#having a tractor is fine it's literally fine

[eisbecherovka]

Bummed out about food supply chains and industrial agriculture again :/

[skitskatdacat63]

Time to go be designated driver for my brother and friends, this should be fun...as always...

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Amazon Alexa is a graduate of the Darth Vader MBA

Next Tuesday (Oct 31) at 10hPT, the Internet Archive is livestreaming my presentation on my recent book, The Internet Con.

If you own an Alexa, you might enjoy its integration with IFTTT, an easy scripting environment that lets you create your own little voice-controlled apps, like "start my Roomba" or "close the garage door." If so, tough shit, Amazon just nuked IFTTT for Alexa:

https://www.theverge.com/2023/10/25/23931463/ifttt-amazon-alexa-applets-ending-support-integration-automation

Amazon can do this because the Alexa's operating system sits behind a cryptographic lock, and any tool that bypasses that lock is a felony under Section 1201 of the DMCA, punishable by a 5-year prison sentence and a $500,000 fine. That means that it's literally a crime to provide a rival OS that lets users retain functionality that Amazon no longer supports.

This is the proverbial gun on the mantelpiece, a moral hazard and invitation to mischief that tempts Amazon executives to run a bait-and-switch con where they sell you a gadget with five features and then remotely kill-switch two of them. This is prime directive of the Darth Vader MBA: "I am altering the deal. Pray I don't alter it any further."

So many companies got their business-plan at the Darth Vader MBA. The ability to revoke features after the fact means that companies can fuck around, but never find out. Apple sold millions of tracks via iTunes with the promise of letting you stream them to any other device you owned. After a couple years of this, the company caught some heat from the record labels, so they just pushed an update that killed the feature:

https://memex.craphound.com/2004/10/30/apple-to-ipod-owners-eat-shit-and-die-updated/

That gun on the mantelpiece went off all the way back in 2004 and it turns out it was a starter-pistol. Pretty soon, everyone was getting in on the act. If you find an alert on your printer screen demanding that you install a "security update" there's a damned good chance that the "update" is designed to block you from using third-party ink cartridges in a printer that you (sorta) own:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2020/11/ink-stained-wretches-battle-soul-digital-freedom-taking-place-inside-your-printer

Selling your Tesla? Have fun being poor. The upgrades you spent thousands of dollars on go up in a puff of smoke the minute you trade the car into the dealer, annihilating the resale value of your car at the speed of light:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/10/23/how-to-fix-cars-by-breaking-felony-contempt-of-business-model/

Telsa has to detect the ownership transfer first. But once a product is sufficiently cloud-based, they can destroy your property from a distance without any warning or intervention on your part. That's what Adobe did last year, when it literally stole the colors from your Photoshop files, in history's SaaSiest heist caper:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/10/28/fade-to-black/#trust-the-process

And yet, when we hear about remote killswitches in the news, it's most often as part of a PR blitz for their virtues. Russia's invasion of Ukraine kicked off a new genre of these PR pieces, celebrating the fact that a John Deere dealership was able to remotely brick looted tractors that had been removed to Chechnya:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/05/08/about-those-kill-switched-ukrainian-tractors/

Today, Deere's PR minions are pitching search-and-replace versions of this story about Israeli tractors that Hamas is said to have looted, which were also remotely bricked.

But the main use of this remote killswitch isn't confounding war-looters: it's preventing farmers from fixing their own tractors without paying rent to John Deere. An even bigger omission from this narrative is the fact that John Deere is objectively Very Bad At Security, which means that the world's fleet of critical agricultural equipment is one breach away from being rendered permanently inert:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/04/23/reputation-laundry/#deere-john

There are plenty of good and honorable people working at big companies, from Adobe to Apple to Deere to Tesla to Amazon. But those people have to convince their colleagues that they should do the right thing. Those debates weigh the expected gains from scammy, immoral behavior against the expected costs.

Without DMCA 1201, Amazon would have to worry that their decision to revoke IFTTT functionality would motivate customers to seek out alternative software for their Alexas. This is a big deal: once a customer learns how to de-Amazon their Alexa, Amazon might never recapture that customer. Such a switch wouldn't have to come from a scrappy startup or a hacker's DIY solution, either. Take away DMCA 1201 and Walmart could step up, offering an alternative Alexa software stack that let you switch your purchases away from Amazon.

Money talks, bullshit walks. In any boardroom argument about whether to shift value away from customers to the company, a credible argument about how the company will suffer a net loss as a result has a better chance of prevailing than an argument that's just about the ethics of such a course of action:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/07/28/microincentives-and-enshittification/

Inevitably, these killswitches are pitched as a paternalistic tool for protecting customers. An HP rep once told me that they push deceptive security updates to brick third-party ink cartridges so that printer owners aren't tricked into printing out cherished family photos with ink that fades over time. Apple insists that its ability to push iOS updates that revoke functionality is about keeping mobile users safe – not monopolizing repair:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/09/22/vin-locking/#thought-differently

John Deere's killswitches protect you from looters. Adobe's killswitches let them add valuable functionality to their products. Tesla? Well, Tesla at least is refreshingly honest: "We have a killswitch because fuck you, that's why."

These excuses ring hollow because they conspicuously omit the possibility that you could have the benefits without the harms. Like, your tractor could come with a killswitch that you could bypass, meaning you could brick it at a distance, and still fix it yourself. Same with your phone. Software updates that take away functionality you want can be mitigated with the ability to roll back those updates – and by giving users the ability to apply part of a patch, but not the whole patch.

Cloud computing and software as a service are a choice. "Local first" computing is possible, and desirable:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/08/03/there-is-no-cloud/#only-other-peoples-computers

The cheapest rhetorical trick of the tech sector is the "indivisibility gambit" – the idea that these prix-fixe menus could never be served a la carte. Wanna talk to your friends online? Sorry there's just no way to help you do that without spying on you:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/11/08/divisibility/#technognosticism

One important argument over smart-speakers was poisoned by this false dichotomy: the debate about accessibility and IoT gadgets. Every IoT privacy or revocation scandal would provoke blanket statements from technically savvy people like, "No one should ever use one of these." The replies would then swiftly follow: "That's an ableist statement: I rely on my automation because I have a disability and I would otherwise be reliant on a caregiver or have to go without."

But the excluded middle here is: "No one should use one of these because they are killswitched. This is especially bad when a smart speaker is an assistive technology, because those applications are too important to leave up to the whims of giant companies that might brick them or revoke their features due to their own commercial imperatives, callousness, or financial straits."

Like the problem with the "bionic eyes" that Second Sight bricked wasn't that they helped visually impaired people see – it was that they couldn't be operated without the company's ongoing support and consent:

https://spectrum.ieee.org/bionic-eye-obsolete

It's perfectly possible to imagine a bionic eye whose software can be maintained by third parties, whose parts and schematics are widely available. The challenge of making this assistive technology fail gracefully isn't technical – it's commercial.

We're meant to believe that no bionic eye company could survive unless they devise their assistive technology such that it fails catastrophically if the business goes under. But it turns out that a bionic eye company can't survive even if they are allowed to do this.

Even if you believe Milton Friedman's Big Lie that a company is legally obligated to "maximize shareholder value," not even Friedman says that you are legally obligated to maximize companies' shareholder value. The fact that a company can make more money by defrauding you by revoking or bricking the things you buy from them doesn't oblige you to stand up for their right to do this.

Indeed, all of this conduct is arguably illegal, under Section 5 of the FTC Act, which prohibits "unfair and deceptive business practices":

https://pluralistic.net/2023/01/10/the-courage-to-govern/#whos-in-charge

"No one should ever use a smart speaker" lacks nuance. "Anyone who uses a smart speaker should be insulated from unilateral revocations by the manufacturer, both through legal restrictions that bind the manufacturer, and legal rights that empower others to modify our devices to help us," is a much better formulation.

It's only in the land of the Darth Vader MBA that the deal is "take it or leave it." In a good world, we should be able to take the parts that work, and throw away the parts that don't.

(Image: Stock Catalog/https://www.quotecatalog.com, Sam Howzit; CC BY 2.0; modified)

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/2023/10/26/hit-with-a-brick/#graceful-failure

[strniohoeee]

Reader who’s turned on by Matt’s little cowboy act!!!

Save A Horse

Pairing: Matt Sturniolo X Female Reader

Synopsis: Matt’s little cowboy accent gets Y/N going, and he takes notice to it. He takes matters into his own hands🐎

Warnings⚠️: Suggestive at parts, but no actual sex in this one🫡

Song for the imagine: Wicked Game- Chris Isaak

The world was on fire and no one

could save me but you

It’s strange what desire make foolish people do

I’d never dream, that I’d meet somebody like you

At first it started as a joke, Matt's stupid little country accent. I found it funny and cute in the beginning, but now it made my cheeks flush and my brain race with inappropriate thoughts.

I never told him this because that was embarrassing. He literally did the weird voices for his brothers and to make the viewers laugh. But here I was getting all hot and bothered by it….I needed to get a grip

He started to do the accent more once he realized my head would perk up and a sheepish smile would grow on my face. I just figured he thought I liked it and found it funny. I mean I did, but these dirty ass horny thoughts would pop into my head.

Right now I was at their house sitting on the couch with them as we scrolled on our phones, and talked here and there. I kept hearing weird cowboy videos and country songs coming from Matt’s phone. Was he really taking this country act serious? I laughed to myself at his foolishness

“Matt what the fuck are you watching” Chris asked him

“Cowboy videos….these guys are cool as fuck” he said as his eyes were glued to his phone

“Matt is this going to be your new lifestyle?” I asked him laughing

“Would you like that?” He asked me finally looking at me

I felt my cheeks grow hot at this question and my throat began to run dry

“What? What do you mean” I said stifling out a laugh

“Like eventually if we move to like the countryside and have like a farm and horses and shit” he said

Why did I think he meant something else? Lord get your head out of the gutter Y/N….

“Ohhh uh yeah that would be cool. It would be very different, but I’d like it” I said smiling at him

“And then we can get horses, and hay and a tractor” he said doing the country accent

“Shut the fuck up with the accent” Nick said smacking his brother

“Heyyy be nice I like it” I said to Nick

“This motherfucker won’t let it go like I’m tired of hearing country boy Matt” Nick said rolling his eyes at Matt

“See my lady loves it” he said doing the accent

I felt myself fighting a smile and a blush on my face

“Yeah she’s smiling and blushing like a freak” Chris said

“Fuck off” I said kicking him

“What can I say my woman has great taste” he said winking at me

A few days had passed and Matt did the accent here and there. I was fighting myself not to just jump his bones anytime I heard him.

I was laying in his bed when I heard him come out of the bathroom and walk into his room. Immediately looking up my jaw dropped.

Matt had a plaid shirt on with his chest exposed, a cowboy hat on and denim jeans that fit him just write. My throat ran dry and I felt my pupils dilate

“Matt what is this?” I said sitting up

“I know how much you love cowboys…I figured I try something out for you” he said shutting his door behind him

“Oh really?” I said scooching off his bed

“I see the way you squirm when I do the accent, and I’ve seen the TikTok’s you reposted….I turn you on as a cowboy” he said biting his lip

“What….I do not” I said avoiding eye contact

“You don’t?” He said tilting his head and looking at me

“No I don’t” I said

“Mmm your body language tells me otherwise and so does the blush on your face” he said walking over to me

“Okay fine, maybe I find it hot” I said rolling my eyes

“I know you do baby” he said pulling me in by my waist

“Matt” I whined out

“Just teasing you” he said rubbing his hands up my sides

“That’s not nice” I said looking up at him

He pouted at me before pulling me in smashing our lips together. A much needed make out happening. Our teeth clashing together and our tongues fighting for dominance as we fought to breathe.

He slowly began to kiss down my neck causing me to moan out at the feeling.

Matt pulled away to take his cowboy hat off, and I ran my hands up his chest and wrapped my hands over his neck pulling him back into me

Our tongues once again fighting for dominance. His hands running down my back and squeezing my ass before bru bringing them back up to squeeze my breast

“Oh Matt” I sighed

“I know baby, I know” he said kissing down my jawline and to my neck again

I turned us around and laid him down on the bed as I straddled him running my hands up his torso and grinding down on him.

“Just like that baby” he moaned out helping me grind down on him

I slid my shirt off and leaned back down to kiss his neck and chest, his low pants sending me to the moon and back.

“You know what they say, save a horse, ride a cowboy” I said leaning back to remove my bra

“Today is my lucky day. I’m a cowboy and I love when you ride me” he said biting his bottom lip and running his hands up to my breast to squeeze them

I melted into his touch allowing my head to roll back. Matt pulled me down towards him by my neck and continued to kiss me as I grinded on him

Matt lifted up slightly to remove his flannel when we heard the front door open

“Were backkkk where yall at” Chris yelled

“Are you kidding me” Matt said his face dropping

“Ughhh why” I said laughing and leaning my forehead on Matt’s forehead as I laughed

“I guess we’ll continue this later” he said letting out a sigh

“I guess so my love” I said slipping off of him to put my bra and shirt back on

Later that night his brothers left again, and we sure did take care of business. The save a horse ride, a cowboy had nothing on me. Matt was spent by the time we were done.

I loved cowboy Matt….

The End

I hope you guys enjoyed this one. I felt ehh about it, but also wasn’t too sure what to write for this😭😭. Love yall tho 🤭🖤🖤

-J💅🏽

[dear-ao3]

Can I ask for a translation on what happened in Vegas?

what didnt happen in vegas!

-carlos sainz ran over a drain cover that was not welded down 9 minutes into the first practice session. it ripped a hole through his car basically (he narrowly avoided getting royally and permanently fucked up by it) and he got a 10 place grid penalty for fixing said car

-toto wolff, the mercedes team principle, said very emphatically that carlos deserved this penalty. carlos did not in fact deserve this penalty because it was not remotely his fault.

-probably out of spite, carlos managed to finish the race above both mercedes cars

-back to practice 1, it was redflagged 9 minutes in after he crashed and it took nearly 7.5 hours for them to fix the track because they had to check all the other drain covers

-practice was already late to begin with and reportedly at 1am ish they kicked all the fans out who had bought tickets because it was "too late"

-tickets btw were over 1k USD

-practice two started sometime around 2am and didnt finish until nearly 4am

-yes, people were driving cars at over 200mph at 2 in the morning, jetlagged to hell and back. idc if you're a professional, that sounds dangerous

-the announcers were descending into madness the whole time and during practice two i think tried to talk about oceans 11 but fucked it up

-there was also the sphere. the sphere was relatively unhinged.

-the drivers didnt get back to their hotels until after the sun rose that day. and they had to race again that night

-oh also it was fucking freezing and when its freezing the cars don't work cause the tires don't warm up and the brakes don't warm up

-tires also warm up best on corners, high speed ones. the vegas track had mostly all low speed corners and really long straights. not ideal

-the pit lane exit was also smack in the middle of a really tight turn. which they would be exiting onto on cold tires with cold brakes.

-also the track looked like an upside down pig

-practice three was normal until the very end when alex albon crashed into the wall. no one was allowed to do practice starts because the session was red flagged and not resumed.

-the most notable thing to happen at qualifying was that both williams cars (which are basically tractors) managed to place p5 and p6 on the grid. especially interesting considering that logan sergeant has placed dead last in qualifying for the last several races.

-also both mclarens were at the bottom. this is not super relevant or particularly interesting but i was upset about it.

-ferrari went p1 (charles leclerc) and p2 (carlos sainz), but sainz had a 10 place grid penalty for fixing his car that had a literal hole through the bottom, so he started p12.

-weirdly, sir lewis hamilton and checo perez also started pretty far down the grid.

-anyway onto the race.

-there were so many safety cars. literally on the first lap the whole back half of the grid rammed into each other.

-then! terrifyingly! lando norris ran over a bump in the track on lap 3 or 4 i don't remember and spun several times before ramming into the wall. he sounded not ok on his radio but he got out of the car. eventually they ended up taking him to the hospital, he is quite fine but it was still a terrible crash

-his teammate, oscar piastri, seemly got possessed by someone or something, possibly lando himself, because he had a very impressive race until mclaren decided to use the worst tire strategy possible (as in, pit him in the last 10 laps to change his tires when this was largely avoidable by all accounts). he could have ended on the podium potentially if they hadn't fucked him up. still, he ended 10th and got the fastest lap and as a result the track record.

-there was also another episode of French Civil War at alpine when they told esteban ocon to stay behind his teammate, pierre gasley, and he said no !! and passed him for funzies

-charles leclerc also got possessed by something, possibly his own bad luck, because he managed to finish p2 after overtaking checo perez on the last lap.

-the same checo perez whos f1 career has been basically dead for half the season

-also lance stroll weirdly slayed

-despite starting high on the grid, both williams managed to finish out of the points

-surprisingly there were only 3 DNFs and 0 red flags

-this is surprising because of all the tire and brake issues that people thought there would be

-unsurprisingly max verstappen won. what was surprising was that he sang viva las vegas over his radio afterwards, especially surprising considering that he spent the whole weekend shitting on the race, saying that the track was terrible, he hated it, and that the fans should burn the place down for getting kicked out on practice 1 day and only getting a voucher in response

-related to that, the fans sued f1 over getting kicked out

-someone thought it was a good idea to put max charles and checo in the back of a rolls and film them driving to the podium. it was incredibly memey.

-there was definitely more that happened but this is all i can remember right now

[heartthrobin]

paint my sunset peach (1)

mechanic!eddie munson x farmgirl!reader

wc: 6.71k

warnings: reader is a little bit of a meanie, dirty sweaty eddie, hella pining, sunshine!eddie + grumpy!reader, swearing but otherwise pretty wholesome, limited use of y/n

an: i started writing this literally months ago and only finished it recently, super duper proud of it :))) this will be part one of a (probably) three part series. let me know if you want a tag in part 2 !!! i tried to tag all those who liked this post so thanks for the support - love you all <33

summary: the conveyer belt of mech-heads you dealt with on a weekly basis were nothing more than a side-show annoyance. but god, the auto-shop had never sent one with such round, wet brown eyes before.

part two

Before the auto-shop, on the corner at the intersection of Lovett and Harwood, was a Chinese restaurant.

The Red Lotus.

On Friday nights as a kid, daddy would drive into town and return with a steaming white bag of fried rice and dumplings. Sometimes, when they had in stock, he'd bring a single mooncake to share between him and you.

It was family run, the Zhou's. Three sons and a daughter.

They closed down right after you graduated, tired of the middle of nowhere-ness. The tractors rumbling loudly through town at six o' clock every morning, the shaky cell reception and the incessant knock of evening frogs on the porch.

Tired of butt-fuck nowhere Tennessee.

It stood empty for two years. Sometimes you'd pass it in your truck and remember them, other times you wouldn't even look.

But now, now it stood as a brand new garage. Or at least the tiny town's excuse for "brand new".

Daddy's friend, Mister Carl Abernathy, owned it.

He was a short stocky man, bald all over and you'd never seen him without a cold bottle of cider and the remnants of it’s sweat staining down his creased button-up.

You knew that only because he was always around: lots of things on the farm needed fixing up.

Weeds crept up into the tires of the tractors, age beat at the truck you used to move in and out of town - crates of peaches bouncing jovially over each bump.

Every time they needed a looking at, Carl would send over the bonehead of the week.

The same white pull-up would brake loudly outside the farmhouse door, always somewhere around nine: just in time to disturb your breakfast, and one of his latest recruits would hop out.

They’d lean haughtily against the large wheel of the dying blue tractor.

"Well, looks like we've got a problem on our hands here, hey little missy?"

They weren’t even worth the effort it took to roll your eyes. No shit.

The farm didn't make nearly enough from the weekend markets in bigger nearby towns, or the pennies of the townsfolk to afford new vehicles. So, you stuck it out with each caveman Carl sent your way.

And you were fine with it.

Mostly fine with it.

Sure, some of them were vulgar: they'd whistle at you or comment on your ass when you passed them working. Others could only succeed at making the vehicle worse than when they'd started, but it was your job to sort them out.

Could you have gone off with your high school friends to college? Sure.

Maybe.

But that’d leave Daddy all alone in that big house. You pushed away the thought when it surfaced to bug you.

Your mother had disappeared long before you knew her, exhausted - like the Zhou's - of being nowhere.

Maybe of being no one. Perhaps of being a no one peach farmer with the grump that was your daddy and a toddler zooming at her feet.

Either way, it didn't matter.

She had left and you remained to do the job, and that job included dealing with Carl’s mechanics.

At least it hadn't mattered, not until some morning in late summer.

The sun watched from high over the green farmhouse. It glared down, peeking over the edge of the porch.

You were fixed on the bird pecking at the already deteriorating grey window pane above the sink, overlooking the rows of colourful fields.

"You're messing, Cherry."

Cherry. Daddy had been calling you that since as far back as you could remember him talking.

You glanced at him across the table, where the spread of bread, eggs and jam had been lain, before you noticed where a long stripe of strawberry jam had run down the front of your black tank top.

"Listen now, you're gonna be fine with the tractor today?"

His voice was stern - probably too stern for such an hour of the morning, but you hardly noticed - swiping at the jam with your finger and nodding.

"No problems, alright?"

Daddy usually worked the tractor, but he was going to some meeting two towns over. He hadn't mentioned what about, but you were sure it had to do with the crippling financial state of the farm.

You nodded.

It's how you found yourself alone out in the heat of the midday sun.

The tractor rumbled beneath you, joggling over every rock and mole hill.

Every couple meters, you'd stop: climb off and pick at the peaches before tossing them into the crate. When enough crates were full, you'd load them onto the truck and move again.

You'd been at it, burning over your arms and shoulders, for what couldn’t have been more than a few hours when the tractor gave a sickening jolt.

Gripping the wheel and watching in horror over the edge of your sunglasses, your eyes followed the thick cloud of grey smoke where it began seeping out at the edges of the hood and disappearing up into the sky.

"No, no, no ..." you drew up the handbrake and leapt out the side onto the soil. The blue metal scalded the tips of your fingers where you threw the bonnet open before swallowing down mouthfuls of hot smoke.

It took five minutes of coughing against the side of the vehicle, another five kicking at the left wheel and at least another ten swearing at the sky before you dug your phone out from between the seats and dialled the number to Carl's auto shop.

It rung three times before his gruff voice carried across the line, "Abernathy Auto Repairs speakin', hello?"

"Good morning Mr Abernathy," your fingers pressed into the sides of your temple, working fruitlessly against the headache forming there. "I'm calling from the farm down Jasmine road—"

"Oh hey there, darlin'. What can I do you for?"

A squirrel rustled somewhere down the row of bushes. "Well, I'm out in the field now and the tractor has ... uh, given up on me. The ‘63. Need one of your men to come give it a start, or a look-over or—"

"Not a problem, not a problem at all. Are you far out? Whereabouts are you?"

You cupped a hand to shield up over your eyes, glancing back from whence you'd came. The house was but a speck of green in the distance.

"About two or three miles north west of the house?"

You could practically hear him nodding, a steady gulp audible against the line.

"Don't you worry about a thing, little darlin', I'll have one of my boys out there within the hour. Just hang tight."

"Alright, thank you kindly sir—"

But the line was already dead.

You glared at the phone.

Huffing loudly, you pulled yourself back up onto the truck - allowing the soft shade to gently graze over your face as you sunk back into the seat.

The warm wind rippled over the tops of the rows of greenery and you watched quietly, the irritation simmering to a low boil in your chest.

There was a quiet tranquility in being so far out from the house, shielded from the scorch.

Your boot tapped rhythmically against the console. Warm breeze brushed over your face again and you sighed, tilting your hat lower over your forehead. The lull of the quiet field allowed your lashes to fan closed over your cheeks. Before you’d taken note of the bird coming to perch on the roof, you were already asleep.

It was the loud rumble of an engine and the throbbing pain in your neck that brought you back to the world of the conscious.

You woke with a jump. Heart thumping against your ribcage in instant confusion. Your hat flew off your head and over the edge of your seat from where it had been blocking the light over your eyes.

Bringing a hand to your neck you whined loudly, the angle you’d been perched at doing nothing for the long term preservation of your muscles there.

You turned anyways, noticing the white pick-up quickly nearing from the direction of the house.

Frowning, you glanced down at time against the console. Three fifty-eight.

"Shit!"

You stuck your head out from under the shade of the tractor top to notice how low the sun has sunk in the sky. It was almost reaching the head of the hill in the distance.

The mechanic shouldn't have taken longer than an hour to find you, and subsequently, wake you. You quickly diffused yourself of blame.

Daddy was going to kill you.

Clambering off the side of the tractor, your hands found your hips before the car pulled to a wailing halt barely a few centimetres off from your knees.

Dust swept up around the truck, obscuring the view of the man that stepped out of it.

"Woah. Almost hit you there, doll."

Warm wind cleared the air and the figure of a young man stood in your field.

The words sitting on your tongue begging to be spat out were sucked straight back down your throat.

For a moment you forgot what you had planned to say at all.

The man's eyebrow cocked at you under strands of dark, curly hair falling carelessly from the skew bun atop his head.

Behind you, a crow cried in the distance. Your senses quickly returned to you.

Your fists tightened at your sides. "Where on god's green earth have you been?"

He looked taken aback.

"Well, I had some trouble finding the house," he smiled sheepishly, motioning to the farmhouse over his shoulder, "and then I had to phone Carl cause he didn't really tell me where—"

"So you're new then? Carl sent a greenie to come fix my tractor?"

Anyone who'd spent more than three days in town knew the farm down Jasmine road. Knew your farm.

A heavily ringed hand came up to his jaw, rubbing there and eyeing you in a way that made the hair on your arms stands straight up.

It was painfully unfair how handsome he was.

"New to town. Not new to fixing tractors." His voice was smooth, the curl of a grin peaking at you from the edge of his mouth.

Sucking in a deep breath - a feeble attempt at composure - you nodded once.

"Well, I've got a tractor and it's broken. And you're two hours late, so if you don't mind, I've got a job to do."

You turned violently on your heel, sure if you stood under his gaze any longer that you'd melt right against the soil.

The sound of the peaches tumbling out the crate onto the tractor split the air between you and him, and soon you were marching away from his figure - crate in hand - in pursuit of fruit further down the lane.

"I'm Eddie!"

You waved vaguely over your shoulder, electing not to bless him with an answer.

Carl was going to hear an earful from your father, you were sure of it. You plucked angrily at the fruits off the bush, tossing them a little too violently in with the rest.

It was quiet from the distance behind you, but you refused to turn to look.

Sure, you shouldn't be so surprised that one of Carl's idiots was nearly two hours late and got lost in a town that really only has two roads, but god, he'd never sent one with such round, wet brown eyes before.

The walk was long, each stop causing the crate to become heavier, and you worked hard to put the image of the mechanic’s black shirt - that he'd obviously cut the sleeves off himself - and how it clung to his chest with sweat out of your mind.

You didn't stop until a voice called from behind. At first it was soft, but it grew louder within a minute: as was the sound of footfalls.

"Hey, miss!"

He was jogging towards you, pieces of hair falling recklessly out from the grips of his hair tie to frame his red face.

Eddie only stopped when barely a few feet separated you.

"All done." He grinned, huffing around his smile. "She just overheated a bit, needed some water and a a couple valves disconnected."

You couldn't tell whether it was harder to hold his gaze or work to keep yours off of his chest.

"Right. Good." You nodded, leaning to lift the crate at your feet. "Then I'll be getting back to it."

It was heavy, almost too heavy if you hadn't lifted boxes like those from sunrise to sunset for the last eighteen or so years.

But the mechanic was clearly unconvinced, he swooped in closer to you. "Let me get that—"

"I'm fine—"

"No really." By now he was way too close, close enough that you could smell the undertones of a shower gel or maybe a cologne.

His voice softened, "Please. To make up for my tardiness."

It was hard to tell whether it was the sun making you so dizzy or his proximity, but either way, it forced you to nod slowly. "Fine."

Eddie took the crate from your hands, you ignored the rush of heat to your stomach as he grunted against the weight.

"Strong thing aren't you, doll?"

You didn't respond, eyes fixed on the giant blue tractor a couple meters from where you stood.

Silence rung, only the footfalls filling the space. You'd almost made it all the way back to the tractor without conversation before the mechanic decided to open his mouth again.

"I don't think I caught your name earlier."

You met his eyes, regretting it almost immediately when your knees threatened to buckle, "That's because I never gave it."

Stepping just close enough to take the crate from his grip, but avoid the drift of his cologne again, your hands brushed closely against his.

They were cool against your sweaty ones.

He was grinning again.

You stepped back, balancing the peaches against your hip before tilting it over the box attached to the end of the tractor allowing the round pink pieces to clatter down into its depths.

"Right. Well, what's your name then doll?"

But you were already clambering back up the side of the tractor into the worn leather seat.

"Wouldn't you like to know, pretty boy."

He was leaning against the side of the truck now, you avoided looking down at him, something told you that you'd find those eyes blinking right up into your soul again if you did.

"So you think I'm pretty?"

Hot red blush chased up the sides of your neck over your ears, you prayed it wasn't discernible under the pink sunburn.

The keys jingled loudly as you slid them into the ignition and turned them violently. The vehicle jerked to life.

"I think your job is done. Good afternoon sir."

Before he could say another word, your foot had sunk down on the accelerator and the tractor was rumbling back down between the bushes again.

In your peripheral vision you watched how the mechanic stumbled back against his pick-up, narrowly avoiding catching his foot under one of the hundred pound tires, and the sound of an echoing chuckle fading as you plodded away.

-

The drive back to the auto-garage was quick. At least quicker than the drive Eddie had taken to find the farm.

His hands tightened around the wheel, twisting over the leather as he pulled to a park in the open spot across the street.

A ring of brown soil stared up at him from where he'd pulled at the handbrake with dusty paws.

"Shit ..." he wiped his hands down the jean over his thighs.

Eddie was used to the oil and the reek of grease, as if that wasn't already enough, but not the itch of farm soil up his nostrils and behind his ears.

He twisted the metal ring around his finger, a small grin playing at his lips.

But the soil wasn't so bad, he reckons he'd swim through a pool of it it to get another chance to watch the hot-tempered farm girl's hips sway when she marched away from him, just as you'd done earlier that afternoon.

The smile didn't leave his face as he climbed out the car, locked it and crossed the street whistling.

Eddie was almost completely used to the whir of the drills echoing off the walls and barely registered the creak of the lever that was raising a car near the back of the shop.

Carl was leaning over the reception desk clinking the bottom of his cider bottle against the wood and puffing on the end of a cigarette.

He waved vaguely down at the open ledger when he noticed Eddie nearing, "See here, extra two hundred dollars on a cheap fucking knock off for that AMC Eagle. You believe that, Munson?"

"Hardly, boss."

Eddie was halfway back to where he'd abandoned the engine on a red convertible before weaving across town to find a farm when the boss' voice stopped him in his tracks.

"Hold it, hold it. Where’ve you been? Didn't I send you outta here three hours ago?" He swivelled on the bar stool against the counter to face him.

The greasy palm that had been picking it's way under car hoods all afternoon reached up to rub against the side of his neck. "I couldn't find that fucking farm, did three circles ‘round the post office before I saw the sign for Jasmine road."

Carl surveyed him with a crooked brow. "They didn't teach you to read maps down in Indiana, boy?"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever." He was about to turn back on his way, when the picture of your face glimmered at him behind his eyes, "Listen boss, the girl there. The daughter you said, what's her name?"

By then, Carl had already turned back down to the accounts. "What's it to ya?"

Silence rung long enough that Carl peeked back up at Eddie over the rim of his glasses.

Eddie shrugged bashfully. "Pretty thing."

Carl threw his head back, laughing loudly - Eddie always thought his laugh sounded like a dog barking.

"I've seen that look." He shook his head, lifting to perch his glasses on his shining bald head. "Too many of you boys come back from that farm starry-eyed. No hope with that princess, she don't like you mech-heads. Nope, not one bit."

"Ah, come on, don't you believe in love at first sight?"

Carl let off another crumbly chuckle, "Bit your head off, didn't she?"

"Sure did." He beamed like the cat that caught the canary, "Love it when a lady talks to me sweet."

A sweaty hand shrugged him off.

"Get back to work, Munson."

But Eddie wavered. "Just a name, boss."

Carl stared at him for a couple moments, clearly bored. It took a long slug of the yellow cider and a hard sigh before he spoke again: "Y/n."

The grin crept back up his cheeks. He tested the name on his tongue, finding it to taste as sweet as he knew it would.

"Appreciate it."

"Get back to that convertible before I fire you."

-

Eddie the mechanic had been firmly put out of your mind following the ruckus out in the field.

Sure, his puppy dog face had returned to you later that night as you lay in bed, but that hardly counted.

You'd forgone mentioning his tardiness to Daddy, electing to take the mild scolding instead.

By the time the end of the week had arrived, you'd just about completely forgotten the floppy haired man that had once graced the farm.

That was until Daddy rose the topic of the auto-body shop again.

He handed you the wet plate, you took it carefully - starting to wipe it down. The water sloshed beneath his hands, scrubbing hard at the soapy pan.

Bullseye watched up at you from where she was curled up on the kitchen chair, purring loudly. Outside the sky was turning deep lilac and the crickets were clicking loudly.

"Tomorrow on your way back from Madeline's, I want you to stop by Carl's."

Madeline's was the local - and only - grocer. You dropped five cases there every Tuesday.

Your hand stilled against the plate, "For?"

"I want you to ask him to spare a man, a good one. Just a couple afternoons a week to do some work."

Your father handed the next plate over carefully.

Confusion tugged at your brow, "Work? What work?"

"You're too curious for your own good, y'know that?"

Bumping your shoulder against his, the pot lid almost slipping from his wet fingers, you laughed. "Don't be difficult, what for?"

The old man sighed.

Some nights, with the evening hue seeping in through the window against his face like it was just then, you were reminded of how old he really was.

"I want to fix up the Cobra."

In the barn around the back of the house, sitting untouched and unmoved for almost twenty years, lived a 1965 AC Cobra.

The steel lid slipped from your hands, clattering against the floor. Your father jumped.

"You're fixing the Cobra!" You grabbed him by the arm, eyes wide in delight. "Is it for me?"

He offered a half-hearted stern look at you, leaning to pick up the lid before straightening out.

"Don't get too excited, she's a real piece of work and we don't know if she can even still be revived."

You tugged at the edge of his shirt, "But ... it's for me, right?"

"Well, your twenty-first is coming up and I thought you're old enough now—"

Just about strangling him, your arms flew up over his neck.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you—!"

He sighed over your shoulder, patting your back with a wet hand. “Alright, alright. Just speak to Carl.”

-

Your drop-off at Madeline's had never gone faster.

Town was busy, as busy as it got on a Tuesday morning, and Abernathy's was no different.

You pulled into a spot down the line of other nearly identical pick-ups to your own in front of the shop.

At the front desk, where you were sure he'd grown roots into the stool behind it, sat Carl Abernathy.

When he looked up from a piece he'd been tinkering with, surprise twisted at his features.

"G'morning darlin'," he set the piece down, puffing around a lit cigarette, "What can I do you for on this fine morning?"

"Good morning sir," you set your hat on the counter, leaning beside it. "My daddy sent me, he's asking if you could spare a man for some work 'round by ours. Couple nights a week."

The little man's eyes screwed at you.

"What, may I ask, will he be expected to do?"

By then you couldn't stifle the grin any longer.

"He's gonna be fixing the Cobra."

The response seemed to delight the man as much as it did yourself, because he laughed loudly and slammed a hand down against the wooden desk.

"Your old man finally found some sense, hey?" He jeered, "I'm mighty pleased to here that, little miss, I really am."

You smiled, "It's my birthday gift. Twenty-first coming up."

"Twenty-one, hey? Well, I've got just the boy. Don't you worry your pretty little head about it."

Carl leaned dangerously back on the stool, you fleetingly wondered how he didn't topple over, before yelling over his shoulder into the depths of the shop.

"Munson! Get your up-to-no-good-ass over here!"

Not to say that you'd completely forgotten him, but you were still more than a little taken aback when the tall framed mechanic from a few days before emerged from under the hood of a pick-up.

"Boss—?" His eyes found you. They lit up like main street over Christmas. "Oh, what a pleasant surprise. Morning, doll."

Grease covered every inch of his arms up to his elbows which held the scrunched up ends to the black long sleeve he was wearing. He was dirtier than last you saw him and it made your stomach swoop dangerously.

"Him?" It slipped out before you had time to catch it.

But Carl didn't comment on your rudeness, instead he slapped a heavy hand over Eddie's shoulder and shook it.

"For sixty's models, this is your boy for the Cobra." The older man beamed at him, like he was telling you his son was a heart surgeon. "Hands like a magician I tell you."

The comment sent a icy chill down the back of your spine, it wasn't helped when the mechanic snapped a wink at you from under his boss' hand.

"R-Right, well, you can come by as soon as you want to start working. A couple hours a day, my daddy will pay you."

With his hair clipped back, you could make a clearer assessment of his face as he nodded to you. He had thick lips and a strong-set nose.

"I'll see you tomorrow then, doll."

The cheekiness in his grin was plucking at a nerve behind your eyebrow. "Think you'll be able to find your way this time?"

"I think I'll be fine." His hands sunk into the depths of his jean pockets, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. "Left at the butchery and right down the road to my heart."

You scoffed, turning back to Carl. "Thanks Mr Abernathy. I'll let my old man know."

Not even sparing Eddie another glance, you grabbed your hat off the counter and turned on your heel back to the car.

He watched your hair sway under the press of the brown hat and where your wide shoulders glistened in the light beneath the straps of your overalls.

Only when the sound of your engine had disappeared down the street, did he turn back to Carl who was digging the end of a screwdriver into a metal plate.

"You're really an old romantic aren't you, boss."

Carl grumbled, waving a dismissive hand at him.

Eddie shook his head, chuckling delightedly, "Psh, "sixty's models"! As if Jacob couldn't get that Cobra running in a couple days."

Pulling another cider noisily out from the cooler he kept at his feet, Carl guffawed. "I sure hope it's gonna take you more than a few days, lover boy, cause that little miss doesn't seem too fond 'a you I can tell you now."

But Eddie wasn't fazed, "Don't worry, she will be."

-

Sure as the sun rose in the sky, two o' clock rolled around the next afternoon and a noisy white pick-up pulled into park in front of the green farmhouse.

"Cherry! The mech's here!"

You'd grumbled, reluctantly pulling yourself out from where you'd been perched under the cool shade of the back porch repainting worn pots.

Eddie was standing lost in the driveway when you found him.

He was dirty, obviously just from the shop, and you offered something short of a warm welcome, but he seemed unfazed.

"Car's in the barn 'round the back of the house."

"Well good afternoon to you too, miss." You wondered if his smirk had been permanently stitched there.

The toolbox rattled with each step he took after your pacing figure.

As promised, the barn stood nearly as tall as the house in a faded orange hue.

It was dark inside and the door creaked loudly where you'd swung it open.

There she sat in all her glory. The 1965 AC Cobra, in a fitting cherry red.

Eddie whistled lowly over your shoulder behind you.

"A damn shame hiding this beaut up in this dusty barn." He passed you, running his hand over the bonnet that glimmered even in the low light.

We can agree on one thing at least, you thought.

"I've got to go finish up," you motioned over your shoulder, "but, uh, if you need anything I'll be around. Just shout."

You'd already caught the edge of the door, halfway out, when his voice stopped you in your tracks.

"And what is it exactly that I should I shout, doll? Seeing as you still haven't told me your name."

You surmised him, considering only momentarily letting your name spill off your lips.

Hm. Not today.

"Doll works just fine, greenie."

Finishing off the pots was easy, quick. They stood lined up against the bannister drying while you busied yourself in the vegetable patch behind the house: twisting carrots and beetroots out from the dark soil as the sun sunk slowly lower in the sky.

The time had hardly occurred to you when the back door swung open, your father sticking his one foot down the step.

Keys to the pick-up dangled in his hand.

"Cherry, I'm running to Madeline's for some wood glue and another bag of nails. Need anything?"

Swiping an itch on your forehead with the back of your hand, wiping a long black stripe there, you shook your head. "Nothing."

"Right," he nodded and the door was already halfway shut when he tossed it open again. "Oh, and go make that boy a bite to eat. Damn skinny thing's been in that hot barn for hours now."

You sagged your shoulders childishly, voice coming out as a whine. "Must I really?"

"Yes, you must really."

And he was gone.

The fridge was a ghost town, spare for the never-ending supply of fruit and vegetable that lived in the bottom drawer.

Following five minutes of pursing your lips and staring into its depths, you conjured up a lettuce, cucumber tomato and sweet-chilli sandwich. It didn't take long to convince yourself into making another to satiate your own complaining stomach.

You hummed as you worked, pouring cool lemonade into two glasses, packing the food back into the fridge and rinsing off the butter knife.

The tall clock chimed jovially from the hallway when you shuffled out the back, two plates and two glasses in hand.

Your hip nudged open at the barn door and a wave of sweltering heat rushed over your face and between every tendril of hair on your head.

Blinking foggily into the dim sauna that was the barn, you were met with the only slightly browned back of one Eddie Munson.

The man was hunched over, head lost in the depths of the car's stomach and when he straightened out you just about swallowed your tongue.

His long black mane was in a messy ponytail at the base of his neck and his shirt had been abandoned somewhere by the right tire. Sweat was sliding down the side of his face like an open faucet.

"Hey," he smiled when he met your eyes, voice groggy and tired. The sound made the plates wobble under your grip.

"Hi—" you cringed internally, it was the most pleasant greeting you'd offered him so far. Why had it come out so ... awkward?

You motioned down to the plates, as if his eyes hadn't already found them. "I made you a sandwich ... didn't know if you were hungry or—"

The wrench flew from his grip down into the box where he tossed it and Eddie sighed. "Starving."

You handed him the plate, watching how his blackened fingers stained the edge of the plate and the rim of the glass.

He sat carefully down against an empty crate that had been abandoned by the wall, resting the glass by his feet and wiping his hands down the length of his thighs.

"Hot as hell in here." The mechanic mumbled before diving into the sandwich.

Letting his head fall back against his shoulders, he moaned loudly.

"This is fucking delicious." He commented around the mouthful.

You worked hard to swat away the blush reaching at your cheeks by nodding quickly. That sound would probably ring in your head all night.

"I should go—"

"You're not gonna eat here? I don't mind ..." Eddie eyed the sandwich you'd made for yourself in your hand, gaze flickering between the plate and your face.

Your mouth curled around a response, but you were beat to the chase.

"I know you probably mind," he interjected quickly, "but if you w-want company, I mean, you could eat here ..."

Pursing your lips, you surveyed him: long gangly legs spilling in every direction and rings clinking against the glass.

Would it really kill you to sit five minutes with him?

"No need to turn red, greenie." You resigned, kicking over another crate near the grate of the car before leaning down to perch against it. "I don't mind."

It was quiet for the first couple minutes. You focused on your sandwich, feeling his gaze flicker up to you every few minutes.

He'd practically inhaled the first half of the sandwich, but you noticed he was eating the second half slowly.

"So," he swallowed down a gulp of lemonade. "What were you busy with now before I forced you into sitting here with me?"

You picked at a cucumber that had fallen loose from your sandwich, teasing at the outer skin with your teeth.

"Very important work." Your lip curled at the corners, it seemed he noticed. "Fate of the farm depended on it. Guess now it'll have to crash and burn ..."

"Oh yeah? Enlighten me."

His amused look matched yours.

"Pulling carrots out the patch."

He leaned back, eyes widening theatrically. "Sounds exhilarating."

"You have no idea."

You bit into your sandwich again, finding the space suddenly more comfortable.

"Tell me," he pulled off a piece of tomato hanging dangerously off the edge of the sandwich, "How does a car this beautiful find it's way onto a farm in the middle of nowhere?"

Your chest pinched at the question.

"Y'know, just ..." you motioned vaguely towards the roof, "Aliens."

He caught how your gaze flickered from his to a loose bolt near your foot.

Okay, sensitive spot.

The bread was soft between Eddie's fingers, he set it down.

"I thought I saw some funny lights in the sky last night."

It was becoming almost impossible to keep his eyes off you, even for a couple seconds at a time.

You only nodded at his response, refusing to lift your gaze from the floor.

It was making his stomach churn, desperate for a couple more minutes to enjoy the view of your face.

There was a smudge of brown soil against your forehead where your hair fell over it, making his hands twitch in his lap, itching to reach out and swipe at your sun-kissed face.

"Just you and the old man then?" He pressed, reaching for his glass again.

You shrugged, "Couple creatures of the earth too. And the peaches, of course. Always the peaches."

"Peaches are good."

"Peaches are good."

"No boyfriend then?"

It slipped out of him before he had chance to catch it. He'd been dying to know since the second your figure had appeared to him beyond the cloud of dust out in the field.

You took your sweet time, examining him over the rim of your glass. He couldn't tell whether you intended to respond to him at all.

The weight of your gaze was making his head spin.

"'A course I have a boyfriend. Nights on a big farm like this get lonely without someone to warm the other side of the bed. Y'know?"

Eddie's heart sunk into his stomach.

The sandwich had suddenly lost it's appeal. He set the last couple bites by his feet. He nodded slowly.

"... Can imagine."

Blood was rushing past his ears loudly, he could feel it pooling around his cheeks: warming his face with embarrassment.

"He's actually around if you want to meet him?"

"Uh—" Eddie couldn't even formulate a half of a response before your head was thrown back over your right shoulder:

"Cowboy! Baby!"

Cowboy?

There was a thick confused silence where he wasn't entirely sure who or even if anyone would march through the door - he mostly hoped that you'd been lying and nobody was coming at all.

"Baby!" You called again.

Then he heard it.

The fall of footsteps. Someone was running towards the barn and getting quickly closer.

From out of the sunshine, bounding through the door, Eddie made out the shape of the largest dog he'd ever seen.

Four long gangly legs carried him across the small space, tongue swinging over the side of his jaw: he'd appeared so quickly that Eddie didn't have a moment to prepare before the hound leapt excitedly into his lap.

"Hey, boy—!"

He toppled back over the crate and the dog licked hungrily at the sauce around the edges of his mouth, he nudged Eddie's face with his giant snout before spotting the last few bites of the sandwich left abandoned and scooped it up in one long lick.

The distraction of the food offered Eddie the opportunity to sit straight up again, he could feel the hay tangling into the depths of his hair - but the thought dissolved when he picked up the sound you were making.

You were laughing.

The sound was making him drunk, he was sure of it.

It was made worse when he looked at you: head tilted to the side, leaning at the wall and calling the dog breathlessly between giggles.

Eddie could feel the tiny birds flying in circles over his head and his pupils turning to hearts.

"Cowboy, leave the man's food!"

But the sandwich was long gone and the dog had apparently lost interest in sniffing at the empty plate, returning to licking wet stripes up the side of Eddie's face.

"Sorry, he's just a pup." Your face had softened, giggles bubbling down to a sigh. "Hasn't grown into all his manners yet."

"A pup?" Eddie mumbled in disbelief, catching Cowboy behind his ears with a tickle.

Like a magic button, the dog collapsed into a puddle by his feet: panting loudly.

"Kinda looks like your boyfriend likes me more than you."

You leaned against your knees, head shaking. "I'm feeling a little betrayed that he hasn't even looked in my direction yet."

"It's my natural charm, what can I say. Attracts animals of all species."

Scoffing loudly, you shook your head. "Keep the traitor then. We'll see how long he lasts without me feeding him spoonfuls of peanut butter under the table."

Eddie briefly wondered how big of table existed in the kitchen beyond the window of the farmhouse to fit the monstrous animal at his feet.

"Aw, then who would keep you warm on cold farm nights ..." he flashed a toothy smile, "Winter is just around the corner after all."

"Well, in that case," you tilted your head back in false concentration, lifting your hand to count on your fingers: "There's Bullseye, the cat ... Rodeo, the other cat. A couple stray dogs sometimes walk in off the fields, maybe we could adopt a goat?"

Cowboy was watching you with his head in Eddie's lap, Eddie tilted his head innocently to the side. "No one else?"

"Nope ... none that come to mind."

You were smiling at him now, mischief curled into the edges of your mouth.

It was turning his insides to a molten pool of goo.

"Is that a smile I see?" He tried his luck. "Did I make you smile? Is a comet about to hit the state of Tennessee?"

You turned your head quickly, working to wipe the expression off your face, but not entirely succeeding.

Instead you stood up.

"Whatever, greenie." Leaning down to pick up your plate, Eddie was briefly exposed to the view down the front of your dungarees. He blushed again. "Don't you have work to do?"

Crossing the space quickly, you grabbed his plate from beneath one of Cowboy's pot-sized paws before clicking your tongue at the dog.

He clambered back onto his feet like a new-born deer, clearly still not entirely sure what to do with so much leg.

"I'll see you later then, doll?"

But you didn't turn back, disappearing into the light of the sun with Cowboy trotting at your heels.

"Maybe in your dreams tonight, pretty boy."

-

tags: 

@jokersgrf @anicosa-ironlung @sleepy-bunnie @pricelessemotion @sweetgladiatorfesival @eggo-segual​ @m1rkw00dpr1ncess @introvertedmouse @ctrlaltdel3te @multifandom-l0ver @inarinine @sillysteveharharhar @buckystwilight @hey-lucille 

[carcarcraziiv2]

Hi, my English is just terrible, so I write with the help of a translator.

If it is convenient and not problematic for you, please write to Heartsteel Sett 18+. I wanted a sex challenge, who would get tired faster.

I wish you comfort and pleasant holidays!

Thanks for reading it

I would LOVE- LOVE LOVE LOVE to do a Heartsteel Sett x Reader challenge. Don't have to ask me twice! Also, your English is fine! You're fine, don't worry about it :3 P.S. Sorry it took me so long :c I want to make my writing a little ~better~, and I was sick and it was the holidays and and and.... Anyway... WITHOUT FURTHER ADIUE, here you go!

18+MDNI~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~18+ MDNI

TW- SEX, the implication of lots and lots of sex. Different positions, even! Literally fucking until you can't fuck anymore. Cum, bunches of things, fun times. ENTER AT YOUR OWN RISK AS PER USUAL!

18+MDNI~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~18+ MDNI

The chill wind was crisp across your flushed face as you and Sett walked through the park. Every day the two of you traversed the little recreational area in the morning to warm up for the day.

"It's so cold today," you shuddered, using your hand that was free from Sett's grasp to rub your arm. He released your hand, adjusting you into the crook of his body and encompassing your shoulders with his broad arm.

"I'm sorry, Babe," He looked at you, his brows furrowing in worry, his bottom lip pouting ever so slightly in light of his empathy. "Hey, I have an idea that will keep us warm. Something I have been thinkin' about suggesting actually." He smirks, and you raise a brow.

"What is your devious mind up to now, Sett?" You question, the hint of a smirk touching your lips. His expression turns to one of faux shock, his big hand coming to his chest as if to prove the point further.

"Devious mind? Me? Never!"

"Yeah right. Let's go home?" You smile, shoving him lightly. As if you actually could, though. His body is so firm and heavy it would take tractor just to move him.

"Good idea, that fits right into my plan," you watch him as he returns his attention to the path ahead of you, a small smile tilting the corners of his lips.

~~

Getting home didn't take long, and the two of you plopped down onto your plush brown sofa, shedding your jackets, scarves, and gloves.

"So, what's your idea?" you push him, eager to hear what he has to say.

"Well, you know how me and K'Sante have like... stamina contests at the gym?"

"Yeah..." you reply, arching a brow.

"What if we did that, but with sex?" Sett was basically a puppy dog- wagging his tail and smiling with excitement. How could you turn him down?

"That's not fair, you're a gym rat. There's no way you won't beat me," a dramatic sigh escapes your lips, you pout and cross your arms. Sett grabs you up in his big arms, pulling you against his chest so that you have to look up at him. It's an odd angle, but Sett being the goof he is you're used to it by now.

"I believe in you, babe. I know you've got some tricks up your sleeve," he smiles down at you, and your heart pitter patters in your chest.

"Fine, but I get first dibs!" You jerk away from him, before using all your might to push him down onto the couch so he is laying flat. Sett can only look up at you in awe for a moment before acting the part.

You lean down and kiss him, soft pecks that turn into ravenous, carnal passion. His arm wraps around your waist, pulling you down impossibly closer to him. You can feel the hard muscles under his black t-shirt, your palm resting on his chest.

Slowly you release yourself from his lips, opting instead to pepper small touches and bites down his face, his jaw, nipping lightly at his collarbone. He groans, and when you look up at him you notice he is biting his lip.

He's so needy for you, he's already gyrating his hips like a horny teenager, seeking any sort of friction.

Sett grips you tightly for a moment, before you're lifted abruptly and flipped so he's the one on top of you.

"Sorry babe, you don't get to be a tease today," and you whimper when he lifts you slightly to yank your shirt off of you. You mimic his actions, lifting his shirt over his head. You take a moment to gawk at the fine specimen before you. Molded like a Greek God, Sett's physique and his hooded seductive eyes had you writhing beneath him.

"You know I love hearing your little noises, baby," Sett whispers, his cheek crushing brushing your own as he leans down and kisses your ear. The sounds of his breathing right there had goosebumps erupting on your skin. At this point, you didn't care about the damn competition or getting tired too fast, you were desperate.

"Fuck me, Sett. Please?" You place your hand on his chest, pushing him so that you can make sure he sees you biting your lip and giving him puppy dog eyes.

He didn't take much time in appeasing your request, tearing your pants off and unzipping his own. He was so turned on he didn't even bother taking them off, fucking you like you weren't planning on fucking the rest of the day.

Sett brings his hand up, beckoning you to suck on his fingers- lubing them up. He groans as you suck and bob your head, before releasing him. He takes the same hand, brings it down and smooths it over your entrance- one of his large fingers enters the threshold, pumping once, twice.

He pulls out suddenly, and thrusts into you abruptly. You let out a pitiful sounding cry as you are forced to acclimate to his size.

"So. Fucking. Tight," He shudders, pumping slowly in and out with each word to accompany his comment. Your hands come up to hold onto his back, and you have to entice him to go harder- not only for the sake of pleasure of because you're remembering- this is a challenge.

You gyrate your hips into him, and he groans- no growls- a deep rumble in his chest. The look he gives you is carnal, and his thrusts become ferocious.

"Ah, Sett!" You cry, his hand coming down and groping your front. The movements help you climb into what you were sure was going to be a mind-boggling orgasm. Electricity scattered throughout your body, his movements in perfect synchrony with your build.

"Cum baby. Fuck- please cum for me," Sett says, looking at you with his lower lip in the slightest pout. You can't help it, and stars erupt in your vision as you shatter into ecstasy. "That's it, that's my good b/g."

His praises nearly have you leaping over the edge again. His voice straining as he also reaches his peak. His body shudders over you as he stills, breathing rapidly as he pulls out and rolls you over so you are resting on his chest.

"Gods, you're perfect. That was perfect," he chuckles, using one of his hands to rub your back and the other to caress your face.

You decide now is your chance to lumber up, standing (still fully naked mind you) and stretching with your arms above your head. You knew what you were doing, and Sett was falling for it. You could see his cock slowly rising already, and you knew you were in for one hell of a ride.

Deciding to go to the kitchen for some water, you look at Sett and give him a wink before turning tail and heading in that direction. You could hear the soft ruffling of the couch cushions as he stood up to follow you, and you let out a little giggle as you picked up your pace toward the kitchen island.

You quickly ran over and pulled a glass out of the cabinet, filling it with water and turning around to face Sett as you took a sip. He was standing in the doorway, his arm leaning against it as he tracked your every movement.

The air was thick with energy, still saturated with the scent of sex. As you walked over to him, your smirked. You slapped your hand onto his chest, caressing down, further still, and abruptly stopped- handing him the glass of water. He grunted in response, rolling his eyes. Maybe you were the devious one.

He gulped down the water fast, used the back of his hand to wipe his mouth and prowled towards you. His grip not gentle as he whipped you around so you were facing the island, his hand moving onto your back to push you flush with the countertop.

"Ready for round two, babe?"

Sett is such an animal you might just win after all.

[carionto]

Space Truckin'

Freight transport! The lifeblood of all modern civilizations and the backbone of the Galaxy.

Trade routes, supply chains, relocation efforts, deployment actions - everything rests on the shoulders of the transport class vessels. Well, within their bowels, but that's a less sexy phrase. Or when they haul larger things externally and have extra engines and hyper drives inside instead, does that become a horse metaphor now? Or an ox pulling a... uhh, that farm equipment before we had tractors, um...

Anyway.

There's billions of transports of literally every size and shape constantly buzzing about the Galaxy delivering perishables, non-perishables that the still existing copyright laws prevent from being printed near the destination instead, and people, who technically count as perishables, but due to other laws get their own category.

Where was I?

So, most of these are fully automated and do very basic food and other consumables runs, and require maintenance maybe once a century at most. Human ones need them once a year, since their hyperdrives don't need a stopover at a charging station, but run the tiny risk of CATACLYSMIC FAILURE BECAUSE THEY RUN ON MINIATURE STARS THAT BY NATURE CONSTANTLY EXPLODE BUT IT'S OKAY THE HUMANS SAY THEY HAVE FAILSAFES AND THOSE ONLY HAVE A 3/100000 FAILURE RATE THEMSELVES AS IF THAT'S BETTER THAN THE BIG FAT ZERO THE REST OF THE GALAXY HAS AS STANDARD!!!

Ahem.

What I was trying to get at is - Humans are nostalgic for a lot of things. Everyone has personal memories and collective history they cherish dearly, but Humans often tend to try and bring it back to life, regardless of the impracticality.

There is this one group of transports, who call themselves the "Space Truckers" and their vessels have...

wheels with tires

let that sink in

no really

actual rubber tires with air-filled liners and everything

in space

and they insist on landing on them

yes they are stupidly overengineered and can in fact hold up a ship that weighs four million tons and the inner liner air pressure is perfectly fine at around 700 atmospheres

because they can

oh and a few of them look like this

but are a lot bigger

like the size of a small city

the biggest tire is 382 meters in diameter

and yes, the biggest "truck" is called Optimus Prime and they blast Deep Purple songs all the time

and no, I don't know if it can transform

they say it can't, but I don't believe Humans when they say they "can't" do something

they always figure out a way to do it

fucking Humans

[henpillled]

Quick n dirty Hurricane post

Hurricane Shopping List

Food:

The government will tell you that you need 3 days of food, you need at least a week. After Ian we were flooded for about 4 days and had no power for 8. You want non perishables and you want tasty non perishables, get things you and your family like. Keep your eye out for sales through the year to keep a good stash.if you don’t have a grill,  Get a mini charcoal grill so you can also still cook 

Soups 

tuna and other canned meats

Ramen (fun, not nutritious) 

Snacks like chips and crackers, salsa!*

Single serving sauce packs (go hog wild at fast food places)

Cereal

Fresh fruit

Pasta sauce and pasta

Bread and shelf stable toppings like jelly* and peanut butter

Treats! It sucks, get some gummy bears, get BEER!

Instant coffee

*these aren't technically shelf stable,but yes they are lol, at least for a few days, sugar and acid are both preservatives, if it looks funny, don't eat it, but they'll be fine for a few days

Everything in your freezer will be good too, at least for a while. Eat everything in your fridge first, but after a few days, if you are going to lose everything in your freezer anyway, open it up and start using meats etc in there.

Water:

There are 4 categories for water, Drinking, cooking, cleaning, and flushing. ** if you do not have hot water, you need to be using bleach or vinegar or everything that gross. Hot water is our best friend and if we do not have her we need to kill every germ, without proper plumbing there are bad germs everywhere.

Drinking: half gallon  to gallon per person per day 

Cooking: A gallon per day, more if you have a larger family

These two need to be in sanitized containers intended for water storage, so bottled water, or food grade 5 gallon containers, tractor supply has good ones, or the huge water jugs at the grocery store.

Cleaning***: as much as you can, personally i start saving every 2 liter, OJ bottle, milk jug etc from about January to hurricane season so i can fill them all up when a storm is on the way. This doubles as you-cleaning water, so the more the better

Flushing: as much as physically possible. Fill up every tub, every sink, fill up your trash cans. I am 100% serious you WILL run out of flushing water before anything else. Literally as much as possible.

Misc items:

Battery banks, whether proper banks, or your laptop to use as a bank

A full tank of gas, never go under half a tank during hurricane season

This radio is great

Proper first aid kit (you should already have one tbh) 

Any medications you need, check your state laws to see if you can get emergency prescription refills

Toys, books, any kind of entertainment really, it gets boring, couldnt imagine being a toddler.

Extra pet food

Baby wipes

Extra period products 

Corn starch is a decent dry shampoo

General tips:

Find a radio station with a morning show, find several. There was a group in my area that was broadcasting 24/7 taking calls from people with trucks and people who needed help or medicine. They saved lives. 

Park your cars as high as possible, and as close to your house as you can

It is so much better to feel silly with all this stuff than to be caught off guard 

Lock your pets in a non carpeted room if you can.

Do laundry!!!!!

Shower and scrub every square inch a few hours before the storm starts, wash your hair!!!

Have 2 weeks of undies

Check on your neighbors 

DO NOT GO INTO FLOOD WATERS WHY DO PEOPLE DO THIS THIS IS HOW YOU GET HEPATITIS 

Have a plan for if it floods, have important docs and some food in a bag ready to go. If you are in an attic without a way to break through the roof, you will drown.

[haveyouseenthisskeleton]

i need some nice angst-fluff (?) rn.

how would the skellies reason to an s/o whose generally scared of a lot of touching or romantic gestures because of past sexual truama, but instead of living in fear all their life, they're slowly trying to become more and more comfortable with skellyfriend.

Undertale Sans - He respects that. He would never push you though, he's not even a big fan of physical touch in the first place. He can see you're making huge efforts, but he doesn't want you to do it for his sake. He's fine with no touching just as well.

Undertale Papyrus - It's hard to hold back for him when you're showing him a bit of affection, but he's happy it's getting better and better. He's cheering for you, and can be a little pushy, but he's happy you're trying to get over your past traumas.

Underswap Sans - He lets you move at your rhythm. It's ok if it takes time, he's happy already with the small progress you're making. He doesn't want you to feel like you have to touch him to make him happy though. He chose you for who you are.

Underswap Papyrus - He's almost crying every time you're touching him, really. He can see how hard it is for you, and he won't stop congratulating you for every little progress you make. He's glad you're coming around.

Underfell Sans - It gives him some courage to do the same. He's not very comfortable with these things either, so you're both learning. It's slow, but he likes it this way.

Underfell Papyrus - His eyes turn googly every time you're touching him lol. He tries to hide it, but really, he can't. You can't stay serious more than ten seconds when he's looking at you like that honestly. He can't help it. He's so shocked he's losing it.

Horrortale Sans - Oh well, his reaction is the same as you just looking his way: he starts to purr like a tractor, happy to have attention. Oak is really not difficult. He's just happy you're coming more and more to him.

Horrortale Papyrus - Willow is still a bit shy with physical touch so it's for sure gets him every time, transforming him into a blushing mess as he realizes you're only doing that because you trust him a lot. He's a bit overwhelmed right now and he might cry, not gonna lie.

Swapfell Sans - It helps you find out Nox can turn golden retriever like when you're petting him, literally leaning onto your lap for more. None of you are used to being touched, but someone definitely likes that a lot. You have a new superpower between your hands it seems.

Swapfell Papyrus - He draws crosses where you touched him to make memories together. It's weird, but it's kinda working. Except after some time, Nox begs you to convince his brother to take a bath because it's not possible anymore, he stinks bad. Rus refuses, pretending he's just jealous.

Fellswap Gold Sans - Urgh, he guesses he can make an effort and comes to you as well. Wine doesn't like physical touch as well, and he's a lot more demonstrative in his disgust, growling and stiffing. He tries to follow your example, but, uh... Yeah, there is still work to do lol. You're not going to have a hug before a decade or so xD

Fellswap Gold Papyrus - He's dying for more physical touch and he's literally vibrating every time you're touching him. He's probably not the best match for you though as Coffee is very needy and struggles to respect boundaries. He would definitely be too much to handle in that case.

[admin-cock-creations]

Date a Merc: Chapter 14

Fandom: Team Fortress 2 Pairing: Engineer / Reader Summary: Date an Engie who loves and appreciates you. Warnings: N/A

The Mann Co. Wars were over and gone, with most of the general public still greatly unaware that such a war had gone on for so long. The remaining mercs had been paid their severance packages and bonuses based on their years of servitude and slipped back into their subjectively normal lives as if nothing had changed. A great deal of the former mercenaries on both teams kept in contact with one another, even forming a few support groups that regularly met around the globe. Some returned to husbands, wives, and families, while others were thrilled to experience the dating scene without the need to conceal their identity. Your darling husband was one such former mercenary.

Neither of you had been looking for a relationship, and you’d quite literally stumbled into one another at the local fair the year after the liquidation of Mann Co. Joseph had been in the livestock barn admiring the animals set to be shown, and you’d been repairing the sprinkler system that kept the critters cool in the festering summer heat. He hadn’t been paying attention to where he was walking, and you were just trying to get down from your ladder. Thankfully the two of you only tumbled into a nearby hay wheelbarrow full of feed and not something worse, and you’d both gotten a laugh out of the fumble, but he still insisted on making it up to you somehow.

You started spending your time together at the fair that day, staying to watch the animals be shown and discussing which Joe should purchase for his ranch. He’d come expecting to leave with just a heifer or two, maybe a young bull, but ended up purchasing a few more fine animals he couldn’t resist. You certainly came in handy when you offered to help him haul the animals back, given that you’d brought your trailer to the fair, too. Now he was left needing to doubly repay you.

You weren’t sure how much time passed until he officially asked you out, much less when he kissed you for the first time, but the flow of time continued until you eventually found yourself with matching rings on your hands and sharing the comfort of a home.

It was quite the crisp fall day for the Midwest, and Joseph had been out most of the day, working away on repairing his tractor before winter came. You had been dutifully tending to the animals and your kitchen garden, gently checking in on your husband once in a while but knowing better than to interrupt when he got deep into his machines. Especially when it looked like he was about to take this one apart piece by piece.

You wouldn’t have guessed it, but Joseph was actually less intensely invested in his work than you thought, and that was greatly in part thanks to you. Were he still at Mann Co. he’d be throwing and kicking things by now, but something about your sheer nature had seeped some kind of gentleness into the very fibers of his being, and while he was very annoyed, he was still level-headed about his tractor project. You checked on him one last time, dropping off a thermos of warm coffee before returning to the house. He couldn’t help but smile as he listened to the front door, noting the pause of the screen door swinging shut that signaled you letting in the old tomcat.

Both of you lost track of time as the day continued, you lost in the preparation of dinner and some little chores around the house while Joe remained outside. Finally, you stepped back out onto the porch, standing at the top step as you wiped your hands on your apron and called for your husband across the field.

“Josie! Supper’s just about done!”

Joseph let out a heavy sigh as he wiped his own hands on a grease-stained rag, placing his tools away back in his toolbox before hefting himself up from the dirt. He took a moment to stand there, wiping his hands some more as he stared at you with a little crooked smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He could see the signs of dinner on your apron, see how the toes of your houseshoes wiggled in soft impatience, see the old denim of your favorite overalls you had sewn flower embroidery into on a whim. His heart was warm, and his belly grumbled as he finally moseyed back to the house.

“Make any progress on her?” You questioned in that gentle tone of yours, making his smile break even bigger.

“A little. Gettin’ closer to solvin’ the big problem. One little problem at a time.”

You walked inside, Joseph stopping to hang up his hat and coat by the door before following you into your little dining room. He sat down in his chair after shooing away the tomcat, sighing in relief as the wooden chair was more comfortable than the cold dirt ground he’d been on all day.

“I guess you’d figured something out. Saw how you were eyeing up that part you pulled out a couple hours ago so I went ahead and called up to Tom’s and told him you might be up later this week for something.”

Tom’s was the main part store in town, a small but well-stocked and family-operated business that knew you and your husband well by name. Joseph felt his heart flutter as he watched you serve him up a plate of dinner, acknowledging that you’d gone ahead and made a call he likely would have made on his own.

“Thank you, darlin’, you’re wonderful.”

He let you place down his plate and utensils before grabbing your wrist and placing a series of small, lingering kisses on the back of your hand.

“I don’t know what I did to deserve you.”

You chuckled and leaned down to place a return kiss on his temple.

“You’re still making up for knocking us into that wheelbarrow.”

[silvermaplealder]

Follow The Leader Chapter 2

Y'all are going to have to deal with the POV change, I apologize. It was the only thing I could think of to make it easier to follow the characters as they switch bodies.

Story Summary: David switches bodies with a stranger, Michael Emerson, after a motorcycle accident. Michael has to take on the role of a vampire gang leader while David has to adapt to a domestic human life until they can figure out how to change back.

Chapter Summary: Michael wanted to give Sam a chance behind the wheel to teach him how to drive on the quiet back roads. This goes horribly wrong as Sam doesn't have the experience to handle bad drivers on the road. The life changing event gets a little too literal.

Word Count: 4065

“Michael?” 

The brunette boy looked over to his younger brother. Sam stood in the doorway of the bedroom. “What do you want,” Michael mumbled, throwing down the motorcycle magazine he was reading. 

“I want to go to the boardwalk, but Mom’s busy. Can you bring me?” 

Michael sighed. “Right now?” 

Sam nodded. 

He pursed his lips. He didn’t want to go. But their mother was busy unpacking from the move and he didn’t want to add any stress onto her. “I don’t want to waste the gas on my bike,” Michael said, grabbing his magazine. 

“Mom said we can use the Land Rover,” he pleaded. 

Michael couldn’t think of another excuse. He set the magazine on his nightstand. “Fine, go get dressed.” 

“I am dressed,” Sam argued. 

His older brother raised an eyebrow but shook his head. Michael would never be seen dead in that outfit, but if his brother wanted to wear it, he couldn’t argue. Michael brought his brother downstairs. “Ma, we’re going down to the boardwalk.”

Lucy was unpacking a box for the living room. “Watch your little brother,” she said. “And have fun. You boys deserve it.” 

Michael grunted in response. Sam bounced after him as he took the keys off of the kitchen counter. The brothers went to the SUV. “Can I drive?” Sam begged. “Please?” 

The older brother looked between the keys and the car. Lucy had let Sam drive a few times. He was almost old enough to get his permit. She had told her boys many times about how Grandpa had let her drive tractors and trucks on the farm long before she had her own permit. 

Michael tossed the keys over to his little brother. “Driver’s seat,” he instructed. Sam’s smile spread ear to ear as he climbed into the car. Michael took the passenger seat and made sure to fasten his seatbelt. He trusted Sam enough to drive, but there was always a little bit of fear in the back of his head about a new driver. But everyone has to start somewhere. 

The younger brother started up the engine of the land rover. Sam glanced over all the controls briefly. He knew where the gas and brake pedals were, but he wanted to familiarize himself with the gear shift and the lights. 

Sam launched the car in gear and Michael immediately cleared his throat. “Forgetting something?” He asked, tapping up onto the rearview mirror. 

“Oh, right,” Sam gave a nervous laugh and put the car back into park. He adjusted the mirrors. Michael watched his little brother looking uncomfortable in the driver’s seat. Sam wasn’t too far off from getting his driver’s permit. He never thought he’d see his little brother start to drive. It just seemed weird. He felt like he was growing up too fast. One moment he was Sam’s age and sitting behind the wheel for the first time, and now the thrill of driving has long since passed. 

Once he was ready, they pulled out of the driveway. Michael made sure to check all the lights were on properly as they got onto the main road. “Make sure to double check-” Michael began. 

“I know, I know,” Sam shot back, a bit harshly. He didn’t mean to, but the stress of driving was a lot on the younger boy. He kept a sharp eye on his mirrors and the empty street just in case something happened. 

Michael also kept an eye turned to the sides of the road. He didn’t think there was much that could happen besides a squirrel hopping out in front of the tires. “You just follow this road until we get to the next intersection,” Michael commented. “Then make a left.” 

“Got it,” Sam stated, gripping onto the steering wheel tightly. He went to touch the radio, but Michael smacked his hand away. 

“Focus on the road,” Michael scolded.

The two of them drove through the quiet road silently. The street started to curve and wind around a small descent. As they came around one of the sharper turns, Michael heard the familiar sound of a motorcycle.

Sam came around the next corner sharply, but still on his side of the road. A singular headlight popped out from the darkness.  

Michael saw it before it happened. He sat upright in the passenger seat, watching as the light casually drifted towards them. “Sam..- Sam!” Michael yelled. 

The boy had a white knuckle grip on the wheel. “What do I do?!” He shouted in a panic. He slammed on the breaks, throwing them both forward against their seatbelts. Michael tried to snatch the wheel and yank it to the side, but his hand went into the dash. 

The motorcyclist's face became illuminated by the headlights of the land rover. Even with the braking, the momentum still had them going forward. The biker tried to correct himself, but the front bumper of the land rover smashed into his back tire. 

The land rover came to a screeching halt. 

Both boys were silent. 

“Oh my god…” Sam finally managed to whisper. His death grip on the wheel tightened. “Oh my god oh my god, Michael I-” 

“Sam shut up,” Michael whispered quickly. 

“Michael, I hit him!” Sam screamed. 

“I said shut up!” Michael shouted back, burning both of their ear drums. “Stay in the fucking car.” Michael clawed at the seat belt buckle until it came free. His shaking hands could barely feel the handle of the car. His knees buckled, making him stumble onto the asphalt. His little brother just probably killed a biker. He didn’t have a driver’s permit. He legally shouldn’t have been behind the wheel. 

Michael wanted to vomit. He debated throwing himself back into the land rover and telling Sam to drive off. But he had to check on the biker. If he got hit by a car, he’d want someone to check on him. 

The boy forced himself back to his feet and across the road. The bike had spun out offroad. Michael tried to ignore the blood smeared across the asphalt, but his eyes couldn’t help but look at it. 

It felt like an hour by the time he reached the man’s body. His shaking hands reached out, pushing the biker onto his back. The boy looked lifeless. Michael gagged at the damage to his body. He had no idea how fast the biker was going. Sam couldn’t have been going very fast due to how curvy the road was. “He came onto our side of the road,” Michael whispered to himself, trying to convince his conscience that this wasn’t his fault. 

If he was behind the wheel, he would have avoided the biker. The boy would still be alive. Stupid, but alive. 

He carefully reached into the pocket of the biker’s coat. He wanted to find some sort of ID. He felt compelled against his will to know who this man was. Was he a boy Michael’s age? Hard to tell with the road burn on his face. 

Michael dragged out everything from the pocket. A cigarette carton, what looked like a strange bell, and a lighter. He put the cigarettes and lighter back, but he paused with the bell. Such an odd trinket for someone to carry. It didn’t make any noise when he shook it. 

His snooping was cut short when he heard another engine. Fear gripped his stomach almost to the point of vomiting. He bolted back to the car. He threw the driver’s side open and shoved Sam into the passenger seat. “Move, move!” Michael shouted. The second he closed the door, he launched the land rover into reverse and shot back up the road. Another motorcycle was coming, no doubt a friend of the boy they hit. 

Neither boy spoke as they flew back towards the house. Michael passed the driveway, but Sam said nothing. They drove silently through the darkness. 

Almost thirty minutes passed before Sam spoke. “Was he dead?” His voice cracked in fear. 

“It never happened,” Michael shot back sternly. “You get it? That never happened. You do not mention that to anyone, Sam, do you hear? You’ll be arrested. I’ll be arrested.” 

“But he-” 

“It doesn’t fucking matter, Sam!” Michael hissed back. “He’s dead, alright?” 

Sam went silent again. He knew better than to argue with his older brother. He was terrified about the repercussions of this. Sam was only fourteen years old, he was not ready to go to jail. And the boy couldn’t imagine what it would be like if his older brother took the blame. 

Both of their lives, destroyed in just a few seconds. 

Eventually the boys circled to a gas station. They sat in the car after Michael cut the engine. “We went to the boardwalk,” Michael stated, keeping his voice steady. “You didn’t feel good so we went back home. We grabbed gas on the way. You hear?” Sam nodded quickly. 

Michael got out of the car to fill it with gas. He wanted an alibi. He went inside to pay and then filled up the land rover. Sam stared blankly out the window. Michael could see his petrified expression. The boy was imagining the worst of the worst fate, that was for sure. 

Once the car was filled, Michael made sure to return straight home. When they pulled in the driveway, he looked to his little brother. “Just go to your room. If mom asks, you don’t feel good.” 

“I really don’t feel good, Michael,” Sam admitted, his face pale with his stomach churning. 

“I know, Sam. I know. Go to bed.” 

The brothers got out of the car together. Sam ducked his head and beelined straight for his room. Lucy caught Michael’s attention as he wandered into the kitchen. “You guys weren’t gone very long,” she commented. 

Michael turned his chin towards the stairs. “Sam and I stopped at a gas station for snacks. It upset his stomach so we came home.” He felt sick lying to his mother, especially about killing someone. 

Their mother frowned. “Hopefully he’ll feel better in the morning.” 

“Hopefully,” Michael whispered. “I’m going to go upstairs. Kinda made me nauseous too.” He turned away from his mother. She cared so much about her boys, he knew it would break her heart if she found out the truth. She’d be devastated. And if they got arrested, what would she do? He didn’t want to think about it. 

Instead, he went up the stairs and closed himself in his bedroom. He collapsed onto his bed and stared at the ceiling. He never found out who that boy was. He wondered about the boy’s family. What would they think when he never returned home? Would they be as distraught as his mother would be? 

He couldn’t help but lay awake in bed for hours thinking of the endless possibilities. Around midnight he rolled out of bed and ran to the bathroom to vomit from the anxiety. He hunched over the toilet, his arms shaking. He didn’t know what was worse, the condition of the boy’s body or the knowledge of having played a part in his death. 

His arms eventually caved and he laid on the tiled floor. His exhaustion took hold, dragging him into an uneasy sleep. 

-David -

I jolted awake suddenly. My hands grasped the tiled floor and forced myself up. “What the hell,” I mumbled to myself. A dull headache pounded against my skull. The accident, I reminded myself. I sat back against the wall and sighed. Dwayne must have brought me to a house to recover. Rude that he left me on the bathroom floor, but maybe it was temporary while he went to feed. 

I waited, listening to the world around me. I couldn’t hear much happening. There was certainly movement downstairs, but nothing that sounded like a feeding. I forced myself up. My body ached in ways I haven’t felt in a long time. My muscles were sore. “Fucking regeneration,” I mumbled. 

Something massive moved out of the corner of my eye. I spun around to find someone staring at me in the mirror. The hair on the back of my neck rose and I pulled my lips back to bare my teeth. 

And then I felt something in my chest. A heartbeat. 

The man in the mirror didn’t look like me. While I hadn’t been able to see my reflection in many years, Marko liked to draw portraits of us. And I knew I certainly did not have black, curly hair. 

I started making facial expressions. The mirror replicated everything I did with absolute precision. At first I thought maybe it was a dream, but everything felt so real. The heartbeat repeated rhythmically and continuously. I had never had such precision in dreams like this before. 

In the few times I had gotten completely obliterated and needed to regenerate a large portion of my body, I always returned as myself. Never as a stranger. 

And to add onto that, I couldn’t feel my vampiric side. I tried to force my eyes yellow and my fangs out, but nothing happened. My senses were all dulled. I leaned on the bathroom sink and stared. It was such an unfamiliar feeling, being human. 

My body felt warm. I pulled at the white shirt I was wearing. Warmth wasn’t something I was used to. I usually got my warmth from my kills or whatever radiant heat was in the area. It had been decades since the warmth was from me. 

A knock at the bathroom door yanked my attention away from my reflection. The heart beating in my chest rose towards my throat. I hadn’t felt this anxiety before in decades. It was a stronger fight or flight response than I could imagine.

“Mike?” A young voice called out. 

“Mike,” I whispered to myself. I certainly was not this Mike fellow. I cleared my throat. “What?” I responded. I furrowed my brows. My voice sounded different. 

“Are you almost done?” 

I grabbed the doorknob and paused. This felt like a nightmare, but none of these were my human memories. Either way, I had to keep pushing through. I pulled the door open and was greeted by a young teen. He looked like shit. His face was puffy from crying, he had bags under his eyes, and he barely had any light in his irises. He looked like a zombie. 

I couldn’t even form words before taking a step aside for him. He closed himself in the bathroom, leaving me alone in the hall. He wasn’t one of my boys, but I felt disgusted with the need to comfort him. Every time those damn boys of mine brought home another one who was sick, sad, or miserable I always felt the need to take them under my wing. Perhaps I was too much of a pushover when I saw sad eyes. 

I stepped away from the bathroom door and decided to investigate the house. I poked my head into every room on the upper floor, but there was no one else around on this level. I tried to delve into my memories to see if this was something I fabricated. But nothing here looked familiar. The face in the mirror wasn’t familiar, and nor was the boy. 

The stairs brought me down into the living room. I could hear someone moving around in the kitchen. I padded over as quietly as I could and found a short haired woman at the sink. I watched her grab an apple out of a fruit bowl and rinse it under the cold water. She placed it onto a plate with some other fruit. Her movements were graceful. The sunlight basked her as it flowed in from the window above the sink. 

Sunlight, I thought to myself. If being awake during the day wasn’t weird enough already, there was now sunlight. If I was my usual self, I would have burst into flames by now. 

She started chopping the fruit up on the counter. I backed away from the kitchen and started to investigate the downstairs. I came around the corner into one of the parlors and almost collided into an old man. 

“Michael! Just the man I was looking for,” the old man said to me. He placed a hand on my shoulder and forced me to walk with him. I cautiously tried to sniff him, but my human senses couldn’t tell me anything. “I could use your help with moving something out of my truck.” 

“I guess,” I responded. There was a part of me that wanted to lash out and rip into his throat. But without my vampiric powers, I was afraid of the consequences. 

Consequences. Such a human term. As a vampire I was entitled to kill. But as a human it was considered a crime, and crimes had consequences. 

The old man brought me outside to his blue truck. The truck was old and that was familiar. I had seen this truck before in town. Though, I never cared who the owner was. But I’d seen it driving on the streets. 

He opened the tailgate. The smell of blood hit me, and somehow it felt revolting. I grimaced at my own response to that. In his truck bed was a piebald doe. “Richard up the street saw this on his way to work. Hit by a car last night.” The old man looked ecstatic. “Help me carry it into the shop, won’t you?” 

I grabbed a hold of its ears and tugged it out onto the tailgate. I had never seen a piebald deer in person. Marko would have loved to capture the moment of its death. He would have sat on the side of the road with his sketchbook sketching out the broken corpse with immaculate detail. I held the doe’s face in my hands, staring into her lifeless eyes. “You and I both, huh?” I whispered to her. Only she died to the vehicle. I instead ended up in some other life. 

I got the doe up onto my shoulder with the old man’s help. I followed him to the back entrance of the house where his taxidermy shop was. He helped me get her down onto his main table. The man excitedly ran around the room for his tools. “Where’s your gambrel?” I asked, looking around the shop. It had been a long while since I had to skin out a deer. Countless decades since my own human life. 

The old man glanced over, pausing in his excitement. “Gambrel?” He repeated. “I didn’t realize you were familiar with such things, Michael.” 

“I read it in a magazine once,” I lied, giving him a smile. It was my favorite lie. Any time I slipped up with knowledge I shouldn’t have know, I slapped the ol’ “read it in a magazine” story. No one was interested in pushing about which magazine or which issue. 

His eyebrows sky rocketed upwards. “Well now! If you’re ever interested in learning more, I’d be happy to have you help around the shop. We’re not using a gambrel for this one. No, it would do too much damage to the heel. But if you’ll excuse me, I must get to this beauty first. Once in a lifetime sort of piece.” 

“Of course.” 

The sliding doors to the house pushed open. The woman from earlier poked her head in. “Michael, sweetie, breakfast is ready.” 

My stomach growled at her words. I was hungry. 

“Go wash up first after touching that thing,” she ordered. 

I headed back to the bathroom to find the young teen sitting on the floor with the door open. A big, wolf-like dog sat in his lap offering comfort. I froze when I saw the dog, the same fight or flight response ripping through my body. Boy, I was glad I didn’t have to deal with this sudden burst of adrenaline every time something happened as a vampire. The dog did not respond to me at all. It sat with the boy, never leaving his side. 

“What?” The boy croaked out. His face showed his exhaustion worse than before. 

It took me a moment to calm my nerves. The dog wasn’t attacking me, nor was it being even a tad aggressive. “I, uh, didn’t expect to see you here.” I washed my hands in the sink, but the boy didn’t move. “What’s wrong with you, huh?” 

The look of dread in his eyes told me it was something worse than just getting bullied on the playground. “I’m scared, Michael,” he whispered. “We killed a guy last night.” 

I surpressed my laughter. This destroyed, after killing a man? But the look of grief on his face didn’t falter. I sighed, drying off my hands on a nearby towel. When Paul first turned, he was very hesitant on making his first kill. Even after he fed, he retreated into the cave to sit in silence for hours. His turning did not go as I had intended it to. We rushed into it, excited to make him one of us. He drank my blood one night, and the next we took him out to hunt. He killed without knowing what he was doing. So close to his human side, it drove him mad for a few weeks. But he came to terms eventually, and now you’d never know he was so scared about being a vampire. 

I leaned against the sink and crossed my arms over my chest. “What happened?” 

The boy looked up at me. “You were there, Mikey.” 

“Well, pretend I wasn’t. What happened?” I repeated, more sternly this time. I watched him squirm a bit. I’d treat him like I treated the other boys when they were in trouble. Silence was a powerful tool when used properly. I rose my eyebrows and stared until he eventually started to cry again. 

“I killed that guy,” the boy whispered, trying to hold back his sobs. “And we just drove away.” 

I stayed silent still, watching as he wiped away the tears on his cheeks. 

“What if that was you?” he whimpered. “He was on a bike, just like you.” 

“A bike?” I repeated. “A cyclist or a motorcycle?” 

“Michael please, you were there,” he cried softly. “I don’t want to keep reliving it.” 

“A cyclist or a motorcycle?” I repeated, more sternly this time. 

“Some guy on a motorcycle,” he replied, starting to get a little angry at my questions. 

“Did you see the guy?” I asked. 

“Michael please stop-” 

“Did. You. See. The. Guy?” I demanded. I crouched down next to the boy. 

The boy looked horrified. “Mikey why are you doing this? This isn’t like you.”

“Answer my question,” I said, soothing my voice a bit to ease him into an answer. 

“His face is literally stained in the back of my mind,” the boy finally said, hugging his dog tightly. “He couldn’t have been much older than you.” Tears streamed down his face as he spoke. He pushed through the sobs. “Really light hair. And dark clothes. I don’t know what else to say.” 

I couldn’t help but smile. “And you hit him. With your car.” I leaned my head back and looked at the ceiling. For some fucked up reason, I was now a part of the life of the damn kid that hit me with his car. Was this hell? Was I cursed? I returned my gaze to the kid. “How badly damaged was the bike?” He stared at me blankly. “Repairable? Just a few scratches? Or like do I need a whole new bike?” 

The look of confusion on his face was priceless. I stood back up. “Come on, kid. Get up. You didn’t kill him. You just fucked him over.” The boy hesitantly took my hand and I hauled him to his feet. “You knocked him from one goddamned realm to the next though, so I applaud you for that.” 

“What the hell are you talking about?” The boy asked. 

I grabbed one of the small towels from the shelf. I ran it under warm water and squeezed it out. I tossed it right at him. “Wash up. You’re going to show me where this happened. Dwayne spent too fucking long fixing my bike last for it to have gotten destroyed on the road again. So let’s go.”

[lala1267]

His girl (Part 1)

Summary: you were just a normal innocent girl that worked on a farm. You had a thing for older men.

Warnings: literally the biggest age gap possible (reader 15, Elvis,27:if your not comfortable with age gaps just scroll) cigarettes, hunting animals, shotgun to hunt?

My name was Mina Thompson. I was born into a small family of two. Me and my mother. My father was absent, I had never met the man. Me and my mother lived in the countryside and owned a farm. We had horses and cows. I was a free child. I rode my horses all day and every day as I let the wind rush through my long blonde wavy hair. I was a pretty girl, I had a petite slim figure, I had bright blue eyes and sun-kissed skin. Since I lived on a farm in the countryside I didn't have any freinds. It was just me and my mother, I loved her to death. She was gradually growing old so I had to look after her and the animals, it wasn't an easy job. I was 15 working my ass off on a barn. Mother's health was rapidly declining, she had cancer. I was only 13 when she had died. I was alone, I had lost my only freind to cancer. From then I had picked up a habit of smoking. I went through three packs of cigarettes a day.

I was feeding the horses and cows when I heard a car driving, the sound gradually grew closer. This was unusual since no one ever came here and there wasn't even a road, it was just a grassy path leading to my farm.

The car grew louder until it came in sight of my eyes. It was a pink Cadillac. I had never even seen any other car other than my run down tractor that I crashed not long ago. I watched in curiously. A tall handsome man had emerged from the vehicle, he had jet black hair and tan skin. He was wearing a blue t-shirt with black pants, along with golden belt dotted with diamonds. Meanwhile I was in a short white flowy dress, my ass basically hanging out everytime I lifted my arms. I was barefoot with a couple of wild flowers in my hair and a cigarette in between my red lips. I took a puff of my cigarette as I watched the man. He opened the back of his car, he pulled out a double barrel shotgun. My heart sank, I stood still, frozen in fear. Is he going to shoot me? Or even worse, was he going to shoot my animals?" He turned around, he made his way over to my direction. He looked up to lock eyes with me. He had a confused expression on his face.

"Wait, who are you?" He asked curiously.

"I'm the owner of this farm." I stated nervously.

"Oh I'm sorry, I was just com-"

" What are you planning to do with that gun sir?" I gulped.

"Oh I was just coming to hunt some rabbits." I let out a releaved sigh as I relaxed my tensed muscles. The man had noticed that I was a nervous wreck.

"You didn't think I was gonna hurt you, did ya?" He asked as he stepped towards me. I didn't reply. I stood there as he towered over me waiting for him to say something. He took the cigarette out of my small hands before speaking.

"What are you doing with this, how old are you?" He asked.

"I'm 15 sir." I said quietly. He giggled before speaking.

"Well I'm sure ya mother wouldn't be happy seeing her daughter smoking." He placed the cigarette back into my hands. I could feel my eyes tear up at his comment. I had to take a second before replying.

"My mother's dead sir." I said as I looked up to the man with watery eyes. His face dropped, he instantly hugged me and began to frantically apologise. I had never felt the touch of a man, it sure felt good.

"I'm sorry darlin, I didn't kno-"

"It's fine, I know ya didn't mean it" i said as I pulled away from him forcing a fake smile onto my face. There was a moment of awkward silence before I made conversation.

"Ya have a real nice car there sir, I ain't never seen nothing like it." I said as I inhaled my cigarette.

"Thankyou honey, you can call me Elvis, that's my name." I smiled and nodded.

"Well my name is Mina, nice to meet ya." I cheerfully said. I looked up into his eyes, they were so pretty and blue. He put his hand on my shoulder as he spoke.

"Well I need to get going now, see ya later." I smiled as I watched him walk away into the forest. Something about that man sparked a flame inside of me. His voice was deep and sexy.

"Imma follow him, he's interesting." I said to myself before mounting my horse. I had rode into the shady forest desperately looking for the handsome man. I heard a loud gunshot coming from one side of the greenery. I knew that was his gun, I followed the gunshot's echo until I saw him crouching down, aiming the large gun at a small brown bunny. The bunny quickly sprinted away and a few birds flew out of the trees. It must have been because of me and my horse, we weren't particularly quiet. Elvis turned around to see what had made him loose his bunny. He locked eyes with me who was mounted on a six foot horse, my hair flowing through the breeze. My blue eyes met his. A smile appeared onto his face.

"Ya following me now?" He asked as he laughed. I went bright red before replying.

"I just wanted to see what you were doing, I've never hunted bunnies before." I said as I dismounted the horse.

"Come sit next to me, I can teach ya how to use a man's gun." I smiled before skipping over to him. Before I sat I had whistled at my horse, signaling him to go back to the stables. He did just that.

"That's impressive." Elvis said as I sat down.

"What?"

"You've trained your horse, that's a hard task."

"Well I have lived on a farm all my life, I have my ways" I said with a giggle before locking eyes with Elvis.

"How old are ya?" I asked eagerly waiting for his answer.

"I'm 27 darlin" a smile flashed on my face as I realised that he was a grown man, I had a thing for older men.

I admired the handsome man before replying

"Age Is just a number." I said as I played with his black hair. I could've kissed the man right there, something about him was so comforting. Elvis giggled at my comment before handing me the gun. My hands dropped a few inches as it was so heavy. His deep voice carefully instructed me.

"Ya see that rabbit over there, I want ya to keep real quiet. Aim the gun at it and when you feel ready pull the trigger." His voice was music to my ears. He got up and crouched behind my petite figure. I was in between his legs. He reached the gun from behind me to steady my accuracy. It was like he was hugging me. I could smell his expensive cologne. I was stuck in my own fantasies before quickly snapping out as Elvis pulled the trigger for me. I jumped and let out a little yelp that made Elvis laugh. He took the gun from my hands as he stood up behind me. He placed the gun down next to me as he started to speak.

"If ya wanna get better at shooting you gotta keep focused my darlin'." I looked up at him. I smiled and nodded before pulling a cigarette out of my bra and lighting it in between my soft lips.

"Ya store your things in your bra?"

"Where else am I meant to put them, I don't have any pockets." I said giggling. Me and Elvis spent the rest of the day toughether, I was showing him around the whole area and showing him spots where all the bunny's go. When I was done giving him a tour, the sun was already setting. I looked him in the eyes before making a bold offer.

"You can stay at my house for the night so you can get you can start hunting when the bunny's wake up?" He smiled.

"I would love to." My face lit up. I grabbed his hand as I escorted him to my house. My house wasn't the best. It was a small cosy cottage. I opened the door to let Elvis in.

"You can show yourself around, I will go make you a coffee." I cheerfully said. Elvis nodded.

Me and Elvis were watching TV on the couch. The warm coffee that I had made for him was already drank. There was a little distance between us on the couch, Elvis had noticed this.

"Come closer honey, I don't bite." I did exactly that. Once I was touching shoulders with him I had leaned my head on his chest, he wrapped his big arm around me. Elvis was talking about how he was a singer, it was a very interesting story but I had a long day. I was tired and I couldn't keep myself awake anymore. I had drifted of into a deep sleep in Elvis's big arms. He stroked my hair and rubbed my back until he fell asleep aswell.

It was the next morning, It was 5am, this was the time that I usually woke up to feed my animals and clean them. I carefully snook out of Elvis's arms and walked outside, it was still dark but the sun was gradually rising. I walked over to the horse stables to clean and feed the horses them and I did the same with the cows. Once I had finished it was 7am. I was walking towards my house door to make breakfast when Elvis had opened it for me. He had just woken up, hair was messy, clothes were basically falling off. He smiled as he saw me standing infront of him.

"I was looking for ya" he said as he pulled me into a tight hug.

"I was out since five in the morning looking after the animals."

"Five in the morning! Surely that ain't healthy." We both giggled as I walked inside. I was about to go to the kitchen to make breakfast for us when Elvis's deep voice sounded behind me.

"Already done dear." I walked over to the dining table, it was nothing special, just cereal.

"Well it's something." I said sarcastically.

"Give me time to practice and I will be better at cooking than you."

"Yeah right" I said giggling. As we ate Elvis turned to look me in my eyes.

"I wanna take you to Memphis with me." My face dropped in shock.

"What...?"

"You heard me."

"B-but my animals, who is gonna look after them whilst I'm gone?!"

"We can take them with us, i can hire people to take them back to my house, I own a few horses of my own and they wouldn't mind sharing the stables."

"And with who's money Elvis."

"Mine, trust me I have the money, do you not watch the news on TV, I'm in the newspapers every day." I was shocked but also impressed that a man with this much money wanted me to stay with him.

"Well I guess we could make it work then."

Later that day Elvis helped me pack my bags, he took me to his car as another group of men took my animals. I was excited but I had only known this man for one day, he was also 12 years older than me, but I felt a connection with him and I'm no stranger to taking risks.

[gaytruckerthoughts]

things that some trucking companies list as 'perks' to potential new drivers that are really just a given, or at least should be:

-a driver's lounge. what?? you mean at the company yard there is a place to.. sit down? whaaaaaat

-laundry. you mean your company yard provides 1-2 washer and dryer machines to the drivers that basically live in their trucks that belong to your company?? whhaaaat

addendum: im not joking, these mega-carriers that will have upwards of 40 tractors parked in a company yard overnight at once will usually not have more than 2 sets of laundry machines. it's ridiculous. in case you're wondering, the other place to do laundry on the road is at commercial truck stops, where they charge high prices and the machines don't work and it's a great time)

-weekly or bi-weekly pay. yeah that's how jobs usually work my guy. we're not going on the honor system here

-24/7 dispatch. whaat?? you mean if someone is making a delivery at 2am and they run into a problem or need an extra fuel stop, there will be someone available to call?? ridiculous. that sort of thing would never happen literally all the time. nobody has ever gotten into an accident and had to talk to the safety dept after business hours. unheard of

-electronic logs. any company that's not basically just one owner/operator who is using paper logs anymore is highly suspect, and is probably trying to coerce employees into driving unsafe/illegal hours

-fuel card. yeah obviously. if you are a company driver, or an owner/operator and paying your own fuel costs, it is extremely common for the company to provide a fuel card for at least one truck stop chain. they are going to do it to get discounts for their company drivers anyway, they should also let the owner/ops benefit

-flexible home time. you mean i can go home specifically in time for my niece's bat mitzvah or my grandmother's funeral?? how kind of you

-higher pay for specialized driving such as triples or heavy haul. obviously more difficult. requires more training and endorsements. and worse routing if there are roads you can't access. for example, an oversized load might not be able to fit under certain bridges, and some national parks don't allow hazmat tankers in case of spillage

-sufficient weekly or monthly miles rolling. people aren't signing up to drive in order to.. Not

ACTUAL perks to look for:

-rider/passenger policy (your partner or kid can be in the truck with you)

-pet policy (you can have a little friendo living in the truck)

-general pet policy, instead of like 'one pet allowed, and it has to be a dog under 40lbs and there's breed restrictions' bullshit (we have met some massive trucker puppies. depending on the individual dog, a large size dog can do fine in a truck)

-no pet deposit. like at an apartment where you have to pay a fee for the pet to stay there

-no slip seating, meaning you have the same truck for like a year at a time. generally you can also ask to have the tractor detailed/cleaned when you swap to another tractor that's not brand new. slip seating doesn't allow you to settle, in or decorate, and you often have to put up with smoke smell or a huge mess or whatever

-extra pay for things like extra stops on the same truckload, tarping [for flatbeds], passed dot inspections, detention hours, etc

-exclusively no touch freight or exclusively drop and hook freight. this is specifically for over-the-road, dedicated, or regional drivers though

-for lighter-than-truckload drivers, having a person to unload the truck, instead of having to drive and also ruin your spine and knees all in the same eventful day

-extra pay for driving in some urban areas, driving internationally, and having your hazmat endorsement

[dailyanarchistposts]

I.8.6 What did the agricultural collectives accomplish?

Most basically, self-management in collectives combined with co-operation in rural federations allowed an improvement in quality of rural life. From a purely economic viewpoint, production increased and as historian Benjamin Martin summarises: “Though it is impossible to generalise about the rural land take-overs, there is little doubt that the quality of life for most peasants who participated in co-operatives and collectives notably improved.” [The Agony of Modernisation, p. 394] Another historian, Antony Beevor, notes that ”[i]n terms of production and improved standards for the peasants, the self-managed collectives appear to have been successful. They also seem to have encouraged harmonious community relations.” [The Spanish Civil War, p. 95]

More importantly, however, this improvement in the quality of life included an increase in freedom as well as in consumption. To re-quote the member of the Beceite collective in Aragón: “it was marvellous .. . to live in a collective, a free society where one could say what one thought, where if the village committee seemed unsatisfactory one could say. The committee took no big decisions without calling the whole village together in a general assembly. All this was wonderful.” [quoted by Ronald Fraser, Blood of Spain, p. 288] As Beevor suggests, “self-managed collectives were much happier when no better off than before. What mattered was that the labourers ran their own collectives — a distinct contrast to the disasters of state collectivisation in the Soviet Union.” [Op. Cit., p. 95] Here are a few examples provided by Jose Peirats:

“In Montblanc the collective dug up the old useless vines and planted new vineyards. The land, improved by modern cultivation with tractors, yielded much bigger and better crops … Many Aragón collectives built new roads and repaired old ones, installed modern flour mills, and processed agricultural and animal waste into useful industrial products. Many of these improvements were first initiated by the collectives. Some villages, like Calanda, built parks and baths. Almost all collectives established libraries, schools, and cultural centres.” [The Anarchist Collectives, p. 116]

Gaston Leval pointed out that “the Peasant Federation of Levant … produced more than half of the total orange crop in Spain: almost four million kilos (1 kilo equals about 2 and one-fourth pounds). It then transported and sold through its own commercial organisation (no middlemen) more than 70% of the crop. (The Federation’s commercial organisation included its own warehouses, trucks, and boats. Early in 1938 the export section established its own agencies in France: Marseilles, Perpignan, Bordeaux, Cherbourg, and Paris.) Out of a total of 47,000 hectares in all Spain devoted to rice production, the collective in the Province of Valencia cultivated 30,000 hectares.” [Op. Cit., p. 124] To quote Peirats again:

“Preoccupation with cultural and pedagogical innovations was an event without precedent in rural Spain. The Amposta collectivists organised classes for semi-literates, kindergartens, and even a school of arts and professions. The Seros schools were free to all neighbours, collectivists or not. Grau installed a school named after its most illustrious citizen, Joaquin Costa. The Calanda collective (pop. only 4,500) schooled 1,233 children. The best students were sent to the Lyceum in Caspe, with all expenses paid by the collective. The Alcoriza (pop. 4,000) school was attended by 600 children. Many of the schools were installed in abandoned convents. In Granadella (pop. 2,000), classes were conducted in the abandoned barracks of the Civil Guards. Graus organised a print library and a school of arts and professions, attended by 60 pupils. The same building housed a school of fine arts and high grade museum. In some villages a cinema was installed for the first time. The Penalba cinema was installed in a church. Viladecana built an experimental agricultural laboratory. [Op. Cit., p. 116]

Peirats summed up the accomplishments of the agricultural collectives as follows:

“In distribution the collectives’ co-operatives eliminated middlemen, small merchants, wholesalers, and profiteers, thus greatly reducing consumer prices. The collectives eliminated most of the parasitic elements from rural life, and would have wiped them out altogether if they were not protected by corrupt officials and by the political parties. Non-collectivised areas benefited indirectly from the lower prices as well as from free services often rendered by the collectives (laundries, cinemas, schools, barber and beauty parlours, etc.).” [Op. Cit., p. 114]

Leval emphasised the following achievements (among others):

“In the agrarian collectives solidarity was practised to the greatest degree. Not only was every person assured of the necessities, but the district federations increasingly adopted the principle of mutual aid on an inter-collective scale. For this purpose they created common reserves to help out villages less favoured by nature. In Castile special institutions for this purpose were created. In industry this practice seems to have begun in Hospitalet, on the Catalan railways, and was applied later in Alcoy. Had the political compromise not impeded open socialisation, the practices of mutual aid would have been much more generalised … A conquest of enormous importance was the right of women to livelihood, regardless of occupation or function. In about half of the agrarian collectives, the women received the same wages as men; in the rest the women received less, apparently on the principle that they rarely live alone … In all the agrarian collectives of Aragón, Catalonia, Levant, Castile, Andalusia, and Estremadura, the workers formed groups to divide the labour or the land; usually they were assigned to definite areas. Delegates elected by the work groups met with the collective’s delegate for agriculture to plan out the work. This typical organisation arose quite spontaneously, by local initiative … In addition … the collective as a whole met in weekly, bi-weekly or monthly assembly … The assembly reviewed the activities of the councillors it named, and discussed special cases and unforeseen problems. All inhabitants — men and women, producers and non-producers — took part in the discussion and decisions … In land cultivation the most significant advances were: the rapidly increased use of machinery and irrigation; greater diversification; and forestation. In stock raising: the selection and multiplication of breeds; the adaptation of breeds to local conditions; and large-scale construction of collective stock barns.” [Op. Cit., pp. 166–167]

Collectivisation, as Graham Kelsey notes, “allowed a rationalisation of village societies and a more efficient use of the economic resources available. Instead of carpenters and bricklayers remaining idle because no wealthy landowner had any use for their services they were put to work constructing agricultural facilities and providing the villages with the kind of social amenities which until then they had scarcely been able to imagine.” [Anarchosyndicalism, Libertarian Communism and the State, p. 169] Martha A. Ackelsberg sums up the experience well:

“The achievements of these collectives were extensive. In many areas they maintained, if not increased, agricultural production [not forgetting that many young men were at the front line], often introducing new patterns of cultivation and fertilisation … collectivists built chicken coups, barns, and other facilities for the care and feeding of the community’s animals. Federations of collectives co-ordinated the construction of roads, schools, bridges, canals and dams. Some of these remain to this day as lasting contributions of the collectives to the infrastructure of rural Spain. The collectivists also arranged for the transfer of surplus produce from wealthier collectives to those experiencing shortages, either directly from village to village or through mechanisms set up by regional committees.” [The Free Women of Spain, pp. 106–7]

As well as this inter-collective solidarity, the rural collectives also supplied food to the front-line troops:

“The collectives voluntarily contributed enormous stocks of provisions and other supplies to the fighting troops. Utiel sent 1,490 litres of oil and 300 bushels of potatoes to the Madrid front (in addition to huge stocks of beans, rice, buckwheat, etc.). Porales de Tujana sent great quantities of bread, oil, flour, and potatoes to the front, and eggs, meat, and milk to the military hospital. “The efforts of the collectives take on added significance when we take into account that their youngest and most vigorous workers were fighting in the trenches. 200 members of the little collective of Vilaboi were at the front; from Viledecans, 60; Amposta, 300; and Calande, 500.” [Jose Peirats, The Anarchist Collectives, p. 120]

Therefore, as well as significant economic achievements, the collectives ensured social and political ones too. Solidarity was practised and previously marginalised people took direct and full management of the affairs of their communities, transforming them to meet their own needs and desires.

[oasisofgalaxies]

who Is Rhodes

tell me all of the things

HEHEHE OK

This is Rhodes, aka Riley Caboose, aka Spartan P-011, aka Agent Rhodes Island! Shes a mix between a Halo oc and a Red vs Blue oc!! She’s my beloved baby girl and the only thing stronger than herself is the guilt on her shoulders !!!!!

She was abducted inducted into the Spartan 2.5 program (look the mortality rate between II and III dropped from 56% to ~0% that technological leap had to come from somewhere) at age six along with her brother, Caboose, age five. She grew up in the program and they both graduated. In their third mission as full Spartans they were cryo’d for a trip and that’s when Everything Went Wrong !!

This part I’m still ironing out but the essential idea is that the ship they were cryo’d in was attacked or tampered with causing the onboard systems to “defrost” Rhodes as she was the mission’s leader. She was doing a check when whatever was fucking things up made itself VERY known. Through a series of terrible events she ended up being the only one surviving that mission. I have a very strong mental image of her floating outside the ship in her suit watching it slowly explode. And just watching in horror because her men are on that ship. Her brother is on that ship.

Anyways I have no idea how Caboode survived that and I’ll figure it out eventually but Rhodes thinks he’s dead and it’s all her fault! Yay! Anyways years pass and weee Project Freelancer hurrayyyy! There she meets Agent Arizona, Ari for short, and they immediately become friends! Just kidding Rhodes is a brick wall friendship wise because she’s terrified of vulnerability and becoming attached to people. Ari does not care and takes this as a personal challenge. Eventually Rhodes sorta warms up to her but it takes. Fucking forever.

Anyways during PFL she meets Lambda, the AI assigned to her! Lambda is the Patience fragment! They’re the grey figure floating on her shoulder in the first picture! (By the way, Ari gets Xi, who’s Curiosity!) They get along fine, but they become friends after PFL once Rhodes opens up more. Shes. Very cagey still. Poor thing.

Anyways PFL goes to shit and Ari loses an arm in the crash. Rhodes carries her for forever, fighting off the Meta while they’re going, until they reach some kind of outpost and are able to get Ari medical attention. Everything sucks and they travel for a while, not knowing what to do with themselves. At some point in this part which isn’t really fleshed out too much, they discover that they’re actually sisters!

So when Rhodes was little, she was the ringleader of her trio of siblings among the many she had. Rhodes was the oldest, Caboose was the middlest, and Ari was the youngest. Ari was a pretty sickly kid so Rhodes and Caboose took care of her. When Rhodes and Caboose were taken, she didn’t believe the flash clones that replaced her siblings were, well, her siblings. So she’s been searching for them ever since and one of them was right under her nose this entire time!

Anyways Ari wants to look for Caboose but Rhodes has to break it to her that he’s dead. Again this part isn’t very fleshed out but either way they somehow end up on Chorus because the tractor beam of fate decreed it. They end up there and realize, oh fuck, this planet is in the middle of a civil war. Rhodes is immediately hellbent on helping these people because this is the thing she was literally made to. So they become. Actually now that I think about it, opposites of Felix and Locus. They split up, Ari going to Armonia and Rhodes to Mirage. They keep in touch and discuss ways to help reunite the two warring factions. Here they meet the Red and Blues, they find Caboose, SO many tears are shed, and yeah!

That’s. A super brief summary of her backstory and I still left out so much even tho it’s so fucking long I am so sorry

TL;DR Rhodes/Riley is a person who was abducted into the Spartan program along with her brother, eventually became a freelancer after the believed death of her brother, and finds her siblings and also her sense of humanity along the way!!

A huge part of her story is remembering how to be a person after the program. She has the “I’m just a weapon and a tool” mentality to struggle with and OH BOY DOES SHE STRUGGLE. But with help from Ari and Caboose and the friends she makes along the way she learns how to be a person again :) and how to be happy!!!!!!

Oh also she is a car guy. She loves working on cars and vehicles in general it’s her specialty !!

I love her so much she is everything to me !! Also fun fact I associate her with lions a lot

^ Rhodes fr