#...technically I no longer have a car loan | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

gutsby · 13 days ago

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Wants and Needs

Pairing: Sugar Daddy!Joel x Reader

Summary: Bills are high; your dad’s boss wants to help. How you pay him stays between you and him—for now.

Warnings: 18+. Protected piv. Explicit power imbalance in an exchange of sex for money, so dubcon, technically. Soft dom!Joel. Sex toys. Squirting. Oral (f!receiving). Overstimulation. Daddy kink. Age gap. Praise kink.

Note: Bohanan’s is a steakhouse in San Antonio, TX.

Word count: 8.4k

You wanted a car. Joel needed to cum.

It wasn’t the arrangement a girl your age should’ve made, but what could you do? Your dad drank half of your college funds away, and your mom was long gone.

The next best thing was Mr. Miller, your father’s boss. He’d understood better than anyone what money could buy. What it might do. For him, it was pleasure. For you, it was a future—or what little remained after bills and loans and exorbitantly-priced car repairs bled you dry.

You took the job at the firm on a whim. You didn’t want to be a lawyer anymore, though your dad and Joel were. You didn’t want to be done with law school, though 3L had already long since ended, and that dreaded so-called ‘minimum competency’ test was drawing close on the horizon. In short, you couldn’t afford to pay for bar prep.

With Joel, you could.

It was true that tax law paid pretty well, but a part-time job would never really be enough when your family was treading water at all times. Your dad liked to gamble and drink, and your brothers got all of their brains from him.

You got the short end of the stick, plus the receiving end of another. Lucky for you, Joel’s felt pretty good going in.

Today you were somewhere south of Austin. Your truck wouldn’t start last week, so you’d agreed to come along on this business trip knowing full well what you planned on asking your boss as soon as you had a moment alone.

“CDP hearing at…9:45.” You checked the itinerary twice.

“Alright.” Joel nodded.

“Lunch with Javier, Ezra, and Dave at twelve.”

“Mhmm.”

“Phone call with Revenue Officer Acacius at 3:30.”

“For the…?”

“Martells.”

“Okay.”

“I finished Lucien Flores’ Form 433-F for your review and left notes—” You stopped to tap your finger on a short white pile of papers between you and Joel on the desk, “—in the margins. Still need bank statements from him.”

“Lovely.”

Joel eyed the stack at first, but his gaze strayed a little.

“You should probably plan to talk strategy with my dad before Mayor Garcia’s audit tomorrow, too. Looks like a couple non-cash contributions are being disputed now.”

For a second, your eyes flitted up to him, too. It was brief.

“Sure. When’s your daddy free?” he said.

You blinked, then scanned the schedule.

“Looks like five…or six, maybe. He’s got a consult with—”

“I wasn’t talking about your father.”

You looked back up. Joel was smirking, of course. His hand had drifted a comfortable, innocent distance past the papers and across the table, to you. The pair of you happened to be in one of the glass-paneled conference rooms nearest the hotel lobby, so he had to be discreet.

He never let his fingers stray too long on yours in public. Presently, his thumb grazed your knuckles extra slow.

Posing a question, maybe.

You didn’t have the time to be tactful now, unfortunately.

“I need $2,700.”

Joel, your boss, your daddy, whatever, had to pause at that. He didn’t move his hand immediately, but he did stare harder. Longer. He searched your face for the joke.

“$2,700?” he repeated.

“Yes sir,” you answered out of habit, wincing only a little, “My truck stopped running last week, and it’s just…a lot.”

The cost. For Joel, it wasn’t even a drop in the bucket, but in your world, it was a make-or-break, fuck-your-whole-budget-for-the-next-six-months kind of bad. Suddenly, your cheeks felt warmer than they did before, and you forced yourself to look away. Peering out across the wide and gently rolling terrain of San Antonio and trying to pretend there was something thrilling to see. You’d almost forgotten how much you hated asking this.

“I can make the deposit tonight—” Joel started.

“No,” you interrupted. You wanted to turn but couldn’t. You just shook your head and kept staring out there, “Not now, I mean…I need to earn it over time, I just…”

You stumbled over the words. It was like your lips, your tongue, and your teeth were all suffering from the same sort of embarrassment pervading the brain, and you couldn’t bring your mouth to form the sentences right.

I’m not asking for a handout. I need to earn the money.

However ‘earning’ may have been grossly misconstrued in the context, it was a labor all the same. You didn’t love it, but you didn’t hate him, either. Joel was nice, albeit old enough to be your father, and it didn’t seem that he was nearly as predatory or perverse as he could’ve been. You’d been working for him for two months now, and the idea had been your own when the cash had gotten tight.

Back in April, you’d explained to him, calmly, that you couldn’t take the bar exam unless you got some extra money quick. That you wouldn’t accept his charity, but you’d pay him back in other ways. Joel had been against it at first—you were the daughter of his best friend, after all—but eventually, his carnal needs won out over his sense, as every other man would’ve done, you guessed.

At first, you’d started slow, but that hadn’t lasted very long. You fucked him regularly now, though never had you asked for an amount of cash this big out of nowhere.

Joel blinked and put a hand on his hip, like he always did when he wasn’t sure what to say. The silver in his soft, dark locks shone more in this light. He’d lost the smirk.

“You’ve done…plenty.” Now sounding sheepish.

You tried to protest again; Joel stopped you.

“I mean it. Hey, look at me,” he said next.

You did, hesitatingly. You turned from the window, and out of instinct, folded your arms over your chest. Joel paced closer to you and then he was watching. Pausing.

Brushing your arm with his and glancing once over your shoulder to make sure no one else was around to see.

He leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to your temple.

When he pulled away, your skin was practically ablaze.

“Mr. Miller—”

“Joel,” he corrected, quiet, “And you’ve done enough. Let me cover the car just this once, okay? Sweetheart?”

You didn’t realize you were pivoting again. That your gut was doing somersaults and your heart was ready to climb up and out of your throat. Your neck was burning.

It wasn’t even anger you sensed was simmering under the skin until you turned back to him, and your eyes flashed with ire before the words were even spoken.

“I don’t need your pity, Mr. Miller. I said I want to pay.”

“It’s Joel. And I said you’ve done enough, so—”

Ire morphed to something more in a blink.

You didn’t mean to say it, but you did.

“Fine,” you huffed, suddenly exasperated, “If you’re so fucking opposed to me paying my way for this one simple thing, I’ll get another guy. Forget I asked.”

It was a low blow, for sure. Joel knew how badly you’d wanted this to stay between just you and him—and he would never dream of seeing you ‘earning your keep’ with anyone else. His expression said as much as soon as he’d heard your words; his whole face hardened at once.

But then you’d turned to leave. You didn’t care what he wanted to tell you, and if you did, you certainly weren’t brave enough to stick around to hear Joel say it then.

So you left. He had a full, busy day ahead of him anyway.

You woke up wet.

In an effort to avoid your boss, you’d run errands all day. Buried your nose in a sea of Civil Procedure notes as soon as you got a second alone, almost vomited seeing the Erie Doctrine, and went back to your hotel room to try and study there. Once you had, you napped instead.

Now your clothes stuck to your skin; the sheets around you were soaked. You peered over the big white duvet holding your body interred and saw smoke overhead.

Or steam.

Yes, definitely steam. It was drifting from the bathroom, where the door was thrown open. You shifted up to sit.

“Tess!” you yelled, “Shut the goddamn door, I’m boiling.”

As a law clerk, you weren’t afforded the luxury of a suite to yourself, so you shared it with the other new grads on work trips like these. Tess Servopoulos loved long, hot showers and never closed the fucking door. You groaned.

And, feeling depleted of all energy from your studies and the stress and the steam searing every inch of your skin, you flopped back in the bed. You kicked the covers off your legs. You’d just lifted a hand to wipe the sweat from your forehead, when an awful, fresh realization dawned.

You glanced at the clock—3:37.

“Fucking hell,” you hissed.

You were supposed to meet your dad at two to get some paperwork signed. You needed to have that filed with the court by four. He was probably engaged somewhere else by now, whether it be a client, a conference, or a couple white lines in the bathroom of a partners-only club downtown, and you wouldn’t have a hope of reaching him here. You rubbed your face and groaned again.

You’d set an alarm for 1:30—you knew you had.

Where the hell was your phone? Why was it so warm? What if he’d called? Aw fuck, he’s probably blown that thing up to hell and back by now. Maybe he was drunk. He had to be. Where was Tess? Where were your pants?

You’d made it up to your feet, clumsily, and faced a full-length mirror. Your bottoms were gone. You closed your eyes and screamed inside, remembering why they were.

“Glad you’re getting some use out of this.”

The second you heard it, your lids flew open. You turned.

And, standing in the warm yellow glow of the bathroom light—holding the culprit, your vibrator, like a prize—was Joel. Naked as the day he was born, save for one thin towel around his hips, and grinning. Moisture glistened on his chest and pooled about his feet, and his hair was smooth, tamed, and combed back neatly from his face.

He waved your silicone toy in the air, and immediately, you regretted giving him your room key the other day.

“I thought we agreed you’d wait for me—”

“What the hell are you doing here?”

Your voice was thick with sleep. Joel’s own was slow, dulcet, and kind as it always was, even when teasing. When you grit your teeth, he just set the toy aside.

“I’m sorry. Bad timing. I saw your—”

“No.” You threw up both hands at once, suddenly out of breath and fucks to give, “You know what? I don’t care. You need to go. I have to be down at the courthouse—”

In twenty minutes. You cut yourself short and hurried off to find shoes. You could wear other pants. Ask another attorney to sign the forms if you couldn’t reach your dad. Forget that his boss and yours had just caught you with the vibrator he’d bought you last month and try not to feel too humiliated knowing he knew what you’d been doing. It didn’t matter—Joel didn’t matter. You slid on a mismatched pair of slacks and set off toward the door.

Then you had to stop. Joel beat you there, quick as ever.

“Listen. Hey.”

“Will you stop?!”

You pushed at his big and wet, stupidly broad chest. You felt the small grey hairs on his pecs tickle your palms, and for a second, you thought you heard a chuckle.

“You’re gonna make me late—”

“Hey, hey,” Joel said again. Of course it sounded fatherly, “I already signed the POA for Morales, hon, you’re good.”

You’re good.

“You what?” You stared at him in disbelief. How did he even know you needed Frankie’s power of attorney signed in the first place? You figured your dad would’ve mentioned it, but still, it wasn’t really Joel’s form to sign.

“The case is mine now,” he clarified, reading that look, “Wasn’t my first pick, but it is what it is. And your dad—”

Your dad was probably lagging wildly behind on his own caseload, so he’d pushed one off on his friend. Again.

“You can’t keep picking up his slack,” you gritted out, “One of these days it’s gonna bite you both in the ass. You know he shouldn’t be forcing these jobs on you.”

“I offered.”

“You caved.”

“He’s my best friend, what do you expect me to do?”

“Not let him use you! He’s making you feel bad for him.”

“And what if I did? What if I did pity the bastard?”

You scoffed. Then winced, inwardly.

I don’t need your pity, Mr. Miller.

From the look on Joel’s face, he seemed to be remembering the same. He shook his head.

“That’s not…” he trailed off. He rubbed his jaw with his hand and started to move from the door, deflating some.

His other arm extended to you, wordlessly, and already anticipated what was sure to follow. You swatted him off, then walked to the bed. You considered sitting but didn’t. Instead, you crossed your arms like you always did and turned away, facing the window with a cool, flat affect.

By now, Joel knew better than to take that for what it seemed. He crossed the room to you, treading softly.

His voice turned gentle again, like an apology: “Honey…”

But your gaze was already fixed outside. You frowned.

“Darlin’,” Joel continued, undeterred, “Come on.”

And you didn’t need to see his face to hear the rest: ‘Look at me, please,’ with eyes all comfort and warmth.

“Don’t you have a phone call with an R.O. or something?” Briefly, you recalled Acacius and a stream of other items from the checklist you’d covered that morning, and you had to stop yourself then from straying too far. You blinked once, just as Joel was approaching from behind.

“I cancelled,” he said.

You sighed, “Mr. Miller…”

You knew he hated doing that.

“Joel,” he pressed. Adding, “Something came up.”

You wouldn’t even ask. You shouldn’t care. You felt him standing there, fanning hot breaths across the nape of your neck, and you really couldn’t have taken that worse. You visibly tensed, hands balling into fists at your sides, and—hell, he wouldn’t quit moving now, would he?—Joel bent down. He hesitated, as if gauging your reaction in time, then descended further. He kissed your shoulder.

You cracked; it never took much from him.

For all your inane, ancillary plays at feigning indifference, one movement of Joel’s mouth and your resolve was lost. You clung to words, weakly, but all the rest fell away.

“We don’t…want your charity. Me or my dad. Alright?”

“I know.”

Joel kissed your skin again, then pulled at the strap of your blouse. It fell limply away, and his lips reattached.

Exactly when he’d walked you back to the bed, you couldn’t be sure. By the third or fourth kiss, your stomach was tight, knees weak, and your eyes drawing closed; it didn’t matter to you or to him what had passed before. Your bodies found the bed and blended together.

Tangling, in a way. Tearing blindly at clothes and not saying too much apart from Joel’s soft, sweet words:

“That’s it.”

“I know.”

“Good girl.”

Good girl when he kissed you. Good girl when he stripped you bare. Good girl when his hands roamed the broad, naked expanse of your body and let your own do the same to him. Good girl when your fingers hooked the outline of the towel and tugged it away, your vision filled with a sight you’d come to like more and more each day.

“That’s my girl,” Joel murmured. He cradled your head while you gripped his base, “‘S’yours, baby. All yours.”

Yours. Mine. You weren’t sure you had the sense or self-possession to even know what that meant, especially here. Joel wasn’t a boyfriend. He wasn’t a lover, at least not in the traditional sense. He wore dark wool suits like your father and worked from dawn until dusk every day, practicing law for longer than you’d been alive. Still, the smile above you was sweet. It coaxed you gently as you slid your hand up and down his length, like he sensed this was more like a lesson for you. Learning experience.

“Remember, spit a little first,” he instructed. Then, to demonstrate this point, he brought his fingers to his mouth and wet them quickly. He slipped his touch down to yours and met your gaze while he joined you there.

He rubbed and slicked himself up and he did it with ease. You followed his lead and watched his face contort—crow’s feet pinching even tighter at the sides of his eyes as pleasure began to pool in his gut. He looked pretty. You’d never thought to tell him this, but Joel really had an unparalleled face. It was an old and beautiful thing. For this reason, you couldn’t bring yourself to tear your gaze away, maybe to wet your own fingers. Instead, you slipped your hand between your legs, where his hips had come to rest. You worked a slow, light touch against your folds; you were drenched, and it didn’t take long for your fingers to be, too. You moved them back to Joel’s cock.

“Like this?” you ventured.

The man answered with a grunt, at first. Then a grin.

“Yeah. Yeah,” Joel nodded, quiet but emphatic. Trying not to smile too big as he let your touch take over for his, “Just like that, sweet pea. Get it nice an’ wet for daddy.”

You wanted to whimper at that. Something must’ve flashed in your eyes at the intonation of the last word, and the look must’ve suffused your whole expression, because the next thing you knew, Joel was lowering his body to yours. Petting your hair, letting you rub on his shaft as fast as your soft, lithe hands could manage.

“Feel that, baby? Feel how much daddy missed you?”

You did.

Your brow pinched, and you wanted more of that. More from him: those tender, edifying words of praise being mumbled your way while your touch worked him over. Maybe you could’ve helped it, but then again, in this state, maybe you couldn’t—you whimpered for him.

Wriggling your hips against the bed to get your warmth pressed flush with his own, and squeezing him tighter:

“In me, daddy. Please.”

You angled his cock in your trembling grip to plead as much. You knew he liked being the one to push in the first time, so you didn’t move too far with that push, but you begged him with your gaze. You felt him tense a bit.

And just when you sensed he might let you have your way, he moved off. Down. Sliding his torso away from your own, to go lower on the bed, and smirking again.

“I think she needs my tongue first, doesn’t she?”

You wanted to nod. Instead, you flinched. You crawled away from his hold before it could secure itself firmly on either one of your legs, and you had to snag your bottom lip between your teeth to contain that blossoming need. It almost spilled from your mouth in a moan before Joel’s could reach your lower half. Then you scrambled to sit up

“No,” you choked out.

This wasn’t new. While you shook your head, Joel lifted a brow and stood from the bed. He reached behind him.

The night stand.

You closed your eyes.

“This isn’t…supposed to be for me.” you sighed.

In a second, Joel was back where he started, and you didn’t have to steal a glance through your lids to know what he was holding. Slotting himself gently into place.

“Don’t,” he started, sharp, “—say that. I mean it.”

You knew he meant it, but you also knew better than to accept at face value what he said, moving down on you.

This wasn’t part of the deal. Joel’s money was meant to serve his pleasure, not yours. Letting him take you any other way seemed to blur the lines between transaction and affection, and though you’d done this before, it still didn’t feel right. You couldn’t bear having his focus here.

Evidently, though, he could. He’d snatched your vibrator from the night table and lowered his torso to your legs, lips twitching the tiniest bit. ‘Open up. Let me see her.’

Joel was on his stomach, eyes glowing with intrigue.

“Let me see how much she’s missed me, baby.”

The grey matter in your brain might’ve trickled through your ears—the whole thing went to mush at his words. You pushed at his hands, then the top of his head, but clearly, your will was weak. You wanted this. Needed it.

“That’s a good girl. Let daddy have it,” Joel drawled.

You wanted to cry. Or maybe hide. His index and middle fingers prodded at your folds, pulling them apart, and for a moment, you could’ve sworn you’d stopped breathing. Joel kissed the slope of your mound with a quiet kind of reverence. The salt-and-pepper stubble on his chin brushed your clit, and your back arched reflexively. Then, remembering why you’d come to this arrangement in the first place, you felt a wave of guilt supplant that pleasure.

You clawed at his head and shook your own, weakly.

“No. W-wanna make you feel good,” you choked out.

Not me.

Not here.

Just let it—

“Fuck,” you keened through your teeth. Joel’s lips made contact with your slick, drooling cunt and, in a second, sucked your nub in between them. He flicked his tongue.

Joel groaned, then pulled away to meet your gaze.

“Feels plenty good f’me,” he assured you in a murmur. Eyes glossy, “She’s so fuckin’ sweet, honey. So pretty.”

Then, as if to punctuate his point, he slid his tongue down the whole wet mess of your slit, and he moaned. He curled the muscle and invaded your sticky, sensitive, precious warm flesh with vigor and force—maybe a little desperation—and you whined at the feeling. Your toes curled tight. It was doubtlessly a sight to see: Joel’s old and weathered head against your young and supple skin, the wiry greys of his chin rubbing your cunt like no man’s his age should’ve been. He took you gently. Forked his fingers over your folds to hold you open for him and then, over and over and over again, just licking stripes. Squelching noises only seemed to goad him on while he buried his nose and savored your taste without reserve. Your stomach clenched with that pleasure, then swelled.

“That’s my girl—so good for me,” Joel said, as though reminding you, gently, it was okay to relish the feeling.

Once more, he suckled your clit in his mouth, rubbing the tip of his tongue in a quick back-and-forth motion, and the next sensation hit without a breath of warning.

Your belly twisted again, then flushed with hot pleasure.

“My— fuck,” you cried, shuddering with a climax you didn’t know was coming. You held his head and whined.

Joel’s tongue didn’t stop. Your vision blurred. Whatever reprieve you might’ve hoped to find came in the form of his lips drawing back, momentarily, only to sponge little kisses on your still-pulsing heat. Your body jolted back.

“I c— I’m done. I’m done,” you blurted out.

Joel nodded against you. Humming through his kisses:

“I know. Keep going.”

Keep going.

So simple.

Still, you couldn’t breathe. Your sight was inundated with stars. You felt Joel’s stubble on your slit again, only this time, the pleasure was tripled. Your legs trembled, and your hands made fists in his hair. Joel kept on kissing.

And kissed again, again, and again, until your fingers in his locks pulled taut to the roots and your hips were bucking up in his face: ‘Too much, t—oh fuckfuckfuck.’

Then came a buzz. Skirting your legs in a blink, before diving to meet Joel’s mouth on your clit. You shrieked.

“I know, I know,” Joel joined, as though soothing a wound while he maneuvered the vibrator. Lifting his head and then kissing your thigh, “I know. You’re alright.”

You wanted to sob; you felt ready to burst. You trusted Joel’s judgment but had never been subjected to this sort of pleasure. What if it was more than you could take?

“I’m here.”

Joel’s words were slow to crawl off his tongue, but their intent was clear. You writhed once more, and he was kissing your skin, rubbing your thighs, and taking the toy to your clit with a warm, devoted touch. He wasn’t cruel.

He had a glint in his gaze when you met it, like he knew you wouldn’t accept this feeling alone—but he wanted you to. He wanted the indulgence to be your own and an end in itself. There was care in his touch, tender praise with every caress, and you guessed this was intentional. Joel needed you to know this was more than only his.

You felt more naked than you’d ever been: soaking the sheets with your last release, fresh arousal trickling out, Joel’s spit mixing with your nectar and sweat and pressing you down in the bed. And nudging you, gently.

“‘S’okay, baby. You’re alright. That feels nice, doesn’t i—”

“Kiss me.”

It came out faster than you could even try and stop it. You weren’t sure why you said it. The words were acerbic on your tongue—you hated ever sounding needy—but then your mind and your mouth and your worries were all silenced at once when Joel came clambering up for you.

His lips were wet and grinning as he kissed you. He held the vibrator hostage between your legs while his body pressed tight against yours. His movements slowed.

Then, as if he’d crawled in your head and read your mind:

“It’s okay to need me, baby. It’s okay to want this.”

His hips made that assurance even clearer. Joel reached down and took the vibrator again, increasing the friction between your groin and his while he pressed the buzzing toy to your clit. You whined into his mouth at the feeling.

Your eyes rolled back, and the pleasure soared. This morning, you might’ve bristled at the words he’d just spoken, but here, in this bed, it felt okay. It felt safe.

Joel felt safe, for once, and you weren’t sure how to keep that idea from sticking—how to reconcile the notion of swapping sex for cash with a man for months on end, and then this. Your stomach churned. He held your face and kissed you more, and your clit throbbed and ached. Before you could ponder your thoughts a second longer, a white-hot pleasure washed over, and you came again.

“Good girl,” Joel cooed.

Throbbing even more this time.

“That’s a sweet girl. That’s my baby.”

All but aching with desire. Feeling it double.

“Cum for daddy, that’s it. Keep going.”

Feeling it trickle down your legs.

“She’s feelin’ real good, huh?”

You could barely breathe.

You whined. Felt something splinter between your thighs and then more of it, more of you and that slick, oozing pleasure and Joel’s groans, overjoyed—‘Making a fucking mess’a daddy, isn’t she? She feel that good?’—and by ‘that good’ you guessed it was more than normal.

This was more warmth than usual. Somewhere in the midst of your own mind-numbing pleasure, you’d let out a spurt, sticky and wet. It now coated the hairs on Joel’s tummy, and while his skin shone, his eyes were brighter. He flitted a look to you, gaze flaring, and slid down. Low.

Back to where he was before. Moving the buzzing pink bullet aside and letting his mouth assume its place.

Of course, you yelped.

“Joel!”

You winced, both from saying his name and feeling so raw. Joel grinned at the sound and suckled your clit.

It was drenched. You and Joel, too, were doused all over and practically gleaming under the rays of late afternoon sun then pouring through the window. For a second, you cast a look outside like you had before, but it was only to brace your body for the bliss at hand. You stared and felt a crude, carnal shockwave seize you head to toe. It traveled fast and made you release, again, or else just continue the same flow as before—and this time, into Joel’s waiting mouth. He lapped at you feverishly now.

He squeezed your legs and licked you dry. He worked in merciless circles, like his life might have depended on making you stay at this peak. All the while, you were tearing at his hair. Riding his face as your body fell apart.

That was alright. This pleasure was yours for now, but there was still time yet to make it worth his while, you reasoned in a half-intoxicated state. Your legs vibrated as you started to crawl—limp—back up in the bed and, numb with elation and a desperate need to please, you stretched your arm toward the night stand. You huffed.

You reached blindly but got it. The box. Weak fingers found the first plastic strip and tore yourself a square. Then, lifting it to Joel, you ignored the last stabs of pleasure between your legs. This was fun, but still his.

“Go on,” you told him, breathless, “Fuck me.”

Joel quirked a brow. He took the condom, still panting himself. He brought the latex to his tip out of habit, then:

“Yeah? Are you sure?”

“Uh-huh.”

Your head was swimming. Somewhere entrenched in the furthest recesses of your brain you could feel it, that dizzying, self-centered pleasure. You pushed it back.

You suffocated it, and you spread your legs wide for him. You let him lay you down and tug the rubber over his cock, then nudge at your hips to situate himself in just the right way. How he liked it. He seemed to be content, and your heart swelled. In this airy, buoyant state, you felt more at ease to speak, sure that he’d understand.

“This should cover some of it, right?” you panted out.

Joel slowed.

“What?”

You sucked your bottom lip between your teeth, eager to keep going. But you steeled yourself, just barely, then.

“Sex. Now,” you said, “It’ll cover some of my car repairs.”

Instead of nodding like you’d expected, Joel only blinked. Then you opened your mouth to speak again, and his body stopped you cold. He planted a hand beside your head on the pillow and raised his hips; you felt his heat leave with it. You reached for his backside immediately, to try and pull him back into that pre-missionary position he’d held, when Joel brushed you off. His face was hard.

“Money?” he quipped.

“Yeah,” you started, then remembered how you talked outside of the bedroom, when he seemed more serious, “We’ll go again. All week. You can even put it in my—”

Joel balked, like you’d just slapped him across the face.

“No,” he said, sharp.

“No,” he repeated, more to himself this second time. Almost as though he couldn’t believe what you were suggesting—and making him guilty by association.

Joel clenched your pillow like a vice and shook his head.

“You’re not getting paid for this,” he finished, and when your gaze penetrated his, confused, he squeezed harder.

“Thought you wanted it.” Joel added, almost shamefully.

“I do! I do…I just—” you sputtered.

“What? Think you need to offer up a week and a half of fucking to make it worth my time? Is that what this is?”

Well, in a way, maybe.

You weren’t sure what to say. Former dizzying bliss was dwindling fast, and now you were facing him cold. Sober.

Increasingly irritated, again.

“I just need money, Mr. Miller—”

“It’s Joel, hon,” he bit back, for the fourth time that day. His eyes flared with something more, maybe annoyance, but then he was tempering it just as fast. He ran a hand through his damp grey hair and shook his head, pausing, “It’s Joel. I know you need the money, baby, but it’s—”

“It’s what we agreed,” you protested, “What I need—”

“Well it’s not what I want!” Joel barked.

Anger surged again, and this time, evidently, the feeling was harder to keep at bay. He was scarcely able to rein in his features, settling on a grave little scowl instead of a frown, and he sucked in shorter, shallower breaths through his nose. You felt him let your pillow go.

“Forget it—the cash.” Joel grit his teeth even tighter, “Forget these payments and the goddamn allowance I’ve had you on. I can’t do that anymore. It’s not right.”

Your heart sank.

You didn’t know what to say.

Luckily, Joel’s voice resumed on its own.

“Whatever you want, whatever you need, sweetheart…”

He stopped. Silence followed, then stretched on for one full, terrible minute. In that interim, you could see his chest rise and fall fast. He was trying to slow it down.

“Whatever you need paid off, I’ll do it. Anything. You don’t have to touch me again. It was wrong of me to allow that in the first place,” he rejoined, tone cooling.

Sounding guilty, too.

Above you, Joel didn’t seem keen on holding your gaze, so he fixed his stare someplace on the headboard instead. Then he moved off your body, slowly.

In spite of the distance he attempted to give, he was still crowding your space. Looming large and bare and weary as you’d ever seen him, knees shuffling back awkwardly through a mass of cotton sheets while his eyes shifted low. Away. The rest of him filled your lungs with a heady cologne scent and your stomach with a thousand tiny blades—you were hurt that he wasn’t sticking to his end of the bargain. You were mad that he was trying to claim the moral high ground now, after everything you’d done.

Mostly, though, you were just upset that you felt like you were losing someone close. That Joel Miller was more of a confidant, friend, and father figure than your own dad had ever been, and that got all fucked up over money. Your lips pursed, and something stung behind your eyes when you reached for him again. Your throat stung, too.

“The reason I agreed to do this,” Joel went on, and the ache in your head worsened when he winced from your touch, “was ‘cause I didn’t want you getting ‘help’ from anyone else. I was selfish. And that’s not an excuse…”

He started to move off, hand dropping from yours.

“…but it’s the truth. I’m sorry.”

At length, Joel found your gaze, and the eyes said it all over again: I’m sorry. You might’ve believed them, too.

But you were you, and you couldn’t help but press:

“Why?”

Your voice was small. Joel was trying to stand from the bed, but you grabbed at his hand again and made him meet your eyes. Confusion was painted across his own.

Kneeling in front of him, curious, you tried to clarify.

“Why’d it have to be you?”

Judging from Joel’s expression as soon as you did, you got the sense that this question made him feel dumb. He frowned, but he held your stare and answered anyway.

“Because I wanted you first,” he replied, “Before all this.”

Your stomach twisted. He did?

You didn’t need to ask twice to know what that meant. What he’d said, in words and with a look, was enough. Still, it was always in you to know more, to be sure, so you crept a little closer. You let your hands roam up and—

“No,” Joel said, as soon as your fingers reached his side.

You’d just wanted to feel him, maybe prod him further on what he’d just said through acts that didn’t require verbal articulation, but he refused. He backed up in bed.

“This isn’t about—” he started, low.

“Sex. I know,” you answered for him. Then your touch grazed his thigh, and you were dying to have more. To be told in a way you both knew and understood. To touch, “You want me to believe you really…liked me before?”

“More than you know.”

There was that blunt, open pragmatism in the Joel you’d always known. Perhaps guided by natural inclinations, or else your hand on his leg, drawing higher. Moving closer.

Showing skepticism through your eyes and the hint of a playful, disbelieving smile starting to curl at your lips.

“When you met me?” you teased.

You’d known of Joel for years, and had met him a couple times as a teenager at various firm holiday functions. You probably hadn’t exchanged more than ten words altogether before starting law school a few years back.

“Hell no,” Joel answered, fast, “When you started work.”

His gaze was timid again. It was fixed on his thigh where you’d started to slide your index up the warm, muscled expanse of his skin, and though you could tell he was more than hesitant, you wanted to know. Wanted to feel.

It wasn’t so easy convincing a man you’d been working for—and fucking, largely without feeling—to pay bills that you wanted him here and now. But you needed to try.

That maybe, somewhere along the way, you’d come to want him, too. That cash wasn’t the only thing at stake.

You crawled between his legs, then straddled his hips.

Your lips smiling still as you did: “How much?”

Joel blinked back. Dazed.

“What do you m—”

“How much did you like me? When did it start?”

Joel sighed when your heat rubbed his. He tried grabbing ahold of your hips, when you glanced down and saw he’d already discarded the last condom. You couldn’t have that if you wanted to continue this talk.

You reached back and grabbed another.

“Darlin’,” Joel said, strained, “We shouldn’t…”

“Says who?”

You’d already worked the rubber halfway down his length when his heavy-lidded gaze locked with yours. You saw lust there, mixed with worry. Curiosity. You kept going.

“Says your dad, if he ever finds out what I’ve done to his little girl,” Joel replied, closing his eyes at the feeling.

You had the latex worked down to the base of him when you smiled. Felt him seize your hips, lids fluttering open to find you in their soft, glossy stare, and you felt better. Like clockwork, you went together and joined, at last. You felt Joel squeeze your backside and groan when you first sank down to take him whole. You shuddered, too.

But you tried to steady your voice as you spoke.

“Semantics, Miller,” you told him, only faltering a little, “Things you are ‘doing’ to his little girl. Not just ‘done.’”

There, you had a point. Surely your father would have had some choice words for his business partner and best friend if he knew how far Joel’s cock was currently stuffed inside your tight, wet cunt. It might even piss him off, if he weren’t too drunk to receive the news himself.

Joel blinked hard, signaling that he knew this too, and presently watched your body swallow all eight inches at once, after you’d raised yourself up to just the tip and sank back. Your ass fell to his groin with an obscene sort of squelch, and your walls involuntarily clenched. You both let out sounds of pleasure, and held on tighter.

Your hands on his chest for stability, while one of his own held your hip and the other fumbled around for your clit, gliding through the sheen of your arousal on his front. You rocked your hips and felt how much it really was—how you’d drenched his whole abdomen with your last release. You smiled at this and stared, pleased with the pretty, sticky display you’d laid bare all over Joel’s belly.

When Joel wasn’t watching you ride, he stared there too.

“Not so ‘little’ anymore,” he mused quietly. Then he looked up to find your eyes, seeing them as glazed as his, “And I ‘like’ you, hon. Present tense. Not just…‘liked.’”

Alright.

“How much?”

You wanted to say it with some confidence. Nonchalance. Then Joel’s cock nicked a particularly sensitive ridge inside your walls, and that thought was gone as quick as it had come. You gripped the flesh of his upper chest and rolled your hips harder. Let out your breaths in little fractured whimpers while you rode him more. Another sweet feeling twisted low in your gut.

With just a glimpse of that, Joel moved his hand from your heat up past your hips and waist, to squeeze one of your breasts. His fingers were wet. You could feel them, equal parts warmth and wanton yearning as the pads pinched your nipple and gave it a firm tug. He grunted.

Clearly, there was more to it than just the touching and feeling for him—Joel’s eyes drank in the sight of your skin as it glistened with the arousal he’d just smeared. He thumbed at the wet, stiff peak and swallowed. And, just as you were about to adjust the rhythm of your hips bouncing on him, his free hand joined the first and pulled you down. You cried feeling his cock wedge deep; your hands fell to either side of his body when he yanked your face down to his. He fucked up into you from underneath

You squealed, soft, “Joel!”

He kissed your open mouth. Made you lay flat overtop him while he fucked your dripping hole. You whimpered.

“Joel—” Again.

“I like you so much, sweetheart,” he said, in answer to your last question, lips close, “Does she like me too?”

As if to save him the trouble of a swift reply in words, your body told him instead. You squeezed around his cock, and with another desperate cry, bit his shoulder. He hammered your poor, aching pussy with a groan of his own, and he held your body down to his. Grinning.

Kissing the side of your head while he pounded away. Stroking your hair, “Is that a ‘yes’? She like her daddy?”

Drool was bound to slip out of your mouth any second. Your lips were locked in a permanent ‘o’ while he drilled from under you on the bed. Still, you managed to nod.

“Uh-huh—oh, fuck, fuck, da-ddy. Yes, daddy.”

You squeezed your eyes shut as another blistering wave seared your insides. Joel was relentless with his thrusts now, driving himself in and out without stopping or slowing. He must’ve known you were close. He was too, judging by the sounds of his grunts and hushed tone.

“Let daddy take care of her then, baby. All of her. OK?”

His words trickled through your ear as sweet as honey. His cock was less kind, but that was okay—you liked it.

You loved him here. Taking care of you. Her. Everything.

And, in this half-coherent state of fuckdrunk pleasure, you were tempted to give in to whatever he begged.

It would be so easy. Joel cradled your face in his hand, practically beaming with pride while he fucked you over and over, and your legs were spread, walls were stretched, eyes practically rolling back, and you felt more secure than you’d been in ages. Joel could care for you.

He rubbed his thumb over your cheek and hummed.

“Daddy’s got you,” he said, voice all warm assurance.

Nudging you closer and closer to your peak—and perhaps some other form of surrender. Release.

Submission?

Joel wouldn’t be so bad for that.

He could fuck you well and leave you content. Make you forget what it meant to be strapped for cash and saddled with guilt and worry over bills every month. Joel could provide, for now. His eyes said as much; his fingers threaded through your hair and rubbed your scalp. He cupped your face, all fifty-six years in his own looking as handsome as they’d ever been. He felt good. He felt safe.

You were hot. Your legs trembled and ached.

“Is that something you’d want?” he pressed.

And, still holding Joel’s gaze with a heavy-lidded, fucked out look of your own, you surprised yourself by nodding, slowly. Your body was spent, but the curve on your lips, then his, was sincere; Joel nodded back as he grinned.

“Yeah? You mean it, sweetheart?”

He flipped you both over and got on top, never breaking apart. You wound your legs around his back and let him cup your cheeks again, and from this angle, you felt it. You wouldn’t try and fight it now; you just kissed him.

Then you came for a third time, walls clenching and squeezing and gushing again, smearing Joel’s front as he fucked you right through it. His groans were a little more subdued than yours, but in their timbre, you could hear his desperation. He emptied himself inside you, in the condom, and kept holding your face all the while.

You felt a low pulse between your legs. Then another. And another. And another. Joel’s hips began to still, his hefty greying belly bumping lightly against your skin while he drained what was left in his balls, and you swore that his bones might’ve creaked from the sheer force of those final thrusts. He seemed exhausted. Somehow, though, the man looked even better in this state—haggard and worn as he was, the face above your own was soft. Smiling, faintly, and kissing you constantly.

You couldn’t pretend you didn’t enjoy it; you were far too tired and fucked out of your mind to protest right now.

Joel trailed a path with his lips from your chin to your ear. He kissed the hinge of your jaw and sank himself deeper.

“Mr.—” But you caught yourself, shortly, “…Joel.”

He lifted his head, not apologetic in the least.

“Maybe just one more—” he started.

“No,” you finished for him, sharp.

Still smiling, but with your eyes on him in a thinly veiled threat. Joel accepted that and kept his dick where it was.

What followed was gradual but natural enough. A little awkward as you broached that uncharted territory of remaining in the other’s presence after the deed was done, but Joel didn’t seem like he wanted to leave the bed, and you had nowhere else to go until dinner with your dad at eight. There was a moment you wanted to separate your body from Joel’s, if only to slip off to the bathroom by yourself, but the man just held you closer.

“You think your old man will mind if I joined tonight?”

Here the fuck we go.

“He’ll kill you.”

You pushed hard against his hold without getting so much as an inch of give. Joel had to fight back a chuckle.

“Oh, yeah? Why?”

“Because,” you began in a huff. Wriggling with very little success in his arms, while you were pinned in missionary, “I smell like you. You smell like me. My dad’s a drunk, but he can sniff stuff like that out in a heartbeat. Too risky.”

You punctuated those words with a still more serious look, but before you could nudge at his chest again or say something more, you were forced to swallow a scream. Joel’s grip tightened even more, and he moved to stand up from the bed—with you still in his arms and impaled on his cock. He started to walk to the bathroom.

“Great. Shower’s got plenty of room for the two of us.”

“Joel!”

“Glad I don’t have to keep reminding you of my name.”

His voice was smug. Your gaze was hard. Joel was still hard himself, amazingly, and you almost groaned when you felt the head of his cock bump somewhere soft and sensitive inside. He toted you into the big, bright room.

“If not tonight, how ‘bout tomorrow? Just you and me.”

He would never stop this shit. He reached for the faucet.

“Still too dangerous. You know that,” you chided. Your resolve only wavered a little when you felt the hot water start to pelt at your back. Joel closed the glass door, “Besides…I need to focus on figuring my shit out right now. Work and bills and getting myself a rental car soon.”

Joel paused. He turned, still holding you.

Then, just as swiftly as he’d stepped inside, he carried you right back out of the shower. You whined in protest.

He took you over to the bed and set you down. He left to find his wallet and keys. You might’ve been tempted to voice your displeasure in some other way—namely, by marching back to the bathroom, locking the door, and bathing alone—but before you could speak a word, Joel was back. He looked down at you and held out his fist.

“What’s—”

“Your dad and me’ll be up to our eyeballs in bullshit working the Garcia audit tomorrow—and I know you don’t want him seeing us leave together anywhere—so we can meet at Bohanan’s at six. How does that sound?”

You blinked.

“I don’t…have a car.”

Joel opened his hand. Keys dropped out.

In a single glance, you could see they weren’t his.

Joel drove a garish Super Duty F-450, not an Audi. The cogs were quick to turn in your head, but clearly not fast enough, because Joel was closing your fingers over the keys before you could breathe so much as a syllable to him. When you did, it came out more like a stutter. Palpably mad but far too rattled to get much out:

“Joel, I-I can’t—”

“I’ve been meaning to buy one anyw—”

“You’re insane,” you started to push the keys back, and for some reason, your heart was thudding extra hard as you did. You went on, unblinking, “You don’t…need to.”

“I want to.”

Joel’s hands were warm when he pressed both of his palms to secure yours between them. He could probably feel the way it shook a little, but he didn’t seem to care. His gaze was too busy trying to find, and hold, your own while you swallowed and stared and racked your numb brain for any words of defiance. At length, nothing came.

All you could do was meet that look. In the soft brown irises above, you could see it all—the need to comfort, and care, and provide where he could, offer better than the hand you’d been dealt and maybe, interspersed with those feelings somewhere, a simpler need in him to give.

For once, you wanted to believe it.

Fun fact: This fic was inspired by true events‼️💯 My life 😫🤪😤😈 Like reader, my truck is also busted as SHIT and needs $2,700 in repairs!!!! Unlike reader, I will not be sucking and fucking Joel Miller to recoup my losses (not asking for donations, just wanted to give y’all a giggle at my misfortune LOL)

#ENOUGH BULLSHITTING WE NEED MORE GLUCOSE GUARDIAN JOEL ON THE TL NEOWWWWW #🫵🏼😐#i’m begging y’all to write more for this very particular and off-putting dynamic bc i love it dearly #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller imagine #joel miller one shot #joel miller tlou #the last of us fic

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chussyracing · 14 days ago

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What has been happening in the world of motorsports?

I probably forgot a lot of stuff since I took too much time to post it, but the roundup is under the cut. All mistakes are my own!

Drivers and teams

All teams will have a shared launch event in London for next year, all drivers are confirmed to take part in it and there should be famous names like Madonna and Justin Bieber (who is funnily enough blacklisted from Ferrari after repainting his against their rules hehe) also Max already stated he would rather be sick that week than be included

Update there is slight backleash from fans because it sold out very quickly and then tickets already get resold for much higher price

Also Ferrari already announced their own launch event in Maranello and all Italian fans (or fans physically in Italy) that buy tickets to their museums can be entered into the giveaway for tickets to get there

In 2025 VCARB should be named Racing Bulls

They should also be using some parts from RB20 (I think suspension?) on for Las Vegas which should speed them up

Dan Fallowes left Aston Martin’s position of technical director after Brazil

Also Aston Martin scored a new partnership with Puma for 2025

According to FIA’s newest controls Red Bull didn’t use the front bib to alter the ride height between quali and races so there was no cheating from their side

Antonio Fuoco will do a junior FP1 session for Ferrari in Abu Dhabi in Carlos’ car after Ollie can no longer be considered as junior (he drove 3 races and the rules specifically state no more than two to be considered junior)

Nico, Este and Carlos has been cleared from their teams to do Abu Dhabi post season tests for their new teams

The same cannot be said about Lewis but the date when he will go to Maranello for the first time has been set already, as have been the details of him driving f1-75 since only old spec is allowed outside of texting and filming days

To nobody’s surprised Alpine will use Mercedes PUs from 2026 onwards (it should be a 5-year deal as of now and since it ramps up the value of the team I expect them to start looking for a buyer after 2026)

Inaki Rueda (yes, THE race strat head from Ferrari that we made petitions against) joined Audi under Binotto (he replaces Zehnder who will move into a different position in the team)

Red Bull accused certain teams that acquired their engineers and mechanics over the years from cheating with tyres by inserting a small amount of water in them to help cool them down and Pirelli responded that they found no evidence for this so far (also red bull thinks so because they were the ones who tried to find a way to cheat with this but weren’t successful SO FAR)

James Vowles mentioned how after all the heavy crashes, with only 3 races to go and a small budget, it will be difficult to bring parts to Las Vegas which caused a few ill-minded articles about no Williams in Vegas BUT the truth is they might bring in old specs and with no spare parts but they will be there

Merc is preparing a special goodbye livery for Lewis for Abu Dhabi (and you can be a part of it if you sign up on their website and get chosen)

Audi (or Stake because it will be funnier what I say next) is selling a stake in the team to Qatar’s sovereign wealth fund

Recent interviews with Toto (a motorsport podcast and the new motorsport book) show him as a pretty big loser because he spoke about Lewis mentioning that Sainz Sr told him about the move in Abu Dhabi 2023 and he texted Fred who left him on read and he also said that Lewis saved him some trouble hinting that they would need to get rid of him because of… *checks notes* lack of cognitive sharpness since everyone has shelf life??

Williams will add more yellow color to their Vegas livery for Keeper sponsorship

Silly season

Sauber confirm both Valtteri and Guanyu are out of the team at the end of the season and their 2025 driver line up is Nico and Gabriel Bortoleto (who untied the relationship with McLaren where he was on loan)

There are growing speculations (almost confirmed tbh) that Val could become Mercedes’ reserve driver

There are also MANY speculations about Franco: Horner visited Williams’ motorhome and they rumoredly offered to buy him for 10m and Williams said no unless they come up with a bigger check (Briatore is also looking at the possibilities of hiring him which would put Jack Doohan aside after he signed the deal with them for next year)

There are rumors Checo could get replaced next year, there are ones he will keep the seat and that he will bring more sponsorship money (choose your fighter)

What happened in the sport recently

Toto Wolff was missing from Brazilian GP

To celebrate Senna, Brazil had special pole award with Brazilian colors, special top 3 caps for the podium in yellow and green and with “Senna” at the back and Lewis drove Senna’s McLaren as the honorary citizen of Brazil

McLaren said the WDC was never their priority, and they always went for the constructor’s title after Brazil where they made Oscar let Lando in front twice in the same weekend (el oh el)

Little hats off to Fernando (it’s not really news but he deserves it), his back pain was so bad in Brazil he couldn’t even get out of the car afterwards, yet he decided to finish the race for the mechanics that worked to get the car repaired for the race after he crashed it in qualifying the same day

Women in motorsport and juniors

Alex Powell became Italian F4 rookie champ for 2024 I thought that is very neat

Rafaela Ferreira becomes another confirmed member of F1 Academy’s 2025 line up and will be driving for VCARB (she is the first female race winner of the Brazilian F4 Championship)

The 2024 F1 Academy champ (so most likely Abbi Pulling) will get a fully funded GB3 seat with Rodin for 2025 and 20 paid days of testing in the car before the season

Callum Voisin will stay with Rodin in F3 for 2025

There is rumor (which I wouldn’t believe so far) that Briatore is interested in Franco Colapinto and would like to set Jack Doohan’s contract aside for him

Dino will be racing for DAMS in F2 for the rest of the season to replace Juan Manuel Correa (yes but also nooooo)

With Jack confirmed for Alpine 2025 (for now at least) there are speculations of Paul Aron possibly becoming their reserve driver since the current TP of Alpine was also his boss in Hitech

Max Esterson will finish the season for Trident in F2

There is a RUMOUR for now that Roman Staněk could have a deal with Invicta in F2 for a full season seat next year (please and thank you)

Thomas Bearman (yes, Ollie’s baby brother) became first confirmed British F4 driver for 2025 (he will be racing with Hitech since he already had two races with them)

Chloe Grant is leaving the world of single seaters but wants to explore other racing options

Hailie Deegan will be driving Indy NXT in 2025 with HMD Motorsports

Richard Verschoor is switching to MP Motorsport after leaving Trident, meaning Denis Hauger is out of F2 for the rest of the season (he will move to Andretti in Indy though)

Nikola Tsolov (my arch nemesis) became the newest part of Red Bull junior academy

Roman Bilinski will be Rodin’s F3 driver in 2025

Nikola Tsolov will be Campos’ F3 driver in 2025

Nicola Lacorte will be DAMS’ F3 driver in 2025

Fia, rules and future of the sport

Honda got fined 600k for engine budget cap breach (incorrectly filled out documentation) and Alpine got fined 400k for engine budget cap breach (late submission of the documentation)

GPDA made an Instagram account and put up a joint statement/an open letter to Bey Sulayem mentioning swearing, jewelry and underwear rules and urging the president to change his tone when talking to and about the drivers and be transparent about the use of money they get from all the financial fines as it is unclear as it stands now

FUNNILY enough, Sulayem who is biggest voice calling for lack of politic gestures and speech from all sport figures in F1 congratulated Trump publicly on his elections campaign

Domenicali said to be ready for the news very soon which should be linked to the rotating calendar for European races he couldn’t stop talking about for a year now (after Monaco extended its contract it could be Spa and Zandvoort and also potentially Monza and Imola)

Oh, also he said that Argentina is among the candidates who would like to get added to the calendar

Race director Niels Wittich was fired from his role unexpectedly (according to him, he only got told on Tuesday morning) and he will be replaced by Rui Maques from Las Vegas on

Paolo Basarri also left the role of FIA compliance officer (and yes, he was most likely fired as well)

Monaco will stay on the calendar at least till 2031 after extending their deal, the date will be moved back to the start of June starting from 2026 (happy pride to all the non-straight non-cis chirlies out there we stay winning) so it will no longer clash with Indy 500 and the new deal includes higher hosting fees (of course)

Liberty Media CEO Greg Maffei leaves his position in the lead at the end of the year but will continue as an adviser (they are apparently restructuring so let’s see how it goes)

Drivers will have cooling sets for extreme heat races from 2025 onwards (when FIA proclaims the race as extremely warm one that is)

The rookie sprint got a green light from all teams but they will need some preparations to make that happen so they will aim to have it ready for 2026

Also there should be gender neutral wording in the FIA rules starting with 2026 onwards

Ohh and! If a car cannot start the race, the grid should now be brought closer

Other series

Arthur Leclerc’s team Scuderia Baldini won the Italian GT championship

Kinda not my playing ground but: Norman Nato will be driving for WEC Jota Sport team (they partnered with Cadillac tho, also he will be teammates with Jenson Button)

Joseph Loake drove Aston at Silverstone as his prize for winning Autosport Young Driver of the Year (and apparently his time was pretty good?)

Jak Crawford became Andretti’s reserve driver for Formula E

REMINDER MACAU GP THIS WEEKEND (before I forget :))

Another thing I am not really following but I just learned Nascar works in playoff system until 4 people stay (Joey Logano won for those who wanna know!! Also, the guy with most points ended up p5 WHAT)

Logan Sargeant did a seat fit with Meyer Shank Racing Honda and will be testing with them next week as well

Seb is in talks with WEC next year with Porsche (probably for Le Mans only tho)

Robert Schwartzman will leave Ferrari WEC at the end of the season and go to Prema in IndyCar, meaning we will also need a new reserve driver with Ollie in F1 and Arthur with his own race weekends

Toyota Gazoo Racing won WEC constructor title, Jota won the hypercar title

Enzo Fittipaldi will be doing IndyCar testing for McLaren (so random)

Non-sport news

With Lewis leaving, Mercedes put up a vacant position for Marketing Operations Driver Clothing Executive

Ferrari partnered with IBM on a multi-year basis starting in 2025

Oh, they also partnered with Chivas Regal whiskey (so I suppose this is what the leaked Charles by the piano pic is all about)

Williams also scored new deals with Zoox/Robotaxi

F1 Fantasy will feature a new mini league for Las Vegas only

Car fucker fun fact of the day: Bugatti W16 mistral set a new open roof speed record of 453.91 kmph

Las Vegas is apparently struggling to sell out the tickets for the race so there are many exclusive offers and sales (also apparently, they are giving away a lot of ticket packages to influencers)

Ferrari partnered with Gladiator movie producers so the main actor (Paul or Pedro I forgot I am sorry) went to Austin with them and on the other hand Charles and Carlos went to the premiere

Daniel and Max played padel which is something I would normally not mention on my blog even at the gunpoint but apparently a 13-year-old kiddo beat them (which makes it funnier that they did good when max was partnered with Charles that one time so I am automatically ranking him highly above most other drivers and you cannot stop me)

Carlos was at Maranello this week and the Scuderia clubs (are they still called that?) threw a little goodbye party for him with cake and a little plaque

McLaren will have a little fashion show with Abercrombie in Las Vegas

Speaking of Vegas, they partnered with Snoopy and made a special edition merch only available in shops there

Kit Kat became F1’s official partner (which is sus when they have publicly been Checo’s sponsor for years now)

Wait ok this rumor is so funny I need to add it: apparently there are rumors at Norwegian gossip websites that their princess could be dating Franco

Max was on some charity sim racing and apparently his car made fun of Lando, so people got into a lot of discourse

Ollie will be at Autosport Internation Show at NEC in January

Damon Hill is leaving Sky Sport after 13 years with the team

Yeah help, did you see Pierre has told kids in a podcast that him and Charles got asked for a threesome/polyam by some fan once????????

#f1 #e #gossip night

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sonkitty · 6 months ago

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The Sideburns Scheme Post #73

(For reference: The Sideburns Scheme)

Crowley, Good Omens 2, Episode 5, The Ball, furniture

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Sideburns Check

The sideburns are long, as expected by this point when Crowley is around Gabriel.

They are in the longest-length category, which also happens around Gabriel.

Given how things go from this point onward, my theory is that Crowley is actively drawing out his own demonic energy in this scene to start shifting the street into his supernatural zone.

The sideburns will shorten after this scene, but they will still be longer than they were during the ball invitations and let this supernatural zone take shape.

And I say, "theory," because technically I am guessing, but I am reasonably sure of this theory. A lot of factors are in play throughout Earthly Objects and the shared home loan that build into this zone existing. As a reminder, there were the 3 scenes of Crowley with his car in the street from episodes 1 and 2. They are clues about this zone.

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Brighter Red Streak Check

The more saturated red streak of hair can be found in some cuts.

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Hairstyle Changes

The top hair swoops more upward and tilts to the right. The earlier curls from preceding scenes are no longer where they were.

...

Earthly Objects

(For reference: Earthly Objects | The Ball Invitations Checklist)

This scene has many sets, along with a touch for The Sunglasses Trick I will talk about in more detail later.

The sets might be fully chained together, with the sunglasses touch in between, but I was not able to fully compute it myself, especially once Gabriel sat down on the bed again and had a pillow visibly behind him.

In any case, this scene is loaded with earthly object touches and dialogue points.

If my calculations are right, Gabriel earns himself a solo set first with the clicker of the lamp, the light on him from that lamp, and sitting on the bed.

Then Crowley earns himself a solo set with the wine bottle, the wine glass, and having a miracle touch on the lamp when he says, "Let there be light."

I have never been able to clearly confirm for myself if a smile counts as an earthly object touch, but this scene might be it. The timing and pacing of my own play here suggests Gabriel's smile is a point, or a point from an altered enough touch on the bed. The point is the first for their first interaction set. Crowley's "Hello, Gabriel," does feel like an ominous closing two points of this first interaction set.

More happens with names, questions, and touches.

They lead up to Crowley removing his sunglasses. I will cover that particular touch further down.

Then there are still more names, touches, and questions.

It's probably worth checking in with the ball invitations checklist, given the context of the scene within the Sideburns Scheme and after the invitations were done.

Crowley has plenty of earthly object touches, so there isn't one in particular I will be looking for. He's touching the wine glass and the wine bottle. The door frame is probably a threshold he is allowed to touch because of his earthly object touches.

He has a touch on the rug with a visible step forward when he pulls out the chair. He sits on the chair. He touches the chair when he sits further back and tells Gabriel to jump out the window. He touches the chair again when asking Gabriel what he is.

He touches yet another chair when asking Gabriel questions in trying to help Gabriel remember things.

For a self-skin-contact touch, it is very very difficult to find, in my experience anyway.

Not only that, it is actually part of the touch on The Sunglasses Trick, which is part of a Threshold Trick. Crowley crosses his index and middle fingers when removing the sunglasses.

Due to the shadows, if he's actually avoiding having them touch, then his ring finger shifted upward enough to be touched by the tip of the index finger.

For a self-clothing touch, Crowley is touching his left hand on his left leg before crossing his legs.

For a self-mouth touch, Crowley clicks his tongue after he says, "No, Jim. Oh," and before he says, "Well, Mr. Fell doesn't remember it either."

For pockets, there are plenty, but if there is one that stands out more than the others, it's one with Crowley having his left arm akimbo. Through that, he makes a pocket with his left arm, left hand, and jacket torso while touching the chair and asking Gabriel, "Well, if you're really not him, what are you?"

Crowley makes yet another pocket with his right arm later in the scene when he's lowering himself and touching the other chair.

There are two crosses. One cross is the one Crowley does for his sunglasses touch. Another cross happens where Crowley is shown to actively cross his legs while sitting. It happens when he tells Gabriel to jump out the window.

Crowley's shadow can be found most easily when he pulls out the first chair.

Crowley's reflection can be found when he stands up from the first chair. There is a nearby mirror on the wall. It doesn't look like he checks his sideburn length, but it's certainly feasible if he just makes sure his eyes glance that way.

For reflections in Crowley's sunglasses, the curtains on the windows are the main reflection to be found after Crowley enters the room and before he sits down.

The scene starts with Gabriel earning a solo set by not talking.

Crowley's starting solo set does include talking with, "Let there be light."

Otherwise, much of the scene is them talking to each other.

They look at each other with Crowley even going so far as to remove his sunglasses. Aziraphale isn't with them to see the touch either.

There is something going on with sides views and these two as well.

Instead of going by Crowley being on Aziraphale's left, things seem to be based on who is on which side of the camera's view.

In the earlier part of the scene, Gabriel is the one on the camera's right. Crowley is the one the camera's left.

Once Gabriel returns to sitting on the bed, they have switched. Crowley ends up on the camera's right, and Gabriel ends up on the camera's left.

In looking to see if Gabriel ever has an illusionary touch over Crowley, there does look to be his right hand over Crowley's right thigh when Gabriel stands up from the bed.

I assume Crowley is doing things beyond what I'll be able to fully grasp, but he visibly crossed two thresholds to enter this room. He touched the inside part of a door frame. He eventually positions himself lower than Gabriel when encouraging Gabriel to try and remember anyway while Crowley is touching a chair. Crowley crosses past a threshold as he is about to leave, ensures a touch with his left thumb joint on his jacket, and then he re-enters the room to offer hot chocolate.

By having Gabriel ready himself to jump out the window, that ensures humans are shown on screen sometime during this scene. The outside does not look like a supernatural zone is forming yet due to the number of humans visible. While the fog isn't setting in yet either, that fog might be from the demons who will be arriving soon. Crowley's car is never on camera.

...

Now it's time to talk about the touch on The Sunglasses Trick.

Here is a GIF:

This touch is the third of the three Singles that become a Triple.

For the Overhead Lights, it looks like the Belt Head gets one early when Crowley is between door thresholds, and this Overhead Light is actually to Crowley's right. Since his fingers are crossed during the touch, I suspect that's why he has one of these lights to his right. Then for the actual head, the Overhead Light is the lion lamp where ensured that it would be on with his own power from the miracle touch with, "Let there be light." The lamp light is above Crowley's left ear and to his left once he sits down.

Catching that Crowley crosses his middle finger under his index finger is really difficult. I only noticed it because way back when trying to see if I could figure out pockets with the Threshold Tricks, I found that they did so. Because of this crossing, the middle finger is the finger that has the actual touch to the sunglasses end piece with the thumb.

This move with this cross here suggests that the crosses with the touches are supposed to have more power to them.

There were three crosses for the miracle to hide Gabriel. One cross was Nina and Maggie crossing paths with their signs before Crowley recalled the lightning back to him. Another cross was Crowley crossing his actual hands when he said, "humanity" before the miracle. The third cross was after the miracle with the Tied Hands when Crowley stood up on the chair. The scene following the one with the miracle showed the alarms went off in Heaven.

Crowley isn't aiming to set alarms off this time, but he is aiming to do something quite substantial with his power because this scene is initiating the supernatural shift. The other two hisses were with Crowley's right hand. This one is with Crowley's left hand. A lot of things in this story hint to Crowley's left being important and the stronger side of his own power, such as the Overhead Lights he receives. He used his left hand for a sunglasses touch before the miracle to hide Gabriel.

Another surprising find in this touch is that Crowley's left thumb tip is hidden by the index finger in the movement.

So, this touch here has a hiss, a cross, the left hand in use, and a hidden thumb tip where sunglasses are still switched to Door Mode, when Crowley's drawing out his demonic energy to manage his supernatural zone.

Interestingly, the lighting favors Crowley's right for this touch. That helps emphasize his long right sideburn and snake tattoo.

The left hand does create two pockets with itself in the touch. Another pocket exists between Crowley's face, shoulder, left hand, and side of the sunglasses.

While Crowley's actual left thumb tip is hidden, the tassel tips (thumb tips) of his Tied Hands do appear in a pocket Crowley makes with his body and the bottom of the screen when he sits down. It's in a cut with Crowley's back to the camera. He just finished saying, "oh very clearly," and is saying, "the look on your face" in the dialogue.

The sunglasses are what make each touch different. The sunglasses used here are the second set of present day sunglasses Crowley uses.

The demonic hiss Crowley makes is what they all have in common.

Each of these touches also has Crowley holding an earthly object during the touch. This time, he is holding a glass of wine in his right hand.

As an audience player who knows what to look for, I'm saying here and now, in this scene, it is time to merge these three Singles so that they can be switched to become the Triple of The Sunglasses Trick.

As for what I am looking for, it is a primary Single, a primary Double, and a primary Triple. This particular Trick has a special trait of being layered, and this switch is part of what makes that layering happen.

...

The Tied Hands are shown to have a shadow cast over Crowley's left leg before he tells Gabriel to jump out the window.

The tassels swing in a subtle way when Crowley is standing over Gabriel, after Gabriel sits down on the bed again.

There are certain points when a tie tassel, which is a thumb for the Tied Hands, brushes against the snake belt, which is the Belt Head.

When Crowley moves to stand up after touching the second chair, the Tied Hands retie. There is a tie clasp striking a lapel edge. The watch's face is visible. Crowley's left thumb CMC joint visibly brushes up against the back of his jacket as he starts to exit through the door frame. He turns around and has an extended finger to "make a point."

...

Story Commentary

Crowley basically goes into Demon Mode for this scene, and I suspect he does so on purpose for the shift of the street into his supernatural zone.

The music has a hint of foreboding when Crowley arrives. The subtitles include "drunkenly" when he first talks. There's an underlying menace in his entire demeanor from the start. He forces a light on with, "Let there be light." I already covered the numerous things happening with his touch on the sunglasses in the Earthly Objects section.

The story provides a notable view of Crowley's long right sideburn when he is seated, before, during, and shortly after that hiss. His eyes are fierce, and his voice grows increasingly fierce too.

The simple words "Did Not Care For it" are capitalized in the subtitles. They sound like a threat even though he's not threatening to do anything. He calmly tells Gabriel to jump out the window.

It all seems to settle down once he realizes Gabriel's obeying him without question.

Speaking of, Gabriel obeying him without question hints to the possible rank meaning the sideburns have when it comes to Crowley being with other angels.

As things tend to go in other fictional works, it's worth checking for any eye contact involved with the command. In other fictional works, powerful supernatural or magical beings can sometimes compel other characters through eye contact and verbal commands.

Crowley's looking away from Gabriel at the beginning of the command. Near the end of the command, Crowley is almost making eye contact again, but Gabriel himself is already starting to look to his left and follow Crowley's gaze. Their eyes probably do meet and make contact in that process.

That could be a layered realization Crowley is having when he watches Gabriel getting ready to jump. I think this layered realization is only a vague possibility.

...

In this scene, Crowley refers to the appearance swap he had in season 1 with Aziraphale. Season 2 actually already had appearance swaps involving Gabriel in episode 1. Gabriel himself was a fake Crowley leaving the private room. Then Aziraphale being the fake Crowley walking past a cardboard box hinted Gabriel was originally there with a different scene involving the cardboard box that has been removed from the story.

Gabriel, at some point, already knew about the appearance swap and has since forgotten it due to his current amnesia.

If the Metatron is reading the story in the book that is Earthly Objects or the book that is the Book of Life, and something like that probably is happening, this piece of information is going to attract his attention.

Crowley, by all appearances, is making a significant mistake by letting this information slip.

That is going to have consequences.

The thing to keep in mind is that this story lies and has certainly shown that Crowley uses deception as a strategy.

Crowley is implied to be drunk on his entrance, but he is sober enough to look at Gabriel about to jump out a window and stop him. There's also the great care Crowley put in that touch on the sunglasses with the crossed fingers.

Crossed fingers themselves are known to mean a person is lying in many contexts, by the way.

Plus, Crowley is making deliberate moves to get that supernatural zone in place.

The main way to find that it's intentional from him and not from the Metatron is all the touches he's been doing through the ball invitations, his own invitation, and this scene.

Did he let it slip on purpose? I wouldn't think so, but the actions he is taking are going to lead to getting the Metatron into the book that is the story, eventually. In the Final Fifteen, Crowley and Aziraphale will take advantage of the mistakes the Metatron makes for the Earthly Objects game.

Also, if the Metatron does have something against alcohol and if Crowley has an awareness of that factor, he is smiling just before he takes a drink that the camera cuts away from. That happens shortly before Crowley brings up the appearance swap from season 1.

Technically, he didn't say there was an appearance swap either. He only vaguely mentions he was "there" when Aziraphale and Gabriel last met.

...

When Gabriel compares himself to a house, Crowley is skeptical at first but seems to find the idea relatable when Gabriel says. "...and the house can sort of tell where the things used to be."

That part Crowley understands, so it hints to his own potential memory issues in the past. He acknowledges a similar feeling when saying he knows it hurts to remember but encourages Gabriel to do it anyway.

Instead of showing pain like the first time Crowley hissed at him, Gabriel has a realization that his memory isn't with him.

Crowley automatically thinks to ask where it is, and Gabriel is surprised to find he has an answer.

Crowley looks confused by the answers, but he keeps questioning. Gabriel answers what he can and mentions the matchbox we will see in the upcoming Muriel scene.

The part about the institutional problem sounds like a legitimate memory of Gabriel's despite so much of Gabriel being in the fly. The fly itself has not been shown to be around since Crowley remarked, "Well observed," in episode 3.

While Crowley has tapped into Gabriel's memory twice already while having long sideburns, this instance does not have Gabriel with purple eyes or another voice mixed with his own.

Crowley's remark about "Looking at where the furniture isn't" is a clue about how to approach this deceptive story.

Broadly, I initially took it to be about earthly objects. As in, the earthly objects are the furniture of Earth so look at them and where they are lacking.

After studying the story further, I then took it to mean it was more about looking at earthly objects when things were and were not touched.

More specifically after months of play, to me, this remark is a clue about Aziraphale's invisible chair in the coffee shop in episode 1. That leads to showing how much Aziraphale's back avoids the backs of chairs or a seat may lack a back altogether with him.

...

Crowley offers to make Gabriel hot chocolate. Of note in this offer is that nothing in the draft of the story we have been given has shown that Crowley knows Gabriel likes hot chocolate before this point. The first hot chocolate scene involved Aziraphale giving it to Gabriel, and we never saw Aziraphale tell Crowley about this interaction. The second hot chocolate scene was Gabriel alone in his room. Crowley had not arrived at the bookshop yet. In the scenes showing both Crowley and Gabriel during episode 3, the subject of hot chocolate was not in them.

So, somewhere along the way from something we have not seen, Crowley learned Gabriel likes hot chocolate.

...

If this scene has an intended scene to match it, or mirror it, then I think it's the scene for hiding Gabriel with the miracle because of the left hand with the sunglasses touch and the crosses involved.

...

It's not lost me on me that a cross is a very common symbol for Jesus Christ and his death through crucifixion on a cross.

...

While Crowley certainly acts like he means it about Aziraphale being his only friend, I think Crowley's friends with Muriel. I don't know the exact mechanics at work on that, but his bookend scenes with Muriel and their expert pocket use together suggests to me that they are friends. If they aren't friends, then I still think they have a deep trust in each other.

...

Muriel

(For reference: Bookend Buddies - Crowley and Muriel (Part 2))

Much of the below is based on information in the first of the two links above.

The scene I've been covering in this post is a front bookend of the last Matchbox Muriel scene. It also includes mention of an actual matchbox.

Finally, we are back to our ominous borderline evil matchbox itself with Matchbox Muriel Scene #3. Rule of Three! This scene further manages to act as a back bookend to the last touch of the Singles that became a Triple of The Sunglasses Trick. In this matchbox scene, the subtitles say "intense music" and it is intense. The matchbox is given immediate focus to introduce the scene.

The intensity settles. Muriel is giving their report to Michael and Uriel with no Saraqael around.

In this report, Muriel says Crowley's name, including calling him, "Mr. Crowley," and describes Crowley as Aziraphale's "grumpy friend." Well, Crowley was grumpy when Muriel first saw him yes, but most of the time we saw them together, he was not grumpy. In fact, he was rather friendly. Muriel is also shown to be unaware that Crowley is a demon. When they say Aziraphale's "Mr. Fell" name, Uriel gives Muriel a look that makes Muriel definitely not say Crowley's name—not even partially.

Michael is not interested in this business of being bothered about Crowley's name usage.

Aside from Aziraphale, Shax, and any character involved in the 1941 minisode, the story itself seems to have some rather strict rules on who can say Crowley's name and when. If I remember right, Muriel never says Crowley's name again.

We, the audience, were never shown anyone giving Muriel Crowley's name before that point either. In addition to that, mysterious music plays while the angels stop in confusion as they grasp at the assistant they can't quite remember. The matchbox is not easily seen during all of this time, but we know we saw it first with the intense music.

We never saw Muriel see or speak to an assistant, Gabriel going by Jim, in the scenes given. Muriel's memory and the story's memory do not match with what we have been told is happening. And some possibly evil matchbox is making that happen...maybe. That thing gives off "trying to get back to its master" evil ring vibes towards Crowley. It's creepy.

Or maybe since this story encourages word play with its silly game, the matchbox "has the hots" for Crowley.

Well, as noted in a previous post, I honestly think the matchbox is the Book of Life in disguise, whether it is especially interested in or threatening to Crowley, or not.

The back bookend to this Muriel scene is Crowley actually giving Gabriel hot chocolate.

We will be seeing plenty of Muriel for this later part of the story, starting later on in this episode when the supernatural zone is active.

...

That's it for this post. Sometimes I edit my posts, FYI.

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Main post:

The Sideburns Scheme

#crowley #david tennant #good omens 2 #good omens #good omens s2 #good omens season 2 #good omens meta #good omens analysis #good omens crowley #crowley good omens #good omens clues #good omens theory #good omens theories #good omens speculation #good omens gabriel #crowley sideburns #good omens 2 the sunglasses trick #good omens 2 muriel

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bipolar-boygirl · 9 months ago

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Not to be a Salty American (though as the great Hannah Gatsby once said, making fun of Americans is still technically punching up,but that window is closing), but I've been thinking a lot about a specific video from a Nigerian creator I follow whose platform is about showing that africa as a whole isn't poor and a lot of the things the west sees as signifiers of poverty are culturally preferred methods and items. Her videos are very lighthearted and funny normally, but I saw one recently about how Africans (her words) don't pay for things with credit, and that we (Americans and I'm assuming the west in general) can't live without credit, our whole system is based on credit. And she's right, but it was treated as some sort of Gotcha moment, and not the horrifying mechanic of capitalism that it is

I was lying in bed this morning after having a nightmare that I lost a part of my arm and couldn't afford the surgery, the whole dream was me trying to find ways to make the surgery cheaper, to find loopholes in my insurance, stressing about missing work, and it ended with me sobbing because I finally had enough money for the surgery but it would wipe out every cent I had, and I would be left with nothing while recovering and unable to work. This was something my subconscious mind conjured because I'm dealing with a much less life threatening equivalent of needing to get my wisdom teeth removed and not being able to afford it (though the longer I go without it the more likely I am to get an infection and if that gets into my blood or my brain I'm fucked, I'm catastrophizing here, but it's a very real fear I'm dealing with).

My options for getting my wisdom teeth removed are: to continue to try to save up the money regularly, which is a very slow going process and at my current rate of saving I could break even on the surgery in about 4 months, but much like my dream it would take every dollar I have, so that's not actually true, is it? It would take me much longer to save up enough to not go broke, so realistically at my current rate I'm still probably over a year away.

Or: sign up for something like care credit, which is basically a loan specifically for medical costs. It's even interest free! Unless of course you're unable to pay back the full loan in the agreed upon time frame and then you owe a predatory interest rate on the entire amount they loaned you, regardless of how much you have left to pay off. If I had a better credit score, I might be able to put it at least partially on a credit card which would have an interest rate from the start but a lower one. But I don't have a credit card because I was forced into a position where I HAD to get a car with a car note and due to my non-existent credit score at the time I had to settle with a 20-something % interest rate and now have a $450 car note a month for like 6 years. Most starter credit cards require a cash deposit and between all my bills (aside from rent, my car note is the most expensive which is why I brought it up) and trying to save up the old fashioned way I just really don't have the money to spare to get a credit card. I could probably get one without a cash deposit, but then we run into the issue of the predatory interest rates again

Or: I could set up a gofundme, which is a whole other can of worms and with everything else happening in the world, with all of the fleeing families, and the abuse victims, and people with actual life threatening medical needs on there, my silly little wisdom teeth don't seem all that important.

So yeah, Americans can't live without credit, but it's not something we chose. It's just another tool capitalism uses to drain every last penny they can from people after inventing credit scores (didn't exist til the 80's) and making everything so fucking expensive you can't even afford it with insurance (yeah that amount I'm saving towards? That's my cost WITH insurance), so you have no choice BUT to pay for things on credit

I know it's fun to make fun of Americans guys, I used to do it all the time myself. But, just, we aren't doing so hot.

#it speaks #just really needed to get that off my chest ig

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geekgirlsmanifesto · 2 years ago

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Typically I leave tumblr for my interests and try as hard as I can to keep my life out of it but I need a place to just get some things off my chest that is unlikely to be stumbled upon by some well-meaning person who knows the other parties involved in this rant.

Maybe I shouldn't call it a rant because I'm not angry. If anything I'm just exhausted. It's partly my own fault because I'm seemingly incapable of handling money like an adult even though I am far into my adulthood. But there are a lot of other things that are contributing to things right now.

I decided years ago to stay with my grandma and my aunt and let the release the rest of the family from their unique needs emotionally. My brother who is older than I am freely raised his family and ended up the IT Manager at a major teaching hospital.

I ended up working at Target.

Technically I was working in human resources until a single mistake cost me my job and the only thing I could find at the time was Target. At the same time my grandmother's ability to care for herself without serious assistance deteriorated to the point that she was moved to a nursing home. And I suddenly because financially responsible for myself and my aunt who hasn't worked since the 1980s. My grandma has been fighting a lot of paranoid hallucinations about people selling her house out from under her so I have to make sure I keep the house that she and my grandfather had worked so hard for. But it's impossible on my income. And over the last year I have just found myself in a deeper and deeper hole.

Additionally, I have found myself responsible for my father who does NOT live with me but is facing a rapid decline due to ALS.

Over the last few months I have been looking hard for a new job but I'm having no luck. And I'm getting more and more behind on things.

And then Wednesday the loan company called and told me that if I didn't pay them $600 by today they would repossess my car. The car that so many people rely on whether it's to pick up medicine that is keeping them alive (my dad), getting me to work (me), or taking my aunt on daily visits to see my grandmother (both my aunt and my grandmother). So I asked my dad to borrow the money from him because my checking account balance was already in the red.

And then last night my dad texts me (because he can no longer talk) and tells me that the car that he owns broke down while his sister-in-law's friend was driving it and he wants to fix the car but has no money. And now I feel like a completely horrible person for borrowing the money.

Plus I have to pay him back within three weeks which means giving him everything I make every day. Which is just going to put me back in the same boat with the loan.

I am so far past drowning now that I don't even know which way is up anymore.

I'm not tagging this because I'm not looking for attention just someplace to dump all the things that I can't tell my family. And this massive post isn't even beginning to touch on the uselessness and self hatred I feel right now about my own inability to make more than $15 an hour.

I question my intelligence. I question my own ability. I think that I'm basically worthless because I can't take care of myself, let alone my family.

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someotherdog · 9 months ago

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selena was definitely a better roommate than her mother, big barb. the apartment was kept relatively clean, selena didn't make a ton of noise most nights, and there weren't loan sharks and debt collectors beating down the door every few weeks. in comparison, selena was a model roommate, so barbie could forgive unwashed dishes or hair in the shower. she could even forgive the wolf that selena brought home—figuratively, since she apparently didn't have bill dozing in her bedroom. “alright, miss mysterious.” barbie giggled good-naturedly as her roommate walked further into the kitchen.

despite her disapproval of bill, she tried to keep her tone light and airy whenever she brought up selena's kinda-sorta boyfriend. certainly, barbie was in no position to judge her. her own relationship with daniel was practically legendary around encantadora, and when compared, daniel didn't really measure up to bill. not in the money department, anyway. or the personality department, since in the few times she went to a club with selena and bill, he talked her ear off; she had to begrudgingly admit that she did have a good time with them (until they started making out in front of her and she had to fake a stomachache just to get away from their pda). if it weren't for the wolf tattoo on his neck, she might've thought bill was just some car salesmen or some other sleazy job that required him to be unctuous. well, selena apparently liked dangerous men, and barbie liked ne'er-do-wells.

besides, if there was any reason to dislike bill, it was the fact he was a lobo. technically, barbie's loyalties lay with the cucuys—her late father had been a member long ago, and while she hadn't actively had anything to do with the club in a long time, the city of encantadora had been split in two for years: either you sided with the gang, or the mc. because of her familial ties, barbie sided with the cucuys by default, but she personally thought they could both get fucked. the lobos were easy to spot anyway. not just the wolf tattoos they all had, but their attitudes. there was a gravitas the cucuys possessed that the lobos didn't. up against the mc, the lobos all looked like little boys playing gangster. maybe it was because to barbie, all the cucuys she knew were old men now. bill was no spring chicken as far as she knew, but he, like all the lobos, ran wild around town like the lost boys of neverland.

barbie didn't judge selena (much), but she was jealous of her. they didn't know each other very well, but something about selena seemed so carefree. like she never had a worry in her life. maybe it was because she was from vegas or something, and in barbie's mind, las vegas was a nonstop party city. maybe she was just envious that selena could basically do what she wanted and barbie had only ever known responsibility. she no longer lived in her mother's house, but whenever big barb got too drunk at scavengers too, the surly bartender always called little barb to come collect her. which, unfortunately, was a weekly thing. in fact, barbie would normally be in bed already, but she knew it was inevitable she'd be woken up at one in the morning to go get her mom. there wasn't any point in officially going to bed yet.

“just catching up on a few things so i won't have to do them tomorrow.” closing out of her email tab, her eyes followed selena as she walked to the fridge and pulled out one of barbie's limoncello lacroix cans. “sure, go ahead!” barbie granted permission with a sweet smile, but there was a part of her that was a little annoyed by it. if there was a flaw in living with selena, it was that she seemed to run out of her own food often. but again, small annoyances. better that than having her mother accuse her of witchcraft or beg her to drive her to the liquor store at six in the morning. “hmm... tough choice. i mean i'm never not down for a bit of vanderpump rules, but you're right, we're not getting any younger. i'll let you decide. if you say stay, we stay. if you say let's go out, just give me, like, an hour to get ready.” it had been a long time since she hooked up with someone who wasn't daniel anyway. maybe she'd get lucky tonight and forget all about her ex-boyfriend.

"oooh, hmmm, maybe we don't worry about who is or isn't in my room right now." selena joked, hoping barbie knew she wouldn't just invite some rando to sleepover without at least a warning. first of all, it was shitty and, second, barbie did not seem like the type to tolerate her messier qualities. so, no, there wasn't anyone in her room at the moment, but that was because the one-night-stands were mostly an away game situation.

at least her roommate wasn't too judgey. or, at least, she didn't feel like she had the moral high ground to be because of dan. if not for the veterinary job, selena would've called him a feckless loser, but hard to call someone who saved cats and dogs the same thing she called the guy who cut her off coming out of the taco bell drive thru. bill on the other hand, was a tornado and, probably, a terrible house guest. only, she tended to spend time with him solely when she was good and tipsy. still, she snapchatted him a lot. even sober, she still had terrible judgement.

"working late?" she asked, crossing the room to look through the fridge. nothing that good. mostly food that wasn't hers. she frowned and held up a bubbly water. "can i have this?" it was her turn to hit the costco anyways. "want to cash in on our youth and good looks and see what the night holds for us or maybe just watch the latest vanderpump rules?"

#thewolfruns #* BARBIE GOODWIN / narrative .#* BARBIE GOODWIN / thread / selena .#* ENCANTADORA / setting .#i wrote this towards the end of my writing session so if nothing makes sense. yes it does? don't b rude #also i didn't mean to write so much lmfao don't worry abt matching length obvs #queue are my queen rebecca!

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inkskinned · 2 years ago

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he tells me i'm jaded. he says - you love showers so much, why not stand in a rainstorm instead?

rainstorms have a potential to take down tree branches. they're unregulated. they get my clothes wet. in the time of my grandparents, maybe it would be more romantic. it's a drought where i live. the rain that comes down is sullen, yellow with pollution. i bite half my nails off reading about climate predictions. i stand in the shower and shift from one foot to the other, feeling annoyed with myself because i care about all of this, of course, but as a climate scientist i'm functionally useless.

he says - the color is all gone from the world! people used to like bright things. what happened to all of us?

i feel like rich people love minimalism differently. they like to remind others - i don't really need things. they can afford to have-less. they don't need to worry about buying extra; they can just get it later.

my car is silver so in 5 years after paying back the loan i might be able to sell it, if i don't hurt it too bad and if i don't drive it too hard, and if luck is in my corner. it's just a simple sedan, nothing-special. i guess i'm technically borrowing it from the bank. i can't really-decorate my apartment; i don't own it. i am not going to be able to afford a house any time soon. i would love to make my walls a wash of bright color - but i'd lose my deposit.

my clothes are all in neutrals; classic cuts that have very little fuss or personality attached to them. i worry about fast fashion and my finances; i want to be sure that i can wear the shirt in the future without feeling stupid and out-of-touch. the other day i finally tore through a pair of shorts i've had for about ten years now. i went home and tried to figure out how to repurpose the denim. how to make everything last a little longer. i sometimes will try on something trendy and cool and colorful - and then i pick out something i know will last me a long time instead. muted, conservative, unimpressive.

he says - the real world is waiting! everyone is so obsessed with their phones these days. go outside, connect with your friends!

it costs twenty dollars to go on the guided tour. they don't let you into the conservatory without a 320 dollar yearly membership. i come up with a spreadsheet, trying to figure out where my friends have schedule openings that overlap with mine. we both frown over our calendars - can't do thursday that week, anything in two weeks? there's no train, it costs forty dollars in transportation for her to come over; but i miss her, so i venmo her. we both bemoan the fact that there's just no way to get around without a car.

i am actually a full-blooded romantic. i am actually someone who truly and deeply believes in hope and the future of humanity. i am a poet, after all - i write because i believe someone out there, like me, is watching the world crumble while nursing a broken heart. i believe that most of us want to be kind, to be good, to turn our cheeks to the sky and be contented and warm.

it just feels like - there's this strange, brewing storm. where people with money and power and prestige get to say - hope is a yacht, just hop on and go.

and all us jaded, horrible little still-here tear-stained cockroaches, who croak and complain about global injustice: we don't accept it. we make our lives beautiful with whatever we can wrestle out of stone. we clutch our diaries and our sunflowers and our songs to our chest. ugly and hurting, we snarl - hope isn't yours though. it's ours.

it's all we have left.

#does this make even a lick of sense.#this is like .#optimistic pessimism idek #warm up

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themand0lorian · 2 years ago

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jump then fall (i)--spontaneity

Summary: A chance encounter leads to a moment of spontaneity.

Pairing: Javi Gutierrez x F!Reader (no Y/N)

Rating: Mature

Words: ~1300 (AO3)

Tags: strangers to lovers, vacations, getting over an ex, will eventually flow into the movie plot

NOTES: hi all. I have decided I will no longer be doing taglists. unfortunately, they take a ton of time for me, and those being tagged rarely if ever even interact with the post, which is pretty disheartening. if you want to follow this fic, please follow my blog or like the main masterlist page!

this is somewhere between a prologue and a first chapter, so here we go

Javi’s never had anything that’s only his. His business was his father’s; his compound belongs more to his cousin than it ever did to him. His phone is in Gabriela’s hand more than his own, his memorabilia collection is technically on loan from the Nic Cage fan club in Madrid, his clothes are picked by a stylist and shipped sight-unseen. His personality is barely his own—the suave, strong kingpin he’s supposed to portray based more off movie characters than how he feels in his heart.

Which is why he considers the little outcropping over the cliffs his own space. He’s never told anyone about it; his own secret spot to think, plan, to relax. To be the him he always hides away. It’s off the compound, away from the road, hidden in plain sight; a lot of nothing that lets him picture sword fights where the villain falls over the edge, or buddy comedies that focus on new beginnings, or big romance scenes that end in sweeping kisses and happily ever afters. His own personal playground, made only of a few boulders and dirt and a breathtaking view of the sea.

It's why he’s so surprised when he shows up one day to find a woman sitting on one of the rocks; he wasn’t trying to sneak up on her, making plenty of noise slamming car doors and crunching over gravel, but she still didn’t look over at him, even as he paused when he spotted her. He considered turning around; heading back to his car to find somewhere else to escape. He considered asking her to leave—a moment of his current life bleeding into his mind, one he regretted immediately. He considered just staying quiet, sitting on one of the other rocks and just existing in tandem with the woman.

Then he saw it; tracks of tears down her cheeks, glimmering in the setting sun like the waves below the cliff face. His heart went out to the woman—he couldn’t count how many tears he held on to until he reached the same spot. He warred with himself—with the baron he was supposed to be, with the man he was—

“Perdoneme, estas bien?” The words escape before he can stop them, though the woman still doesn’t look over at him. The questions hangs long enough that he takes a few steps toward her, wondering if she heard him.

“Do you believe in love?” It’s certainly not the response he expected. Her accent isn’t local, likely a tourist. She had her shoes off and placed next to a bag at the base of the rock, and he can see a guidebook sticking out the top. He blinks at her a few times, but she stays focused on the sea in front of her.

“Yes,” he answers almost immediately, switching to English. “Yes, I do.”

“I should’ve known,” she scoffs quietly. “Living in a place like this—you were bound to be a dreamer.”

“You do not?” he asks, settling on another rock nearby. Not his usual—she’s on that one—but she intrigues him enough to settle. He wonders how she knows he’s a local, why she won’t look over at him or away from the sea, how her voice comes out clearly, albeit quietly, despite distinct evidence of crying.

“No,” she finally responds, some level of shyness back. “I--I don’t think so.” Javi hums.

“Some things are true whether we believe them or not.” If she recognizes the quote, she doesn’t make mention of it. She doesn’t respond at all, actually—and Javi is eager to continue the conversation, a moment of authenticity in a sea of falsities.

“Where is he?” This causes her head to dart to him, finally—he’s immediately taken by her. Pretty, though not in the conventional way—pretty like a bright smile with crooked teeth or delicate hands marked with fading scars. She’s glaring at him, although barely; he can tell there isn’t much malice behind it.

“The person who left the beautiful girl in this beautiful place wondering whether love is real.” She huffs, shaking her head before looking back out over the ocean. The sun is just reaching the horizon, golden orange glow highlighting each peak and valley. He worries he may have overstepped, opening his mouth to apologize, but she beats him to speaking.

“He never even got on the plane,” she admits. “I—I thought he was going to propose on this trip. Stupid,” she scoffs. Javi doesn’t respond, lets her words hang between them until she adds more. “He—he said I was too boring. Predictable. That I checked all the boxes—but he just wasn’t in love with me. Didn’t think he ever was.”

Javi huffs in response, rolling his eyes. The answer surprises him—he hadn’t meant to open wounds, though he thinks he may know how to fix it.

“Perhaps it is time to do something spontaneous, then.” “Like flying to Majorca solo?” she quips, and he smiles, standing and wiping his hands down his pants before reaching one out to her.

“Do you trust me?” She searches his face for an answer—whether looking for reasons to trust or reasons not to, he isn’t sure—but when he gives a small grin, she reaches out to him, and he grips her hand, beginning to pull her along.

His quick walk breaks into a trot, her following behind as he brings her past the rocks, closer and close to the edge of the cliff, a small laugh finally escaping her until he pulls her along and—

Before she can protest, she’s falling, Javi a few feet ahead of her, her dress billowing like a jellyfish as she plunges into the ocean. When she surfaces, water-logged and out of breath, she treads around looking for him.

When she makes eye contact again, his face plastered in a shit-eating grin as water drips from the ends of his honeyed hair, she can’t help but laugh; the two falling into raucous giggles as she gapes at him.

“What if I couldn’t swim?” “I—I had not thought of that,” Javi admits sheepishly, and she splashes him playfully. “But it was spontaneous, no?”

“Oh my god,” she sighs, laughing. The two swim to shore easily, Javi pulling her to her feet when he knows it’s safe to stand. Eventually, they trudge out of the water, wringing salt from their clothes as they escape onto warm sand.

“I didn’t know you could cliff jump here—I just saw it from my AirBnB, and—” “You cannot,” he admits, and she gives him wide eyes. “Well—for the right price, you can, I guess.” He walks quietly back up the hill with her, letting her get her shoes and bag she left behind in their jump. He’s wont to let her go, though he knows his time with her is finite, he’s desperate to hold on as she begins to start walking back into town.

“What will you do now?” She turns to him, wringing her hands.

“I—I’m not sure,” she confesses. “Everything I had planned—it all reminds me of him.” He huffs, shaking some seawater from the tips of his hair. “I don’t even think I’m even that upset about him, you know? Just—the situation, I guess.” He nods in understanding.

“How long are you here?”

“Two weeks.”

“Let me show you around,” he practically pleads, stepping closer. She examines him closely, so he continues. “I am a local. I know all the places that are not in guidebooks or on the internet. I—I can show you them, and you will not be reminded.” She still searches his face, as if to say, “What’s in this for you?”

“Please,” he tries, gentle yet firm. “I would really like to. And—it would be spontaneous.” “Totally unexpected,” she offers back, a smile beginning to form.

“Unpredictable.” He nods eagerly, eyes lighting up.

“Okay, I’m in.”

#javi g #javi gutierrez #javi gutiérrez #javi gutierrez x you #javi gutierrez x reader #javi gutierrez x y/n #the unbearable weight of massive talent #tuwomt #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x y/n

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lokilickedme · 3 years ago

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Just realized I have no concept of time anymore. Like, at all. Ever since we arrived we’ve been in a weirdly surreal maze of househunting, ranch tending, phone calls with realtors/bankers/loan agents/insurance agents/construction overseers, and just holing up watching the snow through the window in general, and I have no clue what day it is or even what part of the month we’re in. I didn’t know today was Monday and I certainly didn’t know yesterday was Sunday. The boys aren’t registered for their semester yet because we’re technically homeless and the program requires proof of residency in the state of enrollment, which we don’t have yet even though we’ve been here a couple of weeks (has it been longer than that? Shorter? Who knows) so in between tending to the animals and taking care of the main ranchhouse and keeping the kids alive and trying to set up house in a place of our own that isn’t finished being built yet, I’m in a perpetual state of Saturday. Everything feels like a Saturday. Nothing is real and it’s all happening on a Saturday. Even husband’s job, which went from a 5-day week back home to a 3-day week here with 12-hour onsites and a stray floating 4-hour fill-in wherever he feels like putting it is just...messing my head up. I have no internal clock anymore except for the one that screams IS IT SATURDAY?? constantly.

But -

The house is close to completed, though it seems like the crew has slowed down ever since the sale closed. Note to self: go to construction site and show disapproval. Also I talked the builder into throwing in some staging furniture because I sold everything we had and he just happened to have some in storage that he’d intended to put in the house anyway for prettying-up purposes on the sale listing. Bonus.

I don’t know if I mentioned it in here or just told it to somebody in person (is it Saturday? It feels like Saturday) but the first house we contracted to buy ended up being yanked out from under us at the last minute due to...issues. A crumbling foundation, an illegal non-permit-acquired addition onto the structure, and nearly half a million in liens against the property due to the deceased previous owner’s bad habits (I’m guessing gambling but who the hell knows, dude died of covid before they could break his kneecaps) - you know, the usual shit that happens when you’re about to drop your life savings and your kids’ college money on a place to live.

That ended up leading us to something better, though. Smaller town on the outskirts of our original destination, beautiful idyllic location, close to the ranch we’re currently tending, close to the boys’ grandmother, in an incredible tourist spot so all you travel-y folks have plenty of places to stay when you come to visit :) This second house is new construction, which wasn’t anything we remotely required in our search, but happy accidents and all and it’s always nice being the first person to pee in a bathroom you’re going to be spending the next few years using.

And my god, the eclectic mix of hippies and cowboys here is astounding. Every time I go in the grocery store I cross paths with at least a half dozen stoners so blissed out I worry about them finding their way back home. It’s a legal state with dispensaries everywhere and I’ve never seen a group of residents jump so collectively onto a bandwagon like this. It’s amusing until you get stuck in line behind a guy who’s been smoking all afternoon who’s trying to get the clerk to agree with him that the produce section definitely needs to stock car parts because somebody moved the NAPA store while he was getting a pack of Ho Ho’s and his jeep is sitting at the co-op with a flat tire.

This place is going to grow on me, but it’s definitely not the same place I lived in years ago. When I lived here before I worked in an apple packing shed at an orchard, and that’s still there, but the other place I worked at that made coil resistors for spacecraft (I worked indirectly for NASA, which was cool) has packed up and moved operations to Mexico. Husband worked at the newspaper in the print room when we first got married, and now that’s all gone online. He works in the bioceramics division at a huge corp now, lathing segments for cybernetic prosthetics (that’s fancyspeak for robotic arms and legs). The company also makes beer :)

But I digress, I guess. It’s a beautiful place but the pay is shite just about everywhere, mainly because most of the people here are either wealthy travelers hitting the hot spots between Moab and Aspen or they’re wealthy Californians moving in with a few mil in their pockets from the sale of their houses in LA. The locals are the only ones that need work, and the work doesn’t feel the need to pay a good wage even though a quarter mil will only buy a person a sub-standard fixer-upper on a 2-inch bit of land. There are a grand total of 14 houses for sale in the valley with price tags under $300,000 and they’re snatched up before you can even click on the listing. We got lucky, I was holding my phone in my hand when an under-construction house in our price range popped up - it had gone on the market literally one hour previous, the app had just that moment cycled it into the listings, and husband and I jumped in the car and drove out to look at it without even grabbing our coats. We were sitting in front of the partially completed house when we called Husband’s realtor friend and told her to submit an offer on it and to make it fast.

The next day we were under contract :)

That was on a Saturday.

We’d spent two weeks trudging from listing to listing, trying to find something. At the last two houses we’d looked at I had sat down on the steps and cried. Ever since the first house had fallen through nothing had worked out for us, everything was too expensive, too wrecked, too expensive, too small, too expensive - and now, finally, the perfect place.

We’re real damn close to being home, finally. We have approximately a month to go before our closing date. Until then I’m content to drift in my eternal Saturday, waiting for the calendar to finally click over onto an actual weekday. It’ll stop being Saturday and I’ll get my days sorted. Something of a schedule will fall into place, maybe even a routine of sorts, though I’ve never been big on structuring my days. Til then I’m sitting up here in this gigantic ranch house trying to figure out if that noise downstairs at 2 am means the place is haunted or is just JD the ranch guy messing around with the feed storage in the basement, playing Fallout 3 with Big, chasing Little up and down the stairs to tire his hyper ass out, tromping around in the snow doing various ranch-type chores in my new weather-appropriate boots, battling the blissbots (stoned mountain hippies) in the grocery store for the very meagerly-stocked frozen waffles and peanut butter, trolling the thrift shops for used furniture that I can’t buy yet, and drinking copious amounts of good local coffee in between the neverending phonecalls required to get us settled.

Until then, it’s always Saturday.

#Saturdays are good

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sunmoonandeddie · 4 years ago

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pandemic overload

pairing: bucky barnes x reader

word count: 2,136

summary: You need an escape from everything, and Bucky is more than happy to give it to you.

warnings: SO MUCH FLUFF. Bad words. Bucky does think a naughty thing or two lol

a/n: Thank you so much to @marylizabetha for this commission!!!! I had so much fun with it, and honestly it was nice to get to write about escaping all of this nonsense for a little bit!!!!

He saw it when he came home from grocery shopping. The quiver of your bottom lip. He’d only been gone for about two hours—shopping for groceries for a super soldier can take a while, after all—but even so, it had made you anxious. Everything about the last seven months or so made you anxious. And he couldn’t blame you. People were dying and it was just… frustrating how so many people didn’t seem to care. At all.

Bucky had been the only one to leave the town house you two shared in that entire time, unless you counted the times you’d sit out on the front stoop and work on a Sudoku puzzle. But that was a decision you had made very early on. He was a super soldier that couldn’t get sick. You were just a normal human.

It didn’t mean that you weren’t scared for him every time he walked outside.

Thankfully, it hadn’t taken much to convince you to stay home, even though you had to quit your job. It wasn’t exactly the most… important thing in the world. It wasn’t even in your field of interest. Just a pit stop until you could put your degree to use.

But it looked like that wouldn’t be happening for a little while longer.

Technically, with how much money Bucky made from being a non-active Avenger on top of back pay from being a prisoner of war for seventy years or so and also being on an elite strike force during World War II, you would never have to work a day in your life if you didn’t want. And, to be perfectly honest, a big part of you was seriously considering it. It was nice to be able to sit around and do whatever you wanted to do. You and Bucky helped each other with all the chores and such, but then you had an otherwise empty day to fill. You’d taken up knitting and learning to play piano and yes, you did join in on that trend of people learning how to make sourdough bread from scratch. You two had also gotten to up the amount of time you spent trying to make a positive change in the world, and you’d taken Bucky to his first twenty-first century protest. Not a single cop had dared to fuck with you or anyone else with the former Winter Soldier by your side.

The perks of having a super intimidating boyfriend, right?

It would be completely perfect if it wasn’t for the fact that you had to stay because otherwise you might get sick.

But you were actually considering choosing to just… continue not working once all of it was over. You and Bucky could do anything you wanted to do. You could travel the world, maybe eventually adopt a few kids… The possibilities were endless, especially since your boyfriend had surprised you by paying off all your student loans in one fell swoop.

Yeah, that… that had brought on more than a few tears.

Bucky couldn’t help but smile over at you as he put away the groceries, calling out everything to you. You were sitting up on the counter, pretty as a picture, with your legs swinging back and forth as you put in everything he’d bought to that fancy app on your phone that took everything you had in your fridge and gave you a list of recipes you could make from it.

Last week the two of you had gotten your favorite recipe so far, grilled mahi mahi tacos with a sweet pineapple salsa that served a bit of a kick at the end.

Fish so nice, they named it twice.

Bucky’s pandemic hobby had become cooking. A lot of the time, you two just ordered food in, which was a horrible habit. But you couldn’t help it. You both were so busy and neither of you really had the energy or patience to cook most of the time.

But spending everyday at home meant that Bucky finally had time to learn how to do something other than boil food, and he was actually pretty good at it.

“Baby doll, let’s go on a date.”

You looked up from your phone in surprise. “A… A date? Bucky Bear… I hate to break it to you, but… We can’t exactly go anywhere,” you said with a weak laugh. As good as it was to be able to sit at home and work on your hobbies, you were often overwhelmed with the thoughts about how so many people were suffering because of how selfish others were.

He put the last bell pepper away in the fridge before moving to stand between your legs, his hands running over your thighs. “Now that’s not true, sweetheart,” he said as he pressed sweet kisses along your jawline. “I wanna take you somewhere special, okay? We haven’t gotten to dress up in a long time… So how about you get your cute ass in the shower and get yourself all dolled up, yeah? I wanna treat my girl.”

Ugh. He always knew exactly what to say to make you melt.

“Okay,” you giggled, nuzzling your nose against his. But you took your own sweet time getting off the counter, choosing instead to wrap your legs around him and pull him in for an impromptu makeout session.

What can you say? Your man was hot as fuck and a good ass kisser.

“I love you,” he mumbled, his hands roaming down your sides to your ass. He gave a playful squeeze before slowly breaking the kiss, letting it linger far longer than what would be considered necessary. “But you have to go shower and get ready, baby girl. I gotta jump in one, too. I wanna be nice and fresh for my girl. Now go on.”

A purse of your lower lip. “You don’t wanna join me?”

“Now, that’s not what I said, you little minx,” he said, tickling your sides and sending you into a fit of giggles. “But if I get in with you, we aren’t gonna make it out for a long, long time. And then you won’t get your surprise.”

“Fine, fine,” you groaned, pushing against his chest so you could slide off the counter. “Bossy.” You shot him a wink as you headed upstairs, and he can’t help but stare at your ass.

God bless the quarantine weight you’d gained.

Granted, he always loved your body—if you like the girl, you’re gonna like her body, after all—but he was still a hot-blooded man with a thing for grabbing you and loving every inch of you.

He quickly put together a basket of food, various meats and cheeses and little things like olives, and set a blanket on top of it before running upstairs to grab a shower in the guest bath. He knew the perfect place to take you to escape the city and the suffocating threat of the pandemic.

“You gonna tell me where we’re going or not, Sarge?” You asked as you appeared in the doorway.

He looked up from where he sat at the kitchen island, and the breath was knocked straight from his lungs. Thank god he’d already stowed the basket and blanket away in the trunk, because he would’ve completely forgotten at the sight of you. “Holy shit, sugar…,” he whispered as he got up. He moved towards you, strong hands grabbing your hips and pulling you into a kiss. He knew he had to be careful about grabbing your face, not wanting to mess up the makeup you’d just put on for the first time in months. But you’d also learned not to wear a lip product that would smear on your first date, so you both had rules about makeup now.

The fabric of your yellow sundress rested against your skin so gently, and he would be ashamed to admit that for just a second, he was jealous of a piece of clothing. He wanted to be that close to you always, wanted to feel your skin and draw little shapes over your heart.

Maybe he’d strip it off of you the second he got you to the spot, just so he could rest his head in the valley of your breasts and listen to the steady beating of your heart. You knew that he could hear it even just standing beside you, but you wouldn’t call him out on it.

TLC played on the radio the entire drive, his hand on your thigh except for when he needed to shift gears. Out of all the decades of music you were working to catch him up on, the nineties were your favorite.

Not that he’d ever disagree. No. Not when he got to watch you with one arm out the window, your hand making waves in the wind as you sang at the top of your lungs.

Just being out of the house for less than an hour was doing you so much good.

“Bucky, you aren’t going to kill me, right?” You asked with a laugh as he parked the car in a small lot at the entrance of a trail. “Because I really figured you would’ve done that by now, you know.”

“Nah, baby,” he said as he popped the trunk, smirking at the surprised look on your face at the sight of the basket. The trunk closed with a slam as he tossed you the blanket, moving to your side and holding your free hand in his before leading you down the trail. “If I wanted to murder you, I’d have done it by now. Besides, you’re too pretty to kill. I’d miss looking at you everyday.”

“You’re an absolute cheese ball,” you laughed, nudging his hip with yours. Not that it actually did anything.

Ah, the disadvantages you had when it came to play fighting with your super soldier boyfriend. Poor you.

The trail was absolutely stunning, full of wildlife and color. The shade the trees provided was a nice reprieve to the mid-August heat, the sunlight filtering through the leaves to dapple against your cheeks.

It was about a fifteen minute walk to the Wallkill River, and you heard the rush of the water long before you get there.

“We aren’t going swimming right?” You asked, eyeing him skeptically. “Because I just washed my hair.”

“No,” he said, amusement lacing his tone. “We’re not swimming. Just having a late lunch.” He sets down the basket and takes the blanket from you, laying it out on the small clearing on the bank. He took his time setting up the charcuterie board, the bottle of wine, and the two pillows that he stuffed in the basket for you two to rest against. “There. Now it’s perfect,” he said as he held his hand out to you to help you sit down on the blanket. “Worthy of my princess.”

A familiar roll of your eyes as he pressed sweet kisses to your cheeks, just like he did anytime he doted on you. He only ever called you princess when he got all lovey dovey like this.

Not that you’d ever complain.

“So what’s all this for?” You asked. Unable to stop your fit of giggles, you teetered to the side as the force of his cheek kisses grew and he made more and more obnoxious noises with it, his metal hand hooked around your waist. “Bucky Bear…”

“Okay, okay,” he relented, leaving one last, noisy kiss to your cheek before sitting up straight. He didn’t answer you right away, choosing instead to grab the wine and pop it open, pouring you each a glass. He was always the designated driver, since alcohol didn’t affect him. He was silent until you had your glass in hand, and he raised his in a toast. “I want to celebrate us, and more specifically, you. The past seven or so months haven’t been easy, but you’ve been a champ through it all. And also, I think we’ve done pretty damn well on living together and being around each other almost 24/7, considering that we only moved in together in November,” he said. His startling blue eyes were so soft as he stared at you. “I just love you so much, and I truly don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Oh, my god,” you said, your eyes glassy as you shook your head. “Bucky, you can’t say things like that when I just did my makeup! You’re going to make me cry!” But you didn’t mind the tears as you leaned in and pressed your lips to his, your glasses clinking together. “I love you, too. And there’s no one else I’d rather go through this with.”

“Together,” he said, his nose nudging against yours.

“Together,” you agreed.

#bucky x you #bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n

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getinthehandbasket · 3 years ago

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Personal stuff

It's been a long time since I've written anything here about myself. There's.. a lot going on.

I recently got laid off from my job of nearly 8 years. I have a decent amount in the bank thanks to YNAB, but because of childhood trauma it feels like I am deadass broke. I mean, it keeps me from buying things I don't need to buy, but it causes me stress, too.

My partner has, until very recently, been unemployed since April 2020 - laid off from her WebDev job at [insert nationally recognized company here] because of the pandemic. Now, this was her first job out of coding bootcamp. She'd only worked there for 3 or 4 months before the layoff. And NO ONE was hiring junior engineers until just a couple of months ago at the end of 2021. So that means she's got nearly a 2 year gap in her employment history, 4 months of professional coding experience, no formal degree, and a hunger to work in her field and get more experience and on-the-job learning. Right now she's in the middle of the interview process with another globally recognized company who is notorious for taking months to complete the interview process. In the mean time, she's taken a retail job to help keep us going. She's hoping for a promotion but it's not guaranteed. (I'm not naming companies because that's how you jinx it.)

Me? I don't really know what I'm doing. Since my partner isn't making engineer money (yet), I really should be looking for a new job. Problem is.. I've been severely burnt out for at LEAST the last 2 years if not longer. Because my former manager wouldn't fucking take me seriously when I told him I and the other person in our department doing a certain task were so overwhelmed it was affecting our mental health. Luckily, the manager after him did, but it was - by then - too little, too late. So now I'm unemployed and doing my best to try to relax and live a little off of my savings and my upcoming unemployment insurance $. So, that's what's going on money- and employment-wise in my household.

In personal news... SURPRISE! Both of us are trans! Well.. technically I fall under the trans umbrella because I'm nonbinary, but I feel weird using the label for myself. My partner, though, is a trans woman. She's about a year into her transition and she is BEAUTIFUL. She's happier than I've ever seen her. She's gentler than she was. She's calmer than she ever was with testosterone in her. She's more caring, more emotional, more everything that is good. I can't wait to marry her and call her my wife. (But, yknow, that also takes money - even if we just go down to the courthouse it still costs several hundred dollars.)

Me, I'm.. existing. I'm dealing with mild depression symptoms, but the worst of it is held off by the three (3) antidepressants I'm taking for various reasons: 1 is also a sleep aid and 2 are for my ADHD. Which I was diagnosed with in mid-2020. So yay? I spend my time either cleaning, playing World of Warcraft (we are SO CLOSE to killing Heroic Sylvanas!), or hand-sewing a queen-sized La Passacaglia quilt. I can't quite bring myself to think about job hunting right now. Like, the idea makes me want to cry. I'm also learning to zentangle. zendoodle. Whatever it's called.

I've paid off all of my debt but two student loans. Technically I could pull 2/3 of my bank account and completely pay them off, but that would leave my partner and I very little to live on and vastly increase the pressure to find a job. So I'm not going to do that. I still consider having paid off as much as I have a massive life win. Including my car (which I now own outright), I had $80k of debt - and none of it consumer debt, just student loans and my car, which was one of the cheapest brand new cars I could find at the time I bought it. So I'm in a fairly good position.

I don't know where I'm going with any of this. I'm mostly just rambling.

But... yeah. That's my life right now.

#Personal #about me #personal update #lgbtqia+#queer #(because we are queer thankyouverymuch. If you don't like the title for yourself #just move along.)#adhd #mental health #oh yeah I'm in therapy #I love my therapist #I just wish I could afford to both pay her her full fee AND see her every week #But I think I'm going to be stable enough soon to start back up with EMDR #I really need to address a lot of trauma in my life

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oasisspringstownie · 3 years ago

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FAME: A Legacy Challenge

Sul sul simmers!

Like many of you, one of my favorite things to do in The Sims is play Legacy Challenges. They lead you to explore new aspects of gameplay, give you new imaginative ideas, and facilitate storytelling. So, a couple of nights ago I got the idea to create a new kind of legacy challenge revolving around different aspects of fame.

The goal isn’t exactly to become the most famous using said career/ skill, but to play around with different elements of the fame system in the game. You by no means need all the packs to play through this legacy. While the experience would be more complete and you will be missing careers and skills and stuff you can obviously adapt it to your need. Also, you are more than welcomed to use mods to enrich your gameplay. I myself can’t play without mods and look forward to see what kind of chaos mods can add to this challenge.

So without further a do below are the 10 generations I concocted like a fever dream at 2 am on a Saturday evening:

Gen 1: A Shaky Foundation

Traits: Cheerful, Ambitious, Self-Absorbed

Career: Acting, Style Influencer (Trendsetter Branch)

You move to a new city full of hopes and dreams. You initially pursue your dream of becoming an actor. However, your career is cut short by the unexpected arrival of your first child. You retreat from the spotlight in order to raise your baby and put all of your energy into making sure they have the best future possible. The rest of the time you spend either working or trying to unwind from your demanding life. What will fate bring you and your descendants?

Goals:

Move into an empty lot with 1600 simoleons for the bare minimum.

Start in the Acting Career, but abandon it for the Style Influencer career once your first child is born. Remain in the Style Influencer Career and eventually choose the Trendsetter Branch.

Max out the Style Influencer Career.

Reach level 10 of the Parenting and Wellness Skills.

Be close friends with all of your children and make sure they each age up with at least 2 positive character attributes.

Gen 2: Get Your Head in the Game

Traits: Active, Music Lover, Outgoing

Career: Athlete, Entertainment (Musician Branch)

Your parent might have seemed very overbearing at the time, but they instilled a work ethic in you like no other. Your entire life you were split between your two passions: basketball and singing. Okay, fine, you're Troy Bolton. After succeeding in the sports world you still find yourself feeling somewhat unfulfilled. You enter the entertainment career later on in life to live out your dreams. Will this be the start of something new?

Goals:

Max out the Athlete Career and then switch to the Entertainment Career (Musician Branch).

Max out the Fitness and Singing Skills.

Be in the drama club in high school.

Gen 3: Going for the Stars

Traits: Clumsy, Loner, Genius

Career: Astronaut

Your parent always told you to shoot for the stars, you just took it a bit too seriously. This world was always a bit too pedestrian for you and you yearn to finally lay your eyes on the astronomical craters of Sixam. There's just one problem: you're terrible at it. It's not your fault, you're just a bit clumsy; but will your two left feet keep you from reaching your dreams?

Goals:

Work in the Astronaut Career your entire life. Get demoted and fired at least once in your lifetime.

Destroy and repair a rocket 3 times.

Live in a tiny home for your young adulthood and adulthood.

Have at least one set of twins. *You can cheat for this!*

Gen 4: The Finer Things in Life

Traits: Materialistic, Hates Children, Lazy

Career: None

You've seen all the generations before you work their little pixelated butts off for every simoleon, but you're not about that life. You were destined for the finer things in life.

Goals

Reach level 10 of the Charisma and Mixology Skills.

Marry and survive 5 spouses. Take that wording however you want. Divorce is not allowed. You must be the last once standing. After all, spouses are like infinity stones. Meaningless.

Never have a job. Only make money from spouses, family, or children. If you get desperate enough you can ask a friend for a loan or steal, but no working of any kind.

Each child you decide to have with one of your rich spouses comes with a 20k trust fund. If they get taken away or die before coming of age, all the money has to be returned to the evil capitalist overlords. You can't get rid of them that easily.

Own at least 1 restaurant/ retail/ business with one of your spouses. Decorate it, assign the uniform, and hire everyone, but you never run it. Why would you go through the trouble?

Gen 5: My Precious

Traits: Art Lover, Kleptomaniac, Self-Assured

Career: Criminal

Your childhood was pretty hectic and you felt like you barely knew your parents. Who needs them? You've never needed anyone else anyway. On your 18th birthday, you receive your inheritance and use it to buy yourself an unfurnished apartment in the nicest building you can find and that's when your money runs out... literally. However, will a new job as a tough guy be the first of many great ideas or will it only be the beginning of the end for this famed family?

Goals

Once you become a young adult give yourself enough money to buy one of the apartments in the Uptown Neighborhood in San Myshuno. It must be unfurnished. After moving in set your money to 0 simoleons.

Complete the Criminal Career.

Reach level 10 of the Mischief and Dancing Skills.

Gain an atrocious reputation and spend the rest of your life trying to cover it up.

Steal 10 paintings from a museum and exhibit them proudly in your home. You are never allowed to sell them. As an adult, hide them in a secret attic nobody else has access to or knows about. They are your precious.

Gen 6: The Muses

Traits: Creative, Family Oriented, Insider

Career: Painter

You could have anything you wanted in the world thanks to your family's empire so you pursued your passion: painting. While you were never close to your other family members you were always very close to your art teacher. This led you to have very close ties to your friends, co-workers, and eventual children. Will your legacy remain for longer in the memory of strangers or your loved ones?

Goals

Complete the Painter Career

Reach level 10 of the Painting, Cooking and Baking Skills

Have a better relationship with your art teacher than anyone else in your family until you're a teen.

Move to a new world once you become a young adult and cut ties with your family.

Be the leader of one club for all your young adulthood and adulthood.

Be close friends with 3 co-workers and all of your children.

Prepare a meal at least once a week with the help of your children. *I know we don't have this in the game yet technically, but I'm hoping to have Cottage Living by the time I play with this generation*

Hang 5 paintings in a museum.

Retire from Painting Career to help care for your grandchildren.

Gen 7: Mole

Traits: Good, Perfectionist, Paranoid

Career: None

You always had a good relationship with your parents. You told each other everything... well, almost everything. You never understood why but one of your parents never talked about the rest of your family members. They explained that they simply never had a good relationship and would rather not talk about it. You respect this until their death when you return to their seemingly abandoned childhood home. While exploring the house you find a not-so-subtle bookcase door and a long forgotten attic filled with paintings. You take them in hopes of returning them but unbeknownst to you, you are being watched.

After an unfortunately unavailable nail-biting car chase, you shake off your attackers. You can't just lead them home to the rest of your family and what would the police do? They don't even arrest Vlad when he's trying to bite all of your sims!

Sorry, different rant.

So you do the only logical thing: you sell the paintings you just stole for some cash to buy an empty lot and skip town. A new life awaits you... just a bit underground.

Goals

Reach level 10 of the Writing, Logic, and Handiness Skills.

Complete the Best Selling Author Aspiration.

After your parent dies, you visit Gen 5's main home and retrieve the paintings hidden in the attic generations ago. Sell them and use the money to buy an empty lot in a completely different world.

Use your remaining money to build a small underground bunker. You can now never leave your bunker or risk immediate death.

You make your income by writing books under your new name. Oh, didn't I mention that? You changed your name to avoid detection. Your children may carry this new fake last name or your partner's.

Gen 8: Part of Your World

Traits: Loves Outdoors, Outgoing, Geek

Career: Social Media

All you knew was the bunker and it's not that you hated it, you just wanted a bit more. You're basically the little mermaid, except you don't get to be a mermaid. You just get a bunker you can never leave and a desperate yearning to explore the outside world.

Your outlet is the internet. From a young age you loved using it to play video games and make friends. As a teen you began to make videos and fostered a community online. Will you finally take your place in the world or remain hidden underground?

Goals

Reach level 10 of the Media Production and Video Gaming Skills

Complete the Social Media Career.

You're never allowed to leave the underground bunker until you're a teen.

You aren't allowed to go to school. Instead you play video games and use your computer for outside interaction.

As a teen you start developing your online presence by posting on social media and making videos on the video station.

You are only allowed to move out of the household once your parent dies and you have enough money in reserves to buy a furnished home.

Gen 9: Natural Born Performer

Traits: Gloomy, Unflirty, Adventurous

Career: Entertainment (Comedy Branch)

Due to your parent's fame, it was always expected you would follow in their footsteps. While a bit more gloomy than most, you are happiest when you make others laugh. So you join the Entertainer Career where you flourish as a comedian. You're also a bit unlucky in love. Will the family name's fame and your own notoriety keep you from finding true love or are you destined to a lifetime of gold diggers and one night stands?

Goals

Complete the Entertainer Career (Comedy Branch).

Reach level 10 of the Comedy and Rock Climbing skills.

Complete Serial Romantic Aspiration

Have four children.

Die suddenly and *mysteriously* in your adulthood.

Gen 10: A Grand Finale

Traits: Kleptomaniac, Ambitious, Perfectionist

Career: Actor

After losing your parents at a very young age, you and your siblings were sent to live with some distant relatives you didn't even know about. While you and your siblings are all very different and you bicker plenty, you always stick together.

After learning you are a descendant of some of the most famous and infamous sims in history, you are determined to meet and surpass their achievements. Will you come out on top or have you flown too close to the sun?

Goals

Complete the Actor Career

Achieve level 10 of 10 skills of your choosing.

Become a Global Superstar.

Get a star on Starlight Boulevard.

Throughout your lifetime you must go on vacation to every house you lived in throughout all previous 9 generations. Oh, and your three other siblings need to come along too. Think of it as Narnia meets It. Also make sure to steal something from each of the houses as a souvenir and display it proudly in your own home.

After you've completed all the things above, get turned into a vampire and choose to end your mortal legacy here... or start a whole new type all together.

Thank you so much for indulging me in this insanity. While I haven't played through any of these generations myself as of yet, I look forward to see the chaos and cuteness possible in The Sims.

Happy simming!

#simblr #ts4 gameplay #ts4 lets play #sims challenge #fame legacy challenge #ts4 simblr #ts4 legacy #ts4 legacy challenge #sims legacy #the sims legacy #ts4

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chubbyreaderchan · 4 years ago

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Technically No | Jacob Black x witch!Reader | Twilight/Buffy the Vampire Slayer Crossover| 1

jacob is over 18+ in this as well as reader! It's also a slight modern au because technology makes life easier man. And no I don't know what timeline this is. It's after Jacob phases and before Buffy dies again. So you might see Glory in this. Also it’s under a cut because this introduction/beginning is super long.

"Did you make it okay?" Buffy asked over the phone.

"Yes, Buff. I'm in my new house. I am going to my new job Monday" (Y/n) said with a soft sigh as she leaned against her new counter, having just moved from one small town to the other.

Sunnydale to Forks.

"Good. I'm glad you are safe." (Y/n) smiled a small yet sort of sad smile at the prospect of leaving the scoobs but there was a job offer in Forks that was just to good for her to not take and she was damn lucky to find a house for rent. She wondered if it was haunted. Not that was a big deal for someone who went to high school on top of a literal hellmouth.

"How's Dawny?" (Y/n) also knew that Dawn's first day back to high school was coming up as well as Buffy's first day of college for the year. "And did you get your course schedule yet?" She stated sitting in the empty living room floor eating her favorite fast food meal. Her moving truck wouldn't be there with her stuff for at least another day or two.

It wasn't exactly a house full of stuff yet, of course. She had just gone from living with her parents to on her own within a flash it seemed. It was as if the universe was pulling and placing her right in the middle of now where Washington.

"Yeah but I didn't get some of the courses I wanted. Have to try next semester." She sighed over the phone. Was it normal to talk to someone you had just left the day before as if you hadn't seen them in months? Maybe not but a lot was happening as the end of summer was coming to fruition. "Dawn is excited to go back to school"

"Interesting... She wasn't yesterday." Buffy sighed over the phone as her friend teased her. "Oh! So I'm going to try to get some essentials tomorrow!" She said suddenly remembering what she called Buffy about in the first place. "What color do you think I should decorate my kitchen in? Green? Red?" Buffy almost laughed again at one of her closest friends.

"You'll know when you actually go to the store. It's not like I can see the house." "Not yet! But you all are going to come visit me some day!" She laughed a bit. Her phone buzzed at her to charge. "Hey... Buffy. I gotta go. Phones is dying. Tell Willow and everyone I miss them."

"Will do." With that, the phone was hung up and placed on its charger.

(Y/n) sighed picking up her trash and began the work to make the floor as comfortable as possible until she could actually buy a decent bed.

The next morning, (Y/n) woke up at a fair hour for a Saturday and took a shower. It was nice to wash out some of the travel and sleep stink off before she slipped on her clothes for the day. Then she went to grab her phone as well as keys and her wallet. There was no way she could sleep on the floor for one more day and eating fast food everyday wasn't exactly a healthy option even if she did just arrive in town.

Sure she was still tired from the plane ride but she would stay tired. She need to find at least an air mattress. The car ride was short, it was nice. Familiar. It wasn't a huge change from one small town to another... Minus the demons and vampires. She hoped. It was simple enough to find the small plaza that had a few small shops and even a diner within walking distance of each other.

It was not even remotely difficult to find the things she oh so desperately needed. It was wonderful. (Y/n) was even able to add to her growing collection of magical artifacts when she stumbled into an antique shop. She thanked the gods that her family had loaned her a bit of cash to help her get by until she was fully working again.

Her day was going great... That was until she was hit with pangs of hunger. 'Did I even eat breakfast?' she asked herself before glancing at the time and gasping. She had been out a lot longer than she had realized.

Didn't she see a diner? She walked to her rental car and started a vague drive. Ah-ha! There was a diner.

She pulled in and was seated quite quickly. It wasn't long before her meal was ordered and her attention was drawn to her phone as she waited. There was a text message from Anya complaining about an argument she and Xander were having. (Y/n) laughed softly before responding with her opinion.

While she was distracted she didn't notice the small group enter. Especially a young man who had a slight staring problem. His eyes were locked on (Y/n) as she fiddled around with her phone. The young man was known by most as Jacob Black. A good kid who was madly in love with Bella Swan, his childhood friend.

"Jake... You okay?" Bella another member of the small group asked with concern on her face. An older man in a wheelchair who was previously chatting with the other older man in the group looked at the one named Jacob. A small knowing smile flashed over his features as he looked at his son.

'It's about damn time' Billy the man in the wheelchair thought. "Jake!" Bella's voice called him again, finally snapping the dark haired young man from his thoughts.

(Y/n) who was finally served food sat her phone down finally not even noticing the set of eyes on the back of her head.

"Is she-?" Bella whispered to Jacob just low enough for her father to not hear. "I... Think so... I think..."

"Son..." It was Billy who joined the conversation. "If you don't go talk to her... I will." Jacob's eyes went wide. How embarrassing would that be? His dad talking to his imprint before he could.

Jacob looked at the girl happily eating her dinner and playing around with her technology. Then she giggled. Oh God.

How could it be that just the day before he was trying to convince Bella not to turn into a vampire? That he was so madly and so deeply in love with the vampire girl that he defied Sam his pack leader for turn into dust and be replaced instantly by a young woman he hadn't even spoken to?

Jacob was so distracted by his thoughts he barely caught his father moving to go introduce himself. "No, wait. Dad. I'll go." He quickly stood up and wandered over to the table nervously. What was he going to say? What if she didn't like him? What if he said something dumb?

"Hey I'm Jacob." He said awkwardly, causing her to jump from what she was doing. Her face scrunched up in confusion before she finally looked up. Their eyes locked and it felt like everything stopped. Her heart beat hard against her ribcage at the very tall and dark haired man before her. "You looked lonely. Uhm. I know we just got here. But..." What was he doing? Inviting her to sit with his dad and his dad's best friend for dinner? That's weird isn't it? Especially since he was going to have dinner with a girl he was in love with.

"I'd love to join you." Why did she just agree to crash someone else's dinner? It looked like a family affair of sorts. "I'm (Y/n)!" She suddenly remembered her name. It felt like her face was on fire. He shifted from slightly nervous to having a large smile on his face. How sweet.

He even helped by carrying her stuff to the table. "This is my dad Billy. His friend Charlie and his daughter Bella." Jacob introduced allowing her to sit down. Something in the back of her mind told her that this was weird.

Something was off.

It felt... Magical. She knew magical.

But then Charlie began to talk about how he was a sheriff and the weirdness seemed to disappear. "So...where are you from?" Charlie asked trying to judge if this new girl was going to cause him trouble later. "Oh. Sunnydale," she paused. "California. Also graduated from Sunnydale high." She explained with a small smile.

Maybe it wasn't so bad joining their little dinner. It was nice having people to talk to, especially when one was so new. "What do you like to do Jake?" She said looking over at him before taking a bite of food.

"Oh, uh. I buy and flip cars right now. It's more of a side hustle really." He smiled at her. "Really?" She said with a smile on her lips. "Because the car I'm in is just a rental... If you find anything good will you think of me? I can't pay the rate they are wanting forever." She joked, gently and playfully touching his arm.

It was like fire. Both literally and figuratively. If it weren't for the people she could almost throw herself at him. But then his skin was so hot that it almost burned. "Absolutely." Jacob smiled. "What's your phone number?" He looked almost like a puppy who was just given a treat. She took his phone and put her number in and he sent her a text. A wolf emoji.

Her eyes looked him over again. Then the phone in her hand began ringing. She answered it quickly, it was the moving company.

Jacob watched as she excused herself to talk to whoever. Her once happy self was instantly deflated. Jacob did not like that at all. He felt it. He actually felt the sadness in her. Is this what it was like to have an imprint? Actually feeling their pain? She walked back in and sighed.

“Are you okay?” Jacob asked with what (Y/n) could only describe as genuine concern.

“My moving truck is going to be late. On Monday while I’m at work instead of on Sunday.” She shouldn’t be so easy to talk to someone she had only known for 20 minutes. Jacob didn’t like the look on her face one of distress.

Jacob looked her over again, hardly getting tired of looking at her face. “I have some friends on the Res. Maybe we can meet them. Help you out..” Jacob offered without a second thought.

“Really?” she looked at him unsure at first.

Jacob nodded, a bright smile on his face.

“O-okay” She agreed.

a/n: Stopping this one here and writing part 2 next. If I didn’t this would be 3000 words. Don’t worry I’m literally going from posting this part to writing the next bit because I already know what I’m going to do. Then I’m going to write a Paul version of this.

#twilight reader insert #jacob black x reader #Buffy The Vampire Slayer #btvs reader insert #part 1

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momentofmemory · 4 years ago

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FICTOBER 2020 - day twenty-five

Prompt #25: “Sometimes you can even see.”

Fandom: The Old Guard

Characters: Nile Freeman, Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani

Words: 1937

Author’s Note: In the aftermath of a rough mission and all the philosophical questions it entails, Joe takes Nile to the Aarhus Art Museum in Denmark. All pieces mentioned were displayed in the Objects of Wonder: From Pedestal to Interaction exhibit, which ran from Oct. 2019- March 2020. Nile POV.

>> the sweetness remains

Nile scrolls mindlessly through Pinterest, wishing for not the first time that she’d been allowed to recreate her socials.

Copley had barred her from practically all of the actually useful ones, but she’d bullied him down to just having an account on Pinterest, with the argument being that no one cared about the site. Granted, she doesn’t really want to be on Pinterest either, but sometimes the comfort of an app with infinite scroll is all she’s looking for in a distraction.

And right now, she really, really needs to be distracted.

Overly photoshopped cat pics.

Memes ripped straight from tumblr or twitter.

The most white girl aesthetic imaginable.

Three slugs ripping through her abdomen and spitting her liver out the other side—

Nile breathes in sharply. Exhales.

Her thumb resumes scrolling.

Photos of downtown that feel like home.

Recipes for harvest butternut squash soup.

Tips for keeping braids fresh longer.

Nile scrolls, and scrolls, and breathes.

Her abdomen still aches every time her lungs expand, even though she knows it really doesn’t. It’s perfectly healed; not even a scar for her troubles. But it’s hard to forget how her instincts had screamed that a gut shot like that shouldn’t be survivable, even as she pushed herself towards the next target.

(She didn’t survive it.)

(She didn’t survive the next half dozen times it happened, either.)

“Did that phone of yours do something to offend you?”

“Whoa!” Joe’s sudden appearance next to her only makes her clench her phone tighter. She forces out a laugh and eases the tension out of her fingers. “Feel like you should know better than to sneak up on someone that’s part of a bunch of immortal warriors.”

“Most of them would have caught me coming long before you did.”

Nile snorts. She scrolls a few more seconds, then closes the app and opens Temple Run. The game’s ridiculously old, but she’s a millennial. Sue her for being nostalgic.

She can feel Joe watching her as she starts the round.

“Am I correct in thinking you enjoy the arts, Nile?”

It’s not the question she was expecting, and she winds up tilting the screen to the left a half second late, and her character falls off the bridge.

It’s okay though, because she can just use a gem and respawn in the same place, so it’s basically like not dying at all.

Right?

“Uh, yeah,” she says. She winds up restarting the round entirely. “The military was supposed to pay for my degree, but I don’t think I can cash that if I’m technically KIA.”

“That would present a certain set of problems,” Joe agrees. “Andy talk to you about that?”

“Yeah.” Nile’s stomach twists. “Guess it depends on how easy it is to schedule classes between firefights.”

She’s practically laying the opening for a talk out herself, but Joe seems uninterested in taking it.

Instead, he shifts beside her, propping an elbow on his knee. “What kinds of art did you want to specialize in?”

She dies again. This time, she begrudgingly uses the in-game save. "I prefer classic sculpture, but I’m not against modern.”

“You like what was modern art for me, then.”

Nile rolls her eyes. “I dread the day I become as weird as you guys.”

He laughs, patting her on the shoulder as he stands. “I suspect by that time you’ll be too busy tormenting our next recruit. But unfortunately, the exhibit we’re going to will be more in the contemporary style.”

It takes Nile a half second to register his words. “Wait, what?”

“The description said it would be 1960s to the present only. If it suits you, we could hold off on our discussion of it for another thousand years or so. I’m sure we can claim it as classic at that point.”

“What?” Nile locks her phone and zeros her attention on him, registering the mischievous glint in his eyes this time. “Museum?”

“The Aarhus Art Museum has a special exhibit on loan from the Tate Modern at the moment.” He glances down at her phone, the corner of his mouth forming a grin. “I’m told its purpose is to help move its audience’s attention from their devices.”

Nile scowls and looks back down at her phone. “I died a dozen times yesterday. I’m allowed my coping mechanisms of choice.”

And.

Whoops.

“Of course you are,” Joe says, offering his hand to her, and she’s once again surprised he doesn’t force the conversation. “But phones are portable. You can take it with you to the museum.”

Nile worries at the edge of her lip with her teeth. She doesn’t really want to go anywhere right now, but…

But Joe’s brown eyes are warm and welcoming, and his callouses help steady her when she takes his hand.

“You said contemporary sculpture?”

The grin he gives her is blinding. “For now.”

_________________

It’s a twenty-five minute drive from their safe house to the museum, and the route takes them next to the Bay of Aarhus for most of it.

Nile stares out at the water, determined to not give Joe any more ammunition for making fun of her regarding her phone.

It’s hard. She’d never considered herself a technology addict—never had enough time to be one—but she really, really wants to stop thinking about the fact that she knows what the inside of her liver looks like.

Or did look like, she guesses.

Nope, nuh-uh, not going there—

“D'you know about the Ship of Theseus?” She spits it out before she can decide against it. She figures if she’s thinking about it, she might as well talk about it. “And don’t say you were there for it. You’re not Andy and I at least know enough about you to know when you’re lying.”

The grin on his face tells her that he was very much intending to before she called him out on it. “It’s a thought experiment. The character Theseus owns a ship that, over a long span of time, has all of its parts replaced, until nothing of the original still remains.”

“Yeah, and so then the question is, is it even the same ship,” Nile finishes.

Joe weaves in and out of traffic, a pensive look on his face. “I assume you aren’t asking simply to test my knowledge of early western philosophy.”

“No.”

Nile looks down at her hands. She can still remember how horrifically mangled they were from her impromptu dive off a skyscraper, but at least—at least she’s pretty sure they’re the same ones she had before.

Though that might not last long.

“In your opinion,” she says, cautiously, “if—if there’s nothing left of the original—if you have to rebuild something that many times—”

“Nile.” The sound of the car’s turn signal distracts her spiraling thoughts. Joe nods towards the windshield. “We’re here.”

It’s a large, red brick square building, fairly nondescript but for the circular and multi-colored glass walking track at its top.

“Come on, he says, parking the car. “I find physical objects superior to mental ones for solving such issues.”

Nile doesn’t understand why the one time she wants to talk about something like this is the one time Joe decides to go full mysterious.

She climbs out of the car and follows him inside.

Despite her misgivings, she quickly discovers Joe was right. The exhibit is genuinely incredible, and there are pieces from multiple names she recognizes—Anish Kapoor, Donald Judd, Rasheed Araeen—and pieces she finds herself strangely moved by, such as Damian Hirst’s Away from the Flock, Richard Long’s Red Slate Circle, Rachel Whiteread’s Airbed II. Nile stares at that last one in particular for a long time: a concrete casting of an airbed, the artist’s presence made known in the negative space where her body had pressed the material down.

Joe, however, seems to be moving with a specific purpose in mind, and it’s not until they round one of the walls of the orange-pink room that Nile has a guess as to what it is.

In the far corner, bathed in the additional light of a single fill light, is a massive pile of multicolored cellophane wrapped hard candies.

Joe walks her over to it, an almost reverence to his steps.

“Untitled: Portrait of Ross in LA,” he says. “Are you familiar with the piece?”

She shakes her head, bending down to inspect it. It doesn’t look like much more than what she’d seen from a distance—candy, multicolored, on the floor. She looks to Joe for an explanation.

“Felix Gonzalez-Torres’s partner died from AIDS,” Joe says. The grief on his face is hard to look at. “To honor him, he made this as a portrait—one hundred and seventy-five pounds of candy, representing Ross’s weight from when he was still healthy.”

Nile looks at the pile—it’s a lot, but it’s not a hundred and seventy-five pounds worth of a lot.

Joe notices her confusion and smiles. “Take one.”

“What?”

“Take one,” he repeats. “The purpose of the work is to invite you to partake in both enjoying his presence and lamenting the lack of it. A sort of communion—choosing to take part of his body into your own. It was a powerful statement when so many were afraid to even be in our presence at the time.”

Nile looks at the pile again, and just like with Airbed II, her heart aches at what isn’t there, rather than what is. She selects a red piece and brings it out of the pile, cupping it in her hand and considering its weight.

“What happens when it runs out?”

Joe selects his own piece—a green one—and it rolls around in the palm of his hand. “It has. Many times. But that’s the beauty of it—it’s the curator’s responsibility to replenish the pile, metaphorically granting immortality and new life to the loss.”

The cellophane crinkles in Nile’s hand as she unwraps the piece. “How do they decide where to get the candy from?”

“The only firm rule is the original weight. Outside of that, there are no set instructions for the candies themselves.” He chuckles, threading his fingers behind his neck and leaning back against the wall. “Sometimes you can even see these strange combinations of greens, oranges, and purples.”

Nile considers the candy. “Not your favorite?”

“It has an almost Halloween quality to it. I tend to prefer the rainbow.”

The candy in her hand feels heavier than it did before—weighed down with the knowledge of what it represents, what it’s taking away.

She slips the candy into her mouth and her eyebrows raise in surprise. “It’s sweet?”

“It’s candy,” Joe says, unwrapping his own piece. “Did you expect something else?”

“I thought it’d be…” She pauses, trying to parse out her feelings. “Bitter. Or sad, somehow. Considering.”

“It could have been,” Joe agrees. “But the portrait isn’t meant to represent just grief and loss. Candy is a happy thing—a reward for yourself, or a lover’s gift on Valentine’s. And even when it’s gone, the sweetness remains. Still lingering on the tongue, or dwelling in the mind. It is the love of friends and partners that keeps the memory alive—and what keeps this the same portrait, even though its pieces have been cycled through many times.”

The candy melts away on her tongue, and she closes her eyes in grief for its loss, appreciation for what it was, and hope for the pieces that would come after it.

She swallows the last piece of it down.

Her stomach settles.

#fictober20 #fanfiction #the old guard #nile freeman #yusuf al-kaysani #joe | yusuf al-kaysani #philosophy and art #memsfic

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