly in your own. “She’s the executor of Gram’s will. Miss Flores, this is my soulmate, Zach Wellison.”

“Miss Flores.” He nods respectfully. “Mister Wellison.” She smiles somberly at him. “My sympathies for both of you, Bunny, of course because of your loss.” She hums softly. “Your soulmate because he never got a chance to meet her.”

“The more’s the shame,” you nod your head. “They would have gotten along well, I think.”

“From what she had told me about him, from you, I think you’re right.” She sighs softly. “Do you think you might have some time for me before you leave?”

“Of course.” Looking to Zach, he just nods and holds your hand a little tighter. “Should we find someplace more…private?”

“It might be a little better if you come to my office?” She offers, pulling her card out of her jacket and holding it out to you. “Anytime you can manage.”

“Sure, of course.” The card is emblazoned with a logo that reads Law Offices of Tyco, Keanes & Flores with her name and contact information below. “With the funeral tomorrow, I don’t know that we’ll be able to then. Can we come by Friday morning? Would that work for you?”

“Anytime.” She smiles and reaches out to squeeze your arm. “I am really going to miss her.” She tells you. “She was my client, but she also had come to be a friend. She would insist we have tea together at least once a quarter.”

“She was pretty fantastic.” It feels like not enough to say about the woman who helped raise you, but if you say any more in this atmosphere after hours of mourning with your family and her friends, you might just break down crying again.

She smiles again and turns to make her way over to your mother to offer her condolences. Zach sighs, “well, it’s a good thing we aren’t flying out until Sunday.”

“Seems like it.” You lean against him a little more heavily than you expected to, but Zach is a stalwart support. If this week has taught you anything, it is this man is here for all the bad and not just the good. “Gram had a big record collection that we used to listen to together when I was young. She, um…she always said it would be mine one day. So I’m sure we can ship it to Diana in New York and she’ll store it in the apartment for us.”

“Oh I have no doubt.” You had driven him by the house, but the locks had been changed and the keys held by the lawyer since she had died. “We will make sure that it’s safe.”

Summoning a smile, you tilt your head back to kiss his cheek. He’s literally been at your side ever since the news broke and you couldn’t be more grateful for having such a steady partner. “It’s nice that she talked about you. When I told her about you she seemed excited to meet you. It was more genuine than I knew.”

“Maybe she has a letter for you from your gram?” He suggests. “She was getting older and I’m sure she had organized things.”

“Maybe.” That idea brightens you a little. Last words from someone you looked up to would be a piece of closure you hadn’t expected.

Zach hums and pulls you close, pressing a kiss to your hairline since it’s not exactly polite to kiss you like he would want to. The suit he had bought is a little tight across the shoulders but it’s not too bad. At least he looks respectable.

“Maybe let’s go out for dinner tonight?” You murmur against his chest. “I’m not in the mood to go three rounds with my parents and I heard them asking Darrel if he was coming over.”

“We can do that.” He’s willing to agree to anything you want, but a dinner out seems like it would be good idea.

“Thank you.” For everything, says the silent second half of that sentence. Zach has known far more grief than you, but it doesn’t stop him from having compassion. Yet another thing to be grateful for.

“Of course.” He shoots you a small smile. “What are you feeling like? Any place special?”

“Oklahoma has the best beef in the world,” you nudge him, a little playfully, and shrug one shoulder upward in offer. “Organic, grass fed, straight from the ranch. Sound good, chef?”

Zach always loves a good cut of steak. It’s his favorite meal when he cooks for himself. “Sounds incredible. I just need to have a few cows shipped to the ship.��� He jokes. “We could keep them in the study. None of the guests actually use it anyway.”

“I think the captain will be amused at the requisition request.” A tight squeeze of a hug comes with a sigh from you and you step back to straighten your shoulders. “When this is over, we’ll get my parents home and go out for dinner. Gram’s favorite place.”

“That would be a fitting tribute.” He agrees, kissing your forehead again. “I’ve got to pick up a few things for the funeral food after.”

"Thank you for helping." Of course if there was one thing that Zach was more than capable of helping with, but you know that your mother is trying too hard to put on a strong face and not asking for help because of it. Zach's willingness to step up in the name of family has made a huge difference. "Not that I doubted you would, but I'm still thankful."

“I know, baby.” He finds it relaxing to be in the kitchen, even if it’s not his kitchen and not equipped with his tools. “I think that your mom will like the fried pies. She said Apple was your Gram’s favorite.”

"It was. Apple and cinnamon anything for dessert." Good memories. It's better to stick to good memories. "She would have loved those apple tarts you made last week on the ship. With the caramel and cinnamon ice cream? That was right up her alley."

“You think I should make those too?” He asks, knowing that there will be plenty of foods brought over after the service, but your mother also wanted to have items that the family contributed.

"I can help, since you taught me how to make ice cream." Cooking lessons have become a sort of weekly ritual for you now, as Zach teaches you different techniques or recipes in his kitchen while he does prep for various menu items.

“If you want to help, I won’t say no.” He promises, actually enjoying teaching you how to do different things. It’s fun and you always joke around together. It might be what you need.

"I think it would be really nice." You agree, slipping one arm around his waist under his suit jacket. The nearness of him has been doing so much to keep the aching sadness at bay that you don't really care if you're clinging. "And I'll definitely help."

“That sounds good.” He smiles at you, happy to see just a bit of the grief that has been haunting your eyes is pushed away for a moment.

“Bunny.” Zach looks up to find Darrel standing there, holding two cups. “I brought you and Zach something to drink.” He offers. There’s an awkwardness to the gesture and he realizes it, the half sardonic grin on his face telling Zach that as he shrugs one shoulder. “Figured you could use it.”

"I–um, thanks." The gesture is more startling than it probably should be. Darrel isn't a bad guy, after all. The whole thing has just been so blown out of proportion. "It's...it's never easy." He knows that. They both do. And you look between both men with a sigh. "Darrel lost his parents pretty young. Had to help raise his brothers afterward."

“I’m sorry to hear that.” Zach can understand. “That couldn’t have been an easy thing to do.” He understands that Darrel is still in love with you, or rather the idea of you, but he’s not as self conscious as he had been when you first got here.

"It wasn't." Darrel nods. He can acknowledge a hell of a lot after all these years. "But I think they turned out okay in spite of it being hard. Anything worth having is worth fighting for, right?"

It’s an insight into Darrel’s outlook but he doesn’t dispute it. Zach nods in agreement. “I completely agree.” He hums, his fingers pressing in at your waist slightly as he looks at you, his eyes soft. “Right, sweetheart?”

"Absolutely." The silent signal doesn't escape you, but you would have leaned into Zach's side anyway. "I honestly do appreciate you looking in on my parents, Darrel. It's a nice thing to do and I know they appreciate it. It just...whatever friendship you have with them, that's all it is. A friendship with them. I don't have any part in it anymore."

He flashes a sad smile. “I’m getting that hint, Bunny.” He promises, chuckling slightly. “Might be nothing more than a dumb rancher, but I’m not that slow.” There’s a bit of regret in his tone, as if he still wished things would be different, but they aren’t.

"Whatever else you are, you've never been dumb." That much can be said for Darrel Rodriguez. Actually, a lot can be said for him. "You'll make a fantastic partner for some very lucky woman some day," you promise him. "She's just...not me. That's all."

“I guess it was just a pipe dream.” You’ve taken the cups from his hands so he shuffles them into his pockets. “Hard to let your first love – first everything – go, ya know?” It’s obviously not the same for you, but he doesn’t mention that. “Anyway, I— I’ll make sure your parents don’t bother you about that.”

“Okay.” There isn’t much more to say. Because he’s right. It had been hard to let go. It’s just that you went through that process of loss and acceptance a long time ago.

Darrel gives a nod and turns around to walk away, his shoulders rolled back and his back straight, holding his head up high.

------ Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @haylzcyon   @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear @tanzthompson @emilianamason @bigsdinger @xocalliexo @pedr0swh0r3 @avaleineandafryingpan @charlyrmv @avidreader73 @iceclaw101 @loveslide @elegantduckturtle @becsworld @julesonrecord @its-nebuleuse @itsrubberbisquit @mikeyswifie @guelyury @lizzie-cakes @for-a-longlongtime @vabeachazn @purplerain04 @weho2kcmo @madnessofadaydreamer

ItSotN: @greenwitchfromthewoods @copperhalfcent @ariavitiellos @spishsstuff @76bookworm76

[brandwhorestarscream]

My favorite G1 characters are the Combaticons = Onslaught, Blast Off, Brawl, Swindle and Vortex!

I adore your stories ✨💖

Subject 1852 - Codename: Bruticus

04-18-1994

Report Compilation

Entry 1. Component: 1852C - Codename: Vortex

Attending Psychologist: Dr. William Kramer

As we had hoped, Subject 1852C remains compliant following the retrieval and punishment of 1852D. It was noted previously that the two are particularly close, even within their clique: the wellbeing of another they hold dear has been an incredibly effective control method on the more difficult Subjects. Of course, it's not ideal: we do need all of them functioning optimally, and we can't just break one's arm everytime we need to scare someone straight. But it's got 1852C going on 4 days of good behavior--4 days without incident is previously unheard of with him.

Honestly, I was afraid we'd have to pull him from Bruticus and make another one, but with 1852D's wellbeing as an incentive, I believe an obedient behavioral pattern can be established. With good enough incentives, enough patience, and an objective understanding of the psyche, nothing is impossible. I suggest temporary separation each day for one on one training.

End report.

Entry 2. Component: 1852A - Codename: Onslaught

Attending Physician: Dr. Sabrina Diaz

Subject 1852A continues to struggle to adapt. He is unable to eat without vomiting, and exhibits listless, unengaging behavior in direct opposition to yesterday's fits. He did not respond to low amd mid tier physical stimuli, though he did begin to cry and request that we stop while administering Stimulant 9C at Dr. Sawyer's request.

Following the stimulant's injection, Subject exhibited increased pulse, shallow ventilation, and acute paranoia. However, despite his desire to run away, he did not respond positively to offers of having his arms or legs attached. It is my professional opinion that he may remain in this state for another 36 hours at most before physical intervention will be required, to avoid internal ruptures if nothing else.

End report.

Entry 3. Component: 1852D - Codename: Swindle

Attending Psychologist: Dr. Lillian Povlo

Subject 1852D has expressed feelings of confusion and disorientation. He does not understand why Dr. Kramer gave the order to have his arm broken. Frankly, neither do I! Our job is to keep these things sane and stable so they don't malfunction, and he goes and does that? I understand that Subject C is... difficult, to say the least, but-

Oh, nevermind. My Subject 1852D has been experiencing extremely low mood and a reluctance to leave the recovery bay. Though they replaced his broken arm casing and successfully transplanted his nerves, he tells me of pain I suspect is not there. He doesn't want to leave the recovery bay and rejoin the other components. He had previously been obedient, a 7.8 in the system: I've never seen him dig his heels in like this. I suggest a formal psychiatric re-evaluation and potentially medication with Supplement 13A.

End report.

...

Entry 4. Component: 1852B - Codename: Blast Off

Incident Report

Attending Personel: Dr. Francis Galloway

At 05:27 on 04-01-1994, Subject 1852E began banging on the walls and yelling to get security's attention. Subject appeared frantic and distressed, calling for help. He claimed that Subject 1852B was experiencing a medical emergency and needed immediate assistance.

Subject 1852B was laying on the floor and violently convulsing. At 05:31, Dr. Isaac Reed entered the room to attend 1852B post-seizure. Poor bastard never stood a chance, they jumped him as soon as he knelt down beside 1852B. By the time security sent the order to gas the room, Dr. Reed was long dead.

Interestingly, none of them showed any inclination toward the door. I don't believe this was an escape attempt like the earlier incident this year. I believe this was done soley to lure someone inside. I don't think they knew or especially cared who would come to them, just that someone would. This was a deliberate, successful attempt to cause harm. I reccomend immediate return to the Shelf for re-evaluation and reconditioning.

Casualties: 1

End report.

Entry 5. Component: 1852E - Codename: Brawl

Attending Psychologist: Dr. David Nelson

Subject 1852E's reconditioning is going well. My assistant made a breakthrough: homebaked goods rather than store bought trigger a very positive response. He has shown a willingness to cooperate if hot bread-based desserts are used as an incentive. He's even following more complex commands, and has shown lessened hostility compared to yesterday.

The chewing habit has proved difficult to break. I do still believe it to be psychological, perhaps a form of self-soothing. He will not answer me when I ask why he gnaws his fingers, and becomes agitated if pressed. I will continue to monitor.

Ratings:

Obedience: 6

Safety: 5

Psychological Health: 5

I reccomend at least another week's separation from other components, and at minimum another 3 days of evaluation and testing before mid-tier reconditioning begins.

End report.

[drconstellation]

The Altar of Eccles Cakes

(updated 21 Oct 2023, for Grain Offerings example) (updated 21 Nov 2023, for link to First Temptation)

The mysterious plate of Eccles cakes. Are they really to "calm people down?' And why do they just ...disappear? They must be there for a reason?

Yes, they certainly are. They are just the first course of a fascinating meal on offer in S2.

So far, most of the meta around the Eccles cakes has focused on the meaning of their name. Eccles is an old name for church. We could view it as Aziraphale trying to calm Crowley down. They are also known as "squashed fly cakes." The white outside and the black inside could be seen as a metaphor relating to Gabriel. Or it hints at the Roger the Stunt Fly, that contain Gabriel's memories, flying around the book shop, who's purpose we don't find out about until the end. There is even a link to the 1650 Sorry Dance that Aziraphale mentioned, in that were banned by Oliver Cromwell for being pagan! (Did I get that right? I've not kept the post link.)

[Edit: They also represent the First Temptation as Jesus fasts in the wilderness for 40 days before the Entry into Jerusalem at the start of the Passion narratives, where bread was made from stones.]

Take another look at the blocking in this shot. The dark horse statue, representing Crowley - even wearing his sunglasses! - has the placating plate of Eccles cakes placed before it, in supplication. Yeah, it didn't work this time, but it's the thought that counts. What we have here is Aziraphale making an Sin offering to the altar of Crowley, to ask for atonement in advance for what he has done (taking Gabriel in.)

Once you frame it in that reference, you realize its not the only altar offering made during S2. It also adds a bit more depth to some of the other scenes, where they have all been mentioned already in some way, but it certainly helps to explain the Eccles cakes!

Firstly, we need to mention the main types of altar offering that are made:

Burnt offerings - for general atonement of sins and for expression of devotion to God. It could be a bull, a ram, goat, or a bird in the form of a dove or pigeon. Such as this magnificent example in the Job minisode.

Aziraphale certainly devoted himself to the sin of gluttony on that occasion. (hang on, that didn't come out the right way, did it...?) But he was still devoted to God, despite his nocturnal conversation with Crowley while they waited out the storm in the cellar.

Grain offerings - a voluntary expression of devotion to God. This was grain prepared in different way, but always seasoned, unsweetened and unleavened. Recall at Gomorrah Lot offered to prepare the visiting angels unleavened bread as part of a meal.

Originally when I wrote this post I didn't think I had any Grain offering examples, but a few days later as I was writing my post on The Ineffable Ducks I realized where the missing S2 Grain offering was - in S2E1, when Crowley yells at the Azerbaijani spies in St James Park. The ducks are usually offered bread, which is leavened with yeast, so technically not quite correct, but when you review all the instances of feeding the ducks crumbs or bread crumbs it certainly fits. Unless you are Crowley, and you'd rather have the current state of quiet "frozen peas" between Heaven and Hell. See my Ineffable Ducks post for an elaboration.

Peace offering - This could be cattle, sheep or goat without defect, but the main purpose to was consecrate a meal between two or more parties before God and share that meal in a fellowship of peace and commitment to each other's future prosperity.

You know where we see one of these? At the eldritch ball!

I did see a nice meta about the vol-au-vents recently, mainly about their name, but I don't seem to have saved it, and can't find it again. They are usually filled with chicken (a bird) and the eldritch ball is ostensibly the shopkeepers monthly meeting, after all, where they are there to talk about their mutual prosperity in the future. Just so happens its also an opportunity for Aziraphale to talk to Crowley about their future...oh, and Nina and Maggie's, as well, of course!

Sin offering - atonement or unintentional sin. It would have the elements of a Burnt offering, as well as a Peace offering, but not be shared. These are what the plate of Eccles cakes are, so they were never meant to be eaten. They were an olive branch to Crowley regarding Gabriel, but he turned it down. So they softly and suddenly vanish away, never to be met with again.*

There is one more altar offering that needs to mentioned, another Sin offering. The one Crowley consumed in Elspeth's place in The Resurrectionists minisode in 1832 Edinburgh - the laudanum.

It pretty clear to most observers that Crowley did a good and "kind deed" for Elspeth here, which angered Hell in the process and then he was dragged forcibly downstairs to be duly punished for it. There is a post here from atlas-hope that suggests this is a parallel of Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemane, drinking the cup of God's wrath to absolve Christians of their sins. They point out the laudanum is even poured into a goblet. Crumbs, that's a hefty bit of spiritual lifting, dear demon. What were you thinking, Anthony J. Crowley? It might cast that conversation you had with the carpenter back on the mountain in a new light, or least make us look back twice at it. (Plenty of time for contemplation before S3 arrives...)

Remember, a Sin offering has elements of both a Burnt offering and a Peace offering: a giant Crowley gets Elspeth to promise to devote the rest of her life to being "properly good, not just pretendy good" and the money Aziraphale is forced to donate to her ensures her future prosperity. Sounds like a win-win situation there, Elspeth!

[*OK, if you don't get the ref, its from the Hunting of the Snark. The Snark represents happiness, a most elusive thing to find, and more often than not its a fruitless search, and you find the terrible Boojum instead. During the third verse the Baker recounts the lecture his uncle gives him about how to hunt the Snark, and to be aware of his fate if he is unlucky enough to encounter a Boojum. It kind of fits in with S2, I feel.]

[suprnovascripts]

New Friends, 10/30/2287

Tonight I'm bedding down next to Dogmeat in the Cambridge Police Station. I left Sanctuary Hills this morning in an effort to make my way to Diamond City, but my radio picked up a distress signal. The whole idea lately has been to help people, and Cambridge was on the way, so I rushed over here as soon as I could.

I found a number of people being ambushed by these awful, decaying creatures. Ghouls, they called them. I heard some of the others from Sanctuary refer to them before but I was honestly too scared to ask for clarification. Even when I was in Corvega, I noticed some strangely decayed bodies in the pipes, but I figured the Raider's just washed some of their victims away. Now I realize those were the ghouls they referred to in their terminal entries...

Somehow, we managed to hold them all off. A guy in a huge suit of Power Armor introduced themselves as the Brotherhood of Steel. Maybe a little try-hard, but based on everything that happened today, it seems like it pays off. These guys have got fire power, defense, and apparently back-up.

Paladin Danse offered me a job helping him locate and activate a device that would assist in transmitting their radio signals back to their command. His usual guy what pretty badly injured in the ambush. Danse offered pay, supplies, and a place to sleep tonight. I couldn't have asked for more, to be honest, so I quickly said yes.

A few hours later, we found ourselves blasting through Arcjet Sysems, the base of a pre-war contractor that primarily worked for the US Government, specializing in aerospace communication and propulsion. Its ironic that what I remember the most was a legal colleague from before the war - he was on Arcjet's legal team and the poor man always looked like he was limping around on his last leg. The company worked for the people who made the laws and they still couldn't keep away from constant legal trouble.

But it was, without a doubt, the most profitable day I have yet had. Not only did we recover weapon and defense tech, I was able to grab plenty of supplies that the folks can use back home. Danse ensured me that whatever I could carry was mine.

Aside from supplies, I learned a lot, too. As we first began clearing the building, Danse pointed out a pile of destroyed Protectrons.

"Look at these wrecks. It appears as though the facility's automated security's already been dealt with," he explained.

The tone of his voice sounded less than pleased with the information. "Is this the Brotherhood's handiwork?"

"Unfortunately, no. Look at the evidence. There isn't a single spent ammunition casing or drop of blood in sight." He looked around at the wreckage, almost paranoid in nature. "I believe these robots were assaulted by Institute Synths."

"What's the Institute?" I asked. The look on his face quickly made me regret it.

"You don't..." he began to question. "The Institute is a group of scientists that went underground when the Great War started." He turned away from me and we continued to walk in the way we were headed. "They spent the last few decades littering the Commonwealth with their technological nightmares. Like these damn Synths." He stopped and pointed toward the ground.

My expression curled in disgust as I noticed a ghastly white face staring up at me from the trash below. A man, no... A machine lay lifeless on the ground, its features like that of a doll but more mechanical and intimidating. The way it stared through me sent shivers down my spine. "A synth... Is it... A robot?"

"Come on. There's probably more of them and they'll be livelier than this one." He walked on, continuing to speak, not adjusting the sound of his voice or the stomping of his footsteps. "They're an abuse of technology created by the Institute. They're abominations, meant to 'improve' upon humanity. Its unacceptable. They simply cannot be allowed to exist."

I almost asked if he meant the Institute or the Synths. "I'll uh, be on the lookout."

He was right, we ran into plenty more, each one of them just as killable as the last. It was almost like playing the BB game down at the state fair, just shooting at little machines running back and forth. Except, I suppose, these ones shot back. It wasn't perfect, nothing really is, but we did well in there and Danse seemed impressed. He gifted me a beautiful laser weapon and not to mention, a good amount of caps.

So when we got through with everything, he asked if I would be willing to join ranks with them - said they needed people that knew the Commonwealth. Honestly, I almost said yes right then and there. But then I remembered what its all for. I have to find Shaun. And even more, I have a responsibility to the people of Sanctuary Hills now, and the other settlements. The Brotherhood might have the tech to keep me safe, but could they afford me the freedom to do what I need to? I'm no stranger to the military, and that's all this is.

He told me to think on it and let him know in the morning. I really can't say for sure, but I don't think there's a place for me here. Not right now.

But hey, that's not saying we can't be business partners...

[wowstrawberrycow]

Preschool For the Unwanted part 1: Hello Teacher

Hi there everyone! This time I'm shipping Adar with one of my OCs! My oc is called Lao. He is very playful even in the worst of times and is a teacher. He would say all he does is teach. But there's so much more to Lao than he likes to talk about.

I also will say this story doesn't have any warnings yet. But I'm sure it will be explicit eventually. I'll warn you when it does.🤗❤️ You'll likely get art of Lao very soon too!

This story is another one of my attempts to dive into uruk culture with a fun lense.🌈💖 I hope you all enjoy it.

------------------------

While it was no secret uruk children were wild and quite an unruly bunch of tiny gremlins this did not stop Lao from his task. In fact when the escapade of teaching these children had come up in another boring semi-meaningless meeting Lao very enthusiastically volunteered for the job. One thing led to another, that is a whole other story entirely But, that little mystery is what led Lao to visit Adar the lord father himself.

However, this meeting itself was perilous as well. Upon entry, he was attacked, which he completely expected. Though much to everyone else's shock and dismay, Lao handled himself quite easily without harming a soul. He dodged spears, swords, and arrows with ease and grace as if he were dancing with the balance of a ballerina. This tuckered out guards as this literal dance seemed to go on for hours. It became like a game for Lao, that is to say, he saw it as a long game of hide and seek, and at other times it was like tag with harsher consequences. His amused child-like giggling was infuriating to the residents of the uruk community of Mordor at first but soon this infuriation simmered to merely eye-rolling followed by irritated complaints. This ultimately is what caught Adar’s attention.

Lao eventually allowed himself to be caught immediately after Glug announced his lord father demanded to see him. After also allowing himself to be clamped in irons Lao soon demonstrated that brutality was not an option here in this situation. Each time one of the uruk guards attempted to hit or stab Lao, even in chains the strange man would quickly move out of reach maintaining a kind carefree expression. He still made no effort to fight back. This resulted in further irritation as they searched him. However, they discovered Lao was completely unarmed. Many unsettled stares befell Lao as he was dragged to see Adar.

Adar’s own menacing eyes bore deeply into the other partially in hopes to intimidate Lao, while the other half of his mind was attempting to figure the stranger out. Lao simply smiled sweetly back at him with a seeming ditz over his face.

“State your business. Make it quick, I will not hesitate to give orders to end you." The great leader spoke using a grave tone laced with malice.

Lao remained calm, finally speaking for the first time since he arrived. “ I was wondering about your little ones. I’m very curious if you’d be interested in accepting my services as an educator. I can educate adults as well if you like.” His voice was casual as someone speaking at a conference table but as beautiful as an elf's; it matched his immaculate face. When his ears were revealed it was clear he wasn’t an elf at all. Whispers zipped across the crowd who surrounded the odd scene.

Adar couldn’t believe his ears or his eyes. The offer was extremely…attractive… not just the offer, but the one who delivered the proposal was too. His mind then paused in favor of looking over Lao’s body and noticed the female clothing. “Bring her to my meeting quarters.”

Lao repressed a snicker, choosing not to correct the man. It was all too fun to keep those around him in surprise or confusion.

Adar raised a brow annoyed but glints of curiosity filled his eyes. he said nothing and instead ordered the stranger to be strapped to a chair. He stared down at the other with an intense gaze. The energy this one gave off was nothing like Sauron’s, and none of his children were killed that night. Some were exhausted, yes, but sleep could fix that. Even with that thing gone he couldn't help but inspect that first to settle his suspicions. “ What’s your game? I hardly believe you came to my territory for such a thing. What is it you really want? Who are you?”

Listening to Adar’s deep voice was like music to his ears. Lao let his eyes trace Adar’s body shamelessly with interest. With all things considered, if this setting had been in a bedroom this situation could be quite scandalous. A small delighted hum wafted through the air at the thought. The confused look in Adar’s eyes only amused Lao further; this much was obvious by his tone, “ I’m simply Lao.” he said with a pause. Then a sing-song tone soon followed “ And I believe I already told you what my purpose here is.” Lao smiled sweetly at the uruk patting his long lashes. purity showed brightly in his eyes when he gazed directly into the other’s pair when he spoke again “ I prefer to teach. That’s all I like to do with my time.”

Adar couldn’t deny that his children lacked an education. They were a simple group and even he found it difficult to explain certain things to them in ways they would understand. His children certainly weren’t unintelligent, on the contrary, they had wonderful problem-solving skills. They simply lacked direction and wisdom at times. The inability to read, and write, and low math skills were also something he constantly regretted not being able to properly teach his children. It pained his heart. For as much as he was apprehensive about the offer, he couldn’t reject a chance to better the lives of those he cherished most. But on the other hand, he couldn’t be too careful. Pretty faces with lovely offers were enticing, but he recalled how poorly the last one went. Adar huffed but suspicion still was present in his voice. “ Fine, but you will be under constant surveillance. You can start tomorrow. Throw her in the brig.”

To this Lao grinned, the urge to chuckle at Adar’s little mistake was becoming harder to resist. Even in chains, he found his time with the uruk community to be very entertaining already.

[lvmimis]

malevolent enterprise ch. 4

cw: ceo!au. in which you, the reader, meet ceo itadori for the first time. reader wears a dress and heels. header by @/cafekitsune! masterlist

“A pleasure to meet you finally.”

Yuuji’s smile is wide and friendly as he rises out of his seat upon his interviewee’s entry. You, having just been led into his office by a rather flustered appearing secretary, the type that is doing her best but her best is at best subpar, are still trying to control your expression when you  meet face to face with him. You do your best to offer him a smile, taking advantage of your disarming features, and in a few measured steps, stride across the room to your seat, taking his hand in a gentle handshake before having a seat.

“Thank you for having me, sir.”

You smooth out the back of your skirt as you sit, thanking the heavens that you haven’t had some mishap with your pantyhose, as is the tendency. You usually prefer a pantsuit, but you’ve been told that Itadori Enterprises is on the conservative side, so you’re clad in the only suit-skirt combo you own paired with sensible pumps instead of loafers, hoping that you make it through the day without mishap. The young man in front of you does not appear very conservative, you think, and in fact something about his relatively cheerful expression and pink hair gives him an air of childishness. Keeping your own countenance just shy of neutral yet warm, you focus your eyes on him. 

“I’m happy you were willing to interview me this early. I was very excited to see that you reached out for an interview in less than 48 hours of my application, and I would like you to know that I’d be honored to be considered for such a coveted position.” You begin.

Yuuji nods, but says nothing else. He appears to be studying you, which is surprising but preferred to the outright ogle that you’ve had in your past couple of interviews this week, so rather than dwell on it, you consider an opportunity to continue speaking. 

“As mentioned in my cover letter and resume, I’ve had years of experience at Gojo Corp., and while I’ve left amicably in search of other opportunities, I am very capable of transferring valuable skills learned there to your organization,” you finish. He’s let you speak for long enough, and asked you very few questions, and you decide you  might as well end your monologue strong and hope for the best. 

Amicable is somewhat of a stretch, but you continue to say it without hesitation. What really happened is you’d slapped a resignation letter on your desk after weeks of responsibilities being heaped onto you at increasing intervals, in the midst of increasingly long vacations from your womanizing boss and more and more casually disrespectful speech. Satoru, for some reason, had decided that you were the one to play games with somewhere in the last three to six months of your tenure, and you frankly had run out of the coins to continue. When you’d finally quit, Satoru had nothing to say but finally, and before you could really take your time and lay into him, threatening a workplace harassment lawsuit, he’d clapped his hands together, thanked you for your time, and told you he was hoping you’d finally know your worth. 

Leave, he asked, a glint in his eye. You genuinely deserve better than to be here, working with a peon like me. 

The sarcasm stung until you realized he wasn’t being sarcastic in the way you expected. Gojo offered you enough severance pay to last you practically a year, knowing it was far from enough for what you've done for him. 

I think you undervalue yourself, he said, an unsolicited piece of advice included with the hefty sum of money stuffed into a neat envelope. You never asked for a promotion, and took more and more work, to the point that you might as well have been running this place on your own, doing the job of ten people.

Angrily, you reminded him that he could have just treated you like a human being and you’d never have resorted to resignation, but he laughed, swinging his legs on the desk and leaning back into his chair, head resting on his palms.

You wouldn’t have been forced to know your worth, he’d said.

You didn’t like this type of support, but here you were, being considered for an executive position, something you would have never considered a year ago.

And this wasn’t the only one. 

“From what I’ve seen of your application, you are absolutely impressive. I’m surprised Mr. Gojo had you doing middle management for so long.”

You resist the urge to make the joke, “you and me both,” but Yuuji seems to pause to expect it as though he is reading your thoughts. Instead you smile, and look down at your open portfolio. Then you look up and see that his mouth seems to have opened slightly in a small ‘o’ as though he’s surprised in anticipation of what you’ll say before you say it. 

“I absolutely have the skills to be an executive at this company. I understand if you’d prefer someone internal and appreciate the opportunity to be considered. If I must be so bold, I would like to share that I already have been offered a similar position at another company, but I’m very particular to your company’s mission, and would much prefer to be here.”

Yuuji perks up in a way that makes you practically imagine dog ears on his person. He’s far too… cute, wet around the ears appearing to be in this sort of position, you think for a moment. Too easy to read. Too sincere.

“Where?” he asks, eyebrow raised. His light brown eyes seem to betray a premonition of the answer. You wonder if the brothers talk - you had spent enough time searching for any backstory to supplant what you’ve heard through the grapevine about the corporation’s split, but often financial matters and family matters do not completely align. You have heard that the two are not fond of each other, and that simple knowledge encourages you to move things in your favor.

“Ryomen Industries.”

Yuuji frowns. He pauses and mulls over this information and for a moment you wonder if you’ve overstepped, shifting in your chair and masking your discomfort with a quick cross of the legs, and folding your hands in your lap to prevent yourself from looking seductive. Yuuji however is not looking at you, his chin pressed to his fist suddenly as he thinks, staring at a fixed point at the wall, slightly off from you.

Then his eyes snap back towards you.

“Whatever they’ve offered you, I can offer you double or triple.”

Your eyes grow wide.

Unable to help it, the first thought that crosses your mind is No way he knows what he’s doing.

To quell your disbelief, you let your lips curl into a smile.

“Forgive my candor, but are you simply that impressed by me or do you simply refuse to lose?”

Yuuji blinks, taken aback by your speech, but you’ve realized by now that Yuuji has already hired you in your mind. You are not at any risk. 

“Don’t mind that.” Yuuji smiles, this time the corners not reaching his eyes to the same extent, and he takes your portfolio. 

“Are you willing to start tomorrow?” he asks. He clears his throat, and you know it to mean that the current subject has been tabled for later.

“Yes.”

Yuuji rises, and you rise as well. He rounds the desk to meet you, and now that he’s closer, you take a better, more focused look at him. Sweet-faced but quite handsome, you admit, with broad shoulders, and you spot a wrinkle in his suit that you’d consider smoothing out if you weren’t a stranger. His walk is more confident than it should be for a man you feel like you just conned. Something about all of this is far too easy, you think. You are suspicious.

Yuuji leads you out, walking a bit too quickly ahead of you, and while you keep up for the most part, you find yourself staring at the back of his head, then your eyes travel further to his backside, admiring the cut of his suit, the shine in his shoes. He’s tall, and he speaks softly to the confused secretary, reminding her to do her job and make sure to send you an email of your formal contract. He takes you on a very brief tour of the building, talking animatedly as you take the elevator with him. He smiles far too easily, too much, and the middle managers speak to him casually. You’re not sure if you like that. 

He introduces you by your new title and you bow. They will not speak to you casually, is your first thought. At least, not at first.

You make a circle with him, and he shows you your supposed office. It’s a 2 minute walk from his, and appears similar, just slightly smaller, with one armchair placed in the corner, instead of a small sofa. It’s bare, and does not have your name on the plate on the door or on the desk. Somehow that is reassuring.

“Please let me know if the specifications are alright,” he asks.

That’s not his job, that’s his secretary or assistant’s job, you say in your head, but offer him a polite nod. He offers you another handshake.

“Glad to have you on our team.”

You haven’t signed the contract yet but he’s so earnest, you find yourself saying,

“Thank you for having me. I’m excited to work with you, Mr. Itadori.”

[omniblades-and-stars]

17 for the rook asks!

Oh a delightful prompt for sure! I had a lot of fun doing this instead of my job, and I won't apologize for it!

From the personal journal of Maribel Ingellvar, Mourn Watcher, also known as "Rook"

On the spirit which calls themself the "Caretaker"

(Translated from Nevarran)

Spirit appeared as Bellara repaired the Eluvian. They called themself the "Caretaker" (appearance: copper/bronze mask with four sets of eyes stamped around the entirety of its head, scarves and a cloak. Set apart from other spirits by what appears to be material clothing, but is not. Unusual, but not unheard of.) Referred to the lyrium dagger as "the Wolf's fang" and allowed us passage through the mirror.

CT seems to belong to the Crossroads. They also maintain the Lighthouse to some degree, may even be tied to it in some fashion, hard to discern.

Helpful spirit, identifies needs and desires and attempts to provide?

Theorize they are the one leaving nostalgic bits and bobs around for the others. Spirit of Compassion or something similar, perhaps? Some of the others are quite disconcerted by them. Understandable, on the presumption CT helped Solas. Must remember a spirit does not have the context to maintain the same moral guidance we would. They are driven by a singular desire: to help. They remind me, unsurprisingly, of some of the stronger spirits in the Necropolis. Perhaps, that's why I'm not discomfitted by their presence as are some of my colleagues.

Asked CT today if it was one spirit that goes between places, or several in many places at once. Their answer, "As needed, Traveller," while on its face is cryptic, is however quite a helpful answer. The Fade operates on desires and needs, endless possibilities. I see no contradiction to this spirit being one and many at the same time.

CT can improve and enchant material weapons and armor. Fascinating. Their enchantments are very helpful. I really do not enjoy being singed by Venatori mage-fire. My hair thanks CT.

I found an old children's storybook in my room, the one with the story about a witch with a house made of sweets deep in the woods. I had this book when I was young, it has the same torn binding and curled pages. Impossible. I accidentally set this on fire when my magic manifested as a child, it was burnt to cinders. Asked CT about it, they said, "A piece of home for the aching heart." It seems the longer we're here, the stronger CT gets. That they can manifest an object from such an old memory is astonishing. We (Prof. Volkaren, Bellara and I) hypothesize that the spirit grows in power as they fulfill their purpose here in the Fade. I should visit the Necropolis again…

CT expressed disgust at the Blight corrupting the Crossroads. They expressed what can only be described as smug satisfaction when that awful dragon was destroyed seems to confirm that the Crossroads is intrinsic to their being.

CT helped to unlock Solas's study (in the roundabout way spirits often do, not unused to playing chase with wisps, fortunately.) It's as if they have deemed us worthy of seeing the Wolf's secrets. The mural is beautiful. Why did Solas need such a large study? It's oppressively lonely in there, I can't stand it.

Does CT know our plans for stopping Solas? They must, they know our needs without us saying what they are. This begs the question, does CT only desire to help whoever lives in the LH or do they have a deeper understanding of our goals and a want to help further them? CT does not help the Venatori and Antaam who enter the CR. This indicates, at the very least, that they have a value system, a way they decide who's friend or foe. I wonder if they will decide at some point that we're foes? Is it the dagger that keeps them on our side?

Not the dagger. Solas has it now, CT continues to offer aid. I'm glad for it, I've grown fond of them. I missed them while I was gone.

Make me write some Codex entries for a Rook? I have 4 of them so go nuts.

[autisticva]

I'm Not A Writer. But All I Have Is Words

You’ve got the ideas. I’ve got the executive function.

I wish it were possible to stream my thoughts with all the flavours, smells, feelings, emotions and tactile sensations attached. Instead, I have to convert that sensory-rich stream into two-dimensional letters in an attempt to convey the experience. That’s why expressing what I feel is the hardest thing about using words.

If I have to communicate with other human beings, I prefer to talk about things that are understandable for both sides. I like to use language as a utility tool. To ask and answer questions, explain processes, share information, or establish rules for cooperation.

Yet when it comes to humans, they delight in overdoing the word dress-up even for those kinds of interactions. It’s draining that if I want to network with someone, I need to create all this hype, provide value, and employ intricate verbal gymnastics to explain what I do and why I’m a great choice.

There are tons of incredibly talented writers who can produce a mesmerising pitch, that would market them as the best thing since invention of a mobile phone. But. Will that pitch translate when it comes to the actual job?

* * *

If I could do it my way, this is how I’d approach you as a prospective client:

Hello. I’m Anna, an actually autistic virtual assistant providing general admin services for neurodivergent entrepreneurs. Do you want to work with me? Here’s my website www.autisticva.com Or you can book a free discovery chat If not, tell business people you know who would. Anna

I hope you haven’t spilt your coffee or tea on the keyboard because it’s so extremely effective. I know. I’m getting fully booked up and can raise my prices just after sending this single message (that was sarcasm).

* * *

But let’s break it down and analyse it.

Logically.

That's how an ASD, ADHD or AuDHD brain would translate that shorthand:

“Actually autistic” Oh, it means she gets it because she has a similar lived experience. And I can expect traits like strong focus, attention to detail, curiosity, self-teaching, punctuality, honesty, loyalty, non-judgement, directness, reliability, trustworthiness… and some awkwardness too. “Virtual assistant” Ha, she works remotely and is a contractor. It means I won’t have to fork out for payroll, insurance or give her a desk. We can work on the internets without having to meet in person and become besties. Yay! “Providing general admin” That means emails, files, documents, data entry, calendars, spreadsheets, organising, proofreading. I bet she’s good with Microsoft Office, and Google Workspace at minimum. But since she’s autistic—that means she might be even more capable or willing to learn. “For neurodivergent entrepreneurs” Hey, I’m neurodivergent and I have a business! That’s me she’s talking about. “Do I want to work with her?” I’d like to at least check out what she’s about—see if she offers what I want and other finer details before I decide. Website and booking link Oh cool, I can check her out immediately and do my lurking, thinking, deciding—or dive right in if I want to. “If not, tell business people you know who would”. Aww, she’s honest, upfront, not pushy, and has the guts to reach out. If I dare to pass on the opportunity I’ll at least help by connecting her with my business BFFs. Our tribe needs to stick together because living in the NT world is hard and we need all the help we can get.

* * *

See? I wouldn’t have to spend 67 minutes to write 266 words when I could encapsulate the whole message in 2 minutes and 7 seconds—in just 57 words. (What’s up with all those 7s?!)

Sure, I could ask ChatGPT to write 10,000 words about what I could do for you—but words won’t get the shit done.

I’m not a writer.

I’m a doer, a thinker, and a problem solver.

Don't ask me to tell you poems about what I can do.

And let me express myself by doing stuff for you.

[bangkoklawyr]

Tourist Visa in Thailand

Thailand remains one of the world’s most popular travel destinations, attracting millions of visitors each year. For many travelers, understanding the intricacies of Thai tourist visas is essential—whether for short-term holidays, long-term stays, or digital nomadism. Unlike visa-free entry (which varies by nationality), a formal tourist visa provides greater flexibility and longer stays.

This guide provides an in-depth analysis of Thailand’s tourist visa system, including application processes, extensions, conversion options, and strategic insights for maximizing legal stay durations.

1. Types of Tourist Visas for Thailand

A. Visa Exemption (Visa-Free Entry)

Eligible Countries: Passport holders from 64+ nations (including the US, UK, EU, Australia, and Japan).

Duration:

30 days (most nationalities).

45 days (temporarily extended for some countries until 2025).

Entry Conditions:

Must arrive via international airport (land border entries often limited to 15-30 days).

No extensions unless under special circumstances (e.g., medical treatment).

B. Single-Entry Tourist Visa (TR, 60 Days)

Issued by: Thai embassies/consulates abroad.

Validity:

60 days per entry.

3-month validity period (must enter Thailand before the visa expires).

Extensions: Can be extended once for 30 days at an immigration office (total: 90 days).

C. Multiple-Entry Tourist Visa (METV, 6 Months)

Issued by: Thai embassies/consulates (requires stricter documentation).

Validity:

6 months from issue date.

60 days per entry (unlimited entries during validity).

Extensions: Each entry can be extended by 30 days.

Financial Requirements:

Proof of THB 200,000+ in bank account (or steady income).

Employment verification (if applying from home country).

D. Special Tourist Visa (STV, 90 Days, Renewable)

Introduced during COVID-19 but still available in limited cases.

Duration:

90 days per entry, renewable twice (total 9 months).

Requirements:

Proof of long-term accommodation.

Health insurance (USD 100,000 coverage).

2. Application Process for a Tourist Visa

A. Where to Apply

Thai Embassy/Consulate Abroad: Most common method.

E-Visa System: Available for some nationalities (faster processing).

Visa on Arrival (VoA): Only for 18 nationalities (e.g., India, China), granting 15 days (THB 2,000 fee).

B. Required Documents

Passport (6+ months validity, blank pages).

Visa Application Form (signed).

Passport Photos (4x6 cm, white background).

Proof of Travel (flight itinerary).

Financial Proof (bank statements, ~THB 20,000 per person).

Accommodation Details (hotel booking or invitation letter).

Visa Fee (varies by country, ~THB 1,000–5,000).

C. Processing Time

3–5 business days (standard).

Express services (24–48 hours) at extra cost.

3. Extending a Tourist Visa in Thailand

A. Standard 30-Day Extension

Where: Local immigration office (e.g., Bangkok, Chiang Mai, Phuket).

Cost: THB 1,900.

Documents Required:

Passport + visa copy.

TM.7 form (downloadable).

Passport photo.

Proof of address (hotel receipt or TM.30).

B. COVID-19 Extensions (Discontinued in 2023)

Previously allowed long-term stays under "amnesty" rules.

Now replaced by stricter enforcement of standard visa policies.

C. Border Runs (Visa Reset)

Land Crossings: Limited to 2 entries per year (new 2024 rule).

Airport Re-entry: Unlimited but scrutinized for "visa runs."

Risk: Immigration may deny entry if frequent tourist visas are detected.

4. Converting a Tourist Visa to a Long-Term Visa

A. Tourist Visa to Non-Immigrant Visa (e.g., Education, Retirement, Work)

Possible within Thailand at immigration offices (but complex).

Common Conversions:

Non-Immigrant ED (Education): Requires enrollment in a Thai school.

Non-Immigrant O (Retirement): Must be 50+ with financial proof.

Non-Immigrant B (Work): Requires a job offer and work permit.

B. Elite Visa Option (5–20 Years, THB 600,000–2M)

For long-term stays without visa runs.

Benefits: Multiple entries, no work permit needed (for remote work).

5. Common Pitfalls & Immigration Risks

A. Overstaying

Fine: THB 500/day (max THB 20,000).

Blacklisting: For overstays >90 days.

B. Visa Run Crackdowns

Immigration may deny entry if suspicious of "back-to-back tourist visas."

Solution: Use proper long-term visas (ED, O, Elite).

C. Scams & Fraudulent Visa Agents

Fake extensions or illegal visa stamps can lead to deportation.

Always verify agents with Thai Immigration.

6. Strategic Considerations for Long-Term Stays

A. Alternative Visa Options

Digital Nomad Visa (Coming 2025): For remote workers.

LTR Visa (10 Years): For wealthy retirees/professionals.

B. Tax Implications

Staying 180+ days/year makes you a tax resident.

C. Future Policy Changes

Thailand is tightening tourist visa rules while promoting high-value tourism.

7. Conclusion

Thailand’s tourist visa system offers flexibility but requires careful planning for long-term stays. While 60-day visas + extensions work for short visits, frequent travelers should consider METV, Elite Visa, or conversions to avoid immigration issues.

Understanding the latest regulations, avoiding overstays, and using legal visa strategies will ensure smooth and uninterrupted stays in Thailand. For those seeking residency, transitioning to Non-Immigrant or Elite Visas is the next logical step.

[a-pale-azure-moon]

I have no actual plot ideas for you, but I would love to see a childhood friends type AU for Dimileth!

Thanks for the ask! I didn't think I had any plot ideas for this either, but then something went off in my brain and this got a bit long, so...under the cut it goes!

(Brevity is definitely not my strong point.)

I've seen this done in one of two flavors: Byleth being raised in the Kingdom for some reason, or the two of them meeting once as children and then recognizing each other during their first in-game meeting.

But consider a third option! Jeralt's band accepts a job for King Lambert. It's deemed too dangerous for Byleth (say she's about ten, which would make Dimitri about seven), so she stays behind in Fhirdiad with the innkeeper's family. They find her unnerving and she gets bored, so she sneaks into the castle and that's how she and Dimitri meet. They become secret friends while Jeralt is away, and Byleth gets particularly attached because Dimitri is her first real friend.

Meanwhile, Rhea comes to Fhirdiad for some church-related reason, and she's at the castle when Jeralt (with Byleth, who insisted on coming along in hopes of seeing Dimitri again) returns to collect his payment. Rhea offers him his old job (just like at the beginning of the game) and he reluctantly accepts and he and Byleth return with her to Garreg Mach. Byleth grows close with Rhea, Seteth and Flayn (when she gets there) and she trains to be both a teacher and a part time knight of Seiros. Rhea expresses a wish for Byleth to be her eventual successor.

Dimitri and Byleth maintain a regular correspondence until the Tragedy of Duscur. She hears about what happens to his family and for awhile, can't even get confirmation that he's alive, and her letters go unanswered. Turns out Rufus (or one of his goons) has been intercepting all of Dimitri's outside communications. Byleth eventually insists on going to Fhirdiad with or without permission. When she's refused entry to the castle, she forces her way in. (Nothing's going to keep her from her friend!)

I imagine a scenario where, once Byleth realizes Dimitri's situation at the castle, she arranges with Rhea and Jeralt to stay so Dimitri has someone else looking out for him. She and Dedue work in tandem to protect him, and she joins Dimitri when he suppresses the western rebellion (getting to meet Felix & Rodrigue in the process). I imagine Cornelia would probably try to scheme of some way to dispose of Byleth, possibly even figuring out what she is, but Byleth also gathers intel about her and starts helping Dimitri put the whole Duscur conspiracy together.

By the time Dimitri is sent the Officer's Academy, he and Byleth are AN ITEM, with Dedue's full approval (and a begrudging approval from Felix, since he saw her skills during the rebellion as well as the stabilizing presence she has on 'the boar;' Rodrigue is fully supportive). She isn't allowed to teach the Blue Lions for this reason, though she holds seminars that they're allowed to join, so she gets to befriend them all. She and Dimitri at least try to be subtle about their romance, but everyone pretty much knows they'll be getting married after the school year. Jeralt's not terribly enthused about it. Rhea's mostly on board, though she still wants Byleth to be her successor.

Wait...wait...I got it! Byleth teaches the Black Eagles and Edelgard tries to convince her to join her side, and Byleth plays along with it so she can gather more intel about Duscur! She gets wise to Edelgard's plans and the war gets stopped before it even begins!

[certifiedbitch777]

The Concept of Intention

Entry Date: 2/12/2024 2:52pm

Today is Monday, and I'm supposed to be working right now, but everything in my body was fighting me from doing so. I did what I thought was best and called out, and god, am I glad.

I hate my job. I hate corporate culture, but I'm stuck here since this is the only thing that allows me to pay my bills. I would love to just write for a living. I don't care if it's to be an author, creative writer for a magazine, songwriter, or poet - I want any and all of it. It brings me peace.

These past days of trying to break bad habits and being consistent have made me deeply introspect. All I've been pondering is my purpose and what I want my life to look like, and I just end up back in the same spot. 

I want the freedom to express myself. I want the ability to carve out my own daily schedule and to follow the beat of my own drum. I want to be authentic. I want to be happy.

I just want to be happy.

In the world that we currently live in, it almost seems as if those in power are doing their best to prevent this from happening, but it's all I crave. I do my best to find joy in the little things, but it's just not in my nature to settle for crumbs when I know I can and deserve much more.

Over the past 5 years, what I wanted to do and be in life has changed dramatically. I honestly feel like I choose and hyper-focus on a vocation every 2 to 3 months. If I'm being honest, in each sprint, whichever career path I chose was never due to my genuine interest in them. It was all due to social, family, and financial expectations and pressure. 

My interest in all things linked to healthcare and technology was due to my family saying that it would be a reliable source of income. 'There will always be jobs for nurses or cybersecurity.' 'It would be a steady flow of income.' Obviously, my studying in those things lasted only a short time. My reason for indulging in it wasn't sustainable.

I also majored in Psychology for about 2 semesters in college. I actually really love the concept of psychology. The complexity of the human psyche completely fascinates. As much as I loved taking classes on it, I eventually dropped out of college due to my school requiring my broke ass to pay out of pocket because I failed 1 class :|. I was devastated, but a part of me always knew I wouldn't stick with it for long since school was never for me despite my academic success in my younger years. For background, I dropped out in 10th grade and got my GED shortly after my 18th birthday without studying :).

Between all of this exploring, I worked in various retail and warehouse jobs. Honestly, I quit those jobs at the drop of a hat because the pay would never match the stress. One thing I did enjoy was the amount of free time I had. The schedule was flexible, and I could get a lot done in a day or week since I sometimes did double shifts to have more days off. As much as the scheduling for the job was compatible with my dream life, the pay and terrible benefits nowhere near offset the latter.

Last but not least, I currently work at a top corporate company. I got in due to an apprenticeship, and they offered me a full-time offer. I will forever be grateful for that, as I was sure I would be fucked as both a high school and college dropout. They've provided me with stability I could only dream of, along with excellent benefits. However, what makes me not willing to settle for this is the lack of work-life balance I have. I work at least 6 days a week and over 12 hours most days. I have no life, happiness, or drive for anything anymore. It's as if I had to sell and exchange my soul for this life. And now I live the life of a corporate zombie with my world being filled with black and white instead of vibrant colors.

Why am I giving all this context of all my different career changes? Because I was never genuinely intentional with each path I explored. As a result, nothing worked out the way I thought it would. 

I've been applying to random jobs with mid to high salaries for over 2 years now, and I've gotten a rejection for every single one. Although that could be a result of how terrible the job market is, the way I view it, it didn't work out for a reason. It wasn't meant for me, and I only applied to them for superficial reasons, not because I was genuinely interested in them.

I want to be more intentional in everything I do in this life. Whether it's the food I eat, how I present myself, my morals and values, or even the line of work I want to pursue. I want to be the best version of me and only me. 

This is why I want to write for a living. It's been a common denominator in my life since I was as young as 5. I've always loved writing. Whether it was storytelling, music, or even something as simple as journaling, I felt aligned with what I was supposed to be doing. Even when I am blogging to absolutely nobody, I feel happy. I feel fulfilled spreading my truth no matter how ugly or beautiful.

The concept of intentional living was spoken about long before my mother was born. I thought I was doing so, but that couldn't be further from the truth. I challenge and hope that anyone who comes across this post begins the journey of self that will lead to a life of fulfillment.