#New Mobile Homes for Rent

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Everyday homeowners are human shields for Wall Street’s Internet of Shit slumlords

The American Dream, such as it is, used to be two dreams, one based on work and solidarity, the other on asset appreciation and disconnected individualism. We killed the first one.

As the New Deal gave way to the post-war social safety net, Americans discovered two paths to social mobility: they could join a union, and they could buy a home. Joining a union meant that your wages would rise with productivity, and that the democratic ideal that you were meant to approach once every two years at the ballot-box could follow you into the building you spent more waking hours in than any other: your jobsite.

Labor unions used their political power to win labor rights, so that even workers who weren't a union couldn't be arbitrarily fired, or maimed on the job with impunity, or harassed or abused. And while the labor movement was mired in the same racist legacy that every American institution brought forward out of genocide and slavery, where racialized people started unions of their own or demanded representation from the unions who nominally represented them, they thrived.

Then there were houses. On the one hand, owning your home insulated you from the petty tyranny of the landlord, the threat of eviction, rent hikes, indifferent or dangerous building maintenance, and all the other miseries that arise when you think of a building as your home and someone else thinks of it as an asset, and the board is tilted so that they win every argument.

But homeownership wasn't just sold as a way to get out from under scumbag landlords: it was primarily sold as a way to build intergenerational wealth. Your house wasn't just a place to live: it was an asset, and it appreciated.

And if the dividends of labor protection were unevenly distributed between white people and racial minorities, the dividends of home ownership were almost entirely hoarded by white families. Federal policies – redlining – combined with racist lending at the local level, meant that Black families and other racialized groups were stuck in tenancy, while white families build wealth thanks to federal subsidies:

https://web.archive.org/web/20170220005558/https://www.demos.org/sites/default/files/publications/Asset%20Value%20of%20Whiteness.pdf

Those were the two American dreams: a good job and your own home. We killed the first one, and the second one devoured us whole.

Without a strong labor movement, wages stagnated. Corporate power waxed, and with it, the power to pollute, to poison, to maim and to defraud. The labor movement wasn't strong enough to stop Reagan from killing free UC tuition when he was governor of California. It wasn't strong enough to hold back spiraling health care prices. It wasn't strong enough to block the business lobby from neutering antitrust and ushering in four decades of market concentration, market capture and corruption. Workers couldn't save their defined benefits pension and were railroaded into market-based 401(k)s, forcing them to play the stock casino against their bosses, ever the sucker at the poker table.

With stagnant wages and out of control medical, educational and end-of-life bills, homeownership – the thing you do as an individual, where your gain is someone else's loss – became the American secular religion. Your house wasn't just a place to sleep and keep your photo albums: if it appreciated enough, you might be able to liquidate it on your deathbed and pay off your eldercare, your healthcare, your kids' college debt, and leave enough left over for your kids' downpayments.

And so every American who had a home became the enemy of every American who didn't – including one another's children. Every home built threatened your own property values. The racist, batshit American school funding formula, which sees schools funded out of property taxes, meaning the richest kids get the best schools, turned out to be a great way to increase your property values.

Protections for tenants, meanwhile, threatened the entire American way of life – the American dream itself. Every protection a tenant got – protection from eviction or rent hikes, the legal right to a safe and well-maintained home – reduced the value of every home in town.

After all, the better a landlord has to treat their tenants, the less money a landlord can make from a rental property. The less money a landlord can make from a rental property, the less they'd bid on a house like yours if it went up for sale.

And since anyone planning to buy your house to live in it has to outbid a landlord who might want to rent it out, giving tenants any protection threatened everything – the one asset you owned, which was your plan a, b and c for paying off all that health, education, and assisted living debt:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/06/06/the-rents-too-damned-high/

Today, the house-as-asset scam is breathing its last. There are millions more people who need homes than there are homes available. Sure, homelessness is a fantastically complex problem, but you could address every aspect of it – addiction, mental illness, joblessness – and millions of people would still be homeless, because there aren't enough homes for them to live in:

https://headgum.com/factually-with-adam-conover/myths-about-homeless-people-with-dr-margot-kushel

70% of all inflation in 2024 came from the cost of housing; a quarter of that came from illegal collusive behavior by landlords to hike rents:

https://www.thebignewsletter.com/p/up-to-a-quarter-of-rental-inflation

Wall Street landlords have raised gigantic war-chests and are buying up homes at a rate never before seen, converting every available single-family home in many cities from an owner-occupied home to a rental. Private equity and hedge fund landlords have elevated charging junk fees to an absurdist theater project: you pay a "convenience" charge for paying your rent in cash. But also for paying your rent by direct transfer. Oh, and also for paying in cash. When Wall Street is your landlord, your home is a slum, dangerously undermaintained, sometimes lethally so:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/02/08/wall-street-landlords/#the-new-slumlords

Capitalists hate capitalism. The best thing to sell is something your customer can't live without, and that no one else has for sale. That's why "the market" loves private prisons so much:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/04/02/captive-customers/#guillotine-watch

The vast sums Wall Street is putting into buying up all of America's available housing stock is a bet that they can establish regional monopolies over having a home, and charge all the market can bear.

That's the plan at Invitation Homes, a company that was just targeted by the FTC for a slate of eye-watering crimes against the tenants in the 80,000 single-family homes they've acquired:

https://www.ftc.gov/news-events/news/press-releases/2024/09/ftc-takes-action-against-invitation-homes-deceiving-renters-charging-junk-fees-withholding-security

Invitation Homes purchases homes as they come on the market, and they're also a leading customer of the "build-to-rent" housing industry, a fast-growing segment of new housing starts.

Writing about the FTC's enforcement action against Invitation Homes, Matt Soller brings in Starwood Capital Group, who manage Invitation Homes properties, and own 14,000 more homes in the sunbelt. Invitation and Starwood hate the anti-monopoly movement, and Barry Sternlicht, Starwood's billionaire CEO, really hates FTC Chair Lina Khan:

https://www.thebignewsletter.com/p/monopoly-round-up-corporate-slumlords

The FTC complaint lays out a suite of just comically sleazy things ways that Invitation abuses its tenants, starting with false advertising. The company lists its houses at relatively low rents, then charges a large fee to apply to live there. When you pass the application process, you're told the rent is actually much higher, and if you walk away from the deal, you forfeit your application fee. That scam's netted Invitation $18m since 2019.

Stoller really hates junk fees, calling them "convenience fees without any convenience, service charges without any service performed." He lays out Invitation's long list of junk fees, which honestly sound like a list that Chatgpt would spit out if you prompted it for fifty junk fees that wouldn't pass the giggle-test: "utility management fees" "Lease Easy bundle fees," "air filter delivery fee," "smart home technology fees," etc etc.

"Smart home technology fee?" Yeah, Invitation's gone in hard for Internet of Shit smart home tech. The SVP who oversees Invitation's smart home fee program was ordered to "juice this hog" (you guys, juice doesn't come from hogs).

After decades of recruiting everyday American homeowners to demand anti-tenant policies that benefit giant corporations, American tenants have few rights on paper and even fewer in practice. That's left the door wide open for Invitation to abuse their tenants in a myriad of dismal and unimaginative ways: stealing their deposits, trashing their credit reports to retaliate against complaints, illegal evictions, busted appliances, mold, vermin, insects – the whole slumlord playbook.

As Stoller writes, there's a twist: "this landlord isn’t just a random slumlord, it’s one of the biggest Wall Street players in housing."

There are vast fortunes to be made in converting the human right to housing into an asset class, but those fortunes end up in the hands of a very small number of billionaires. On their own, they wouldn't have the political power to dismantle protections for tenants.

Realistically speaking, most kids who grew up in their parents' owner-occupied homes are going to end up tenants, thanks to undersupply and housing inflation. But those kids' parents have spent decades demanding policies to make their homes as valuable as possible – including mortgage tax breaks (but not rent tax breaks!), looser eviction laws, and less enforcement of what few protections tenants have.

Middle class homeowners are the useful idiots and human shields of the billionaires who are determined to force every American under 40 raise their kids in a rented slum full of spiders, ratshit and black mold, which will still cost 60% of their take-home salary.

That's why the FTC's action against Invitation Homes is such a big deal. And as Stoller points out, Chair Khan is really just implementing Kamala Harris's campaign promise to get Wall Street out of the landlord business.

Wall Street's raid on your bedroom and kitchen has inspired a generation of "finfluencer" copycats who buy and flip apartment buildings, sucking ever-larger amounts of cash out of them until they're unfit for human habitation, with mountains of rat-infested garbage ringing their crumbling walls:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/05/22/koteswar-jay-gajavelli/#if-you-ever-go-to-houston

Any future worth living in is going to get housing right. We need to stop thinking of housing as an asset and realize that it is, first and foremost, a human right. That's the premise of my 2023 solarpunk novel The Lost Cause, which just came out in paperback:

https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781250865946/thelostcause

You can't protect yourself from rising seas or rising healthcare bills through individual home-ownership. Solidarity – the kind of solidarity that once powered the union movement, and that is powering it again – is the only way to defeat the housing profiteers. The New Deal wasn't perfect, which is why whatever we do next has to be bigger, further reaching, and more inclusive than what FDR did almost a century ago.

The only minority that should be excluded from the next New Deal is billionaires.

Tor Books as just published two new, free LITTLE BROTHER stories: VIGILANT, about creepy surveillance in distance education; and SPILL, about oil pipelines and indigenous landback.

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/2024/10/01/housing-is-a-human-right/#rentier-tech

Image: Sam Valadi (modified) https://www.flickr.com/photos/132084522@N05/17086570218/

Carlos Delgado (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Wall_Street_-_New_York_Stock_Exchange.jpg

CC BY 2.0: https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/

[mousedetective]

NEED HELP WITH CAR REPAIRS + FOOD + BILLS + TRANSPORTATION!

PAYPAL | AMAZON WISHLIST | KOFI | GOFUNDME |PATREON | HOLIDAY WISHES LIST @ DREAMWIDTH

11/21/24 - New Post!

So we have a ton of bills and overdrafts to pay, including both of our PayPal accounts, but this holiday season I'm worried about food as well. We don't have working transportation, so I rely on delivery via DoorDash and Walmart+ to get my food. I can pay for both with PayPal, so if I can cover the $201 debt my mom owes, anything else will go to food purchases.

We also need to raise $3000 for the car repair, $565 for the movers and $600 to put towards rent. Any help with this would be amazing.

$1800/$6000

Also, if anyone wants to make the holiday season better, we could use anything for the home on our Amazon wish list or any of the fun stuff on our Holiday Wishes list, both of which are linked above. And I have my Patreon linked if you want to get short drabbles or graphics and help my income out every month as well!

EDIT: I desperately need the transport chair and all the accessories on my Amazon wishlist. My mom woke up last night too weak to walk, and she thinks she needs a wheelchair now. I have one that's a combo transport chair/walker with some accessories, but if anyone can help, that would be a huge help in keeping her mobile.

EDIT 2: I think my mom needs to go to the hospital, but I need about $275 to the PayPal to cover what's owed to PayPal and the rides itself. If anyone could help, I'd be most grateful.

[hyper-pixels]

How to Grow Up

A guide on how to grow up. It was originally posted by @/friendliness but half the links were broken. So I took what links weren't broken and added other links and more things to know.

This is USA based resources

Personal

Reasons to Stay Alive – A Tumblr post of 116 reasons to stay alive by @/friendliness.

How to Get Better At Asking for Help – Website is Harvard Business Review. The article is “5 Ways to Get Better At Asking for Help” by Wayne Baker.

What to do if you Can’t Afford Therapy – Website is Psych Central and the article is by Steven Rowe.

How to Quit Smoking – “The 22 Best Ways to Quit Smoking” by Debra L. Gordon and David L. Katz M.D. from the Healthy Digest.

How to Legally Change your Name – Website is Forbes.

Wanna Learn Something New? – A Tumblr post made by @/hamletthedane with various new things to try from language learning to ballet.

Free Harvard Courses – Harvard University’s free online courses.

Getting a New Computer? – A quick and dirty comprehensive guide by WIRED on what to look for.

How to Sew – Website is Autodesk Indestructibles. The article is “How to Sew” by Jessyratfink. Having a small sewing kit (that you can pick up from nearly any craft store) is super handy and has saved my life and clothes.

What to Look For in Clothes A YouTube video by Alyssa Beltempo titled “How to Identify High Quality vs. Poor Quality Clothing | Slow Fashion”. Here’s a WikiHow [x] if a YouTube video isn’t your style.

Dealing with Executive Dysfunction – A Tumblr post made by @/compassionatereminders. It's a list to more links on how to deal with executive dysfunction.

Another List Like this One – A Tumblr post made by a now deactivated account. It's a list much like this one.

Home

What’s a mortgage? – Website is realtor.com and the page is called “What is a Mortgage? Home Loan Basics Explained” by Cathie Ericson.

First Apartment Checklist – A checklist PDF. Here’s another link to a Tumblr checklist [x] 

What to Ask Landlords Before Renting? – “25 Questions To Ask a Landlord When Renting a Home” by Morgen Henderson.

What’s Renter’s Insurance? – Website is Forbes Advisor. The article is by Jason Metz and titled “How to Get Renters Insurance���.

Plant Care – A master list of how to care for plants made by @/difficults

Job

Time Management – Website is Entrepenuer and has 10 time management tips. One I personally recommend is keeping a physical calendar book on hand. I keep mine in my bag with a designated pen.

Finding the right job – Website is The Muse and it has 13 free career assessment tests.

Make a resume – Website is Resume Now. Many hirers look at your name, the middle of the page (where your experience list is) and skim the rest.

Job Interview Tips – Website is Linkedin. The article is titled “10 Job Interview Tips to Land The Career of Your Dreams” by Caren Merrick.

How to Write a Cover Letter – Website is The Writing Center. University of Winsconsin, Madison. It’s titled “Writing Cover Letters” and I can’t find the author.

Money

Couponing! – Website is Coupon Database :: Southern Savers. It has a list of mobile apps for coupons to places.

Call 211 for Help – the website leads to 211.org. It's anonymous and can help you get connected to food programs, paying bills and things like doctor appointments. Here’s a Tumblr post about it [x] by @/poessionisamyth

Groceries! – This is a Tumblr meme post, but scrolling through tags/reblogs/replies and there’s plenty of good tips. The post is by @/charlotten

What To Do if You Can’t Pay Your Bills – Website is Nolo. The article is “When You Can’t Pay Your Bills: Thiings To Know” that was updated by Amy Loftsgordon. 

Are You Paying Too Much for Your Phone Bill? – An article by Beht Beverman titled “How Much is Too Much to Pay for a Cell Phone Bill?”.

54 Ways to Save Money – Website is America Saves.

How to Do Taxes – Website is Wiki-How.

The 70/20/10 Method – Website is Business Insider. The Article is “A Beginners Guide to the 70-20–10 Budgeting Method” by Paul Kim.

Side Hustle Ideas – Website is Forbes. “30 Side Hustle Ideas To Make Extra Money In 2024” by Krista Fabregas.

Emergency

Your Rights When a Cop Pulls you Over – Website is Business Insider. Cops are allowed to lie to you, and they will, so be careful.

Hotline List – The website is DoSomething.org. Depression/Suicide, domestic abuse, child abuse and runaway/homeless/and at-risk youth hotlines.

What to Keep in Your Car – Website is MentalFloss. I live in a snowy area that gets blizzards and bad ice. I keep blankets, water and other aids in my car as well as a knife and road flare. I also own a self jumping car battery and it has saved my ass more than once. Heimlich Maneuver – A one minute video by the Mayo Clinic.

The Heimlich Maneuver on Yourself – A one minute video by The List Show TV.

What to Keep in Your Wallet – Website is PureWow. The article is by Rachel Bowie. Keep your drivers license, medical insurance card, and an emergency contact in your card. If you have a pet home alone make sure that you have a card detailing this. Free printable one here [x]

Traveling

Packing List – Website is Smarter Travel.

Traveling with Little to No Money – Website is Nomadic Matt.

How to Pack a Suitcase – Website is Real Simple. The article is by Thersa O’Rourke.

How to Apply for a Passport – Website is WikkiHow.

Making a Travel Budget – Website is Travel Made Simple. “How to Make a Travel Budget” by Ali Garland

[mimble-sparklepudding]

OC Armour and Clothing Questions.

Does your OC have an outfit that is particularly associated with them by others? Why is this? Simply because they are often seen wearing it? Perhaps because it's their usual outfit for adventuring or exploring? Or maybe because it's the outfit they wore for a famous event?

What is the most expensive outfit your OC has ever worn? A finely crafted suit of armour? An extravagant ballgown? Their wedding dress or suit? Did they borrow or rent it? Or did they purchase (or even steal) it themselves?

What kind of clothing does your OC wear in cold weather or frozen climates? Do they already have such items in their wardrobe? Or do they need to purchase or otherwise obtain them when the need arises?

Has your OC ever been asked (or commanded) to wear a particular item or set of clothes and refused? Why was this? What were the consequences?

Does your OC favour bright, or even clashing, colours? Or do they prefer a more subdued wardrobe? Are they perhaps even keen to keep things strictly monochrome as far as possible?

When it comes to combat or other physical activities, does your OC favour heavy armour? Or do they prefer something lighter which facilitates greater mobility at the expense of protection? Or do they have another priority entirely, such as clothing which assists them in channelling aether or magical abilities?

What sort of clothing did your OC wear during their childhood? How did it reflect their social class and culture of origin?

Is your OC particularly sensitive to the texture or feeling of certain fabrics or items of clothing? Do they struggle with scratchy wool or coarse linens? Do they hate overly tight clothing or items with too many buckles or laces?

What does your OC tend to wear in bed? Is this different to what they might wear to sleep when (for example) camping in the wilderness? Would they wear something different if they were sharing their home (or even their bed) with a guest?

Which outfit has garnered your OC the most compliments? How did they feel about receiving such effusive praise? Did they enjoy it?

What is an outfit or style of clothing that your OC admires on others, but would never attempt to wear themselves?

What might your OC wear to someone else's wedding - or a similar cultural event where one is expected to put in a great deal of effort, but without drawing attention away from the bride/groom?

How revealing are your OCs usual outfits? Do they tend to be more or less modest than those meeting them might expect? Is this a calculated decision?

What is an old, worn or shabby item of clothing with which your OC is unwilling to part? Is this due to sentimental reasons? Or simply that they are particularly miserly when it comes to shopping for new clothes?

How does your OC feel about hats and headgear in general? Are such items something that they might only wear for special occasions? Or do they like to have a hat or crown on at all times in order to advertise their wealth or status?

What underwear does your OC generally wear? Do they have special (or even lucky) underwear for special or more intimate occasions? Or do they have purely utilitarian options in this regard?

Does your OC maintain their own clothing and armour? Are they capable at darning, patching and mending? Or do they prefer to delegate such things to others?

Has your OC ever seen a particularly striking outfit, or even a suit of armour, and been wildly envious of it's owner? Would they secretly (or not so secretly) like the chance to wear something similar? Or do they feel they lack the figure or the social status to pull it off?

What might your OC wear at the beach, or for swimming in a lake or pool? Do they have specific clothing for such occasions? Or would they have to improvise with existing items? Or would they actually stay modestly covered up on the side?

Has your OC ever been invited (or just decided) to wear something from a completely different culture? How comfortable did they feel about this? How did other people react? Did they enjoy it?

Does your OC have a large collection of shoes and footwear? Or do they have just one pair of servicable boots? Do they have different footwear for different occasions? Do they have a favourite pair?

How aware is your OC of the impression their outfits give to others? Is this entirely calculated on their part? Or are they completely oblivious to the responses of others?

Is your OC critical - or even snide - about the fashion choices of other people? Do they look down on those who wear outfits which are too revealing? Or too buttoned-up? Or too colourful? Or simply rather cheap-looking?

Does your OC enjoy dressing up for special seasonal occasions in specific outfits? Do they do this in the spirit of fun? For the children in their care? Or simply for attention?

Does your OC like wearing gloves? Or do they find they interfere with their ability to use weapons or operate machinery? Do they reserve them for special occasions?

How many pockets and other options for storing items do your OCs outfits usually have? Do they like to have their money or other items close at hand? Or are they happier with more snappily cut outfits and a seperate bag for items?

What might your OC wear at a social occasion when they needed to (whether they liked it or not) make the most dramatic impression possible? Would they need help picking out something appropriate?

What might your OC wear on a date? Or at least on an occasion where they wanted to make themselves look as attractive as possible? Would they easily make the right choice? Or would they benefit from some tactful advice from others?

Does your OC wash and launder their own clothes? Or do they have staff or companions who will do this for them? Are they fastidious about cleaning their clothes and armour? Or are they willing to wait until things get really bad before they worry?

What sort of clothes did your OC wear at the start of their narrative journey? Where had they obtained them? How quickly did they replace them?

Does your OC enjoy wearing outfits that glitter with gemstones or sequins? Do they like to shine in ostentatious or flamboyant outfits that attract endless attention?

Does your OC have a specific outfit for official or even state occasions? Or would they have to cobble something together or borrow something appropriate from others? What would a "dignified" outfit look like to them?

What might your OC wear in a hot climate or during particularly hot weather? Are they used to dressing for these conditions or would they rapidly need to reassess their outfit?

What is something that your OC would never willingly wear? How did they come to this decision? Do they judge other people for dressing in that way?

How good is your OC at disguising themselves with different clothing? Can they put on an expensive frock or suit and effortlessly affect the mannerisms of the pampered elite? Are they able to put on a rough smock or tattered rags and instantly adopt the stance of a downtrodden peasant or beggar? Or would they stand out like a proverbial sore thumb?

What is the outfit that they keep coming back to for practical reasons? What makes it so servicable? How do they maintain it?

What might your OC wear if they wished to appear intimidating or even frightening to others? Would this be something that advertised their wealth or political authority? Or a more direct indication of just how dangerous they can be?

How ornate does your OC like their everyday wardrobe to be? Are they willing to pay more for detailed embroidery or embossed leather? Will they spend time crafting armour that looks particularly impressive, even if it brings no actual advantage in combat?

Does your OC have an outfit (or multiple outfits) for when they are crafting or engaged in manual labour? Do they still prefer these sorts of clothes to be stylish or at least well-fitted? Or are such concerns the last thing on their mind?

Does your OC have a particular colour scheme which they favour when it comes to their clothes? Do they prefer natural shades, such as browns and greens? Or sombre tones, such as grey and black? Or would they sooner dazzle in metallics, or stand out from the crowd in bold, bright colours such as hot pink or bright yellow?

Does your OC have a dream outfit they would love to own? What would be the occasion when they would wish to wear it? Or would they just like to have it in their possession to take out and look at occasionally?

Is there a colour that your OC will never wear - or at least would rather not wear if they can avoid it? Why is this? Do they simply dislike it on them - perhaps it does not suit their complexion - or are there religious or cultural reasons why they avoid it?

How would your OC respond to finding they have turned up to a social event wearing exactly the same outfit as another person? Would they be mortified? Amused? Would they demand the other person leave?

Is there an outfit or item of clothing that your OC likes to wear, despite the best efforts and complaints of those around them? What do others object to about this item? Is it worn? Unfashionable? Or simply inappropriate?

Does your OC appreciate patterns on their clothing? Or even designs such as flowers or animals? Or would they prefer something a little plainer?

What is something that your OCs partner, lover or friends are scheming to get them to wear one day? What is their motivation? Are they likely to succeed?

What might your OC wear for a relaxed day at home? Do they have comfortable or casual clothes for cosy evenings out of the public eye?

Is your OC particularly attracted to a specific style of dress in others? What is it about these clothes (or lack thereof) that they find particularly stimulating? Would they ever wear something similar themselves?

What might your OC wear to a funeral or memorial event? Would they have something suitable to hand? Or would they need to buy or borrow something for the occasion?

Can you give an example of an outfit your OC once saw that made their jaw drop? What was so startling about that ensemble? Was it exceptionally modern? Rather risqué? Or simply culturally unlike anything they had ever seen before?

[merakiui]

i've been thinking about the halloween kids.... AU more or less along the lines of your poly universe: you and Rollo are university students, studying law together. you meet ernesto and gino through an advert on the internet: you're looking to live together and split the rent and ernesto has an advert that he rents out three rooms. probably the only property worthy of fellow was a big house, maybe five or six rooms, which he won by gambling and decided to rent out as essential income when he couldn't scam anyone. you and Rollo move in. today you are in your third year and he is in his fifth year when fellow finally manages to rent the other room to a third party: skully J. Graves, a young literature student. you've known rollo and fellow for over a year now, skully is the poor new kid in the dynamic 😖😖😖😖 ernesto and you make jokes about how you and rollo will be the corrupt ones in the law who will help him get out of jail or keep him out. rollo snorts, gino laughs and skully suddenly comes out with a torrent of words for a poem or a comic strip, inspired by an inside joke.

Rollo: strict study sessions at least twice from friday to sunday. he leaves you your third grade notes. it annoys him to see you on your mobile phone, watching some shitty series instead of studying. at some point he's scolding you for your carelessness and grabs his handkerchief, suddenly he shuts up. fellow! that fool confused the washes and washed his handkerchief with your clothes! now it smells like your perfume...! you tease that now he's going to masturbate with his cloth as it smells like you and rollo gets indignant. 'as if i even need that with how disgusting and impurely bitchy you can be...' you are a shameless slut in rollo's eyes at times oero, fuck, sinl be a hypocrite who loves to let his frustration die in your pussy. make out session and sloppy sex on the desk as dead time between studies, before flamme takes your phone and forces you to study.

Ernesto: oh yes, you and the young man are much more learned scholars than him and his poor brother! but, darling, haven't you been through the school of life...? knowing how to survive in this world during the bad times, taking advantage of fools, that's where Honest John beats you! sure, he could teach you to take a little more advantage of the people around you... a smart, lovable person like you should never be afraid of other people's tricks! yes, he's conned you on a couple of occasions, but he's just teaching you! oh, he's no prouder than when you reach his level of cheating... he encourages you to skip class every now and then.

- 'your friend rollo already went through everything they teach you! he'll tell you everything you need to know about today later. why don't you stay at home...?'

- 'you're a terrible influence on darling, fox.'

- 'I'm only looking out for the best for the young people under my roof!'

so you end up extorting people with him and, as a reward for your good work, with your breasts smashed against the counter of his shop, your ass up and Ernesto fucking your hole.

Skully: he still doesn't quite understand how this poly works. he has no problem getting involved with the wonderful Ernesto and Rollo! but they just cringe at the idea. he rambles on about how you're the only one who's technically in a poly if you're the only one involved with the three. He shows you the essays he writes for college. You lean over to read on his laptop and suddenly his pale face takes on colour behind you, his cick twitching hard at the sight of your ass in shorts.. As you give him head or he fingers you, he sweetly recites all the (erotic) poetry you've inspired. One day after a big exam you're in a great mood because you passed and you start praising Rollo and Fellow and Skully, rambling about how they've helped you get so far in the race. flamme looks at ernesto with a face like 'that's his thing' and he grimaces. he didn't teach you that kind of talk! I mean, he did teach you some talk, but it's convenient! praising people, gold beaks, silver tongues, being a ball... skully's in tears. you're picking up on his tricks! does that mean he can officially make love to you in front of his parents' painting to introduce you as his girlfriend?

- pomefiore 💷 anon

👁 👁 AAAA THESE ARE SUCH DELICIOUS THOUGHTS!!!! The different dynamics you have with each of them,,, orz Fellow convincing you to skip classes,,, fucking in between study breaks with Rollo, and Skully being a hopeless romantic who yearns for you in his erotic poetry and also whenever he sees you in particularly appealing positions or clothing....... it's all so scrumptious.

They're all such losers. <3 I adore them!!! OTL the way Skully is the only one willing to compromise and share while Fellow and Rollo occasionally bicker..... one day they'll all get along, and if not then at least you're there to act as a pacifying force. ^^;;; something something the wonders of good hole and friendship hehe.

[daydreamingleclerc]

corrupt // mason mount

in which; he’s the university’s superstar sports player, and you’re just an innocent little bookworm. he walks you home one night after commotion in the street and you can’t help but offer him inside.

includes; corruption kink, uncomfortable cat calling, master manipulation, excessive usage of pet names (it gets annoying, sorry), dom!mason, sub!reader, foul language, fingering, oral (m, f rec), choking, protected sex, squirting, swearing, a sprinkle of CNC.

i was listening to sk8er boi by avril lavigne and it spiraled into this. i’m not sorry. thanks @landopeaches for helping me w all the ideas and being there to lust over mason with throughout the process <3

this is filthy. and just under 10K words. please read at your own risk. don’t say i didn’t want you.

22:04. 

the library didn’t normally stay open this late on friday nights, especially during the week of varsity, but you had a way with words and a very appreciated knack for batting your eyelashes.  

“i think it’s-” 

“-ssh, i'm writing,” you held a hand up to your housemate and best friend, becca, as you finished your train of thought before your new column ultimately came crashing to a halt, “okay, continue.”  

she sat beside you, flicking through a book she clearly had no interest in. she’d given up on her sociology assignment long ago, as had savannah, who was now half asleep on one of the sofa’s further down the room. aside from the odd one or two chess club players downstairs, you were the only three in there.  

“i think it’s probably a good idea for us to get going,” becca hummed, and much to your distaste, savannah had never been happier. “it’s ten p.m on a friday night, y/n, why don’t we all go pick up some food and watch a movie?”  

savannah had already gotten her jacket on and slipped her bag over her shoulder. she didn’t need anymore persuasion.  

“you guys go ahead,” you responded, wiggling with the mouse of your laptop as the screen dimmed, “i’ll catch up soon, i just have to finish this section of next weeks column,” becca scowled at you and before she could open her mouth, you eased her racing thoughts, “becca, i'll be fine. just pick me something and i'll pay you back later. i promise i'll be home before eleven.”  

the house that the three of you lived in with two of your other housemates was only a short walk away from campus and that gave you roughly forty minutes to finish up this segment. savannah yawned and becca still looked unimpressed.  

“you’d better be,” she picked her bag up off the back of her chair and slid it on her shoulder. she left a kiss on the top of your head, “because if i find your dead body in a back alley tomorrow morning, i'll kill you.”  

“charming,” savannah yawned. “love you, y/n.”  

“love you.” becca gave you a reluctant wave as she walked down the stairs of the library.  

you didn’t leave long after the girls and as you exited the warmth of the library and walked out into the crisp april chill, you regretted not bringing a thicker jacket to cocoon yourself as you walked home. blaring music came from all angles, as did the stares and wandering eyes.  

it was clear to all eyes you weren’t making your way to or from a party, dressed in a white sundress with cherries printed on the fabric and a white knitted cardigan. the pockets of the cardigan gaped with just your mobile phone, id and house keys inside them – you'd rented out a locker for the night to keep your laptop safe rather than dragging it back home and threatening to drop it.  

as you turned the corner onto the main loop of on-campus flats, your palms grew sweaty. you had to pass the flats and walk across the courtyard – which was full of spillover students itching to go out to either one of the clubs in town – to get to the back gate so you could slip out into the car park and cross into your estate to get home.  

a drunken body bumped into you as you crossed the road, and in turn your phone fell out of your hand as you tripped up the curb. you managed to steady yourself but unfortunately for you, your little stumble had caught the eye of a small group of drunken boys.  

“hey sugar, you look lost, fancy coming up here with us?”  

you didn’t recognize any of them, which was unusual considering they looked like the kind of boys who did sports, and you were a columnist in the university newspaper. you only did two sports columns a month, and the rest were focused on arts media – which was your degree, after all – because of that, you knew everybody.  

you knew you should’ve responded, told them to fuck off, or at least say no; but you didn’t. you froze. all you did was shake your head, and when they got closer your legs began to speed up.  

“hey, i was talking to you,” the same voice echoed, “don’t walk away from me when i'm just trying to have a conversation.”  

you fought off the urge to throw up. confrontation was something you despised, especially in front of a big crowd. “are you deaf?” the voice shouted, clearly agitated now, and you could hear it getting closer and closer until it was virtually behind you.  

mason, one of the school’s star ex-students and most glorified alumni noticed the commotion going on in the courtyard. luckily enough, he was stood with a friend who was smoking outside in a small congregation of people waiting to head to another party. he recognized you from the times you’d sat out on the pitch during games with your notepad and fluffy pink pen, that would always get dampened when the inevitable rain kicked in. he had a lot of time for you, even if you had no idea.  

“i’m offering you sex on a plate here, love-”  

“-gareth, piss off.”  

your heart felt like it was pounding out of your chest in that moment, and when a familiar face stepped out of the shadows, you let out a puff of air. your eyes caught mason’s, and immediately he rushed over to you.  

“y/n, are you okay?” his hand rested softly on your shoulder and massaged the hot flesh of your skin in an attempt to calm you. he waited for you to nod, and wrapped an arm around your shoulder, “you’re freezing, do you want to borrow my jacket?”  

you shook your head and couldn’t help getting lost in the way he got the boys to mutter an apology and scramble away with their tails – dicks – between their legs.  

“where are you off to?”  

“uh, i, um,” you pinched the bridge of your nose and tried to compose your thoughts. in the three years you’d known mason, he’d never once touched you this way. a complimentary nod of the head after a quick post-match interview or a stolen glance in the hall followed by a soft smile were all the emotional bridges you’d built together. “i'm on my way home.”  

mason gestured to his friends to go on without him as he continued to walk with an arm around your shoulder. “i’ll walk you home, babe, okay?” he hooked his thumb under your chin and got you to look over at him, “i’ve just got to stop off at a party and show my face for ten minutes, whereabouts do you live?”  

“uh, forty-two goodwood drive.” your voice came out quieter than expected, and mason hummed, nodding his head when his lips formed a smile.  

“perfect, the parties at twenty-eight goodwood drive, we can stop off there for ten minutes, have a drink and then i can walk you to the door.”  

“we?” you frowned, “i'm not good with big crowds, mason.”  

he tutted, “that’s a lie, remember last year when you stood up in front of all the freshers with that powerpoint on how they could join the school newspaper?”  

you were shocked he remembered that, and it took you a minute to compute his words and formulate a response. “that was different, it was work related,” a knot formed between your eyebrows and that usual smirk had found its way back to mason’s face. it seemed to be a permanent feature. “honestly, mason. it's fine, i can walk myself home.”  

“no, darling. i've said i'll walk you home, please,” he stopped to look at you for a minute, and the knot between your eyebrows released as if subconsciously, “let me at least walk you home.”  

it flattered you that mason mount of all people was willing to walk you home. not even men you dated offered to do that. and he had almost begged you.  

“if you insist.”  

he patted your shoulder with the tips of his fingers and you began walking again, safe in the cage of his arm. 

“atta girl.”  

22:50 

it seemed to be a night of firsts.  

for the first time, the campus celebrities, as becca called them, had allowed you into their party as if you were one of their own. mason had poured you a drink and you held the red cup between both hands to hide the shakes. you wanted to say they’d come on because of the drunken cat calling, but you knew on the surface it was because mason was keeping you close.  

you were thankful, nobody really knew you at this party other than maybe two people, one of them being mason. it was clear you were uncomfortable; the push and shove of drunken antics wasn’t something you were particularly used to. you knew your limits, and at the grand old age of twenty-three, you expected everybody else to know theirs, too.   

it seemed, wherever mason was, a flock of people followed. he had his very own fan club. mason was already a student when you’d arrived, he'd graduated university from his sports science combined course a year early because he was scouted by a football agent and now he was off playing league football and crushing it, you had to admit. he still had a lot of friends here and came back semi-regularly to join in on the parties and sex. 

the pair of you sat down on a plush suede sofa, and he noticed you checking your watch for the time. you’d been twiddling your thumbs at this party as mason’s impromptu plus one for twenty-five minutes, and you anxiously tapped your fingers on your knees. you were supposed to be home in seven minutes.  

“whats up, princess?”  

your cheeks heated up at the use of his constant pet names, but this one seemed to take the cake. “i told my housemates i'd be back at the house for eleven.”  

when he flashed that signature mason smirk that you found yourself fawning over for months, the familiar knot formed between your eyebrows. “you can allow yourself to be a little bit late, darling,” mason’s expression then mimicked yours, “do they keep tabs on you like they own you or something?”  

his question took you by surprise. it was the first proper rude thing he’d said to you all night, and that’s how you expected him to be around you, but so far, he was everything but. “i’m kidding,” he suppressed a chuckle and scooted closer, “just tell them you’re gonna be a little late, babe. don't worry, you’re safe with me.”  

he shot you a wink, and it sent butterflies swarming around your body and wetness pooling in your underwear. this was probably the most turned on a man had ever made you, and he hadn’t even touched you, or said anything remotely sexual. 

before mason could open his mouth, a boy you vaguely recognized as someone from the hockey team slid over and sat on the corner of the coffee table. immediately, they got into conversation, and you found yourself once again admiring the way he held himself. you snapped out of it almost instantly. 

“who's the girl then, mase? got yourself a new toy?” 

“his new what?”  

“got myself a new what?”  

yours and mason’s questions overlapped, and immediately his friend could sense that what he said was wrong. he wasn’t sure whether to laugh or apologize, and then he saw mason’s expression and chose the latter. he scurried off, and you placed your cup down on the coffee table in front of you.  

“i think i should just go,” as you went to get up, mason grabbed your wrist and you caught one another's eyes, “mason, please.”  

he pleaded with his eyes to get you to stay, “don’t listen to anything dom says, sweetheart,” mason scowled in his direction and dom couldn’t help but keep flickering his eyes over at the pair of you in regret, “he doesn’t know his brains from his balls, and that’s why he’s on the hockey team.”  

he pulled a laugh from your lips and it immediately put him at ease.  

“promise you won’t listen?” his hand brushed your knee, and you fought every inebriated urge you had to not pounce on him.  

“mhm, i promise, mason,” you smiled, placing your hand on top of his. he smiled and scooted closer ever so slightly, “thank you.”  

“good girl,” his words ignited a flame inside of your stomach, and the wet patch inside your underwear grew significantly. you'd never been called those words before, and he knew what he was doing when the knowing smirk grew. “would you like another drink?”  

“yes, please,” you squeezed your legs together when his fingers brushed closer as he stood up, and he knew how he made you feel within seconds. you grabbed his fingers as he lifted them from your leg. you looked so innocent he could’ve exploded. “don’t be too long, please.”  

“you’re so cute when you’re clingy,” he watched as your cheeks lit up in heat, “i'll only be over there. two minutes, tops.”  

eleven o'clock had been and gone. becca and savannah had tried to ring multiple times to stick their noses in and find out what was going on, but you’d be leaving soon, and once mason had walked you to the door, they’d be all yours to gossip with.  

you shifted in your spot, and tried to peel yourself off the sofa without distracting mason from his conversation with somebody you didn’t recognize at all, but it was unsuccessful. “where are you going, babe?”  

“i need to pee,” you shifted again, and got up successfully without mason stopping you. he finished his conversation abruptly and you almost rolled your eyes, “where are the toilets?”  

“i’ll take you.”  

“i don’t need you to be my bodyguard, mason. just tell me where the toilets are and i'll go on my own.”  

his lip quirked up into a hint of a smile. you got sassy when you’d had a drink. that boded well for him and his everlasting thoughts of you in compromising positions.  

“darling, with all due respect you don’t know anybody here and i don’t want you wandering,” he finished the dregs of his drink, “i'll take you and then we can leave, c’mon, give me your drink.”  

“why?”  

“because i don’t want people seeing you holding it and it getting spiked, c’mon.” 

you gave in rather easily and handed mason your half-full cup with a thoughtful smile. you hadn’t gone for a wee since before you left the library, and now you’d been holding it for a while it was something of a relief to be going. he took you to another bathroom, one in a less quiet part of the house. he had clearly been here multiple times before.  

“you’re not gonna come in with me too, are you?”  

“depends,” mason shrugged, “are you offering?”  

you swatted his arm with a friendly punch, even though a part of you wanted to say yes and have him take you then and there in the bathroom. the door unlocked and a couple walked out, hair in disarray and clothes mismatched. brilliant.  

“you just wait at the door, big guy.” 

it stank of weed and sex in the room as you homed in on your surroundings as you peed. what started out as a stressful night had soon become enjoyable, and all thoughts of anxiety you had before you arrived at the party had washed away. you couldn’t hear mason at the door, even though you wouldn’t have been able to anyway because of the thumping bass; but you half expected him to be gone by the time you opened the door.  

you wiped your hands on your dress and smoothed over your hair in the mirror. your mascara smudged in both corners of your eyes, and you cleaned it up, merging the outer smudges into your eyeliner. mason was stood with a soft smile on his face when you walked out, and you mimicked it, “i expected you to have found someone better to spend your evening with, thank you for waiting.” 

“better than you?” he handed you your cardigan, the one you didn’t even realize you were missing, and you slipped your arms into it, “impossible, darling.”  

you blushed again and covered your face with your hands, suppressing a delicate giggle from masons ears. he made sure the cardigan was on your shoulders, and a shiver trickled down your spine when he pulled your hair out, so it wasn’t trapped between fabrics.  

“okay princess, finish your drink,” he handed you the cup and you downed it in one, trusting him enough in that moment to know that he wouldn’t spike it, and he raised his eyebrows, impressed, “all in one, good girl.”  

your mind raced at the dirty scenario echoing through it, and heat pooled all over your body. you were honestly surprised you couldn’t feel your own slick on your thighs. nobody had ever made you feel like this before, and mason loved the hold he had on your achingly innocent persona. you subconsciously bit your lip and mason fought off a guttural moan.  

“what’s with that expression, darling, hm? was it something i said?”  

you opened your mouth to react, but he pinched your hip, laughed and wrapped an arm around your shoulders once again, the pair of you wandering down the hall like nobody's business. 

he checked the time on your watch as you walked, lifting up your wrist as if it were a feather, and pulled a faux shocked face at the time. “oh dear, sweetheart,” he tutted, “eleven eighteen, your owners will be waiting up for you.”  

you rolled your eyes at his jab, the second rude one of the night. one more and you’d be summoning up the courage to punch him in the face.  

“they aren’t my owners, mason. they're my friends and they care.”  

the two of you stepped out into the cold night air, your nipples hardening against the lace of your bra and scratching against the cotton of your dress. your thighs immediately came up in goosebumps and the cold was a nice juxtaposition to the heat pulsing your clit.  

“so you’ve never submitted to anyone, darling?” he asked, shoving his free hand in his jacket pocket, ignoring the crowds of people wandering the streets and girls throwing up in bushes, “let them take complete ownership of you? let yourself go?”  

his words shot straight to your core. you fumbled for a reply.  

“uh, no, i.. um, i don’t think so.”  

stupid reply.  

“you don’t think so? oh, sweetheart. you'd know if you did,” as you got closer to your house, a swarm of longing pulled at your chest and you yearned for him now, in a way you’d never yearned for anybody in your life. “but then again, you’ve never tried it with me.”  

the last part was muttered, and you could barely hear it.  

“what?” you whined, the short, abrupt question coming out in a far more sexual tone than necessary.  

“nothing for you to worry about darling,” he patted your cheek softly, “look, you’re home now.”  

you half expected him to fall back on his promise, to walk away now and leave you high and dry. to leave you to sort out the mess he’d created, but you’d yearn for more than just the touch of your own fingertips or the ripple of a vibrator. you just didn’t know how to ask him. 

he walked you right up to the door, as he said he would.  

“thank you, mason,” you smiled. everything inside of you screamed to ask if he wanted to come inside, but when you opened your mouth, you just found the question too overwhelming. “i... uh...” 

“what’s up darling?” he questioned, “don’t be shy. use your words.”  

he smirked at the way you shivered. there was that feeling between your legs. again.  

“do you... um. will you come in?”  

he couldn’t help but lean across to kiss you. your lips soft against his slightly rough ones, and your hands flew up to his chest and your palms rested on the warmth of his white shirt. he kissed by the book, exactly how you imagined he would, and when he took your bottom lip between his teeth and swiped his tongue along it, you yelped.  

you were too innocent, like bubble wrap left unpopped. he wanted to corrupt you from the inside out.  

his dick hardened in his jeans. 

“want me to make sure that you get into bed safe?” you nodded and his thumb brushed your bottom lip, and in a bold move you took it into your mouth and circled your tongue around it. you'd never done that to anybody in your life. it even shocked you.  

“god,” mason groaned, finding the doorhandle with his free hand, “such an obedient little girl, hm?”  

23:27 

when becca and savannah saw mason standing in their hallway with a playboy smirk dressed over his face and a charm they just couldn’t resist, they couldn’t quite believe it. it boded worse for you in the long run, because they now saw with their own eyes that he was standing in your hallway, and they would be pacing around the livingroom until he left in the early hours so they could finally get their answers. becca was on the netball team, so mason recognized her.  

“hey, becca,” he hummed, as effortlessly as ever. as if he didn’t just make out with you on your own damn porch. “still playing netball?”  

she towered over him, her five-foot twelve slim frame was the perfect one for netball and she used it to her advantage, even if she wasn’t that good at the sport.  

“mhm,” she nodded, snapping out of her trance for a minute. savannah was still simply stood next to becca in awe, “thanks for bringing y/n home.”  

“it was my pleasure,” he looked at you and smiled, and your entire body rocked with heat. “she’s asked me to stick around for an hour or two, if that’s okay with you two, of course?”  

you couldn’t help the little smirk that quipped at the corners of your mouth and you hid your face in his bicep. mason was playing into the joke he’d made earlier at becca and savannah being your owners. the pair of them nodded, and mason looked over at you.  

“where’s your bedroom, darling?”  

savannah almost choked when she heard the pet name.  

“uh, top floor on the left,” his hand ran down your arm and his fingers entwined with yours as he walked to the stairs, and once again you tugged on his fingers, “would you like some tea?”  

mason's mind raced. your innocence really wasn’t an act. he wanted to pity you, or patronize you, or build up an orgasm until it bubbled up inside of you and you squeaked and squealed and thrashed around in his arms until you begged him to let you cum. his dick grew again, but he just smiled.  

“sure, darling,” he squeezed your fingers, “milk and two sugars, please.”  

you nodded and watched as he walked straight up to the top floor of the house. you averted both becca and savannah’s eyes as you walked past them through into the kitchen. pizza boxes sat on the counter, with one unopened for you.  

“what the fuck was all that about?” savannah questioned.  

you unintentionally ignored her, to focused on drowning out the slick between your legs. nobody had ever made you feel this way, nobody had ever left you as needy or as desperate for sex as he had. in all fairness, you’d only had sex with one person, and it wasn’t even that good.  

becca snapped her fingers in front of your eyes and you zoned back into the conversation. you smiled.  

“oh, uh, he walked me home and we got to talking,” you shrugged as you pulled the milk from the fridge, “turns out we get on well, so i invited him in.”  

“go y/n,” savannah clapped her hands together, “finally got a sexu-” 

“-bye girls, thanks for the pizza!”  

as you juggled with two cups of tea and the box of unopened pizza, mason walked into your kitchen. he'd already made himself at home, it seemed, seeing as his jacket and shoes were back up in your bedroom. “need some help, princess?” he asked, and when the pet name arose again you blushed heavily, and mason took the pizza box from your hand, “see you girls later.”  

23:52 

“i’m so boring, aren’t i?”  

you asked him. you couldn’t help it.  

you were sat between his legs and watching a movie on your teeny tiny tv screen at the foot of your bed. mason's eyebrows furrowed and he stroked at the skin on your arm. he couldn’t help but kiss the back of your head.  

“not at all, darling. why do you say that?”  

you shrugged, too embarrassed to answer. sex never came easy to you, you were the stereotypical bookworm student. you stayed out of trouble, you did your assignments and handed them in way before they were due. you were co-editor of the student newspaper, for fucks sake. you weren't the kind of girl that brought home hot, sexy, god-like alumni into her bedroom on friday nights just for a hook up.  

mason knew that, and it was all part of the reason you enamored him.  

“i’m not... i just... i'm... frigid.”  

mason tutted and tucked some hair behind your ear, “you aren’t frigid, darling. you just need someone to loosen you up a little bit, someone to answer to, don’t you?”  

you felt his dick grow harder underneath you, and it sent a shiver up your spine. you nodded, and mason spun your head around, so you were looking at him. his breath was hot on your face and you heaved for a breath when his fingers found your thighs.  

“there’s so much i wish i could do to you, little one,” you gulped audibly, a shaky, hot breath, “but i won’t do it if you aren’t ready.”  

“w-what.. um, w-what do you want to do?”  

mason's fingers grazed higher and higher up your leg, and he was painstakingly close to the sticky slick on your inner high thighs.  

“i want to do so much to you, darling, but i fear if i tell you, you’ll break my heart,” his fingers grazed at the soaked cotton of your pants and he laughed lowly, “but then again, if i tell you, it might make you wetter than you have been all night.”  

you mewled when he dragged his finger between your folds over your underwear. you opened your mouth to ask him a question, but he shushed it with his free hand, bringing the tip of his index finger to the middle of your plump lips. “is this the first time you’ve been touched here, darling?” you shook your head. “yes? no? use your words.”  

“n-no, mason.”  

“you’re not a virgin?”  

“shockingly, no,” your sarcastic comment left mason pinching your clit over your underwear and you yelped, “i’ve had sex once before.”  

“just once?” he questioned, and watched the way your body writhed when he finally pushed the damp cotton aside to stroke your clit. he could’ve growled at the feeling of your pussy in his hand. “oh, darling, you’ve got so much to learn.”  

mason's fingers worked expertly on your clit, and you couldn’t help but widen your legs. he certainly found it with ease, which is more than you can say for the guy you lost your virginity to. you lifted your hips and mason helped you wriggle free from the cotton restraint, and his mouth was watering at the thought of your bare, naked pussy. he wanted to scoot around and lick it.  

“was he good, baby?” mason asked, lips nibbling along the outer shell of your ear. “did he touch your clit like this, hm? or did he -” with his free hand, mason rubbed at your nipples through your dress and bra, “- roll your nipples like this? hm?”  

you wriggled around and let his fingers explore your body, itching to let him touch you more. “n-no, mason. he didn’t touch me like this.”  

mason tutted, “come on, baby, what did he do?”  

“he used me to make himself feel good,” you hummed, getting more and more used to the fact that he was swirling your clit around with his fingers, “i didn’t enjoy anything.” 

“such a shame, darling. you're gonna be used to make me feel good, but i promise you’ll enjoy it because i know how to handle innocent little girls like you,” he kissed your neck, “i was hoping to be the first person to bury myself inside your pretty little cunt, but i'll just have to be the first to do everything else.” he chuckled lowly at the way your breath hitched, and when he slapped your clit it made you jolt.  

“did he ever make you cum?”  

you shook your head.  

“n-no, mason.”  

another clit slap.  

“why are you slapping me?” you pouted, “have i done something wrong?” 

the confusion was evident on your face. you couldn’t figure out why he was slapping you, and the crease between your eyebrows formed. mason’s hand moved from your chest to your chin and turned your face to his. “are you going to address me by my name like a good girl?”  

the crease deepened and mason couldn’t help but laugh at you, and you frowned.  

“w-what?”  

“are you going to be a good girl for daddy?” your heart almost jumped out of your chest. your eyes grew a shade darker with lust and mason didn’t go unnoticed. he slapped your pussy again. “answer, princess.”  

“d-daddy?” you questioned, and mason almost blew a load in his pants.  

“mhm, yes princess. understood?”  

you nodded your head. “yes, daddy. thank you, daddy.” 

he rolled his eyes and released a groan, unable to suppress it any longer, and now he could feel a wet patch of pre-cum forming in his pants. “fucking hell, babygirl, you’re gonna be the death of me, aren’t you?” he shifted, and moved so you were now sitting against the headboard and he was staring down at you. he got down to his knees, the way his breath hitched when he was face to face with your pussy made your back tingle. “do you want me to eat this pretty little cunt?”  

“uh.. uhm.. okay,” you hesitated. mason noticed and began to massage your thighs with his fingers, digging into the soft flesh. “i’ve never... um. nobody has ever...”  

“relax, princess, i'll make you feel good. it's all part of daddy’s job to look after his little girl.”  

a rush of blood swarmed to your clit and you moaned softly at his words. he was corrupting you already. he traced the cherries on the hem of your dress, “these are pretty fruits, baby, can you tell me what they are?”  

he began to kiss your inner thighs in that moment.  

“uhm, they’re cherries, d-daddy.”  

“mhm, well done darling,” you wriggled when his teeth sunk into the flesh of your thigh, but he soon soothed the sting when his tongue ran over it, and it formed a pretty mark of his teeth, “tell you what, princess. if anything gets too much – today, or ever – in one of these situations, you just say cherries, just like the ones on your pretty dress.” 

you nodded, but you were still confused. “why do i have to say cherries though?”  

“because, baby, sometimes your brain won’t be working properly and you’ll need a distinct word that means stop, do you understand?” you nodded again, and mason’s fingers traced your pussy again. he wasn’t looking at you now, his attention had been drawn to your clit, red and aching, but he was still talking. “it’s easier for daddy to pick up on that word rather than stop, baby, because sometimes i won’t be listening. i need to make sure you’re safe.”  

“w-why?” you could feel his fingers swirling around your inner lips and you fought every urge for a moan. 

“because, you’re my submissive, and as your dominant, i have a duty of care over you.”  

you shivered at that. your head was spinning so fast it felt like it was going to fall off. mason's tongue had darted out of his mouth and licked at your clit, you jolted, but he didn’t put it away. instead, wherever your hips dragged you, he followed, his lips never leaving your clit. his tongue flicked repetitively, and his lips suctioned around it, sucking at your clit as if he were drinking through a straw. 

as you wriggled, mason's arms caged your hips down onto the bed, so now you were unable to wriggle away and you cried out his name in a weak, pathetic little moan. he pulled off of your clit with a pop, “oh, babygirl,” he tutted, “you can do better than that for me, can’t you? i know you can.”  

he licked a teasing stripe up your pussy and delved around your hole, where his tongue slipped inside and you yelped, bucking your hips up into his face and crying out his name again. “oh, mason... oh.. fu- your tongue.. feels so good,” the sensation tingling away inside of you was one you’d never felt during sex before, and the pad of a tongue licking and lapping at your clit felt particularly strange. “oh.. god.”  

mason used his hands to part your lips further, allowing his face to be buried deeper into you and your hands sprung to his hair. he hummed against your clit as he licked, nibbled and swirled his tongue, and the pleasure was almost unbearable. he bumped your clit with his nose when his tongue slipped back inside you again, and raised his eyes so he was looking directly into yours. the contact was almost too much, and the butterflies were beginning to get overwhelming. your orgasm was fast approaching.  

he held your legs open further and pushed the hem of your dress up, so it rested at your bellybutton. you could see his nose and cheeks glistening with your wetness, and the butterflies that swarmed in your stomach had begun to travel south.  

“d-d-daddy... i... i can... i'm all tingly... i think i'm gonna...”  

mason pulled away from you right as you felt like the dam was going to open, and you whined, thrashing around in protest. he raised an eyebrow, “you need to ask daddy for permission to cum, little one,” he slapped the inside of your thigh and you winced, biting down on your bottom lip, “because your pretty little cunt is his, and you need to ask for permission to use something you don’t own.”  

oh.  

he lay there, waiting patiently.  

“can i please cum, daddy?”  

mason was satisfied with your plea, at least for now. he wasn’t going to have you begging until you cried this time. “of course, princess,” he hummed, delving back into your pussy. you mewled and he mumbled against your clit, “daddy’s pretty little cunt.”  

with that, your orgasm hit you. you thrashed around at the feeling, lifting your hips off the bed. immediately, mason’s hands splayed under your bum, holding you up as he continued to eat like his last meal. you cried out, almost screaming at the sensation. becca always talked about her boyfriend doing this, and you never understood why she liked it so much – until now.  

you tapped at mason’s head when you couldn’t take it anymore, and he pulled off of your clit with a pop. his entire chin glistened, and it ignited a fire in your eyes. arousal seeped through your veins, and mason couldn’t help but laugh against your lips when you sat up and pulled him closer by the collar of his knitted jumper.  

in a bold move, your hand dropped to his crotch and you felt his dick, rock hard and straining his jeans. you blushed upon having the realisation that you’d never sucked anyone off before, and you were almost definitely about to suck off mason. that, and his dick felt fucking huge.  

“what’s up, little one?”  

mason pulled away from your lips and tucked the loose hair behind your ear, and you couldn’t help but bury your head into his neck. he hooked his hand under your cheek and lifted you up softly, looking deep into your eyes. there was a moment of peace, where he scanned your eyes for any discomfort, but you were determined to see it through.  

“it feels... big.”  

your cheeks felt hotter than the sahara desert by this point, and mason chuckled at your innocence.  

“do you think so, babygirl?” he questioned, and his fingers curled around yours and made you squeeze at it. he groaned at the contact. “should we see if you’re right, hm?”  

you nodded eagerly, and mason almost fainted when your eyes grew black with lust. he placed your hand firmly back into your lap, and he stood up to pull his shirt off. you almost drooled at the sight of his naked torso, and the tattoo’s scattered around it. he unlooped his belt effortlessly, and within seconds his jeans were tossed to the floor. his dick was so hard that the tip poked out from the waistband of his jeans, red and desperate for some attention.  

he kept his eyes on yours to gage your reaction as he pulled down his boxers. you were right. it was huge. and thick. it inflated mason’s ego to triple the size it already was, and he loved how easy you were becoming, but this was only the tip of the iceberg. he wanted to make you his, and by the end of the night, he would make sure you were the only girl that he was corrupting. 

“t-that’s supposed to fit... i-inside me?”  

“mhm,” mason’s hand jacked himself off as he stood up at the edge of the bed, your head at the perfect height to suck. “it will, baby, and it will hurt, but i'll make it fit, you haven’t got to worry about a thing,” he pinched your cheek and you subconsciously smiled. commotion went on outside your bedroom door, one of your housemates was sneaking along the landing, and it caught your attention, but mason pulled your head back to face him with his finger hooked under your chin, “it’s not gonna suck itself, darling.”  

you gulped. “i’ve... i haven’t... you're going to have to teach me, daddy.”   

mason had to stop jacking himself off and pause for a moment in fear of ejaculating all over your face at the sentence that just left your mouth.  

“okay, princess, but first you’ll need to take this off,” he ruffled the hem of your dress and you frowned, “don’t give me that look, babygirl. it's only fair.”  

you hooked your arms out of your bra and dress all in one, and mason helped you step out of it steadily. his breath hitched when he saw you naked, drinking in the sight of your naked body. you'd never looked more beautiful, and he’d never been so desperate to be buried inside of someone.  

he leaned down to kiss your lips, and then slid down onto the bed, so his head was at the pillows. you followed suite, kneeling down at his side. he guided your hand to his dick silently, and you giggled softly when he helped you move your hand up and down, “that’s good, baby,” he said, running his fingers up to your wrist to loosen the movement slightly, “now lean over so your mouth is hovering over it, and spit on the head.”  

“t-the head?”  

“the tip, baby, the tip,” mason chuckled at your innocence, and you did as he asked. spit hung from the tip of your outsplayed tongue and trickled down to the head of his penis. as you smeared it around with your hand, your thumb ran over the slit of his dick and he jolted, a groan tumbling from his lips. your eyes shot up to face him, looking like a dear in the headlights as you feared you did something wrong, but mason shook his head. “that’s good darling, so good. why don’t you – fuck – why don’t you try and take it in your mouth.”  

you leaned down, so your lips were millimeters from his dick, and took a deep breath. you’d always envisioned doing this, and who it would be with, and none of your fantasies could ever compare to this.  

your lips pursed around the head, taking just that into your mouth and looking up at mason through your eyelashes. he seemed to like that a lot judging by the way he looked down at you and nodded. “okay, little one, you’re doing such a good job,” he patted your head subconsciously, “now, alternate between bobbing your head, twisting your hand and running your tongue around the head. just get a feel for it, darling, okay? i don’t want to cum just yet.”  

you nodded, and much to your surprise you enjoyed the compromising position you had been put in. mason made it feel so easy, so comfortable, and it made your heart flutter and your pussy throb. you began to bob your head gradually, taking more and more in with every move. mason admired your innocence and every time he remembered that his dick was the first one you’d had inside your mouth – your sweet, innocent, virgin mouth – he wanted to bust a load.  

“oh god, yes, little one,” mason’s hand bunched your hair up in his hand out of habit, and you gagged around him as he thrusted up into your mouth ever so slightly, “you’re doing so well for me, got such a pretty little mouth.”  

you moaned, and the vibrations sent shockwaves up his dick and all over his body. he thrusted up into your mouth and you gagged again, your eyes watering at the sensation but you liked it. “play with my – fuck – play with my balls, baby, just squeeze them gently,” mason cooed, smoothing your cheeks with his free hand, and you did as you were told, halting the movements of your hand stroking his dick so you could use it to stabilize you as you fondled his balls. he groaned loudly, “fuuuck, baby. that's it, such a good little girl.”  

he thrusted up into your mouth again and this time spit came spluttering out of your mouth and landed along the prickly skin around his pubic bone. your eyes watered again, so much so that the tears soaked your eyelashes and mason lowered his hips. “you okay, baby? do you wanna stop?”  

you nodded sheepishly. mason's dick fell from your mouth and the tip rested at his bellybutton. he noticed your knotted eyebrows, “what’s up, darling?”  

“my mouth.. it tastes weird.” 

he chuckled and couldn’t believe how innocent you were.  

“that’s because it’s no longer a virgin mouth, little one. it's now forever tainted with the taste of my pre-cum,” he leaned over and kissed your lips, swiping his tongue across your bottom lip, “you’re going to be tainted with my taste forever now, baby. never getting rid of me.”  

he used his strength to roll you over, so you were now laying with your head at the pillows. he admired how pretty you looked. anxiety pounded in your chest, and you suddenly got overwhelmed, but you knew it would pass, it was just nerves. mason noticed, and tucked some hair behind your ear.  

“do you remember your word, darling?”  

“cherries, daddy.”  

“good girl,” he leaned down to kiss your lips, “if you want daddy to stop, you need to use that word, understood?”  

“mhm,” you nodded, and leaned up to kiss him. he chuckled at your neediness. “there’s.. um... i have... in the bathroom cabinet.. there’s some... condoms.”  

“daddy’s shy little girl wants him to fuck her, hm?”  

you mewled underneath him and fought off a blush by buring your head in the pillows when his finger grazed between your folds, and you jolted at the sensitivity, “please, daddy, i... i... i need it. i need you.”  

mason fought back the urge to fuck you raw.  

“babygirl, listen to yourself beg for me,” he tutted, standing up and slipping on your dressing gown momentarily to go to the bathroom, “such a naughty little thing, hm? weren’t like this an hour ago. i've turned you into a little slut, haven’t i?”  

the last part of the sentence was partially shouted as he wandered into the bathroom you shared with another housemate, and you could’ve died there and then. you only hoped everyone else was minding their own damn business.  

he came back with a handful of condoms, and the dressing gown was tossed to the floor with the rest of the clothes. “go on, baby, say you’re daddy’s little slut,” he teased, “otherwise i'll leave you high and dry, begging for my cock all night.”  

your cheeks heated up as you opened your mouth. mason stood there, cock on full display, waiting patiently. you took a breath, “you’ve turned me into a little slut, daddy.”  

he made a satisfied hum noise and ripped the condom open with ease. you watched as he rolled it on and he climbed back on the bed, the sheer touch of his skin on yours leaving you with goosebumps. his fingers ran through your folds again and your wetness was enough.  

his hand outstretched your leg, so it was out at an angle to the side while the other was bent at the knee draped over his shoulder. you moaned at the feeling of being poked and prodded so he could get you exactly how he wanted you.  

you squirmed with anticipation as mason guided himself to your pussy, and when he slipped inside you let out a strangled, desperate moan. every time you thought his dick was fully inside of you, you were proved wrong, and with the angle of your legs, he only penetrated you deeper. he groaned at your tightness and the way his dick seemed to slot perfectly inside you.  

“fuck, little one,” his pubic bone hit your skin and he successfully buried himself to the hilt inside of you. “your cunt is so wet and tight, fits me so well, like it was made for me.” 

you mewled at his words and attempted to buy your head in the pillows beside you but mason grabbed your chin with his hand and forced you to look at him above you. he pulled out and pushed back in the whole way once again. “don’t you ever look away,” his fingers squeezed at your cheeks and moved down your face until they gripped at your neck, “daddy always wants to see the way your eyes roll back when he hits -” mason raised his hips up so the angle of his hips changed ever so slightly and he smirked when your eyes rolled back with a moan of his name, “that spot. such a naughty little girl.” 

“mhm,” you mumbled, already feeling a pressure building between your hips, “your naughty little girl, daddy.” 

“fuckin’ right,” mason's fingers squeezed your neck in approval, “daddy’s dirty little girl, you’re filthy, aren’t you?” 

you could feel him hitting so deep inside of you and the way his hips slowed with each pull out had you on the verge of screaming. your headboard began to thud dully against the wall and you couldn’t help but let out a long, drawn out moan.  

“gonna wake up the house if you keep moaning like a whore, baby,” mason cooed, pushing himself forward so the stretch in your legs began to sting and the angle of his dick grew deeper, “i can feel you clenching my dick, darling. such a tight little pussy.” 

your hands gripped at his shoulders and mason’s head dropped between your bodies so he could watch himself slipping in and out of your pussy. the angle of your body underneath him was driving him insane and he couldn’t help it when a moan slipped past his lips.  

the closer you got to an orgasm, the louder you became, and it only spurred mason on further. he was itching to get you cumming, and so when his fingers brushed your clit and you almost screamed in pleasure, he smirked. you were almost positive that savannah and becca could hear the entire thing from their rooms on the bottom floor.  

“d-daddy...”  

mason smiled, thumb pulling at your bottom lip. “yes, little one?” 

“i’m gonna cum,” you cried, arching your back up off the bed, “please, daddy.”  

mason tutted. you were going to have to beg a lot better than that.  

“come on, darling, you can beg better than that,” he left a kiss to your jawline, “i know you turn into a mindless whore when you’re being fucked, but that was pathetic.”  

 you squeaked and clenched around his dick again. your body was in overdrive and with every thrust it felt like you were going to explode.  

“d-daddy... please,” you choked, throat running dry, “p-please, i need to cum, i'll do anything, p-please, daddy.” 

“you’ll do anything? oh, darling. i wouldn’t say something like that if you don’t mean it.”  

“please, i’m so close,” you were panting now, fighting off your orgasm with every passing second. mason leaned down to kiss your lips hotly, pulling your lip between his teeth and biting down so hard he almost drew blood, “please.”  

your begging attempt was satisfactory. for now.  

“go on then, darling,” he drawled, “cum for daddy like a good girl.”  

you couldn’t help the scream that left your mouth, and your orgasm shook your body so hard that it left your limbs twitching. this orgasm seemed to be more fulfilling, and lasted longer than the others you’d had this evening. your clenching pussy triggered mason’s orgasm, and despite the fact he came into the condom, you could still feel the heat of his cum inside of you.  

it was only when you noticed the wet sheets underneath your bum and mason’s wet torso that your eyebrows furrowed.  

“fucking hell, little one,” mason groaned, pulling out of you and looking down at the seeping sheets, “look at the mess you’ve made.”  

“what happened...? what did i do?”  

it had only just dawned on mason that you were completely clueless. this was the first time you’d ever squirted.  

“you just wet the bed, babygirl,” he rolled to the side of you and your eyebrows furrowed, “daddy fucked you so well and so deep that you squirted.”  

he admired the way your eyes widened, and he smirked. if he wasn’t sure about keeping you in his life before, he was definitely going to keep you around now. you yawned, completely and utterly exhausted from the night’s events, and mason pushed the sweaty hair out of your face, “we need to get you clean, sweetheart.”  

“mm, tired,” was all you could say, fighting off a yawn, “just wanna sleep.”  

mason stood up and slipped your dressing gown back over his shoulders. your eyelids continued to flutter, and you would’ve fallen asleep had he not have handed you his shirt and boxers, “come on, darling, you need to clean yourself up,” you sighed but obeyed his words, pulling the shirt over your head, “i’ll help you put fresh sheets on too, okay?”  

his hand looped through yours as he guided you to your bathroom, and your eyebrows furrowed again. mason began to run the water and you sat on the toilet seat. “you’re helping?” you asked, scrunching your nose, “i thought you were just going to leave.”  

mason laughed. you really were clueless, and it was adorable to him.  

“you really think i'd fuck you like that and then just walk away?” mason raised an eyebrow, and once again, the thought dawned on him that that’s exactly what happened to you after your first time. that was all you’d ever known. “oh, sweetheart, no, i wouldn’t ever do that to you.”  

he tested the temperature of the water with the tips of his fingers, and helped you wriggle out of his shirt as you stepped into it. he kissed your forehead as you rested your arms on the side of the bath.  

“pack a bag and come to my house next weekend,” he said nonchalantly, and suddenly, all your exhaustion had dissipated, “please.”  

“y-you want me to...”  

“i’m not asking you, y/n,” his stern bedroom voice had returned and it sent shivers down your spine, “i’m telling you.”  

your heart settled in your chest and he smiled against your lips when you leaned over the bath and kissed him. “i’ll stay at yours if you stay here.”  

“i wasn’t planning on going anywhere, darling,” he kissed your nose, “you’re going to get sick of me.”  

you smiled.  

“impossible.”  

[tomatoluvr69]

But hey it’s cheaper than boulder or wherever the fuck by a long shot. For now. Until appalachia becomes bloated and swollen with the escapees from other parts of the nation who have the means to do so when their homes in Southern CA and FLA and Nola etc all try to kill them and they push all the people who have been living in appalachia for generations out of their homes during a huge climate based demographic shift. But thus is life I guess. Anyways I do think Pittsburgh, Detroit, Philadelphia, WV, western VA, Kentucky, eastern TN like Johnson City etc are going to shift away from being stigmatized and avoided within the broader nation to being an extremely sought after place to be over the remainder of the century because of climate change. LOL! I will no longer be living in appalachia at that point probably

re: LRB (and lots of cultural punchlines in general lol) It is kind of funny how ppl still think Pittsburgh PA is kind of an industrial shithole and it’s like sure. There’s some rusted stuff around. But it’s subject to the same exact homogeneous flattening of American culture found in every city. Like the vast majority of people just go to chipotle and watch the office reruns. And the air quality is kind of bad and there’s a ton of lead poisoning in children due to the infrastructure. And also a good third of the many hundreds of bridges have been found to be in dangerous disrepair putting thousands of lives in jeopardy every day and a big one did collapse a few years ago with cars and a bus on it. And there used to be a bridge by my house that had to have a second bridge under it to collect the giant chunks of concrete falling from the first bridge so they didn’t crush cars on the commuter highway below. And they have a report based on the toxicity of the rivers and how fucked you are if you go in them. But genuinely like they had to power wash all the sandstone buildings in the 90s to get the soot off them because they’d been turned black. But the soot hasnt returned! Because the steel mills closed decades ago! And now it’s just a city like everywhere except you’re going to get way more asthma than if you lived in colorado. But who cares. and the distinct local culture has vanished as it has everywhere in the nation and every city is inhospitable and isolating to its inhabitants due to the extremely skewed ratio of how extremely expensive it is to live there vs the hostile infrastructure and rewards you reap by doing so. Like you’re basically just gonna suffer in every city at this point but in Pittsburgh you’re like 0.00000001% more likely to be injured or killed in a bridge collapse by doing so.

[janeyseymour]

A story where R is really self conscious about their mobility aid (a cane if possible). Maybe one of the middle schoolers says something rude. And mostly a lot of comfort from Mel

i hope this is good enough because i wrote it in between teaching a bunch of first graders and babysitting two little gremlins

Lean On Me

WC: ~2.5k

You had finally decided to bite the bullet and get your knee replaced after months of agonizing pain with a little nudge from your wonderful wife. You had hoped it would be replaced and healed by the time the school year started up again, but unfortunately that was not the case. You weren’t able to get it replaced until the end of July, and with class being back in session at the end of August, you’re still using the cane and you’re under pretty strict restrictions.

“Maybe I should just take a month’s leave until I can walk without this damned thing,” you mutter to yourself as you’re sitting in Melissa’s classroom while she finishes prepping her room for this year’s upcoming little eagles. “I don’t want the kids to see me with this.” You lazily gesture to the cane that’s next to you.

“That’s up to you, my love,” Melissa tells you as she passes you by to hang a new Eagles sign. “But I do think that you’ll be incredibly bored while you’re recovering and no one is around.”

She’s right. You’ll be bored out of your mind if you decide to take off for a month- especially without her to keep you entertained. And you know that you hate having subs; if the principal would even be able to find a substitute for you this late into the game. So you decide that you’ll just have to tough it out despite the fact that you’re incredibly self-conscious of having to use the mobility aid at such a young age. You get stares while you’re just in the grocery store and hobbling around with your wife (she tries to insist that you stay home and rest, but you tell her that you like spending the time with her and that you need to stay at least somewhat active).

Development days come and go, most of your staff and team doing everything they can to make life easy for you- Ava even going as far as spray painting your parking spot in the front so that she knows not to rent out the space during the Eagles barbecue that she holds every year (both you and Melissa thank her for that). Janine and Jacob help you to set up your classroom while Gregory finds different workouts that are supposed to help it heal faster on top of the rigorous physical therapy that you’ve been attending. And Barbara is there to make sure that both you and your wife were well-rested and eating- offering moral support in any way she possible can.

And so, the first day of school is upon you. The redhead insists on carrying your things to your room, and she sets a chair outside of the door for you to be able to greet your students when they come in. As your old students run past you to get to their new teachers, they give you the biggest and warmest hugs, telling you that they hope you feel better. You see Melissa standing outside of her door, greeting her new students with the same gusto that she always does, and then she looks over to you. She gives you a questioning look, and you nod and smile in her direction- quietly raising your mug filled with coffee in a toast. She reciprocates your action and blows you a kiss subtly.

You hobble your way back into the classroom and take a seat at your desk while the kids settle in and do the morning work that is on their desk. After morning announcements, you have them all gather on the carpet and explain to them how this year is going to work. One of them raises a shy hand.

“What’s up, hun?” you ask one of the girls.

She asks you hesitantly, “Why do you have a cane? I thought only old people have a cane.”

You smile at her gently. “Thank you for asking, sweetheart. Mrs. Schemmenti had a knee surgery over the summer, and I’m still recovering. I’ll only need it for another month, maybe a little longer. But while I have it, everybody needs to be careful and gentle. I can’t walk around much either, so I’ll be teaching from my desk for the time being.”

Your class is overwhelmingly supportive of this, and they are so sweet about asking if you ever need anything or if they can help pass out papers for the entirety of the morning. This group is a bunch of love bugs who make you get well cards when you give them a bit of free time while you’re waiting to be called down to the gymnasium for the beginning of the year assembly.

You’re incredibly thankful that Ava calls your grade first so that you can make your way down slowly and find a seat before anybody else can swoop in- the last thing you need is to have to stand in the back because all of the chairs are taken. You’re pretty sure if that happened, your wife would riot for you, but that isn’t necessary.

You have your kids take a seat, Melissa slides in next to you and takes your cane to prop it up against the wall, and then you settle in for whatever ridiculous first day of school assembly will present itself this year.

Because you were the first ones in, you’re also the last ones out. It gives you time to get yourself and your kids ready to head back to the classroom for the small break they have before they head to lunch.

But when lunchtime comes, you get swept up in the sheer chaos of trying to get your students to the cafeteria in time so that you have your full lunch break. There are the little ones who are walking through the halls with their eyes wide and full of wonder, your kids who are walking at a fast pace that you’re having a hard time keeping up with, and then there are the older ones who couldn’t care less that you’re attempting to make your way through the halls without bumping into anyone. It doesn’t help that half of the middle schoolers now tower over you.

In a rush, one of them knocks the cane out of your hand with their lunch bag and snorts with laughter. “I thought canes were for old heads!”

Another one of them shouts that you’ve really let yourself go, and maybe it’s time for you to go into early retirement if you can’t walk around without the help of your mobility aid.

You stumble without the crutch there to lean on, and you nearly fall until Melissa has looped an arm around your waist and is helping to hold you up. You lean against her heavily as you try to steady yourself again. She turns to shout at the two who were making fun of you, but they’re already swept up in the sea of children that are all wearing the same uniform. She doesn’t know who to yell at, so she quickly turns back to you.

The student that is standing next to you looks absolutely appalled and picks up your cane immediately. She hands it to you gently. “Are you okay?”

You nod and gesture for her to continue walking. Your students do as they keep their eyes trained on you to make sure that you’re okay.

Once all of your kids are in the cafeteria and you see that they are all seated and eating or in line to get a school lunch, you turn. Melissa is still right at your side, her arm still looped around you.

“Go enjoy your lunch, babe,” you tell her gently as you take her hand away. “I’m just gonna sit in my room for lunch if you wouldn’t mind bringing my kids back down with you when the period is over?”

“You don’t want to have lunch with us?” the redhead asks you quietly.

“I don’t know if I can make it down to the staffroom, and then the lunchroom, and back today,” you admit softly. “My knee is really hurting from physical therapy yesterday.”

“I’ll be down with your lunch,” Melissa promises. She squeezes your hand gently before turning on her heel.

You settle at your desk, and despite yourself willing the tears not to spring to your eyes they do. You wipe at them furiously. The comments from the older kids really shouldn’t be affecting you the way that they are. And you really would rather not have your wife see you shedding tears over their idiotic comments- you know she’ll be roping Ava into a manhunt to see who it was anyway, and it’ll only be that much worse for the students if she catches you crying.

Your wife comes in with both of your lunches and an icepack for you- not that you requested one. You quickly wipe your tears as you hear her heels hitting the tile underneath of her, but she still sees it.

“Hun, does it hurt that bad?”

You turn to her with a sad smile. “No. I’m fine,” you lie through your teeth, but your voice betrays you and it cracks ever so slightly.

She sets your lunch in front of you and pulls up two chairs. She gestures for you to set your leg up on the second chair as she sits int he one next to you.

“Mel, you really can go enjoy lunch with he crew,” you tell her gently. “I’ll be okay by myself.”

“Ice,” is all she says as she takes a bite of lunch. She sets the pack on your knee, and you flinch slightly as the cool sensation ripples through your body, sending a shiver down your back.

You sit there, and she watches worriedly as you don’t make a move for your lunch at all. 

“Babe, you have to eat,” she says softly.

You shrug and wrap your arms around yourself. “I’m not that hungry.”

“My girl? Not hungry?” the redhead teases you. “C’mon.”

You don’t know what happens, but something within you snaps. “When I’m not burning nearly as many calories as I used to because of this fucking knee, I don’t get as hungry!” You burst into tears again. “God, I never should’ve gotten it done, and then I wouldn’t need this damn cane!” You throw it across the room in anger before curling in on yourself.

Your wife is up and retrieving it in seconds, only for you to throw it past her again.

“Babe,” she warns as she picks it up again.

“I don’t fucking want it! I’m sick of everyone staring at the young woman who has to depend on a god damn cane to walk!” you cry.

“Is this because of-” she starts to ask you, but you cut her off. 

“I’m sick of being stared at in the grocery store, or when we decided to go to Hershey and I had to use one of the wheelchairs! I don’t want the kids to go home and tell their parents that I’m some poor, crippled woman who can’t teach standing up!” you choke out. “I- I just want to be normal again!”

“So help those kids who pushed past you,” she grumbles before taking her seat back and wrapping her arms around you. She kisses you gently. “It’s all part of the healing process. You’ll be back to running around in no time, and you aren’t going to be in as much pain.”

“It’s going to be at least another month before I can walk without the cane,” you yell, frustrated tears falling down your cheeks.

“And you know I’ll always be here to lean on, your kids will clearly do everything they can to help you, and you know the staff here has your back,” she tries to comfort you.

“I couldn’t even properly take my kids to lunch,” you sigh, and you hate how whiny you sound.

“So I’ll take them and bring them back for you with my kids,” your wife tells you. “That way all you have to worry about is getting to and from the staffroom.”

You close your eyes and take a deep breath. “You already do so much for me.”

“And I will continue to do everything I can for you for the rest of my life,” she tells you with confidence. “When I said for better or for worse, I was serious.”

“I love you,” you whisper as the first genuine smile appears on your lips since the lunch incident.

“I love you too,” she mumbles as she leans in to kiss you. Then she pulls away and pushes your lunch towards you. “Now eat. I know you’re hungry.”

You pick up the fork and shovel some food in your mouth. So maybe you lied to Melissa when you said you weren’t hungry.

Come the end of the day, your wonderful wife picks up your kids and takes them out for dismissal while you ice your knee again. You see the kids off with a wave and a smile as they tell you that they hope you feel better soon. You’re given quite a few hugs, and a few drawings of you with the students are mixed in.

When you expect her to come back in once the kids are gone though, she doesn’t. And you can’t really leave without her because you can’t carry everything and navigate the halls with your cane just yet. You shoot her a text.

Did you forget about your crippled wife?

I’ll be down in a few, she responds quickly. Just chatting with Ava.

She’s telling the truth because the next thing you know, she’s in your room and grabbing your bags along with all of hers, and you’re heading out for the night.

“Why were you chatting with Ava?”

“Just had a few questions for her about this school year,” is all the redhead says. “Now let’s get going- you have physical therapy at 4:30, and then it’s an early night for the Schemmentis. I am wiped.”

The next morning, you and your wife are sitting and standing outside your classrooms getting ready to greet your students when two of the older kids come up to you. They hand you apology notes and hazard a glance at Melissa- they look terrified of her. She just folds her arms over her chest and smirks.

“Mel,” you sigh once they walk away. “I appreciate you defending my honor, but do not make two middle school boys look about ready to sh… their pants on the second day of school.”

“Nobody makes fun of my wife,” she shrugs. “Especially when it’s about something she’s already insecure about.”

“Is that why you were with Ava? You were looking at the security footage?”

Again, she shrugs. “Let’s just say, we’re having a school wide assembly next week about how we shouldn’t make fun of people who have mobility issues or any other sort of disabilities.”

[starlight-sev]

December 2: Secret Watching (Jamie x Reader)

(Part of @deepperplexity’s Rickmas 2024 prompts)

I never thought I’d write anything based around Jamie from Truly, Madly, Deeply, yet here we are.

This is a quirky platonic one. No warnings, other than a mischievous ghost. Enjoy.

It didn’t matter what anyone else said, your flat was definitely haunted.

It started off as just a feeling that would come and go. Barely there, but every now and then, as you cooked dinner or sat down to watch a movie, you’d have the distinct itchy sensation that you were being watched. Sometimes, even though you knew you were alone, you’d do a quick wander through each room, just in case. And then, shortly after you’d notice it, the feeling would pass.

Nina, the lady you rented your flat from, seemed nice enough. She had mentioned a rat issue in the past, but this definitely didn’t feel like rats that were watching you. You wanted to ask her if there was more that has gone on in this flat, but you didn’t have the heart to. It seemed crazy.

It was your first Christmas in this flat. Nina had kindly left a box of Christmas decorations to put up, if you wanted to.

You dug through the box as you sat in the living room, trying to find any lights that would bring a little more life to this new place of yours. You felt a little twinge of hope as you pulled out what seemed to be clouds on a string, but let out a sad huff of disappointment as the tangled mess turned out to be a mobile, not a string of cloud-shaped fairy lights.

There it was again. That strange feeling of being watched.

You frowned, glancing around the flat. Your curtains were shut, the place was quiet. And yet, you didn’t feel alone.

“Hello?” You felt both a little stupid and a little scared as you called out into thin air. There was no response.

“Hello?” You called out again, but even as you did so, you could feel the air returning to normal. The feeling vanished as quickly as it came.

With a sigh, you placed the cloud mobile back into the box, and called it a night. Surely it was just your imagination.

Except it wasn’t. The next morning you woke up to find the same cloud mobile you had placed back in Nina’s decoration box was now hanging in the corner of your room, rotating slightly as if someone had gently tapped it only moments earlier. Unless you had been decorating your flat in your sleep, you were certain there was something going on here that you couldn’t explain.

In fact, it only seemed to get worse from there. As more Christmas decorations went up, stranger things kept happening. The lights on the tree would flicker, or sometimes extinguish completely. Bells would tinkle faintly by themselves. And for some reason, the cloud mobile that belonged to Nina kept moving around your flat with each day that passed.

It was when you came home after work one evening only to walk headfirst into the cloud mobile, which was dangling right in front of the door, that you had finally had enough.

“That’s it,” you called out, tossing your shoes and bag to the side as you spoke. “I know you’re here. I don’t know who, or what, you are. But I know you’re here.”

As usual, there was no response. You shook your head and took down the cloud mobile. You marched into the living room and held it up in front of you.

“Want to explain why this keeps moving around?” You demanded to no one in particular. You caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror in the living room, and you realized just how ridiculous this was. Just as you were losing hope, however, your Christmas tree lights began flickering constantly.

The faint outline of a tall man in what seemed to be a wool trenchcoat materialized in front of you, and you stumbled backwards in a panic. You weren’t sure what you were hoping would happen when you began speaking to thin air, but it certainly wasn’t this.

“Christ, what the-”

“Sorry,” the man said quickly. “Sorry! Sorry. I’m trying not to scare you, I swear.”

You stepped even further back, placing as much distance between you and the ghost as possible.

“Who are you?” You asked slowly. The man raised his hands in what seemed to be surrender.

“I’m Jamie.” He replied carefully. “You’re Y/N, right?”

You nodded, your heart still racing. “I don’t like that you know that.”

“Oh, come on,” Jamie nearly rolled his eyes. “Your name’s written on every piece of mail over there.” He nodded to the pile on your table. “I may be dead, but I can still read.”

“Right…”

“You noticed that then?” Jamie nodded to the cloud mobile, which you had tossed onto the couch. He had a small gleam in his eyes.

“Hard not to, when it’s moving around the flat every other day,” you retorted. “Why this one specifically?”

Jamie sighed, glancing at the item distantly. For a second, you could’ve sworn he almost appeared to be sad.

“It was mine.”

You blinked in confusion. “So this used to be your flat?”

Jamie shook his head. “No, no. It is… was… my girlfriend’s.”

You raised your eyebrows in surprise. “Is she dead too?”

Jamie seemed taken aback by your question. He frowned. “What? No, of course not… she’s…”

There it was again, that distant look in his eyes. You felt a pang of empathy as Jamie seemed to battle his own memories and emotions for a moment.

“It’s okay. I don’t need to know.”

Jamie visibly relaxed at your comment. He gave you a slightly relieved smile in gratitude.

“Why me?” You asked him curiously. “Why have you been trying to get my attention?”

Jamie glanced around the room as he pondered your question.

“It’s been a while since I’ve celebrated Christmas.” He admitted softly. “Time’s a little different on this side. My friends often lose track of how long they spend doing one thing. They love watching movies, you see. We often miss Christmas by the time it occurs to us to actually get up and do something else. But I remembered in time this year, and came here to check on…” Jamie faltered for a moment. “…an old friend. I found you here instead. You’ve decorated nicely.”

You nodded slowly, trying to piece together what Jamie was saying. He seemed kind enough, but it was infuriatingly difficult to have him get to the point. He seemed to almost speak in riddles.

“I’m not sure I follow.” You admitted quietly.

“Right.” Jamie pressed his hands over his eyes for a moment, as if to clear his head. “I suppose… right, I’ll just outright say it. With Nina having moved out-”

“Nina?” You asked incredulously, your eyes wide. You stepped closer to Jamie, and noticed the way the light passed through him. It messed with your head. “You know Nina?”

Jamie pressed his lips into a thin line and nodded hesitantly. “I do… well, I did. Anyway, as I was saying, I miss celebrating Christmas. It’s been a few years since I’ve died, and it’s just not the same on this side.”

“So if I’m following correctly…” you mumbled slowly, glancing at the nervous expression Jamie wore. “You want to spend Christmas with… me?”

Jamie nodded very slowly, almost as if he was ashamed.

“I’ll be quiet. You won’t even know I’m here.”

“You were flickering Christmas lights this past week. Making bells jingle. That’s quiet?”

Jamie swore under his breath, and it almost made you giggle, if it weren’t for the fact that you were talking to an actual ghost.

“Electronics and other things go a bit wonky when I’m around. I’m sorry. I was only trying to get your attention with this.” He held up the cloud mobile and shook it, causing a tinkling sound to fill the room. “I have a bit more control over things that anchor me to my previous life. This is the only thing that’s allowing you to see me right now.”

You nodded slowly, not fully understanding the logic behind being a ghost. You knew better than to question it at this point.

“I suppose you can stay. On one condition.”

“And that is?”

“No more watching me in secret. If you’re here, you show up and be here with me. Got it?”

Jamie nodded, seemingly relieved that everything was now out in the open.

“I can do that.”

“Good.” You murmured, sitting down on the couch. Jamie stepped closer to you, and sat down beside you. There was enough distance between the two of you, but you could definitely feel a chill gently travel through the air as he moved.

“So does this mean we’re roommates now?” He asked gently with a small smile.

“I suppose.”

“Do you snore?”

You wrinkled your nose as you glanced at Jamie. He seemed serious.

“No, I don’t think I do.”

Jamie smiled. “Good. We’ll get along just fine, then.”

[catherinetcjd]

The Villages ~ a 55+ Community

...a part of the Sameville Hood Project a trailer park community - especially for retirees (if you use age-restricting mods) 7 units - club house - back porch bar - grill area - fishing pond - community garden No CC!

This trailer park ...uhhh, mobile home community is part of my new hood project: Sameville. It will be included with that hood, when it is released... soon! Meanwhile - here is a preview version of this lot for your own hood.

Read more on my BLOG »

Cross-posted to MTS and Simblr.

No Custom Content Included

Lot Size: 50X60 Lot Price: $310,011 Rent Range: $947 - $1,487

DOWNLOAD @ SFS

Enjoy! 🦚

[kenntowol]

EMERGENCY; Longterm assault has led to the deterioration of my health + avoiding homelessness

I’ve been life-haltingly sick going on 7 years now, with several outside factors either exacerbating things or keeping me from getting treatment. The short version is, I did not ask for the things that happened to me that led to my health issues, I have fought like hell to stay afloat anyway. In my childhood I lost my trust, power, community, sense of self and my autonomy. In my adulthood I lost my time, health, stability, my home and any feeling of safety and its only getting worse because I can not afford to be this sick and pay my bills. **Now I’ve lost the ability to even eat.**

**I can not stress enough these are ACCUMULATIVE AMOUNTS. this is not money that I HAVE, this is money that has gone into rent, bills, doctors, moving to a cheaper place, medications, mobility aides, etc. it has gone to things that are necessary.**

I have not had a life of my own since 2017. I have worked tirelessly with measly breaks when I can’t take it anymore. My mental health is collapsing and it makes me ashamed when it shows. If I am not medicated, I am not even a person anymore- it feels like I am just the fear.

Any time I’ve started to see savings come together It all ends up going to the extraordinary taxes required as a freelance artist.  An ultrasound recently showed there is barely anything left of my thyroid and my new endocrinologist tested for hashimoto’s again, and it came back negative- meaning a great majority of issues I’ve had doctors blaming my thyroid for are completely unrelated and caused by something else. Currently looking into internal brain injury, but the need for financial support in order to pay bills and afford medical help is incredibly dire. Please help and reblog this GFM anything quite literally helps.

[ratherembarrassing]

2025: week 6 and 7

previously, on ratherembarrassing, our heroine was fleeing the mothercountry for the new world...

around the world in thirteen days: so all up, i made my way through every timezone in 13 days. i... don't recommend it, i don't think. it's possible that it was less good because, uh, i didn't sleep for 2 weeks, but who the fuck can say. in any event, onward to the ununited states!

newark!: the calmest airport in the entire country?! the cute little monorail to the train station?!?! the complete lack of signage about the two different train operators and the requirement to get a completely different ticket for each????? i will never fly anywhere else ever again if i can help it.

wet dream tomato: that congestion tax really is working because the streets of midtown were quiet at midday. the vibe was really off until hours before i departed when i saw what looked to be an eight year-old smoking. a shout out to myself for dropping a pin in the three theatres i was seeing shows in on maps and booking a hotel in the middle of the triangle, because that was, actually, sweet as fuck.

theatah!: oh, mary! (lyceum theatre, broadway). as previously said, laughed so hard i nearly peed my pants in a new york theater. as not previously said, i also sucked every bit of myself up and stage door'd in the rain and told betty gilpin, through the power of close proximity, that i love and adore her. go see this.

and then i bought a coat: this truly was an endeavour. the half abandoned basement of a macy's in brooklyn could well have been where i met my end, but i lived to see another h&m and the sweetest sales girl in the world found me the last remaining coat in all of the eastern seaboard. getting this home became a whole thing.

bagel bagel bagel!: so many bagels, the most enchanting of which was one filled with birthday cake flavoured cream cheese from a BTS (the band???) themed bagel store. new york, you are so weird and i love you so much. honestly, because of the weather i was really committed to just not leaving a 4 block radius if i didn't have to (alas, brooklyn) and just wringing the weirdest shit out of those four blocks was incredibly fun. i've been visiting new york for eighteen years and lived there for long enough to pay rent three times, and i've never spent so much time in times square, but i had a fun snowy time.

also, tho: you get mobile signal with data on the subway now?!?!?!?!

theatah!: sunset blvd (st james theatre, broadway). i actually have an entire post in me about this so i'm going to just say that you are free to picture me in the world's largest puffer coat, snoopy style, attempting to melt into the floor as nicole scherzinger said she liked my good luck babe hat as it quietly midnight snowed all around us. byeeeee. (go see this, oh my god go see this!)

theatah!: death becomes her (lunt-fontanne theatre, broadway). i did not know destiny's child's michelle williams was in this until she appeared and i very rudely said out loud, oh my god that's destiny's child's michelle williams. regardless, i was three for three with bangers on this trip. go see this.

go west! life is not peaceful there: absolutely nobody appreciated the moment we were all standing on line for an aggressive pat down by the tsa at jfk when wind beneath my wings started playing over the pa system. i was not amongst my people at all, so i had to leave. on the way, i visited texas for a grand total of 5 minutes. please picture me running off my plane, dashing 3 gates down the terminal, hugging @xactodreams, and running onto the next plane.

a brief interlude: once again they let me drive on the wrong side of the road. they probably shouldn't. why are the traffic lights only on the other side of the intersection. hertz does this thing now where you can just wander around the lot and take whatever car you want, which was more stressful than anticipated.

conclave conclave: this is, actually, the entry for @tgifemslash, my beloved little gay con that you too could attend if you want to do things like, uh, sit in a circle for an hour raving madly about the various wonders of 2024 movie of the year conclave. at this point in our story i had slept very little and was about to commence 3 nights of approximately zero sleep before 4am.

taco taco taco!: i admittedly have historically not been a fan of most mexican food, entirely because it's just not good in australia. in the hands of @wanderson20 mine eyes have been opened to the glory.

traditional shoutouts: clark street diner (my favourite place on earth). the grove (why do i always end up here) (i had to buy a suitcase). erhewon or however the fuck it's spelled (i joined a cult). the nice woman at the qantas desk (thank you for not charing me to check my second suitcase (see grove, the)). panda express (lax's international terminal's only good quality).

oh also: kbox karaoke in a deserted strip mall at 9pm on a sunday in an otherwise entirely empty karaoke place is, actually, it. were there other patrons for a brief window of time, howling on the other side of the wall, or was that the ghosts of patrons never.

SHE GETS THE JOB DONE: swerved 20 minutes out of my way and paid homage at the chappell roan billboard. shout out to the other person there doing the same thing. then i had to go home :(

and then a hero comes along: entire row of seats to myself, love of my life. it's such a rare treat these days to commandeer three tiny, shitty pillows and three gross blankets, strap yourself awkwardly to a bench slightly too short for even your shortass body, and drug yourself into unconsciousness for 11 hours. amen.

and then nothing good ever happened again the end au contraire.

cannibal club!: the yellowjackets is BACK, BABY! the severance/yellowjackets double feature is the only reason to get up in the morning, tbh.

a little brunch: little molli's (abbotsford). the smoked pork neck french dip is to die for, but the blood orange cream soda is to live for.

if anything else happened, i will never remember it, good night.

[auckie]

I want a desk job. I want a stable desk job, with the discouraged option to work from home, and benefits— not amazing ones, just something that will make me feel like I won’t be homeless or shipped off to a low rent home when I’m 80 because I’m trans and can’t afford to adopt kids who might take pity on my old ass. I want to be able to afford a modest living, the kind I’m currently surviving, preferably alone and without a man child stoner who tracks mud everywhere and doesn’t know what headphones are and leaves my back door open and front door unlocked no matter how many times I yell at him. Ideally, I would like to exist without monthly bill anxiety. dread sure. You can’t avoid that, but I would like to have the ability to squirrel away a small bump of padding cash to withstand my car dying, which it is, my leg breaking, which it has not, top surgery, which I need, the occasional visit to my Mexican family or sister across the country, a nice meal here and there, a little wine and sun and salt. I don’t want to love my job, but I don’t want to dread going in because I fear losing my shit on my boss. I don’t need to love my coworkers even. I just want more energy after work, and maybe less risk of contracting pneumonia or my arm going numb because I was careless while working with live animals. I want the welts to stop. I want to be paid more and feel like I have the option and opportunity for upward mobility if I chose to doggedly pursue it. I would like a desk job, maybe a government or city job if those weren’t currently being gutted. It would be nice to work some sort of idyllic defunct job or a really niche one that nobody goes into because it’s hyper competitive or doesn’t pay well, like being some sort of WiFi connected lighthouse keeper or firewatch or park ranger or mortician or marine biologist or fisherman or Rosie the riveter welder restoring steam engines or fucking whatever. But that can’t and won’t be so I really would just like a desk job that has me at my own somewhat private, somewhat quiet little station, where I do repetitive tasks that at most, require the amount of brain power needed to sort files or answer emails, maybe organize a schedule or draft a handful of easily categorizable contracts. I can skim paper work and highlight the good stuff, I can compose excel spreadsheets that simplify the information, I can track inventory and regurgitate sales into some sort of chart for easier optics. I have synergy. I majored in new media visual technology and folklore. I love circling back. I have a handful of published poems. I’m a team player with managerial potential. I’ve bred roaches and wrangled 8 inch venomous centipedes into shipping tubes an inch thicker than their circumference. I used to be a realtor! My abuelita owned a nganga with a human femur inside. I want a desk job, with a cubicle and dress code and calander and sorting bin and stapler and paper clips and rolly chair with lower lumbar support and a water cooler.

[remyfire]

Had a houlihawk meltdown tonight and didn't wanna lose it, so here we are.

I always feel like I love houlihawk the most if they never get the suburban home with the white picket fence, but if they get to be mobile in a freedom-centric way outside of, like, Margaret's childhood of Army transfers—just them renting instead of owning so they can travel all across the country and see new things and reconnect with their friends. Ending up in New York City for a year, mischievous, making out in elevators going up through these tall tall buildings as a race to see how stirred up they can get the other before the elevator dings at their floor. Going overseas, seeing Europe, touring France, Margaret playfully singing "C'est Magnifique" as a little street band plays for her and Hawk sweeping her into a passionate kiss as the crowd that had gathered around them applauds her performance. Just playfulness, adventure, discovering who they are in these whole new ways.

I had the image of Margaret who is terrified to ever get married again and Hawkeye who is still so fearful of marriage just. Agreeing that they don't want to get married. They want to just be together until they might not want to anymore. But I got emotional about the idea of Hawkeye giving Margaret one of his mother's old necklaces as a kind of symbol of commitment all the same and Margaret finding the finest watchband for Hawkeye, and them wearing those symbols year after year after year.

Imagining them spending a year or two working in free clinics around an overcrowding city, providing international aid as medical staff, always hand in hand, never one without the other when it comes to providing care. Spending a few years in California renting a room from the Hunnicutts while Hawk, Margaret, and BJ work tirelessly through the AIDS Crisis even though for all intents and purposes they should be thinking about retiring from medicine.

One day an 80-year-old Hawkeye is reading his newspaper and just tips his head back and yells, "Hey, Margaret?" and she shouts back, "Yes, darling?" and he goes, "D'you wanna get married tomorrow?" and Margaret is silent for a moment before she yells, "Sure!"

Which is when I realized that it would be the year 2000 if they were driving down to the courthouse while in their eighties to get married and that the Backstreet Boys would come on the radio on the way and Hawkeye would be trying to sing I Want It That Way to her while she's laughing her head off about how he's ruining the lyrics. And I exploded.

[am-i-interrupting]

Guys, guys, guys, can I just. . . Can I just rant for a minute?

Okay, so like this woman came in to see me last minute the other day. We spent a while getting off what was on her nails. It wasn’t my work. I am extra careful about taking off other people’s work ‘cause I don’t know what it is, right? Okay, so we spend like an hour getting this shit off. It was really fucking thick no matter how much I filed it down and it had rhinestones on it. The rhinestones didn’t want to come off and I couldn’t even clip through this acrylic with my clippers.

We finally get it off and this woman doesn’t know what she wants. Doesn’t know what she wants. We spend a while looking at nail designs together to figure out what she wants because she doesn’t wang just solid colors. We settle on an aura effect with five different colors total. Mind you she started off saying she just wanted two colors.

We put on her extensions. I get down the base coat. I start doing the aura. She doesn’t like it. That’s okay. Whatever. We try an ombre instead. She doesn’t like it. Context, this are both designs where you have to cure it as you go so once it’s ok there, it’s not coming off. Instead you have to paint over it or buff it off and then paint over the buffing if you don’t want it to be thick. Okay? Okay. She decided mid way into doing the ombre she don’t like it anymore.

Okay. Fine. We can take it off!

We take it off. She says that she wants the same colors, alternating with a double French. We do that. Then I ask her for, you know, any feedback she might have because I want to improve and I want people to be happy. She said that she wasn’t unhappy but that I need to do more practice because it took so long.

Girl! Of course it’s gonna take so long if you can’t make up your fucking mind! Like the fuck? The part that took the longest was getting those nails off. Because I don’t know what the fuck it is exactly and I don’t wanna fuck up your nails.

Did we spend another two and a half hours there? Yes. But that’s because you didn’t know what you wanted and kept changing the design! For doing three different designs on you, I don’t think that took long. With extensions and designs I average in taking an hour and a half. Like, that’s not long especially when I’m doing something in every single nail.

Then she also said that I should work on lowering my prices. Honey, they’re as low as I can go! I’m still struggling to pay my room rent. My room rent is $400 a month. I am in the shop every single day but people don’t come in every single day. I’m lucky to get two people in a week. I literally cannot go any lower.

She also mentioned that my prices were higher than the girl she went to by five dollars. The girl she went to was working from home, 17, and without bills to pay. She was also unlicensed and still in school for nails. She also said I had better products than the girl that she went too. Of course my prices are gonna be more!

This woman told me to price in mind that everyone will tip. Um, no they fucking don’t. Just because you tip doesn’t mean everyone else will. In fact, I’d say about 40% of people don’t tip and my tips average between $5 and $10. Like that’s not exactly enough to justify me lowering my prices. Also, people shouldn’t have to tip me in order for me to cover my cost of expenses!

She suggested I try to lower my prices down to $20 for EXTENSIONS! I can’t do that! That doesn’t even cover the cost of my supplies!

She said she’ll be coming back and if she does then you know, I’d appreciate it. Business is business and I’m not in a position to turn people away. But like, damn.

She wasn’t necessarily rude but fucking hell she was just— Eh!

Anyway, thank you for letting me rant.

Therapy is expensive and I have other more pressing medical priorities. Guys, I can’t cover the cost to go to a new primary care doctor, much less lower my prices.

I’m just like tired. So tired. After I got done with that woman, I was so exhausted. My mobility issues have been acting up a lot now and I am positive it’s because of dealing with her because they started the day after I had her. Just aaaah!

I’ve been like hyperfixating on BG3 to just like cops by looking and romancing pretty people. I’ll probably get back to my requests soon. I just don’t have the mental energy right now.

Anygay, have a nice timezone, my lovelies!

[exeggcute]

every so often I'll see articles from different "lifestyle" publications (because the new tab page on the mobile version of chrome just shows you random shit, which I kind of enjoy in a weird way) for those tiny homes you can buy online, where it's like a tiny cabin or a shipping container or whatever and they send you the shit and you have to build it. and I have no idea who the intended demographic is for these things because they run anywhere from ten to thirty grand, and that doesn't even account for labor costs, electrical/plumbing, building permits, not to mention fucking land to build it on. there's the obvious answer of rich people who want to build a little casita on their property and rent it out but I feel like they might not be buying these things on amazon. and then the publications sometimes frame it as a "affordable homeownership is possible :)" thing which is insane because if you have the cash for this, plus either land that you already own or enough additional cash to buy land, would you not just put all that towards a down payment... on a regular house?

but I do have an idea of why these articles keep getting written, and it's because if even a single person reads one and clicks an affiliate link and buys a $25,000 shipping container on amazon then the publication is gonna get a very nice kickback. unclear if this has literally ever happened though