#1920s truck
Explore tagged Tumblr posts
Text
Fire brigade working at the Friedman Building fire in Carlton, 1922.
Melbourne Fire Museum.
#fire brigade#melbourne#street photography#photography#1920s aesthetic#1920s#firefighter#fire#fire truck
23 notes
·
View notes
Text
An ice cream truck, 1920.
11 notes
·
View notes
Text
A world's record for a coast-to-coast trip by motor truck was established in 1920, when the three-ton Packard truck shown in the photo rolled into New York just 13 days, 13 hours and 15 minutes after leaving Los Angeles. The previous record was 17 days, 3 hours. The record-breaking truck, which was equipped with pneumatic tires, was made for coast-to-coast trips. Built in 1918, it had already rolled up 120,000 miles. The tires lasted through the entire trip.
Photo: Bettmann Archive/Getty Images
138 notes
·
View notes
Text
[1917]
“Goods trains… goods trains…!”
Over the past couple years, Edward had found no shortage of things to complain about on his new railway. Fairly high on that growing list was trucks. They were, he considered, noisy, filthy, and astoundingly bad-tempered. A far cry from the docile, good-natured coaches he usually carried.
“C’mon big blue!” The van behind him shouted. “No wonder they call you a seagull, with how slow you’re moving, it’s like you’re picking crumbs up off the lineside!”
“Pick it up, will ya!” Another truck hollered. “At this rate, it’ll be dark by the time we get there!”
“Shut up!!” Edward barked, his patience waning. “Our pace is fine. You just want me to get into an accident!”
“If we did, maybe then we’d get some excitement.” Another van sulked.
Edward snarled as the consist once again erupted into laughter.
#ttte#thomas and friends#railway series#rws#sodor#island of sodor#ttte edward#ttte troublesome trucks#imagine a time when edward couldn't manage trucks#pre 1920's edward is very fun to think about
39 notes
·
View notes
Photo
Washington, D.C., 1922. "Fire layout -- answering the fire bell." Looks to be posed just for the photographer, given how casual the guy in the left of the frame appears.
100 notes
·
View notes
Text
fire trucks in front of the Montreal Public Library, 1929 (City of Montreal Archives)
21 notes
·
View notes
Text
This truck has a mullet.
The Business Week - December 15th 1929
#1929#gasoline#dump truck#vintage ads#vintage ad#advertising#advertisement#1920s#1920s ad#1920's#1920's ad#funny#humor#humour
7 notes
·
View notes
Text
Yarraville Victoria 1924 A man standing beside a Ford Model T van
0 notes
Text
#christmas gift#newyear#new years resolution#1920s#international#ice cream#ice cream truck#winter aesthetic#snowflakes
0 notes
Photo
Anonymous. A jazz band performing from the back of a flat bed truck. Moore County, North Carolina. 1920's
I Am Collective Memories • Follow me, — says Visual Ratatosk
#BW#Black and White#Preto e Branco#Noir et Blanc#黒と白#Schwarzweiß#retro#vintage#Anonymous#jazz band#musicians#Moore Coubty#Northh Carolina#1920s#20s#street photography#Photographie de rue#Strassenfotografie#fotografia de rua#ストリートフォトグラフィー#cities#cidades#villes#都市#Stadtbild#paysage urbain#paisagem urbana#シティスケープ
922 notes
·
View notes
Note
may i ask the definition of country music? i wanna win a debate against my sister….
Country Music is what happens when Folk Music ferments. It has existed in seven distinct generations:
1920-1930, in which people with fiddles sang about farm animals
1930-1950, where cowboys were also invited
1950-1970, in which Nashville took over
1970-1990, in which Johnny Cash and Dolly Parton ruled the Earth
1990-2000, when Trucks and Drinking were valued above all
2000-2020, when you got shot if you didn't mention 9/11
2020-Present, a time of people mostly just wishing Johnny Cash and Dolly Parton still ruled the Earth.
Country Music may also at times involve a "Banjo."
236 notes
·
View notes
Text
𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐝𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐫 | chapter 13
dbf!joel miller x female reader
"Beautiful people, beautiful problems."
summary: both of you and joel still feel the shadows from your past and...a mysterious man...
warnings: 18+ only, Minors DNI, AU, No outbreak. (TW) mentions of substance abuse/alcohol use disorder, adult content, religion abuse, violence, blood gore, mentions of death, sexual abuse, sexual content, domestic violences, ped0ph!l1a, cann1bal!sm, human traff1ck1ng, dad's best friend!Joel, HUGE age gap (i will not specify her exact age, but she's legal and Joel is 49), daddy issues, mentions of toxic family dynamic, Joel is widowed, Ellie is 16, angst, smut A LOT, forbidden relationship, soft and protective Joel, innocent and pure reader. your last name is Gibson. any other details will be explain throughout the story. inspired by the album Preacher's daughter by Ethel Cain and also mix with lana del rey vibes.
CHAPTER 13
masterlist!
previous | chapter 12
next | chapter 14
The warm, sultry air of Louisiana clung to your skin as Joel eased the truck into the grand driveway of the hotel. The fading sunlight bathed the building in a soft, golden hue, casting long shadows over the narrow streets of New Orleans. The hotel stood like a relic of a bygone era—elegant, stately, and dripping in the charm of the 1920s. Wrought-iron balconies curled around its façade, their intricate designs reminiscent of a time when craftsmanship was an art form. Tall, arched windows, framed by deep green shutters, gave the place an air of mystery, while the soft glow of gas lanterns flickered against the approaching twilight, welcoming you into a world where time seemed to slow down.
Joel parked and turned to you with a knowing smile, catching the awe in your eyes as you took in the opulence. “What do you think?” His voice was warm and easy, like the honeyed notes of a Southern drawl.
You exhaled, still mesmerized by the hotel’s vintage charm. “It’s beautiful, Joel. Feels like stepping into another time.”
He chuckled softly, the sound deep and comforting. “Only the best for you, darlin’.”
You stepped out of the truck, the cool tiles beneath your shoes a stark contrast to the heat lingering in the air. Together, you began unloading the bags, your hands brushing his as you reached for the same suitcase. His touch, steady and reassuring, anchored you in this unfamiliar, yet intoxicatingly beautiful place. The hotel, with its antique grandeur and whispers of a decadent past, made you feel both lost and found all at once.
As Joel handed the last bag to the bellhop, you let your gaze wander. The lobby was a perfect blend of sophistication and old-world elegance. Polished marble floors gleamed under the soft light of crystal chandeliers, their glow casting a golden shimmer across the room. The furniture—plush velvet armchairs in deep, jewel tones—was arranged in intimate clusters, as if inviting whispered conversations and stolen moments. A baby grand piano, aged and stately, sat silently in one corner, as if waiting for the night to bring music and life to its keys. The quiet hum of voices, paired with the soft clink of glasses from the bar, added to the atmosphere of quiet luxury.
Joel, noticing your awe, smiled wider. “Go on, have a seat. I’ll grab the keys,” he said, nodding towards the seating area. “I’ve already made the reservation online.”
You settled into a velvet armchair near a set of towering windows that looked out onto a lush courtyard. The ironwork from the balconies extended here, wrapping around the garden where ferns and jasmine climbed the walls, filling the air with their sweet scent. The atmosphere was a mix of tranquility and hidden stories, as if each corner held secrets from a hundred years ago.
While Joel checked in, you let your eyes drift across the room—the shimmering marble, the vintage chandeliers casting a soft, romantic light, and the fresh flowers that added pops of color to the rich, muted tones of the décor.
Then, out of the corner of your eye, you spotted someone—an older man, perhaps in his 50s, with a salt-and-pepper beard and wearing a black leather jacket. He was standing near the entrance, leaning casually against the wall. There was something familiar about him, though you couldn’t quite place it. His eyes were on you, and when your gazes met, he smiled—a small, almost knowing smile—and nodded in your direction.
You glanced behind you, thinking that maybe he was acknowledging someone else, but there was no one there. Your heart skipped a beat, an uneasy feeling settling in your chest. Despite the oddness of it, you smiled back, trying to be polite. But there was something in his eyes, something that sent a chill down your spine, though you couldn’t figure out why.
He looked like he wanted to say something, his lips parting as if he was trying to speak to you from afar. But before you could make sense of it, you heard Joel’s voice, warm and reassuring, pulling your attention back to him.
“Got the key,” Joel said, walking towards you with a satisfied smile on his face. You turned back to where the man had been standing, but he was gone. The spot where he had been was empty, as if he had never been there at all.
You blinked, your mind racing. Had you imagined it? Or was it just a trick of the light? But the unease lingered, a faint shadow in the back of your mind. You wanted to mention it to Joel, but something held you back, the moment passing as quickly as it had come.
“Everything alright?” Joel asked, noticing the slight frown on your face as he handed you the room key.
You forced a smile, pushing the strange encounter to the back of your mind. “Yeah, everything’s fine.”
He reached out, his hand brushing against your arm, his touch gentle and reassuring. “Good,” he said, his eyes searching yours for a moment before he led the way toward the elevator. “Let’s get settled in, and then we can figure out what to do for dinner.”
You felt the weight of the day beginning to lift, but there was still that sense of stickiness clinging to your skin, the remnants of the journey. “I need a shower,” you said, almost sheepishly.
Joel nodded, a teasing glint in his eyes as he leaned in closer, pretending to take a deep whiff. He scrunched up his nose in mock disgust. “Yeah, you sure do, darlin’,” he said, a mischievous smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Smellin’ like a long road trip in the middle of summer.”
You smacked his arm lightly, unable to suppress a laugh. “You’re so mean.”
His laughter joined yours, rich and comforting, echoing in the grand hallway of the hotel. The bellboy appeared to help with your bags, his polite demeanor contrasting with Joel’s playful teasing. As the three of you stepped into the elevator, the smooth hum of it moving upward felt like the beginning of something new—a journey you had only just embarked on, with so many more miles to go.
Joel turned to you as the elevator doors closed, his expression softening. “So, what do you wanna do while we’re here in New Orleans?"
You shook your head, smiling shyly. "I follow you, Joel. It’s my first time out of… well, you know. I’ve never done anything like this before.”
He gave you a look filled with warmth, his eyes crinkling at the edges. “Then we’ll make sure your first time’s unforgettable. Music and the foods, You’re gonna love it.”
***
After shower, You changed quickly, and soon enough, the two of you were out on the streets, hand in hand, the world around you pulsing with energy. The French Quarter was alive—vibrant colors, wrought-iron balconies covered in creeping ivy, the smell of spicy Cajun food mingling with the sweet, smoky air.
Street performers played jazz, the music dancing through the air like something you could reach out and touch. It felt surreal, like you were stepping into a movie, every moment dripping with possibility.
Joel led the way, his grip firm but gentle on your hand. “You ever hear music like this before?” he asked, glancing at you with a soft smile.
“No,” you replied, wide-eyed, trying to soak it all in. “It’s beautiful. It’s like… it fills the air, like it’s a part of the city itself.”
He nodded, his eyes scanning the crowd, ever protective, but he kept his tone light. “Yeah, Feels alive, doesn’t it?”
You smiled, but that same uneasy feeling crept up again. It was subtle, like a whisper in the back of your mind. The crowd, the noise, the rush of the city—it all felt too much for a moment. You glanced around, your eyes scanning the faces of strangers passing by, and there it was again. That feeling.
You tried to shake it off, but something about it gnawed at you. The man from the hotel lobby flashed in your mind—the way he looked at you, too familiar, too knowing. You felt a shiver crawl up your spine as if he could be watching you even now.
Joel must have sensed your discomfort because he squeezed your hand a little tighter, pulling you closer. “You alright?” he asked, his voice low, concerned.
“Yeah, I just... It’s nothing," you said, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. Joel studied you for a moment longer, his brow furrowing in concern, his gaze soft but questioning.
“You sure?” he asked, his voice gentle, the warmth in his eyes wrapping around you like a soft blanket. "Babe?"
You nodded quickly, pushing away the thoughts swirling in your head. “Yeah, I’m fine,” you lied, feeling the words stick in your throat like sand. "Maybe just tired. I don’t know. It’s been a long day."
Joel’s eyes lingered on you, searching for the truth beneath your words. “Maybe we should head back to the hotel,” he suggested, concern lacing his voice. “You could use some rest, and we can grab a bite there.”
You shook your head, not wanting to ruin the moment, not wanting to burden him with your worries. He was already carrying so much, and the last thing you wanted was to add more weight to his shoulders.
"No, no," you said, forcing a small laugh. "I'm fine, really. I want to explore this town with you. Just the two of us. Let's keep going."
Joel hesitated, his protective instincts kicking in, but he eventually relented, a soft smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Alright. But if you start feelin’ tired, you tell me, okay?”
You nodded again, trying to push away the lingering unease that clung to you like a shadow. The feeling of being watched, of someone’s eyes burning into the back of your neck, wouldn’t go away, but you didn’t want to tell Joel.
You didn’t want to add more to his already heavy heart, didn’t want to give life to the quiet fear that still lurked inside you—the fear that one day, your father might come and tear Joel away from you. That he’d come and steal this happiness, this safety, this love you’d found with Joel.
Sometimes, that fear still gripped you, like a hand squeezing your throat, making it hard to breathe.
It haunted your quiet moments, that dark corner in your mind where your father’s voice still echoed, telling you that you weren’t enough, that you didn’t deserve love.
But with Joel, you felt whole, like you finally had something that was yours.
You glanced at Joel, his strong presence beside you anchoring you to this moment. Maybe you were just imagining things--the man-- just like your father’s lingering shadow.
The man in the hotel lobby, the feeling of being watched... it was probably all in your head. You were just on edge, your mind playing tricks on you.
But still, you couldn’t shake the feeling. You were sure you had seen him before, though you couldn’t remember where. But, you didn’t want to dwell on it. Not now. Not when you were here with Joel, trying to enjoy this fleeting moment of peace together.
Joel’s voice broke through your thoughts, pulling you back to the present. “You really okay, though?"
You smiled softly, shaking your head. “I’m fine, Joel. Really."
He smiled, a slow, easy smile that made your heart feel lighter. “Okay."
As you walked side by side through the vibrant streets of New Orleans, the city seemed to come alive around you.
You took a deep breath, trying to let the warmth of the night soothe you, trying to focus on Joel’s steady presence beside you. His hand slipped into yours again, his fingers lacing through yours like they belonged there, and for a moment, the world felt right again. You held onto that feeling, clinging to it like a lifeline, pushing away the shadows and the fear.
As the two of you strolled down the lively streets, you glanced up at Joel and said, “I’m getting kinda hungry.”
Joel smirked and gave your hand a playful squeeze. “Well, lucky for you, we’re in the land of good food. How ‘bout we stop at the next place that catches our eye?”
You smiled, feeling the tension ease a little. Just being with him made you feel safer, like everything was going to be okay. “Sounds good to me.”
A few blocks later, you spotted a cozy-looking restaurant tucked between two colorful buildings. The windows were lined with flickering candles, and the smell of rich, spicy food wafted out every time the door opened. Joel nodded towards it. “What do you think? Cajun food might hit the spot.”
You grinned, already imagining the warmth of gumbo or jambalaya. “Let’s do it.”
Once inside, the restaurant felt intimate, filled with the low hum of chatter, the clink of silverware, and the occasional burst of laughter. Joel guided you to a table near the back, and as you sat down, he gave the menu a quick glance before turning his attention to you.
The two of you bantered back and forth, finally Joel ordered for both of you, suggesting dishes you couldn’t even pronounce. You watched him, his hands gesturing as he spoke, his voice soft and easy. There was something calming about how natural everything felt with him.
As you both waited for the food, the warmth of Joel’s hand covered yours on the table. His thumb lazily traced circles against your skin, a gesture so small but filled with tenderness.
You looked at him and asked softly, “After this, where do we go next?”
Joel leaned back in his chair, his brow furrowing slightly as he thought. "Hmm," he mused, glancing around the bustling restaurant as if searching for an answer in the air.
“Well, darlin', where do ya wanna go? We could just keep drivin'. Maybe head to Alabama, or...” His voice trailed off, and he gave you a smile that softened all the edges of his rugged face. “Maybe even stop somewhere near the Gulf. Find ourselves a beach, relax for a bit.”
Your eyes lit up at the thought. “That sounds perfect.”
Joel chuckled, the sound deep and low. “We’ll just take it one town at a time. Motel to motel, ‘cross the states, just you and me.” He squeezed your hand gently, his voice turning more thoughtful. “Eventually, we’ll make our way to California. Like our plan."
The thought of it made your heart race. Just you and Joel, together, no one to come between you. “I’d like that,” you whispered, smiling softly.
You were about to say something more when the question bubbled up inside you, almost catching you by surprise. You hesitated for a moment before asking,
“Joel... do you miss Ellie?”
His grip on your hand faltered for a second, just long enough for you to notice. Joel's eyes darkened, and for a moment, he looked away, his jaw tight, the memories of Ellie lingering in the corners of his mind. He stayed silent for what felt like minutes but was only a few seconds, before nodding slowly.
“Yeah,” he finally said, his voice thick. “I do. Very much."
You could feel the weight in his words, the ache that he tried so hard to bury. Ellie was a part of him, in the same way you were becoming. And even though he tried to keep her at arm's length to protect himself, that love—Joel’s fierce, unyielding love—was something that couldn’t be silenced.
“I’m sorry, Joel,” you said quietly, guilt bubbling up inside you. “I didn’t mean to take you away from her.”
Joel squeezed your hand again, this time more firmly. His eyes softened as he looked at you, all traces of tension melting away. “Stop that,” he murmured, shaking his head. “This ain’t your fault. None of this is.”
You bit your lip, but the words tumbled out anyway. “But—”
“No,” he interrupted gently but firmly. “You didn’t ask for any of this. You didn’t do nothin’ wrong.” He leaned in, his forehead almost touching yours, his voice dropping to a whisper. “I’d go through hell to keep you safe, babygirl. And I’d do it all over again if I had to.”
His words hit you like a prayer—like an old psalm sung at dusk, filled with the weight of promise and sacrifice. Joel had become your protector, your keeper, like an Old Testament shepherd guarding his flock. And though you were not without your own strength, you knew that in his arms, you had found your refuge.
Without thinking, you leaned forward and kissed him, your lips pressing softly against his in a way that felt both new and familiar. Joel kissed you back with a quiet intensity, his hand resting on your cheek, the world around you fading into the background.
For the first time, you weren’t afraid of being caught. The street, the noise, the people—it all disappeared in that moment.
When you finally pulled back, breathless, Joel smiled, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “Beautiful girl, my beautiful girl."
But before you could answer, something on the TV in the corner of the restaurant caught your eye. It was a news report, the kind you usually ignored, but this time it made your stomach twist.
Pastor Ben and Jamie Lee.
Both missing. Their faces flashed on the screen as the anchor discussed their sudden disappearance and the ongoing search.
"Oh my god."
You stared at the screen, feeling the air shift around you. Jamie Lee—his name alone was enough to bring back memories you had tried so hard to bury.
You hated him for what he had done, for the pain and humiliation he’d caused. But despite everything, a part of you couldn’t help but feel a twinge of sympathy.
After all, forgiveness was what you’d been taught all your life. Turn the other cheek. Forgive those who trespass against you.
Still, it was hard to reconcile that Christian kindness with the anger that bubbled inside you. Jamie had sinned, deeply. If anyone deserved to be lost, it was him.
Joel noticed your sudden stillness and followed your gaze to the TV. His expression darkened, but he said nothing, just watched. You couldn’t see the storm brewing behind his eyes, the fear and guilt clawing at his chest.
He had done what he thought was right—what he had to do. But now, with their faces plastered on the screen, the weight of his actions pressed heavily on him.
You whispered, almost to yourself, “I hated him. But... no one deserves to just disappear like that. Not even him.”
Joel stayed silent, his grip tightening around your hand, his pulse thrumming beneath his skin like a distant drumbeat. He wanted to tell you, to let you know that he had done this for you—for your safety, for your peace. But he couldn’t bring himself to say the words. Not yet.
Joel’s heart ached with a weight that was impossible to shake, even as your words hung in the air between you like a fragile thread. I hated him. But... no one deserves to just disappear like that. Not even him. He swallowed hard, his breath catching in his throat, his eyes fixed on the distant horizon beyond the courtyard.
You didn’t know. You couldn’t know.
Joel’s mind churned beneath the surface, a storm no one could see. The truth of what he’d done was buried deep—buried like Jamie and Pastor Ben, like the bodies he’d laid to rest in the dark soil, far away from your innocence, your gentle heart. He’d done it for you, every twisted, violent act a means of protecting you from men who didn’t deserve to breathe the same air as you.
Joel’s pulse beat heavy beneath his skin, the thrum of it like a drum, steady and relentless, as memories played behind his eyes. The sharp edge of the shovel digging into earth. The crack of bone. The blood, The silence afterward, so thick it felt like drowning. He had been methodical, precise. He’d done worse in his life—he’d done what he had to do, and this was no different.
"Joel?" You ask him, because he seems like he lost in his own thought, "Are you okay?" you ask again.
Joel blinked, dragged back to the present by the sound of your voice, soft and concerned. He turned to you, his jaw tightening before he loosened it, forcing the tension out of his muscles. He hadn’t realized how far he’d slipped—back into those dark corners of his mind where the past bled into the present, where every sound and every silence reminded him of what he’d done, of the graves he’d dug.
“Yeah,” he said quietly, his voice rougher than he meant it to be. “Yeah, I’m alright.”
But you weren’t convinced. You tilted your head, your eyes searching his face, looking for something he didn’t want you to find. “Are you tired? We can take the food back to our hotel," you said.
Joel shook his head, offering you a quick, reassuring smile. "No, no, it's fine," he said, his voice steady. “We’ll eat here.”
Moments later, the food arrived, and you both shared a quiet, peaceful meal together. The evening was warm, the hum of jazz floating through the air as the city bustled around you. After dinner, you strolled hand-in-hand through the streets of New Orleans, the city alive with music and energy. The twinkling lights, the sound of laughter, and the scent of spices in the air made it feel like a dream. You had fun, really let go, and it felt like Joel did too—his laughter mixing with yours, his eyes softening when they met yours.
But when you returned to the hotel, the warmth faded as you began to unwind. You changed into comfortable clothes, wiped away your makeup, and kept chatting with Joel from the bathroom, the door cracked open so he could hear you. You told him about the jazz show, about the new friends you’d made with him by your side. The night felt alive in your words, full of joy, but after a while, you noticed the silence from the other side of the room.
“Joel?” you called, your voice carrying a little more concern. You stepped out of the bathroom and saw him sitting on the edge of the bed, staring off into space. His hands were clasped tightly in his lap, his broad shoulders tense, his whole body still, like a statue weighed down by invisible chains.
“Joel, what’s wrong?” you asked, walking over to him, kneeling in front of him so you could see his face. “Did I do something wrong?”
His eyes flicked back to you, as if pulling himself from some dark place in his mind. His brow furrowed, and he quickly shook his head, his hand reaching out to cup your cheek. “No, no, baby,” he murmured, his voice strained but soft. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
You held his gaze, feeling the unease creeping into your chest. “Then what is it?” you pressed gently. “Are you sick?”
Joel opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. How could he explain the storm raging inside him? The news he’d seen earlier—reports of missing people, whispers of investigations—it sent a chill down his spine.
He couldn’t shake the thought that maybe it wouldn’t be long before the police found where he had buried Jamie and Pastor Ben. Maybe it wouldn’t be long before they came for him, before they tore him from you, or worse—before they dragged you back to your father, back to the hell he had tried so hard to save you from.
Inside his mind, the thoughts churned like a rising tide, each one more suffocating than the last. He saw it all—the flash of blue lights, the handcuffs tightening around his wrists, your face crumbling as they led him away.
He imagined you back in that house, imagined the way you’d be stripped of the freedom and love he’d tried to give you.
He couldn’t let that happen. He wouldn’t let that happen.
But he couldn’t tell you any of this.
The truth was like a sickness in him, spreading through his veins, poisoning everything it touched. Every moment with you was a borrowed one. The walls felt like they were closing in, and no matter how much he wanted to pull you close and keep you safe, the fear of what could come next gnawed at him relentlessly.
“Joel?” your voice brought him back again, your hand resting on his knee, warm and gentle. “Please, talk to me. I know something’s wrong.”
He let out a long, shaky breath, his thumb brushing softly against your cheek. “I just… got a lot on my mind, sweetheart,” he said quietly, forcing a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Nothin’ for you to worry about.”
But you could see it—the heaviness in his expression, the way his body tensed like he was carrying a weight too heavy for one man alone.
“You sure?” you asked again, your voice a whisper now, full of concern. “I can help. I’m here.”
"Joel. It's both of us now against the world. Just you and me. I will be with you no matter what, Joel."
Joel’s heart clenched at your words. The truth in your voice, the unwavering loyalty, wrapped around him like a lifeline. He wanted to believe it—to hold onto the idea that with you, he could face anything.
But the weight of what he had done, the fear of what might come, pressed down like a crushing force. He couldn’t risk destroying this fragile happiness, this fleeting freedom that both of you had fought so hard to claim.
You looked up at him, your eyes searching his, so full of love, of trust. Joel wanted to give you everything—his heart, his soul, his truth. But not yet.
His love for you was too deep, too raw, and the fear of losing you, of losing this, gnawed at him in ways he couldn’t put into words.
Instead of speaking, Joel cupped your face, his rough hands trembling slightly as they held you. The silence between you grew thick, but his lips found yours—softly at first, as if he were testing the waters, afraid of losing himself in you completely.
But the kiss deepened, and something inside him snapped. It wasn’t just desire, it was a desperate need—an overwhelming, aching need to feel alive, to drown out the darkness clawing at him from every corner.
He kissed you like a man starved, pouring every unspoken fear, every unexpressed emotion into that moment. His lips moved with a fierce, breathless intensity, his hands tracing the curves of your body, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you.
"Joel..." You moan as his touch was urgent, seeking comfort, seeking release from the turmoil spinning in his head.
Joel’s breath hitched at the sound of your voice, his name tumbling from your lips in a way that sent a shiver down his spine. His hands slid up your body, fingers tracing the soft lines of your waist, your hips, the curve of your thighs. His touch was rough, desperate, like he couldn’t get enough of you, like he needed you to drown out everything else.
"Say it again," he growled against your neck, his lips brushing your skin as he pressed his body against yours. His breath was hot, his voice low and gravelly. "Say my name again, baby."
"Joel..." you gasped, your hands gripping his shoulders, pulling him even closer, your heart racing as the heat between you grew. His mouth found yours again, and this time, the kiss was hungrier, deeper—like he was claiming you, like he needed this, needed you to ground him, to remind him that this was real.
His hands roamed, exploring every inch of you, each touch more possessive than the last. "You feel so good," he murmured against your lips, his voice thick with desire. "I need you... right now, baby."
You arched into him, your body responding to his every touch, his every word. “Joel… I need you too.”
He groaned softly, his mouth trailing down your neck, his hands slipping under the fabric of your shirt, lifting it higher until it was tossed aside. He kissed you again, harder, more intense, his body pressing you into the mattress, every movement filled with the weight of his need.
“You’re mine,” he whispered, his voice rough and ragged, full of a quiet possessiveness as he kissed your collarbone, then lower, his hands gripping your hips, steadying you beneath him. "You understand? Mine."
"Yes," you whispered back, your voice trembling with want, your hands threading through his hair, pulling him closer. "Yours, yours only, daddy."
You realize when you said that, your eyes widened, face red. The word slipped out before you could stop it—daddy—and as soon as it did, your eyes widened, your breath catching in your throat.
Heat rushed to your face, your cheeks flushing red with embarrassment. You hadn’t meant to say it, not like that, but the way Joel had been touching you, the way he made you feel so safe and wanted, it just… came out.
For a moment, there was a stunned silence, Joel’s lips hovering just above your skin. Then, his eyes darkened, and a low, gravelly chuckle escaped his throat. He tilted his head up, looking down at you with an intensity that sent a shiver through your whole body.
“Oh, baby…” His voice was deeper now, rough with desire. His hand slid to the back of your neck, pulling you closer as his lips grazed your ear. “What did you just call me?”
You swallowed, heart pounding in your chest. “I–I didn’t mean—”
But Joel cut you off, his mouth crashing against yours in a bruising kiss, his grip tightening as if he couldn’t get enough of you. When he finally pulled back, his gaze burned into yours. “Say it again,” he demanded softly, his voice laced with something dark, possessive.
"Say it for daddy."
Your pulse raced, your body tingling under his touch. “Daddy…” you whispered, breathless, the word trembling from your lips.
Joel groaned, his hands roaming over your body with renewed hunger, the heat between you intensifying. “That’s my good girl,” he growled against your skin, his lips trailing down your neck, sending shockwaves of pleasure through you.
“You like calling me that, huh? Feels right, doesn’t it?”
You nodded, a soft moan escaping your throat as his hands gripped your hips, pulling you flush against him. “Yes… daddy.”
He growled again, his teeth grazing your shoulder as his hands wandered lower, claiming every inch of you like he was staking his claim.
“You’re mine, baby. All mine,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire as he kissed his way down your body, leaving a trail of heat in his wake. “I’m gonna take care of you, make you feel so good.”
Joel’s breath was ragged as he leaned back, his eyes dark with hunger as he reached for the condom, tearing the wrapper with his teeth. His gaze never left yours, the intensity in his eyes making your heart race even faster.
You watched, your body trembling with anticipation as he rolled it on, his jaw clenched with restraint. He was trying to hold back, but you could see how much he needed this—how much he needed you.
He hovered over you, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, “I’m not gonna be gentle tonight, baby. I need you too much.” His voice was low, rough, full of a barely contained edge that sent a shiver down your spine.
You nodded, your breath catching as his hand slid between your thighs, teasing you, making you gasp. "I can take it," you whispered, your voice breathless with want. "I want you, Joel... I need you."
With a growl, Joel positioned himself, his grip tightening on your hips. He entered you slowly, but even then, the sheer force of it made you gasp, your nails digging into his shoulders as your body adjusted to him. The pressure was overwhelming, the stretch sending shockwaves of pleasure through you as he filled you completely.
“Goddamn, you feel so good,” Joel grunted, his teeth grazing your neck as he moved deeper, setting a rough, desperate pace. He couldn’t hold back, his need too great, the weight of everything pressing down on him pouring into every thrust. “So tight, baby… so perfect.”
You moaned his name, your body arching beneath him, each movement sending pleasure spiraling through you. His hands gripped your waist, holding you steady as he moved harder, faster, his body pressing you into the mattress.
Every thrust was deep, forceful, as if he was trying to chase away the demons that haunted him, burying his fear and paranoia in the way he claimed you.
“My beautiful girl, such a good girl you are.” he growled, his lips crashing against yours in a heated kiss, swallowing your moans. “No one else gets you like this. Only me. You’re mine, baby.”
You could only nod, lost in the sensation, your body responding to every rough touch, every demanding kiss. “Yes… Joel… only you…” you gasped, your voice trembling with pleasure as he took you over the edge, his rhythm relentless, his grip possessive.
He groaned deeply as his pace quickened, the tension in his body coiling tighter with each thrust. “I’m never letting you go,” he rasped, his forehead resting against yours, his breath hot and ragged.
“Never.”
Your body tightened around him, the intensity of his movements pushing you closer to your breaking point. You moaned his name again, the sound filling the room as you clung to him, your heart pounding in your chest.
Joel's grip tightened on your hips, and the bed creaked beneath the force of his movements, each thrust rougher than the last. The headboard knocked against the wall in rhythm, and your moans filled the room, mingling with the sound of his ragged breathing.
The pressure of his body against yours was overwhelming, and yet, even in the roughness, there was a tenderness, a care in the way his lips found yours between every deep, hard thrust.
“Joel...” you gasped, your voice shaking as your fingers dug into his shoulders, trying to anchor yourself against the intensity. Your legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him deeper, the roughness somehow exactly what you needed.
Every time he moved, it sent you closer to the edge, your body tightening around him, the friction almost unbearable.
“You’re so perfect,” Joel growled against your lips, his mouth claiming yours in a fierce kiss. His hand came up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing tenderly against your skin, a stark contrast to the way his body pounded into you. “So damn perfect, baby... Can’t get enough of you.”
The bedframe rattled against the wall as he thrust harder, the sound only heightening the heat building between you. Your back arched, your head tipping back as you moaned his name again, your body trembling beneath him. “Joel... oh God...”
He kissed you deeply, swallowing your moans, his lips rough but full of passion as he gripped you tighter. “I’ve got you,” he rasped between kisses, his breath hot against your mouth. “You’re safe with me, baby. Always.”
Even though his movements were rough, almost desperate, he made sure you were okay—his lips constantly finding yours, his hands steadying your body, his murmured reassurances grounding you in the midst of the intensity.
You felt the pressure building inside you, your whole body tightening as you clung to him, every nerve ending on fire as he pushed you closer to him.
The pressure inside you coiled tighter, your body trembling as the pleasure built, inching you closer to the edge with each of Joel’s rough, relentless thrusts. Your eyes fluttered shut, lost in the overwhelming sensation, your breath coming in short, desperate gasps.
“Joel... I’m so close...” you moaned, your voice barely a whisper, your body arching beneath him.
But Joel’s hand moved to your chin, tilting your face toward him, his dark eyes filled with intensity as he leaned closer, his lips brushing against your ear. “Look at me,” he growled softly, his voice rough with desire. “Open your eyes, baby. I want you to look at me when you cum.”
His words sent a jolt of heat through you, making your heart race even faster. You forced your eyes open, meeting his gaze, the connection between you sparking like electricity. His eyes were dark, hungry, filled with so much need that it made your whole body tremble.
“That's it,” Joel murmured, his pace quickening, thrusting deeper, harder. The bedframe rattled against the wall as his hands gripped your hips tighter, pulling you closer to him, pushing you right to the brink. “Stay with me, darlin’. I wanna see you fall apart for me.”
Your breath hitched, your body tightening even more as the intensity of his movements pushed you to the edge. His eyes never left yours, and the way he was looking at you—like you were everything he needed—made you feel like you were unraveling beneath him.
“Joel... oh my God...” you moaned, your voice shaking as the wave of pleasure crashed over you. Your entire body shuddered, your nails digging into his back as you came, your eyes locked with his the whole time, just like he asked.
Joel let out a low, guttural groan as he felt you tighten around him, his own control slipping. “That’s my girl,” he rasped, his lips brushing against yours, his voice thick with desire. “So beautiful...”
He thrust into you harder, chasing his own release, and with a deep, broken moan, he followed you over the edge, his body shaking as he came, holding you close like he couldn’t bear to let go.
"Fuck!"
Joel cursed under his breath, his chest heaving as both of you struggled to catch your breath. His body trembled as he pulled out of you, quickly disposing of the condom and tossing it aside. When you started to shift, thinking it was over, his strong hand gripped your thigh, keeping your legs open.
“Who said I’m done?” he growled, his voice low and commanding, sending a shiver down your spine.
Your eyes widened in surprise, your heart pounding all over again as you watched him, your body still sensitive from the intensity of before.
Joel leaned down, kissing a trail across your stomach, his lips dangerously close to the heat between your thighs. His breath was hot against your skin, and your pulse raced as he moved lower, his hands spreading your legs wider.
“Joel...oh my God,” you whispered, your voice breathless, but he didn’t respond with words. Instead, his mouth found the soft skin just above your core, kissing and teasing until you were trembling beneath him again, your hands gripping the sheets.
He looked up at you through hooded eyes, his hands firmly holding your hips in place as his lips hovered over your most sensitive spot. “I wanna hear you moan my name again,” he murmured, his voice rough with lust.
“Louder this time.”
And then, without warning, his mouth was on you, his tongue teasing you with slow, deliberate strokes, sending a shockwave of pleasure through your body. You gasped, your back arching as you moaned his name, your fingers tangling in his hair as he devoured you like he couldn’t get enough.
“Oh God, Joel,” you cried, your body trembling, overwhelmed by the sudden surge of sensation. He was relentless, his mouth moving with expert precision, coaxing every last bit of pleasure from you as you writhed beneath him, completely at his mercy.
Joel groaned against you, the sound vibrating through your core, and you moaned even louder, your body tightening again as the pleasure built all over. He looked up, eyes dark with need, watching every reaction, every moan as he drove you closer to the edge once more.
Joel’s fingers joined in, sliding inside you with a slow, deliberate thrust that made your whole body jolt. His mouth stayed on you, his tongue moving in sync with the rhythm of his fingers, fast and relentless. The sensation was overwhelming, his touch sending shockwaves of pleasure coursing through you.
Your legs trembled uncontrollably, the intensity almost too much to handle. "Oh God, Joel!" you cried out, your voice shaking as your body arched off the bed, your hands clutching at the sheets as if you were holding on for dear life. His fingers were fast, his tongue even faster, and it felt like you were on the verge of falling apart all over again.
“That's it, baby,” Joel rasped against your skin, his voice thick with desire. “Let go for me.”
Your eyes rolled back, the heat coiling tight in your belly, spreading through your limbs like fire. You couldn’t stop the moans spilling from your lips, couldn’t stop the way your hips moved desperately against his hand, chasing that release you craved.
“Joel... I— I can’t...” you gasped, your voice trembling as you felt yourself nearing the edge, your body overwhelmed by the intensity of his touch.
“You can, darlin’,” he growled, his eyes never leaving your face as he pressed deeper, his fingers curling inside you, hitting that perfect spot. “Cum for me.”
His words were the final push you needed. With a cry of his name, you shattered beneath him, your entire body shaking as waves of pleasure crashed over you.
Your legs trembled uncontrollably, your breath coming in short, ragged gasps as you lost yourself in the sensation, the world spinning around you.
Joel didn’t stop, didn’t slow down, drawing out every last bit of pleasure from you until you were completely spent, your body trembling, utterly at his mercy.
Finally, Joel pulled back, his lips lingering on your inner thigh before he released a satisfied breath. Just as you thought he was done, he spit softly on your sensitive core, making your body jolt with surprise.
Without hesitation, his mouth was back on you, licking slowly, savoring every reaction he pulled from you. The sensation was too much, your overstimulated body trembling as his tongue tasted you again.
He worked his way up, his lips trailing kisses over your stomach, then your breasts, before finally reaching your mouth. He kissed you deeply, and you could taste yourself on his lips, the intimate mix of your desire on his tongue.
It was raw, electric, and it made your heart race all over again.
As his mouth moved against yours, you felt the weight of his body pressing into you, his hands holding you steady, his fingers trailing over your skin like he owned every part of you. “You taste so good,” he whispered against your lips, his voice husky with lust.
You gasped softly, your hands clutching his shoulders as you kissed him back, feeling the intoxicating mixture of you on his mouth. "Joel..." you breathed, your voice barely a whisper, still dazed from everything he’d just done to you.
“You like that, don’t you?” he murmured, his voice low, teasing. His lips ghosted over your ear, sending shivers down your spine.
"Tell me, baby, you like tasting yourself on my lips?"
You chuckles at his tease and nodded, your cheeks flushing, unable to form coherent words as his mouth claimed yours again in a fierce, demanding kiss.
His tongue teased yours, making you feel every inch of the connection between you. His hands roamed your body possessively, grounding you in the moment, and as he kissed you deeper, he left no doubt in your mind that you were his.
“Let’s go to sleep, baby,” Joel murmured against your lips, his voice soothing, still laced with the remnants of the heated moment you’d just shared.
He pulled away slightly, brushing a strand of hair away from your face, his eyes softening as he looked down at you.
You nodded, still feeling the warmth radiating from your body, but a sense of comfort washed over you at the thought of resting beside him. “Okay,” you whispered, your voice still thick with emotion.
As he settled beside you, you turned onto your side, facing him. The room was dim, the soft glow of the lamp casting a warm light over his features.
You could see the tiredness etched on his face, the weight of everything that had happened still lingering in his eyes.
“Are you okay?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. You wanted to make sure he was alright, even after everything. “You seemed a little lost there for a moment.”
He paused, the moment stretching between you as he considered his response. “I'm fine, doll.” He brushed his thumb over your cheek, grounding you both in the intimacy of the moment. “Being here with you is more anough for me,”
You felt a smile tug at your lips, a warmth blooming in your chest at his words. “I want to be here for you, Joel. You don’t have to go through everything alone.”
He nodded, his expression turning serious. “I know, and I appreciate that more than you know, baby.” He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “Just promise me you’ll stay close. I don’t want to lose you.”
You felt a shiver run down your spine at his words, but you pushed the fear away, focusing on the warmth of his body next to yours. “I promise,” you said, your voice steady. “I’m not going anywhere.”
With that, he wrapped his arm around you, pulling you close against him. The world outside faded away, and for that moment, all that mattered was the comfort of each other’s presence.
As you settled into his embrace, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat began to lull you into a sense of security, a cocoon of safety that you had longed for.
“Goodnight, baby,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to the top of your head as you drifted off to sleep, your dreams filled with warmth and the unshakeable bond between you and Joel.
"Night, Joel."
***
and im back, wazzup people! ENJOY SOME SMUT CUS WHY NOT! strongly suggest listen to heaven by julia michaels and cherry by lana del rey
#pedro pascal x reader#joel miller x reader#dbf!joel miller x reader#pedro pascal#joel miller#the last of us#pedro pascal smut#joel miller smut#the last of us hbo#tlou#dbf!joel#dbf!joel miller#joel miller age gap#dark!joel miller x reader#tlou hbo#joel miller the last of us#ellie williams#tommy miller#preacher's daughter#southern gothic#southern americana#ethel cain#lana del rey#pedro pascal age gap
107 notes
·
View notes
Text
Brooklyn women working in Manhattan department stores jump on the back of one of the store's trucks and ride home, not in comfort, but they ride, and that is better than walking, September 7, 1920. The B.R.T. strike made riding a difficult question, especially during rush hours.
Photo: George Rinhart via Corbis/Getty Images/ny1920
#vintage New York#1920s#George Rinhart#strikes#improvised transportation#Sept. 7#7 Sept.#sales clerks#improvised transport#1920s New York#vintage NYC
189 notes
·
View notes
Text
FTC vs surveillance pricing
Support me this summer on the Clarion Write-A-Thon and help raise money for the Clarion Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers' Workshop!
In the mystical cosmology of economics, "prices" are of transcendental significance, the means by which the living market knows and adapts itself, giving rise to "efficient" production and consumption.
At its most basic level, the metaphysics of pricing goes like this: if there is less of something for sale than people want to buy, the seller will raise the price until enough buyers drop out and demand equals supply. If the disappointed would-be buyers are sufficiently vocal about their plight, other sellers will enter the market (bankrolled by investors who sense an opportunity), causing supplies to increase and prices to fall until the system is in "equilibrium" – producing things as cheaply as possible in precisely the right quantities to meet demand. In the parlance of neoclassical economists, prices aren't "set": they are discovered.
In antitrust law, there are many sins, but they often boil down to "price setting." That is, if a company has enough "market power" that they can dictate prices to their customers, they are committing a crime and should be punished. This is such a bedrock of neoclassical economics that it's a tautology "market power" exists where companies can "set prices"; and to "set prices," you need "market power."
Prices are the blood cells of the market, shuttling nutrients (in the form of "information") around the sprawling colony organism composed of all the buyers, sellers, producers, consumers, intermediaries and other actors. Together, the components of this colony organism all act on the information contained in the "price signals" to pursue their own self-interest. Each self-interested action puts more information into the system, triggering more action. Together, price signals and the actions they evince eventually "discover" the price, an abstraction that is yanked out of the immaterial plane of pure ideas and into our grubby, physical world, causing mines to re-open, shipping containers and pipelines to spark to life, factories to retool, trucks to fan out across the nation, retailers to place ads and hoist SALE banners over their premises, and consumers to race to those displays and open their wallets.
When prices are "distorted," all of this comes to naught. During the notorious "socialist calculation debate" of 1920s Austria, right-wing archdukes of religious market fundamentalism, like Von Hayek and Von Mises, trounced their leftist opponents, arguing that the market was the only computational system capable of calculating how much of each thing should be made, where it should be sent, and how much it should be sold for.
Attempts to "plan" the economy – say, by subsidizing industries or limiting prices – may be well-intentioned, but they broke the market's computations and produced haywire swings of both over- and underproduction. Later, the USSR's planned economy did encounter these swings. These were sometimes very grave (famines that killed millions) and sometimes silly (periods when the only goods available in regional shops were forks, say, creating local bubbles in folk art made from forks).
Unplanned markets do this too. Most notoriously, capitalism has produced a vast oversupply of carbon-intensive goods and processes, and a huge undersupply of low-carbon alternatives, bringing the human civilization to the brink of collapse. Not only have capitalism's price signals failed to address this existential crisis to humans, it has also sown the seeds of its own ruin – the market computer's not going to be getting any "price signals" from people as they drown in floods or roast to death on sidewalks that deliver second-degree burns to anyone who touches them:
https://www.fastcompany.com/91151209/extreme-heat-southwest-phoenix-surface-burns-scorching-pavement-sidewalks-pets
For market true believers, these failures are just evidence that regulation is distorting markets, and that the answer is more unregulated markets to infuse the computer with more price signals. When it comes to carbon, the problem is that producers are "producing negative externalities" (that is, polluting and sticking us with the bill). If we can just get them to "internalize" those costs, they will become "economically rational" and switch to low-carbon alternatives.
That's the theory behind the creation and sale of carbon credits. Rather than ordering companies to stop risking civilizational collapse and mass extinction, we can incentivize them to do so by creating markets that reward clean tech and punish dirty practices. The buying and selling of carbon credits is supposed to create price signals reflecting the existential risk to the human race and the only habitable planet known to our species, which the market will then "bring into equilibrium."
Unfortunately, reality has a distinct and unfair leftist bias. Carbon credits are a market for lemons. The carbon credits you buy to "offset" your car or flight are apt to come from a forest that has already burned down, or that had already been put in a perpetual trust as a wildlife preserve and could never be logged:
https://pluralistic.net/2022/03/18/greshams-carbon-law/#papal-indulgences
Carbon credits produce the most perverse outcomes imaginable. For example, much of Tesla's profitability has been derived from the sale of carbon credits to the manufacturers of the dirtiest, most polluting SUVs on Earth; without those Tesla credits, those SUVs would have been too expensive to sell, and would not have existed:
https://pluralistic.net/2021/11/24/no-puedo-pagar-no-pagara/#Rat
What's more, carbon credits aren't part of an "all of the above" strategy that incorporates direct action to prevent our species downfall. These market solutions are incompatible with muscular direct action, and if we do credits, we can't do other stuff that would actually work:
https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/31/carbon-upsets/#big-tradeoff
Even though price signals have repeatedly proven themselves to be an insufficient mechanism for producing "efficient" or even "survivable," they remain the uppermost spiritual value in the capitalist pantheon. Even through the last 40 years of unrelenting assaults on antitrust and competition law, the one form of corporate power that has remained both formally and practically prohibited is "pricing power."
That's why the DoJ was able to block tech companies and major movie studios from secretly colluding to suppress their employees' wages, and why those employees were able to get huge sums out of their employers:
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/High-Tech_Employee_Antitrust_Litigation
It's also why the Big Six (now Big Five) publishers and Apple got into so much trouble for colluding to set a floor on the price of ebooks:
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/United_States_v._Apple_(2012)
When it comes to monopoly, even the most Bork-pilled, Manne-poisoned federal judges and agencies have taken a hard line on price-fixing, because "distortions" of prices make the market computer crash.
But despite this horror of price distortions, America's monopolists have found so many ways to manipulate prices. Last month, The American Prospect devoted an entire issue to the many ways that monopolies and cartels have rigged the prices we pay, pushing them higher and higher, even as our wages stagnated and credit became more expensive:
https://prospect.org/pricing
For example, there's the plague of junk fees (AKA "drip pricing," or, if you're competing to be first up against the wall come the revolution, "ancillary revenue"), everything from baggage fees from airlines to resort fees at hotels to the fee your landlord charges if you pay your rent by check, or by card, or in cash:
https://pluralistic.net/2024/06/07/drip-drip-drip/#drip-off
There's the fake transparency gambit, so beloved of America's hospitals:
https://pluralistic.net/2024/06/13/a-punch-in-the-guts/#hayek-pilled
The "greedflation" that saw grocery prices skyrocketing, which billionaire grocery plutes blamed on covid stimulus checks, even as they boasted to their shareholders about their pricing power:
https://prospect.org/economy/2024-06-12-war-in-the-aisles/
There's the the tens of billions the banks rake in with usurious interest rates, far in excess of the hikes to the central banks' prime rates (which are, in turn, justified in light of the supposed excesses of covid relief checks):
https://prospect.org/economy/2024-06-11-what-we-owe/
There are the scams that companies like Amazon pull with their user interfaces, tricking you into signing up for subscriptions or upsells, which they grandiosely term "dark patterns," but which are really just open fraud:
https://prospect.org/economy/2024-06-10-one-click-economy/
There are "surge fees," which are supposed to tempt more producers (e.g. Uber drivers) into the market when demand is high, but which are really just an excuse to gouge you – like when Wendy's threatens to surge-price its hamburgers:
https://prospect.org/economy/2024-06-07-urge-to-surge/
And then there's surveillance pricing, the most insidious and profitable way to jack up prices. At its core, surveillance pricing uses nonconsensually harvested private information to inform an algorithm that reprices the things you buy – from lattes to rent – in real-time:
https://pluralistic.net/2024/06/05/your-price-named/#privacy-first-again
Companies like Plexure – partially owned by McDonald's – boasts that it can use surveillance data to figure out what your payday is and then hike the price of the breakfast sandwich or after-work soda you buy every day.
Like every bad pricing practice, surveillance pricing has its origins in the aviation industry, which invested early on and heavily in spying on fliers to figure out how much they could each afford for their plane tickets and jacking up prices accordingly. Architects of these systems then went on to found companies like Realpage, a data-brokerage that helps landlords illegally collude to rig rent prices.
Algorithmic middlemen like Realpage and ATPCO – which coordinates price-fixing among the airlines – are what Dan Davies calls "accountability sinks." A cartel sends all its data to a separate third party, which then compares those prices and tells everyone how much to jack them up in order to screw us all:
https://profilebooks.com/work/the-unaccountability-machine/
These price-fixing middlemen are everywhere, and they predate the boom in commercial surveillance. For example, Agri-Stats has been helping meatpackers rig the price of meat for 40 years:
https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/04/dont-let-your-meat-loaf/#meaty-beaty-big-and-bouncy
But when you add commercial surveillance to algorithmic pricing, you get a hybrid more terrifying than any cocaine-sharks (or, indeed, meth-gators):
https://www.nbcnews.com/news/us-news/tennessee-police-warn-locals-not-flush-drugs-fear-meth-gators-n1030291
Apologists for these meth-gators insist that surveillance pricing's true purpose is to let companies offer discounts. A streaming service can't afford to offer $0.99 subscriptions to the poor because then all the rich people would stop paying $19.99. But with surveillance pricing, every customer gets a different price, titrated to their capacity to pay, and everyone wins.
But that's not how it cashes out in the real world. In the real world, rich people who get ripped off have the wherewithal to shop around, complain effectively to a state AG, or punish companies by taking their business elsewhere. Meanwhile, poor people aren't just cash-poor, they're also time-poor and political influence-poor.
When the dollar store duopoly forces all the mom-and-pop grocers in your town out of business with predatory pricing, and creating food deserts that only they serve, no one cares, because state AGs and politicians don't care about people who shop at dollar stores. Then, the dollar stores can collude with manufacturers to get shrunken "cheater sized" products that sell for a dollar, but cost double or triple the grocery store price by weight or quantity:
https://pluralistic.net/2023/03/27/walmarts-jackals/#cheater-sizes
Yes, fliers who seem to be flying on business (last-minute purchasers who don't have a Saturday stay) get charged more than people whose purchase makes them seem to be someone flying away for a vacation. But that's only because aviation prices haven't yet fully transitioned to surveillance pricing. If an airline can correctly calculate that you are taking a trip because you're a grad student who must attend a conference in order to secure a job, and if they know precisely how much room you have left on your credit card, they can charge you everything you can afford, to the cent.
Your ability to resist pricing power isn't merely a function of a company's market power – it's also a function of your political power. Poor people may have less to steal, but no one cares when they get robbed:
https://pluralistic.net/2024/07/19/martha-wright-reed/#capitalists-hate-capitalism
So surveillance pricing, supercharged by algorithms, represent a serious threat to "prices," which is the one thing that the econo-religious fundamentalists of the capitalist class value above all else. That makes surveillance pricing low-hanging fruit for regulatory enforcement: a bipartisan crime that has few champions on either side of the aisle.
Cannily, the FTC has just declared war on surveillance pricing, ordering eight key players in the industry (including capitalism's arch-villains, McKinsey and Jpmorgan Chase) to turn over data that can be used to prosecute them for price-fixing within 45 days:
https://www.ftc.gov/news-events/news/press-releases/2024/07/ftc-issues-orders-eight-companies-seeking-information-surveillance-pricing
As American Prospect editor-in-chief David Dayen notes in his article on the order, the FTC is doing what he and his journalistic partners couldn't: forcing these companies to cough up internal data:
https://prospect.org/economy/2024-07-24-ftc-opens-surveillance-pricing-inquiry/
This is important, and not just because of the wriggly critters the FTC will reveal as they use their powers to turn over this rock. Administrative agencies can't just do whatever they want. Long before the agencies were neutered by the Supreme Court, they had strict rules requiring them to gather evidence, solicit comment and counter-comment, and so on, before enacting any rules:
https://pluralistic.net/2022/10/18/administrative-competence/#i-know-stuff
Doubtless, the Supreme Court's Loper decision (which overturned "Chevron deference" and cut off the agencies' power to take actions that they don't have detailed, specific authorization to take) will embolden the surveillance pricing industry to take the FTC to court on this. It's hard to say whether the courts will find in the FTC's favor. Section 6(b) of the FTC Act clearly lets the FTC compel these disclosures as part of an enforcement action, but they can't start an enforcement action until they have evidence, and through the whole history of the FTC, these kinds of orders have been a common prelude to enforcement.
One thing this has going for it is that it is bipartisan: all five FTC commissioners, including both Republicans (including the Republican who votes against everything) voted in favor of it. Price gouging is the kind of easy-to-grasp corporate crime that everyone hates, irrespective of political tendency.
In the Prospect piece on Ticketmaster's pricing scam, Dayen and Groundwork's Lindsay Owens called this the "Age of Recoupment":
https://pluralistic.net/2024/06/03/aoi-aoi-oh/#concentrated-gains-vast-diffused-losses
For 40 years, neoclassical economics' focus on "consumer welfare" meant that companies could cheat and squeeze their workers and suppliers as hard as they wanted, so long as prices didn't go up. But after 40 years, there's nothing more to squeeze out of workers or suppliers, so it's time for the cartels to recoup by turning on us, their customers.
They believe – perhaps correctly – that they have amassed so much market power through mergers and lobbying that they can cross the single bright line in neoliberal economics' theory of antitrust: price-gouging. No matter how sincere the economics profession's worship of prices might be, it still might not trump companies that are too big to fail and thus too big to jail.
The FTC just took an important step in defense of all of our economic wellbeing, and it's a step that even the most right-wing economist should applaud. They're calling the question: "Do you really think that price-distortion is a cardinal sin? If so, you must back our play." Support me this summer on the Clarion Write-A-Thon and help raise money for the Clarion Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers' Workshop!
https://clarionwriteathon.com/members/profile.php?writerid=293388
If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:
https://pluralistic.net/2024/07/24/gouging-the-all-seeing-eye/#i-spy
#pluralistic#gouging#ftc#surveillance pricing#dynamic pricing#efficient market hypothesis brain worms#administrative procedures act#chevron deference#lina khan#price gouging
161 notes
·
View notes
Text
1920's Camper truck. From The Jazz Age Vehicle Archive, FB.
216 notes
·
View notes
Note
“Home” for your BuckTommy prompts?
This is quite a cute one I think. Thank you 🩶
***
They sat in Tommys truck staring around the house across the street.
“Tommy?”
“Yeah?”
“I think we found our forever house.”
“I think we did, too, Evan.”
They’d been searching for over a year. In that time they’d gotten engaged and married.
Everybody said that they were being too picky, but they would always disagree. Yes, they had a list of non-negotiables but they also had a list of things they could be flexible about.
It had to have at least 3 bedrooms - that was non negotiable, but the two-car garage with a mechanics pit they could be flexible about if there was enough land that they could build one. It had to have a large yard with enough space for the kids - the 118’s and (hopefully) their own - to play in, and it definitely had to have a large kitchen because they both loved to cook, but it didn’t necessarily need to be on a cul de sac, nor did it absolutely have to have more than 1 floor. It did have to be within an hours drive for each of them to get to work.
They were close to giving up hope until they spotted this house a few days ago.
A 3 storey, 4 bedroom, 2 and half bathroom 1920’s home at the end of a quiet cul de sac. Built by a couple in 1927, and kept in excellent condition by them, and their daughter who owned it after them, who had recently passed away. It was definitely in need of modernising to their standard but it had a large garage at the back of the property with enough space for 2 cars and space to dig out a mechanics pit, 1 full acre of land filled with plenty of trees to build a treehouse in, a huge open plan kitchen diner, and basement big enough to house a gym. And it was almost equal distance to both 118 and harbour station, taking them both roughly 30 minutes to get to work.
Within 24 hours of viewing it they’d put in an offer and hoped and prayed and wished and manifested that it would be accepted.
48 hours later and they still hadn’t heard back from their lawyer. Buck was getting antsy, and the rest of the 118 were getting annoyed about him continually talking about it.
“Did I tell you it had these beautiful oak trees in the yard perfect for us to build a big tree house in?” He said as they drove to a call.
“Yes Buck. And a garage large enough to a mechanic pit.” Hen answered.
“And 3 bedrooms.” Said Eddie.
“And a waterfall shower.” Added Chim.
“Okay I know, I know I keep talking about but.. it’s going to be our forever house. And-and I’m just so excited that we might actually get it. I just.. I can’t wait to grow old with Tommy in it, ya know.” He rubbed the back of his neck a little embarrassed “I have this vision that I keep going back to of walking into the living room and finding Tommy asleep with.. with our little girl fast asleep on his chest.” He looked around the engine at everyone. “Okay you can laugh now know it’s stupid.”
“No, Buck it’s actually kinda sweet.” Chim told him.
“It’s beautiful, Buck.” Bobby added from the front of the engine. “Oh, heads up guys we’re almost there.”
Buck looked out the window and his furrowed his brows.
“What is it, Buck?” Eddie asked.
“I feel like I’ve been here before.. looks familiar.”
“Maybe we’ve had a call here.” Hen suggested.
“Yeah. It’s probably that.” He said, despite the feeling that he had seemed to suggest it was maybe more recent? As the engine turned the corner into the street that contained the fire, Buck suddenly realised where he knew the area from.
The engine came to a stop and he jumped out of down. The fire was blocked from view on the side of the truck they were standing at by an ambulance.
The ambulance drove away revealing the fire and Bucks heart broke.
*
Three hours later Tommy got out of the shower and checked his phone whilst running a towel through his hair. As soon as he saw the text from Eddie he threw on some clothes, grabbed his keys and ran out of the door.
He pulled into the cul de sac and parked behind the 118 engine.
“Tommy, hey.” Eddie walked over. “How many speed limits did you break to get here?”
“You don’t want to know. Where is he?” Eddie pointed his finger towards a car parked opposite the blackened, smoking remains of the house.
Tommy walked over to Buck who was leant against the side of the car, arms folded and a forlorn look on his face.
“Hey, sweetheart.” He said approaching.
“Tommy? What are you— Eddie texted you didn’t he?”
“Yeah. You okay?” He wrapped an arm around Evan’s neck and pulled him into a hug.
“Yeah. No. I.. It was the perfect house, Tommy. We’ve been looking for so long and I was giving up hope, and-and then we saw this place and..” he stopped himself.
“And what?”
“I actually kinda started to think the universe was listening and given us what we wanted. Like, it knew how happy we were and it knew that giving us our forever home would be the last piece. It’s dumb I know.”
“Hey no, baby. It’s not dumb. You were excited for us - that’s nothing to feel bad for.” He squeezed Evan tight and planted a kiss onto his temple before opening the hug, keeping one arm around his shoulder. They both stood watching Eddie hose down the last remaining hotspots of the building.
All that seemed to be left was the basement and half the 1st floor. Everything else was gone.
“I’m starting to think we’ll never find our forever home.” Evan said, sadly.
“I do.” Tommy said confidently.
“How do you know?”
“Because, Mr Evan Kinard-“ Tommy turned to face Evan and took his face gently in his hands “-wherever we live, no matter where it is, no matter if it has everything we want or nothing at all.. so long as we’re together, it’s home. It will always be home.
#tommy kinard#911 abc#bucktommy#911#911onabc#buck x tommy#911 buck#evan buckley#evan buck buckely#bucktommy fic#bucktommy prompt#bucktommy prompts#bucktommy au#cvo prompts
83 notes
·
View notes