#i'm from tx lol

[ebodebo]

I got news for you baby, you're looking at the man!

pairing: john price x fem!reader

wc: 7.2k...sorry lmao plz read…

contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, fem!reader, fluff, established relationship, oral (m. receiving), road head, porn w so much plot, hair pulling, angst, emotional conflict, complicated family dynamics, dysfunctional family, i.e., ongoing conflict, reader having familial issues (mostly maternal), age-gap, secret relationship & marriage, & john being a protector.

author's note: this was brought to fruition by a singular barry sloan edit that had me salivating and @sai-int's fic 'a ticket to play', which single-handedly re-sparked my love for price! so, yeah, anyways, enjoy this horny mess!

dividers by @/saradikagraphics!

John Price is a man...

“John, you didn’t,” you hiss, eyes wide as you set down the groceries on the counter, your wrists aching from the heavy load.

“Didn’t know it was your mother, sweetheart,” he replies, his tone sincere. He quickly grabs the bags and begins unpacking the groceries.

You glance at the house phone positioned beside the fridge, then peel off the old sticky note attached there. You read it aloud, “Don’t answer calls from the 406 area code. I’m talking to you, John,” before pausing to think, lips pursed in contemplation.

He opens the fridge, sliding the milk jug inside before carefully shutting the door. When he turns back to see your knowing smile, his eyebrows lift in a silent acknowledgment, a quiet ‘ah’ escaping his lips.

“Well,” you urge, grabbing the aromatics from the counter to put up. “What did she say when you picked up?” You ask, attempting to sound as casual and disinterested as possible.

“Oh. Nothin’ you’d find interestin,’” he hums with a knowing smile as he tears open a pack of paper towels.

You press your lips together. “Well…yeah,” you mutter, picking up a few grapefruits. “I mean, it doesn’t matter to me,” you defend, emphasizing the ‘doesn’t.’ “I just want to know what she thought,” you shrug, trying to remain nonchalant.

“Mhm,” he hums thoughtfully as he gathers the now-empty reusable bags, hanging them on the hook next to the cabinet.

“I’m serious,” you say, crossing your arms tightly over your chest. “I really don’t care.”

"I know you don't, hon." He turns to wash the fresh berries in a colander, the water splashing against the metal steadily.

"You don't believe me," you exasperate.

He lets out a low laugh as he washes the berries. "Didn't say that."

You lean against the kitchen island, your body language betraying your frustration. "You were thinking it," you accuse, with a dramatic sigh.

He sets the berries back into the colander and turns his head toward you, a playful half-smile on his lips. “No, I wasn't,” he replies, clearly amused.

You poke your tongue into your cheek, mentally cursing yourself for marrying someone so adept at reading your emotions, your inner conflict laid bare.

“But,” he says, tearing a paper towel to dry his hands. “Now, I’m starting to feel that you do care.”

You don’t respond, trying to avert your gaze as heat creeps into your cheeks like he’s caught you sneaking a cookie from the cookie jar.

“Baby,” he moves closer, wrapping his strong arms around your shoulders and pulling you into him. “It’s okay to care,” he whispers softly into your hair, a hint of vulnerability in his voice.

You gently shut your eyes, pressing your face into his warm abdomen, finding comfort in his presence.

“Damn it,” you mumble, your words muffled against him. He chuckles softly in response. “Alright, fine,” you pull back slightly, locking your eyes onto his as his hands cradle your cheeks. “I do care. Now, spill the juicy details.”

He lets out a hearty laugh. “Well, she started by checkin’ in on you.”

You release a dry laugh, rolling your eyes. "Yeah, right. She always has ulterior motives," you grumble. "I swear that woman is always up to—"

"Shh," he squishes your cheeks together as both thumbs rest over your lips to silence you. "Will you let me finish?" He prompts, quipping a brow.

"Sorry, yeah," you apologize, your voice coming out muffled and nasal. 

He nods with a smile, moves his thumbs off your mouth, and drops his hands to massage your shoulders. "Said your sister is gettin' married, and she thought it would be nice if you came down for her engagement party this weekend," he supplies. 

Correction remarried.

She's on her fifth? No, her sixth husband now.

Guess she thinks six will be the lucky number.

Who’s gonna tell her?

However, that’s beside the point; you care about something much more…pathetic.

You feel frustrated because all you really want is to know how your mother reacted to the deep, gruff voice of the Englishman who answered the phone.

You wait with a bated breath, eyes wide with anticipation, but his expression remains flat, his brow furrowing in confusion. "What else?" You finally question, unable to contain your curiosity.

"That's all," he plainly says, his words hanging in the air.

You scoff. "She didn't ask about the random guy answering my phone?" You voice with disbelief.

Your mother is a shallow woman, but surely you getting what she’s constantly pressured you into getting would have her jumping for joy.

A sly smirk grows on his lips. "Am I just some random guy?" He jokes.

You smile yourself before pressing a kiss to his lips, arms coming to wrap around his torso. "You’re my husband, so not to me," you begin. "But to her, yes," your hand moves to the back of his neck, pulling him down to peck his lips again. "You know that," you say matter-of-factly.

His hands drift to your waist. "Mhm, I'm your dirty little secret," he hums softly.

"John," you frown, guilt flooding your brain. "You know I would, but—"

"Just jokes, baby," he interjects, pressing a light kiss on your temple as his eyes light up. "I love you in any way you’ll have me," he murmurs softly.

"God, you’re perfect," you reply with a smile. 

"She did question who I was," he starts. "Had no idea she was so southern," he remarks casually before continuing. "She thought I was the plumber," he quips, trying to lighten the mood slightly.

He tried, but he could feel the tension in the air.

Sees the disappointment and anger in your eyes.

In your posture.

You're fucking pissed.

"Typical," you remark, stepping away from him, arms flailing around. "She—she thinks I'm so incapable of finding someone that she would resort to thinking you're a person I pay before actually thinking you're with me." Your voice is filled with frustration.

"Hon—" John begins, voice soft as his hand reaches for you.

"And she wonders why I never visit," you release a dry laugh. "Never reach out."

"Come ere,'" he coos, hand pulling you by your wrist, so he can engulf you in a hug.

"It's not fair," your voice is once again muffled by the fabric of his shirt, but he can hear the tightness in it and the sniffle against him, a clear sign of your emotional distress.

"No, it's not," he affirms, fingers easing through your hair.

"Nothing is ever good enough for her," you exhale into his abdomen, fueled more by anger than by despair.

John gently kisses your hair while his fingers soothe your back with a gentle massage.

"I’ll never be good enough for her," you mumble absentmindedly, your voice lacking emotion.

"Sweetheart," he begins, his voice low as your hair muffles the sound. "Don't take offense, but you're mother is a real nasty woman. You're fuckin' perfect, and if she can't see that, it's her God-damn loss," his tone rough yet sincere.

You chuckled, a smile spreading across your face as the corners of your eyes crinkled. "I love you."

"Love you so much," he whispers, gently planting another kiss on your head.

He leans back slightly to look into your eyes. "Want me to run you a hot bath?" He asks, gently massaging your shoulders.

"That sounds really nice," you reply, taking a deep breath. "Thanks."

"Course. That's what I'm here for," he says effortlessly, leaning down to kiss your lips tenderly. "I'll let you know when it's ready."

You nod quietly as he moves to draw the warm bath.

The thought of sinking into steamy water and enveloping bubbles soothes your mind.

Honestly, to hell with your mother's opinions.

They just weren't worth the headache.

And there was no way you were going back to that house.

The promise of the bath, with its comforting warmth and enticing bubbles, would wash away your worries and quiet the thoughts swirling in your head.

Visions of your mother and that place would fade, never to resurface again.

"Can't believe she thought I would actually come down," you sigh contentedly, feeling the warmth of your husband, John, as he works shampoo through your hair, creating rich suds.

So much for the visions of your mother fading. 

It had been a whole day since your mother's call, and the weight of her words still lingered, stirring up a storm of conflicting emotions within you.

"Still on your mind?" John asks, eyes hyperfocusing on ensuring the shampoo coats every strand of your hair.

"I just—I don't understand why she thought I would come," you suspire, turning to massage the loofah against John's chest, feeling the warmth of his skin and the tension in his muscles.

"Must have gone mad, I suppose," he jests, his fingers massaging the shampoo into your scalp, adding a touch of humor to the heavy conversation.

Your lip quips at his joke, eyes lighting at the sight of him taking such good care of you, ensuring your scalp is tantalizingly clean. "Maybe," you murmur. "Because all she ever does is ridicule me and constantly ask if I've found a man.” You gently move the loofah over his chest to ensure he is squeaky clean.

"Close your eyes," he murmurs, his hands coming to massage your facial cleanser into your face before returning to the issue at hand.

"Wouldn't let tryin' to examine your mother's psyche take your day, hon," his hands move with familiar ease as he massages the liquid into your cheeks. "You'll never know why. Can't change that,” he says.

"I hate how logical you are," you sigh, finding yourself relaxing at his touch.

He lets out a gruff laugh. "Would you rather me be some git?"

Your eyebrow quips, eyes remaining closed. "What does that mean?"

His lip quips. "Sweetheart, how long have you lived with me here, in England?" He enunciates the last word as he moves you under the faucet to wash away the cleanser's remnants. 

"Not long enough, I guess," you smile cheekily, wiping your eyes free of water to open them. "Honestly, forever isn't even long enough," you add, trying to shift the focus, though it's true; you can't quite remember how long you've been living together  

"Oh," he tuts softly. "Nice save. Can't argue with that," he replies, smirking before leaning in to kiss your lips.

After a stretch of silence, you turn around so he can wash your back with the loofah. Your mind is still swirling with thoughts. "I kind of miss seeing my niece," you find yourself reminiscing.

"Even though my sister and I don't get along too well, her daughter and I have always had a special bond," you say with a sigh.

"What else do you miss?" Since you never really talk about where you grew up, John prods, he's curious.

"Well, in the spring, my cousins and I would go flower picking in the field behind my grandfather's house," you find yourself getting more excited.

"He also had an old peach tree, Mindy, he called it, that we would pick dozens of peaches from and just lay in the shade under the tree and eat them till he thought we might become peaches ourselves," you snicker, turning around to face him, eyes light.

"They were fucking good peaches."

"Sounds like you miss it," he grins.

Your hand turns the lever off, and the water stops, leaving a lingering warmth on your skin. "I do," you confess, stepping out of the shower to grab you and him fresh towels.

"But, my mother knows how to ruin the best of memories," your voice is monotone. "I want those great ones to stay intact, you know?" You shrug, wrapping the towel around yourself, offering comfort.

He wraps the towel low around his waist. "Course I get it, sweetheart," his voice soft yet gruff. "Let's get you all nice and dry, and we'll order some takeout. Yeah?" He asks, reaching for your hand to lead you into your shared bedroom to get dressed.

"Sounds perfect," you voice, the thoughts of going home almost completely absolving. 

A few misses wouldn't make you completely switch gears and go.

It just wasn't worth it.

Only your mother could figure out how to make the enjoyment and amazing things crumble up and burn. 

But you won't let her. 

So, you've made up your mind. 

You will not be going.

That's final.

It's two days to Saturday.

You've been manically counting down the days.

And so, naturally, instead of basking in the serene morning, with birds chirping and the gentle glow of the sun filtering through your kitchen window, you're perched on a barstool, computer propped up, as your breakfast grows cold, hand hesitating over a plane ticket that will whisk you away tomorrow morning to your hometown. 

Just one click, and you'll have solidified yourself as going.

You're only feeling so impulsive because your impulse control, aka your husband, is at work.

Your finger hovers over the 'confirm' button for about twenty minutes.

You know what's holding you back.

The anxieties claw up about your mother and what ifs that could happen.

And then, in a sudden moment of clarity, it all becomes clear.

'Could.'

It's not a promise, just a possibility.

You had spontaneously decided that you wouldn't let the could control your decisions.

Yes, one thing was holding you back, but what about the multitude of things that you wanted to see or the many people who loved and cared about and desperately wanted to see after so long?

You were not going to let the 'could' control your decisions.

You were going to overcome this worry and take the leap.

You sit up tall in your chair, turning your head with a wince as you click "confirm."

"Oh," you murmur. "That was dramatic for no reason," you say monotonously.

But, now you can't help but feel a surge of excitement.

You would get to see your niece after so long.

And the flower field and, of course, Mindy the peach tree.

Who could forget your childhood room full of posters and knick-knacks you collected throughout your teenage years.

You find yourself smiling as you get that familiar chime from your email confirming your flight ticket.

Can't get cold feet now.

You take a swig of your tea, which has long since gone cold, but your throat is parched from the anxiety that grips you, a knot tightening in your stomach.

The mug was a gift from your husband for your birthday last year.

It featured your favorite flowers made into it and even had your birthday engraved on the bottom.

John was always so thoughtful.

You pause your movements, lips hovering over the clay mug, a moment of hesitation freezing your actions.

John.

Your husband.

Of course, he didn't care that you bought the ticket or wanted to go, but he would be pissed if you just left.

Sure, you could wait until he returned home, but the urgency to communicate your decision gnaws at you, compelling you to act now.

You hurriedly reach for your phone, fidgeting to press his number.

He's at the top of your contacts.

You tap your fingers against the cool granite countertop, waiting until he picks up.

It rings.

And rings.

...and rings again.

Until the line picks up, you sit up, ready to unload on him, only for it to be his voicemail line.

"Shit," you curse, hanging up as your foot bounces on the metal footstep on the barstool.

As you sit there, unable to wait until he gets home, you can't help but feel a surge of dramatic emotion. This internal conflict, this emotional turmoil, is what drives you to act impulsively.

But this is a big deal.

You never go home.

Rarely mention it.

So your next actions feel rationalized to you.

Without a second thought, you spring up, grab your keys from the hook by the door, slip your shoes and coat on, and speed to your car, most likely looking like a mad woman. 

But at this moment, who cares about appearances? 

The urgency of the situation overrides any concern for normalcy.

Normalcy is overrated, anyway.

You throw the car into gear, and though you are in a rush, you don't speed there. 

Carefully, you make your way, chewing on your lips nearly the entire drive.

Despite your earlier determination not to return, you find yourself on the way, a plane ticket already in your possession.

The anticipation of what your husband has to say fills you with a slight unease.

He wouldn't be mad.

More surprised than anything.

And honestly, you shamelessly loved seeing him at work.

His professional demeanor, always in control, never fails to impress you.

You can't help but oogle him.

It secretly really got you going.

But, this time, it was a purely innocent visit, of course.

You find a parking spot, ease into the front part, giving the officer guarding the gate your name.

She quickly lets you through.

You are the captain's wife, after all.

Walking, you head straight through a door and through another one.

So many God-damn doors in this place.

Until you reach the middle portion of the base, grass surrounds you, and various equipment is placed orderly around.

Sandbags, wooden ladders, and weights are among the items you see. 

Your eyes sweep the area until they land on the man you're looking for. 

He stands tall, his broad shoulders filling out his uniform, a few strands of hair escaping his signature hat.

His eyes are focused on the recruits, his expression a mix of determination and frustration.

From the looks of it, he's training new recruits, something he doesn't often do, but it's a real treat when he does.

His sleeves are rolled up, exposing his veiny arms. 

His arms, usually strong and steady, now appear more veiny than usual, a sign of his apparent frustration with the recruits. His jaw is set, and you can see the tension in his muscles as he barks orders.

"Runnin' like a fuckin' slug," he reprimands. "Pick up the pace."

You hate how hearing that makes you feel butterflies in your stomach.

"Get your head out of your ass," he grunts outs, clearly annoyed. "The hell are you lookin' at," he asks a recruit who, along with a few others, seems to be on another planet, eyes wandering behind him.

John turns to his side to see you in a cute dress, waving to him sweetly. "Course," he lets out a dry laugh, giving you a small wave.

He turns back to the recruits, his authority palpable.

"Eyes off my wife, or you'll be doin' extra laps," he scolds, his tone low but intimidating, before yelling to move to the ladders with Soap.

He makes his way over to you, a warm smile on his face. "Nice surprise, hon," he greets, kissing your cheek.

"I'm gonna go," you murmur.

His brows furrow in confusion. "Go where?" 

You raise a brow at his confusion. "To...see my family."

His eyes bore into your intently. "By yourself?"

"I didn't think you'd want to go," you say honestly. 

"I'm going with you," his tone final, with no room to argue. "You bought a plane ticket?" He questions.

"I did...sorry, I just thought—" you begin before he cuts in, his hand pressing against your cheek. 

"No worries," he says. "I'll get the ticket when I get back to my office," his tone casual. "You're sure about this?"

"I think so," you say. "Plus, if I cancel the ticket, we'll be out six hundred dollars," you laugh out.

"Screw the money, okay? You tell me if you don't want to go," he tells you, face serious.

"If I change my mind, you'll be the first to know," you lean up, pressing a short kiss to his lips. "Also, you should always wear your shirt like that."

His eyes narrow as he lets out a laugh. "You like it?"

"Looks sexy," you purr quietly, teeth coming to bite your lip.

His face warms slightly. "Should see what it looks like off."

"Are you flirting with me, captain?" You say, hand coming to your heart in false surprise. 

"Just givin' you a preview for later," his tone is husky. 

"I'll be waiting," you begin, beckoning him to lower his head so your lips can hover over his ear. "Already so wet just thinking about it."

He releases a low grunt as you press a kiss to his cheek.

"See you at home," you say sweetly as if you didn't just give him a hard-on at the thought of you all wet and needy for him.

"See you, sweetheart," he almost chokes out as you turn to go away, your ass swaying in the dress you wear.

He's going to make you pay later.

And honestly, you can't wait.

You need something to take your mind off tomorrow's morning flight. 

Though it was going to take a lot more than sex to ease your mind.

A horse tranquilizer may help.

No. Too dangerous.

Whatever, you'll take your chances with John's hand all over and in you to have you sleeping and at ease.

Maybe you'll get lucky, and you two can sneak off to the airport bathroom and finally join the mile-high club.

That would definitely keep your mind off things.

For now, you’ll wear a smile, and excitement will radiate from your being.

Everything will be fine.

Nothing bad will happen.

Even so, what’s the worst that could possibly happen?

Statement retracted.

Your trip thus far has been a shitshow, and you haven't even seen your family yet.

Your flight got delayed three hours because of fog.

That was understandable, annoying, but understandable. 

What wasn't was the lady who insisted on sitting between you and John on your flight in the seat you paid for.

An older lady, maybe in her late forties or so, with a determined look in her eyes and a set to her jaw that said she wasn't going to let a little thing like a seat assignment get in her way.

She was nice at first.

She became insufferable rather quickly.

Very persistent.

You deduce she did that so she could sit next to your man. 

It didn't bother you so much, plus you knew if you showed it did, John would make a scene, and you just wanted to close your eyes and sleep, so you let her have your seat and sat by the window instead.

But every time you got settled, eyes closing gently, the soft lull of the plane helping you drift off.

"Going off to college?" She piped next to you, oblivious or noncaring about your eyes shut.

Your eyes open rapidly, and you look at her, awaiting a response. "Uh, no. I graduated a couple of years ago," your voice is drowsy. 

"Oh. You two must be going on a father-daughter trip, then?" She poses.

Your wide eyes drift to John's; a smile etched on his face. "Such a kind father you are," she compliments without missing a beat.

The sheer absurdity of her assumption leaves you speechless, and John can't help but let out a quiet laugh.

"Thas' actually my wife," he says, trying to contain another laugh. 

"Oh," her eyes widen in shock and apparent envy. "Well, aren't you a lucky one," her tone is dry as she eyes you.

That was funny.

But not when she did it about five hundred times on the eight hour flight.

It was like a broken record, playing the same tune over and over again, and you were the unwilling participant. 

Over and over again like clockwork.

Drove you bat shit crazy.

Sure, maybe you could have just told her to shut the hell up, but you kept telling yourself it wasn't worth the fight, and you didn't have the energy to make the effort.

Also, since the lady was sitting in the seat between you, formally yours, you didn't feel comfortable asking John about the bathroom sex.

She would have most likely dropped dead or asked to join.

You didn't want either.

So, it is safe to say that when the plane landed, you sat up excitedly to escape the stuffy plane.

The lady tried to follow you and John out, but you grabbed John by the wrist, dragging him behind you as your legs gained more momentum to try and escape her.

It was like a horror movie.

"Oh my God. She was so weird," you laugh out to John as you manage to get away from her, stepping out of the airport to collect your rental truck. 

"I know. Kept lookin' at me the whole flight," he says with unease as he places your suitcases into the backseat of the truck, shooing away your hands from the bags so he could lift them himself.

"Do we need to get you a counselor?" You half-joke as he opens the car door for you to get in as he moves to the driver's seat.

"Think so," he gruffs before his eyes fixate on you. "You okay?"

You had put the address into the truck's maps system, settling back into the leather seat, eyes now on his. "I'm nervous," you confess.

"Nothin' to be nervous about. I'm here for you, okay? If you need to leave, just tell me," his voice is soft as his hand caresses your thigh in comfort. 

You give him a nod, turning to look out the window at the passing buildings, a flurry of butterflies in your stomach.

You had already texted your niece you were coming, so you're sure your mother and sister know. 

It's not like you'd be staying with them.

That's too much too soon.

Plus, you and John could have sex anytime in the hotel with no fears of your estranged mother walking and seeing John balls-deep in you.

It was really better for all parties.

Once you pull up to the house, you swear you could hurl.

"Was this a bad idea?" You ask John nervously as he pulls your suitcases out of the backseat.

He gently sets them on the dirt. "It's just nerves," he says, locking the truck. "Let's scope it out, and if you want to leave, we'll go. No questions," his hand rests gently on your shoulder.

"Promise?" You prod, tilting your head towards him. 

He smiles at you. "You have my word, sweetheart."

You release a deep breath. "I think I'm going to pass out."

He chuckles deeply, hand snaking around your waist to lead you to the front door. "I'll catch you if you do."

You feel your nerves subside with John by your side as you flip up the familiar peach-shaped doorbell cover to ring the bell.

Stomping feet approach, the voice growing nearer and nearer until the front door pulls open to reveal your sister.

Flawless as ever. 

Her eyes light up. "Thought my daughter was tellin' fibs," she jokes, pulling you into a warm, tight hug. "Missed you." Her genuine affection wraps around you like a comforting blanket.

You reciprocate the hug with equal tightness. 

Although you may not have gotten along well, she was still your sister, and you could feel the love a million miles away. 

She pulls away, eyes falling onto the mysterious, hot, stoic man to your side. "Who's this good-lookin' hunk?" She coos, smacking her gun.

"This is my, um, my husband, John," you say, fumbling your words a little.

"Nice to meet you," his voice is low and most shockingly British, as he sticks his hand out.

Cordial as ever. 

"Oh, come on. That's just not even fair, sis," she jests, taking his hand fast and tight.

Her playful banter adds a lightness to the moment that almost absolves your nerves entirely.

"Where's...mom?" You ask, your heart pounding in your chest, the unease apparent in your tone.

She looks back at you. "Kitchen," she says before offering a reason. "She's makin' peach cobbler. Come on in," she steps aside so you and John can enter the door.

The familiar scent of the old wooden floors, the sound of the creaking stairs, and the sight of the family photos on the wall all bring back a flood of memories.

Warm smiles and familiar voices greet you as you step inside.

Cousins, aunts, uncles.

They approach you one by one, their surprise at your arrival evident, but even more so at hearing that you're married to the burly man at your side. 

Your aunts keep him occupied as you wander into the kitchen.

They keep him engaged in their lively banter, shamelessly flirting with him while their husbands sit in the living room, engrossed in their own discussions. 

You feel a little bad for leaving him to fend with the wolves, but he assured you he was alright and all but pushed you into the kitchen.

Sure enough, your mother was busy rolling out some dough on the countertop for the crust for the top of the peach cobbler. 

"Mom," your voice is quiet as you move around the island to where she is.

She turns. "Well, I'll be," she begins, eyes wide and full of surprises. "Ya came."

"I did," you amend with a smile. "And I brought someone I'd like you to meet."

"Some city guy?" Her head moves back to the dough, no longer on you.

"He, yes, he's from the city," your voice is outwardly confused.

"Thought so," her tone is snarky as she delicately lays the dough over the cobbler filling. 

"What is that supposed to mean?" It comes out more defensive than you intend. 

"Nothin,'" she says flatly. "Enjoyen' your fancy life in the city?"

You roll your eyes, already anticipating the direction this conversation is about to take. "Mom," you urge, your frustration palpable.

"No, hon. I get it," she looks up at you, shrugging. "Honestly, surprised you came. Wouldn't wanna dim your new sparkly life," her tone is condescending. "That is why it's been so long, right?"

"It's not like that," you try to justify, but you know it will do no good.

She completely disregards that, instead changing the subject. "Supper's ready," she bussies herself with stirring the gravy. "Better snag yourself a seat quick," her tone is dry. "Table hasn't grown none."

You release a shallow breath, turning around to escape this stupid God-damned kitchen and moving to find John. 

It's a familiar feeling, this resignation. 

Guess some things never change. 

You approach him, and before you say a word, his eyes are already locked on you, body language now stiff. "What's the matter?" His hands are on you in an instant.

You should have known.

He can read you like one of those mission reports he reads daily.

"Nothing," you mutter, forcing a smile, but the words feel heavy with the things you're hiding.

His eyes narrow. "Can't lie to me," he voices.

You'd just about rather crawl in a hole and die than re-account. 

What was supposed to be a happy recount turned sour rather quickly.

"Tell me," he urges, sensing your inner turmoil. 

"Drop it," your tone is more icey than usual. "Please." 

He gives you a light nod, eyes full of concern.

"Let's go eat, okay?" Your hand moves to his, intertwining your fingers, and guilt claws up your throat.

He gives you a nod as you drag him into the dining room to snag a seat at the main table.

Mom was right. The table is still too small to accommodate a family of this size, so another table sits outside and another in the living room. 

Others crowd around the breakfast nook and sit on barstool at the kitchen island. 

This house has never known loneliness. 

Your mother, father, sister, sister's daughter, and your sister's fiance are at the table with you and John. 

Your niece opts to sit next to you, gushing about her new boyfriend, the son of the florist downtown, and asking questions about the city.

"Hush now, darlin.' She gets all fussy about that," your mother chides your niece, referring to your early conversation about you living in the city.

"Mom," you quip, eyes wide at her sheer audacity.

She hadn't even addressed John, just jumping straight into a fight.

Typical.

"I'm just sayin.' Ya jumped all over me for talkin' about it," she says, trying to sound innocent. 

Seems her memory is slipping.

"That's not why I got upset," your tone is teetering between desperation and frustration, the weight of your words hanging heavily in the air.

She plops some mashed potatoes on her plate before passing the bowl along. "Then what was it ya were so hurt about earlier, huh?"

You're sure steam is rolling out of your ears.

"You hold a, a vendetta against me for leaving," you spew without much thought, anger taking over. "Because you never got to leave, you take it out on me," you finish, and you're sure you're shaking. 

If all eyes weren't on you before, they are now.

John is leaning back in his chair, eyes wide.

He's kind of scared if he touches you, you'll punch him, so he instead crosses his arm over his chest.

"I think the city is cool," your niece randomly chimes in, clearly trying to ease the tension. "Would love to visit someday."

You give her a smile before your mother starts up again.

"Didn't your mother teach ya about city girls," she snaps to your niece. "Nothin' good ever came from any of em.'" 

You can taste the metallic taste of blood on your tongue; you had bitten your cheek so hard you bled.

"Ain't that right," your mother says, eyes shifting to your sister.

Your sister is great.

Just not in the presence of your mother.

She takes on her personality and thoughts.

Agreeing with her without a second thought

That includes her fights.

"It's true," she snickers. "City girls can't tell a pencil from a pecker."

You find yourself standing abruptly, and your sister matches your action, spewing more garbage. 

And for some reason, her fiance stands up, which makes John stand up, matching his movements.

He's easily a foot taller than her fiance, and he's much more muscular, too.

"Enough," John's low, commanding voice is fitting for a military captain. It splices through the room, the commotion dying as he speaks. "I will not sit here and let you treat my wife like this," his head tilts towards your sister and then to your mother. "Now or ever."

He doesn't even need to yell to get any attention. 

His voice just demands attention already. 

Your sister, usually so quick with a retort, is silent.

The fear in her eyes is unmistakable, adding to the intensity of the confrontation.

She’s scared.

Hell, everyone is.

Well, except your niece, whose lip quips secretly, a small smirk playing on her lips despite the tension in the room. 

"Your daughter came down on her own merit to see you," he points to your mother. "Could have done so many other things, but she wanted to see you," he enunciates the last word.

"Well, she—" Your mother begins, her face bright red with anger, her hands clenched into fists at her sides.

"Tired of hearin' the excuses," his voice cuts through hers. She quickly shuts up, a surprising silence falling over her. "Can't even believe your daughter turned out as amazing as she did growing up with this," he gestures towards you.

He stands with his hands on his hips, disappointment is evident on his face. 

"My wife is a God-damn saint," his voice is rough.

You find your lip quipping at the praise and how much he appreciates you.

He worships the ground you walk on.

That was made abundantly clear. 

His hands reach to rest on your lower back. "Appreciate the food, but we'll be leavin' now," he mutters, stepping back to push his chair in.

You don't argue with him.

Hell, how could you?

He said everything you couldn't

Laid all your thoughts on the table and even added some extra.

He did what he was born to do: protect.

You step away, push your chair in, and turn around, not bothering to say goodbye as you walk to the front door.

You'll text your niece later. 

The chill in the air, carrying the scent of magnolia trees and damp earth, hits you like a slap to the face.

John's hand is still on your lower back, guiding you back to the truck.

He opens the door so you can slip inside as he makes his way around the driver's seat.

The heater is blasting as he shoves the key into the keyhole, and the engine is stirring alive as he easily backs out and pulls onto the road. 

The silence is heavy as he drives down a straight, desolate road.

It's silent for a moment before he starts to comment, apologizing profusely about how he overstepped and saying sorry that this trip turned out bad.

You're tuning him out and instead focusing on how he stood up for you.

He was just such a man.

He always knew how to be what you needed him to be.

Protector.

Listener.

Talker.

He always knew which role to take on to support you, to be your anchor in the storm of emotions. 

Just that thought alone made you incredibly wet. 

You don't know why.

You should be crying from the way things unfolded with your family.

But you're not sad, not even remotely.

Just incredibly horny.

You find yourself slipping the rubberband off your wrist and quickly tying your hair in a messy ponytail.

"Hon," John says, noting your unusual silence. "I'm so sorry," he quickly glances your way before looking back at the road.

You don't speak, opting to brush your hand against his cargo pants as your fingers fumble with his zipper.

He makes a noise of surprise. "What're you doin?'" He asks, his voice breathy.

"You took care of me," you mumble, shimming your fingers under the waistband of his boxers to release his erect cock, to which he grunts. "Want to do the same," your voice is lazy, as your lips brush against the sensitive head.

"Me yellin' at your mother got you all hot?" He jokes though it dies halfway on his tongue as your lips spread open to accommodate his size.

His knuckles are white as he tightly grips the steering wheel so as not to crash.

Your mouth makes a pop noise before you speak. "You're just so sexy. All manly like that," you mutter against his cock, the tingle of your words sending goosebumps throughout his entire body.

"Am I?" He chokes out as your lips move back to encase his cock.

"So hot," your voice is muffled as you take in more of his cock.

"Oh—Christ, thas' it, hon," he groans as you bob your head up and down.

His mind has gone fuzzy at the feeling of your tight throat, taking him so good, even swerving a little, before quickly straightening the wheels.

"So fuckin' good," he grunts, as one hand moves to gather your ponytail in a loose fist. 

Your tongue works in tandem, rubbing against the underside of his cock, sending more pleasure through him. "Such a good girl, babe," he praises, and you just know that your underwear will be soaked. 

"So good." Your moan against him at the next praise, making him sputter his hips up, his cock slipping in your mouth entirely. 

He chokes out some incoherent words you can't make out; taking note of his body going taut, you can presume he's close.

"Gonna," he strains out as you continue bobbing up and down, his hand tightening around the fistful of your hair. “Come."

You bring your hand to pump the base as your tongue flicks across the tip.

He groans with anguish, legs shaking as he comes in your mouth.

You pull your head up, your eyes boring into his so he can watch you swallow out every last drop, even using your fingers to clean up the residue in the corners of your mouth.

His eyes stay glued to your mouth before you yell at him to watch the road.

"Christ," he shouts, gripping the wheel tight to stay in his lane. 

You laugh as you lean, pressing a sideways kiss on his lips.

He can taste himself on your lips.

He almost comes again.

But the high lasts just as short as when you look in the review to see police sirens hot on your tale, the siren invading your eardrums. 

John curses but pulls off to the shoulder, sneakily grabbing his military badge in his pocket.

"You always just carry that on you?" You smile slyly, the body still warm from your escapades. 

"Will come in handy," he assures, rolling his window down as the officer makes his way to his window.

"Evenin', folks. Gotta call from a concerned driver sayin' you were swervin' out of your lane," he says.

"No, sir. Not us," you answer, John glancing towards you.

"That right?" The officer prods. "I'm going to need to see your license and registration, sir," his monotone voice says. 

"Yes, sir," John says, slyly flashing his military badge as he "looks" for his license. 

"You're military?" John nods. "Hell," the officer laughs, tucking his notepad back in his pocket. "I know you aren't some juveniles."

John laughs as he glances over to you, glancing down to see a little remnant of his come on your shirt.

He almost feels guilty.

Almost.

He lets out a cough.

"You alright, sir?" The officer asks, brows furrowed.

"Yeah. Fine," his voice is strained.

You shoot him a look before the officer starts again.

"Well, I'll let ya'll get on your way," he pats the top of the car.

You both issue a heartfelt thanks before John pulls back out onto the road, a palpable sense of relief in your voices.

"Can't believe he just let you off," you groan, hand coming to intertwine his. 

"Thought you'd be happy?" He laughs. "Can get to the hotel in record time now."

You raise a knowing eyebrow. "For what?"

"Saw you squirmin' in that seat," he teases, his affectionate tone wrapping around you. "I need to take care of my girl," he adds, his voice filled with warmth and love. 

You release a shallow breath.

His girl.

You.

Just you.

That's what you loved about loving him. 

You didn't have to keep up with his expectations.

You could simply exist, and he would kiss the ground you walk on.

The thought lit up your brain.

John Price was your man.

And in his eyes, you'd always be his girl.

mini author's note: i'd have to be surgically removed from him...

[cranberrymoons]

.

[sunrizef1]

What happens in Vegas pt 12

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x fem!driver!reader

Warnings: Cursing, briefly mentioned puke (referenced), panic attacks (referenced), the NFL

Authors note: wanted to get this out before the race tomorrow, I actually quite like this chapter

Masterlist

—————————————————

MESSAGES

INSTAGRAM

yourusername

📍Austin, TX

liked by logansargeant charles_leclerc16 and 2,309,099 others

yourusername happy to be back in Austin, ready to recharge 🔋

Tagged: logansargeant, l/nranch

load comments…

user1 the speed with which she left china is honestly so funny

user2 the race was two days ago why’s she already in America 😭

user3 why’s she at a farm???

user4 her grandpas family got rich by owning a really successful agricultural company so both her grandparents decided to buy a ranch outside of Austin, which is where y/n grew up

user5 her dad being English always throws me off when I think about her family tbh

user6 her grandpa went to a race once and made the joke that the Americanism skipped a generation lol

user7 wait I’m new to y/n, how’s her dad English but the rest of her family’s American?

user8 her grandparents were based in England when he was born but they ended up really busy so they sent him to a boarding school from the time he was really young, hence the accent

user9 they’re so confusing 😭

user10 my favorite cowgirl

user11 she couldn’t wait till cota to go home???

logansargeant your grandma likes me more than you

yourusername no she doesn’t

user12 I didn’t know Logan went with her

user13 where’s Charles???

yourusername added to their story

TWITTER

INSTAGRAM

yourusername added to their story

TWITTER

INSTAGRAM

yourusername

📍Las Vegas, NV

liked by killatrav taylorswift13 and 3,980,756 others

yourusername had a great time at the @/patrickmahomes charity golf gala this weekend! Grateful for the opportunity to show all these boys how it’s done out on the green and support charity at the same time! ⛳️

Might have to get you a different hat though 😉 @/killatrav

Tagged: logansargeant, killatrav, patrickmahomes

load comments…

user14 are those Porsche golf balls!?!?

user15 THEY EAT SO HARD

logansargeant I 100% beat you

yourusername I was 5 under par. You were 5 over. You lost.

logansargeant ☹️

user16 what a crossover

killatrav don’t hate the player, hate the game 🤷‍♂️

yourusername i dont hate the game, I just hate alpine

pierregasly ???

yourusername see you next week, Frenchie

user17 her and Pierres fake beef is genuinely so funny to me

user18 where's Charlesssss

user19 he liked the post, at least

user20 omg they're in Vegas! Remember what happened last time they were in Vegas…

TWITTER

INSTAGRAM

yourusername

📍Bellagio Hotel & Casino, Las Vegas

liked by charles_leclerc16 donnakelce and 6,989,870 others

yourusername Last night out in Vegas 😵‍💫

I'm, once again, honored to have been invited to the 15 and the Mahomies Charity Gala! Got to auction off a few paddock passes and also got to spend a great night out with friends!

Thanks so much Vegas, you were a lot better this time than you were last time.

Tagged: logansargeant, taylorswift13, killatrav, patrickmahomes, charles_leclerc16

load comments…

user21 CHARLES CONTENT?!?!

user22 she seems happier than she has before

user23 Logan and Taylor swift in the same room is not something I’d ever expect tbh

patrickmahomes thanks for coming! ❤️💛

yourusername thanks for inviting us! ❤️🖤

user24 this is just so American

taylorswift13 🫶

yourusername 🫶

user25 more Logan content this week than Williams gives in a month

user26 they’ve been to like three different states already lmao

user27 I need the home field advantage from Miami for these two this weekend

logansargeant I’m so tired

yourusername at least it was fun 🤷‍♀️

logansargeant lol, it definitely was

user28 the first pic is so sibling coded

user29 “Mon ange” CHARLESSS 🥹

user30 the fact he’s tagged on the messages 😭

user31 THE LAST LINE ABOUT VEGAS?!?! IM SCREAMING!!!

TWITTER

MESSAGES

TWITTER

MESSAGES

TWITTER

MESSAGES

TWITTER

MESSAGES

TWITTER

MESSAGES

[reasonsforhope]

Yesterday [April 30, 2024], a bipartisan collection of US Senators introduced the Fans First Act, which would help address flaws in the current live event ticketing system by increasing transparency in ticket sales, and protecting consumers from fake or dramatically overpriced tickets.

Today, the artists and Congressmen allege, buying a ticket to a concert or sporting event requires negotiating a minefield of predatory practices, such as speculative ticket buying and the use of automated programs to buy large numbers of tickets for resale at inflated prices.

The legislation would ban such practices, and include provisions for guaranteed refunds in the event of a cancellation.

The political campaign organizers, calling themselves “Fix the Tix” write that included among the supporters of the legislation is a coalition of live event industry organizations and professionals, who have formed to advocate on behalf of concertgoers.

This includes a steering committee led by Eventbrite [Note: lol, I'm assuming Eventbrite just signed on to undermine Ticketmaster and for PR purposes] and the National Independent Value Association that’s supported by dozens of artistic unions, independent ticket sellers, and of course, over 250 artists and bands, including Billie Eilish, Dave Matthews, Cyndi Lauper, Lorde, Sia, Train, Fall Out Boy, Green Day, and hundreds more which you can read here.

“Buying a ticket to see your favorite artist or team is out of reach for too many Americans,” said Senator Amy Klobuchar (D-MN).

“Bots, hidden fees, and predatory practices are hurting consumers whether they want to catch a home game, an up-and-coming artist, or a major headliner like Taylor Swift or Bad Bunny. From ensuring fans get refunds for canceled shows to banning speculative ticket sales, this bipartisan legislation will improve the ticketing experience.”

Senators Marsha Blackburn (R-TN), Ben Ray Luján (D-NM), Roger Wicker (R-MS), John Cornyn (R-TX) and Peter Welch (D-VT) also signed on to the Fan First Act.

In the House, parallel legislation was just passed through committee 45-0.

[Note: That's a really good sign. That kind of bipartisan support is basically unheard of these days, and rare even before that. This is strong enough that it's half the reason I'm posting this article - normally I wait until bills are passed, but this plus parallel legislation with such bipartisan cosponsors in the senate makes me think there's a very real chance this will pass and become law by the end of 2024.]

“We would like to thank our colleagues, both on and off committee, for their collaboration. This bipartisan achievement is the result of months and years of hard work by Members on both sides of the aisle,” said the chairs and subchairs of the Committee on Energy and Commerce.

“Our committee will continue to lead the way on this effort as we further our work to bring this solution to the House floor.”

“The relationship between artist and fan, which forms the backbone of the entire music industry, is severed,” the artists write. “When predatory resellers scoop up face value tickets in order to resell them at inflated prices on secondary markets, artists lose the ability to connect with their fans who can’t afford to attend.”

-via Good News Network, May 1, 2024

[for-a-longlongtime]

Good lord what is the young Joel and Marcus wip 😏

ANON come here and let me kiss you on the forehead!! This one is special to me 😍

First of all... young!Joel Miller x young!MarcusMoreno is not a pairing that comes completely out of nowhere. As a matter of fact, they're lurking in my masterlist, tucked into a story, but I don't want to spoiler it for other people who may not have read some of the fics I wrote last year.

However, if you know - you know. 😏

Let's get into it:

This is probably one of the heftiest WIPs that I haven't posted anything from yet, as the doc clocks in at about 5K so far - and it's actually going to be a series! I'd say a tentative 9 to 10 (not super long, hopefully LOL) chapters at this point. And I'm actually going to try to have most of this written, or at the very least have half of it done before I post the first chapter, just to make things a little more manageable for myself.

We meet Joel and Marcus in Austin, TX when they're about 20 and 21 years old, and the series will span a period of approximately twenty five years actually, so I'm very excited about that! They meet in a bar - that Joel isn't supposed to be at, because he's not of legal drinking age - when they're trying to break up a fight among their friends, which results into the two of them getting kicked out.

Joel has been working long, long days in construction for a few years in order to support himself and Tommy, as their parents died when Joel was 16/17 years old. One of the reasons why he rolled into that line of work - besides the money - is because the childhood house that they still live in needs so much work done, and the only way he could think about being able to afford that somehow is by learning how to do all the work himself because he'd never be able to afford a contractor.

His life couldn't be any more different than Marcus', who is busy with college and who tries to hide a part of his life for most people - namely that his father is the leader of the Heroics and his mother is a Heroics trainer. There is the expectation that he's going to follow in their footsteps, but his powers haven't shown up yet, so he's trying to focus on blazing his own path.

They end up becoming friends, and music plays an important role in that; the series takes place in the (early/mid) nineties, so get ready for a good amount of grunge / rock / etc. There are a lot of twists and turns in their story (apparantly Little Beast was only the beginning of a whole lot of angst/drama pouring into my fics), so I don't want to reveal too much it, but let's just say that it's a tough ass road and things don't go the way they've planned.

But! I do have enough written so far that I can show you a little snippet of a very rough outline from chapter 2:

Joel and Marcus listening to grunge music and smoking so much pot at Joel's place. Careful first kisses. Giggling about it as they’re so stoned and kind of nervous. (They only smoke pot when Tommy isn’t around/going to be home that night, also to help manage Joels aches as he tends to be sore after a long day at the construction site - that's half of the reason why Marcus brings over weed). They’re both too high to do anything that requires much coordination but Marcus starts grinding against Joel’s dick and they eventually get eachother off that way, clothes still on, sitting on the couch. There are more kisses while they're both still panting, now with a giggle in between breaths every now and then, and the weed just makes them lose track of time - and it's not all that long before Joel finds himself grinding his hips up against Marcus again. "Fuck. Fuck, I…." He can't find the words, especially not when Marcus rocks back against him, just a little slower on his refractory period. "I want…. Fuck. 'm too high. I can't…" Marcus hushing him with another kiss and Joel moans, grabbing Marcus' hips and shifting on the couch, until Marcus is on his back and Joel on top of him. Nudging his hips into Marcus until they line up, still fully dressed, and the little “oh my god” once he gets it right. "Take it, take it, take it," Marcus panting under him, holding onto Joel's broad shoulders, which makes Joel moan against him, and when Marcus' hands grab Joel's ass, something just clicks inside of Joel's brain. And despite that everything is still slow and soft, he just goes feral because he wants it - wants Marcus - so goddamn bad "Wish I was inside you," against Marcus' ear, and Marcus cries out at that, imagining it, and because it feels so good that Joel is fucking his cock against him. "I wish I…" And not all of it is coherent, it's a string of words that fall from his lips, but he kind of talks Marcus through it, what he wants to do to him, and Marcus just loses his shit because holy fuck, Joel's voice is so deep when he's been smoking like this, and nobody has ever talked to him like this while getting off, and he loves it.

Thanks again for asking, Anon!! I honestly can't wait to write more on them and to eventually share these boys with all of you.

Want to know more about fics in my WIP folder? Check out the original post!

pssst, this is me looking innocent and tagging y'all for no reason whatsoever except for that you might be interested to see this WIP that's in the making 😇😘 thank you all so much for the support you gave to GP! @oliveksmoked @ohforficsake @wannab-urs @baronessvonglitter @angiewatson

@iknowisoundcrazyreads @gruaig-rua @thebeldroramscal @milla-frenchy @reallyrallyauthor

@jessthebaker @littleredpandanaps @bitchesuntitled @avastrasposts @almostempty

@almostfoxglove @rebel-held @magpiepills @legendary-pink-dot @mysterious-moonstruck-musings

@din-cognito @penvisions @alltheglitterandtheroar

[syd-djarin]

Sugar, Spice & Please Fuck Me Nice (neighbor!joel AU)

chapter one: the new neighbors

*18+ Minors DNI*

Word count: ~2000+

Warnings: FLUFF, nervous reader, a hint of masturbation (f & m), neighbor!joel needs a warning, eventual smut

reader has hair that she fidgets with, "grows warm" /"cheeks burning" but not necessarily blushing, with embarrassment - minor edits to make this more inclusive for my readers <3

Author/s Notes: this is my first fic, so ofc I had to write Joel, and I have a weakness for neighbor!Joel.

this will be a series and I'm so excited to share this :) this is super self-indulgent, making reader based off myself so shameless self-insert kinda? lol

a huge thank you & ily to my babe @katiexpunk for helping me make edits/bouncing ideas and encouraging me to dive into writing <3

Tags: no outbreak AU, neighbor!joel, reader is sweetie pie, age gap (reader is mid-late 20's, joel is late 30's-early 40's in this), dilf!joel, gratuitous descriptions of joel being strong & sexy, f & m masturbation, eventual smut, fluff

AUSTIN, TX  OCT 2005

You’ve lived in this neighborhood for the majority of your life, with the exception of your time in college.

Now that you’ve finished your undergrad, your parents, now retired and living in Maine, have graciously offered for you to stay in your childhood home. It wouldn’t be forever, you think, just until something comes through for you to use your degree on.

The neighborhood hasn’t changed that much through the years; some of the houses got renovations or additions, although many of the homes were the same that they have always been. Many of the people living in the cul-de-sac had known you since you were just a baby, and like to remind you of that more often than you’d like. 

Occasionally a home would go up for sale, and it just so happened that the house directly across the street from yours was one of them – a classic blue Ranch style home, well maintained, albeit a bit outdated, but full of potential. The previous owners lived there for nearly four decades, and the entire neighborhood is antsy to solve the mystery of who’ll move in next.  

You had assumed that the next tenants would be another nuclear family type – the stereotypical, American family - husband, wife, two kids, the works. Much to your surprise, a single father and his daughter were the succeeding residents of the house. A ruggedly handsome single father, at that. 

+++

Move in day came for your new neighbors and just like everyone else who resided here, you couldn’t help but to be nosy, curiosity getting the best of you. 

You discreetly parted your living room blinds, your curiosity at its peak, as your new neighbors began unloading the hefty boxes from their U-Haul and settling into their new abode. You even went to check the mail to get a closer peek, despite having already checked it earlier in the day when it arrived.

You couldn’t help but ogle at the broad-shouldered man lifting boxes as if they weigh nothing. His dark gray t-shirt clings to his biceps for dear life and you feel your pussy involuntarily throb every time he lifts up the bottom of it, bringing it to his forehead to wipe the sweat collecting there, each time revealing his soft tummy and the dark hair that trailed down from his belly button. 

You imagine yourself holding onto those brawny arms, while he pounds- 

Oh my god, get a grip, you internally chastise yourself. It’s been too long since you’ve gotten laid, defending yourself for conjuring up dirty fantasies of a man whose name you didn’t even know. 

You decided you’d go introduce yourself once it appeared that they’d finished unloading the moving truck, not wanting to disrupt or cause an intrusion. 

Baking being one of your love languages, you decide to make your new neighbors your grandma's famous cookies – snickerdoodles and chocolate chip. The recipes don’t call for much, but your grandma swears it’s the love that goes into them that makes them as good as they are. She had taught you to bake at a young age; ensuring you knew the fundamentals, techniques, and the importance of quality ingredients.  She also taught you that the best gift you could give is a dessert, one that requires your time and attention. 

Besides wanting to be a welcoming neighbor, baking provides you with a necessary distraction to your nefarious thoughts about the new neighborhood DILF. Were these cookies for him, sure, but it proved to be quite a successful deterrent from your naughty thoughts, allowing you the space to fully engross yourself in the task of making the dough, folding in the chocolate chips, rolling the batches into little balls, and spacing them out evenly on the tray before popping them in the oven. 

After a couple of hours, the cookies now cool, and the warm autumn sun begins to set. Your home smells of warm sugar, a nostalgia that brings a smile to your face. You peek out the window and notice the moving truck is now gone, and figure now was as good a time as any to introduce yourself. 

You neatly package the goodies into their designated container, draw on your oversized flannel and shoes, and begin your brief trek across the street. As you begin walking down your porch steps you’re hit with a wave of nervousness,  your stomach does backflips and your heart beats faster. Get it together. You take several deep breaths and hold onto the cookie container a little tighter before continuing on your mission. Why are you such a nervous wreck? I mean, it’s just some guy, you (unsuccessfully) try to reason with yourself. 

Reaching the front door, you knock– tap, tap, tap. A brief moment passes, and the door opens, leaving only the space of the doorframe between you and a young girl with wide, curious eyes and beautiful curly brown hair staring back at you.

“Hi there, I’m your neighbor across the street,” you say, gesturing towards your own home, “I wanted to introduce myself – I brought you some cookies, just a little something to say welcome to the neighborhood.”

“Cookies! Ah sweet, I love cookies - what kind?” she asks, not at all trying to hide her fairly obvious interest for them and less in you.

“There’s chocolate chip and a few snickerdoodles,” you reply, giving her an amused smile. 

Her father, the devastatingly handsome one, makes his way up behind her and stands in the doorframe, halfway inside and halfway onto the porch where you stand. He was a sight to behold up close: dark hair that had a loose curls and a beard, both lightly dusted with some grays, chocolate brown eyes you could drown in, a mustache that perched atop plush lips. 

He’s muscled in the shoulders and arms, which act as a nice compliment to his soft torso. He had the kind of  physique that came from hard labor, which only fuels your attraction to him more. 

If this were a cartoon, you were sure your eyes would be bulging out of their sockets in the shape of hearts. 

“Oh, uh–hi,” you say, perhaps an octave too loud. “I was telling your daughter here that I brought over some cookies, you know, as a welcome gift,” you pause, realizing you hadn’t even introduced yourself. “I’m your neighbor, I live just across the way,” you say, nodding to your house. You turn back to face him and fidget with your hair. Through a nervy smile, you manage to give him your name. 

“I’m Joel, this here’s Sarah,” he says, voice gruff and smooth at the same time. He holds out his hand to shake yours. You hope he wouldn’t notice how sweaty your hand is; maybe it’s the nerves, or the still-sticky Texan air, despite it being October. Probably both.  

His palm is warm; worn and calloused in some places, but firm and inviting. You couldn’t help but gawk at how small he made your hand feel in his. He releases your grip; bringing you out of your brief trance, and your eyes once again meet. 

“Welcome to the neighborhood, Joel and Sarah,” you smile and hold out the container of cookies for Joel to take. Before he can even reach up to grab them, Sarah already has her hands on them and has run back into the house, murmuring something that sounds like thanks as she does. 

He had just met you, but Joel couldn’t deny how much he likes hearing you saying his name in your gentle, nectarous voice. 

Your hands now empty, you nervously interlace your fingers and twirl your thumbs, unsure of what to say next. Joel’s eyes take note of the smudge of flour on your cheek – cute. He also notices the flour in the cleft of your cleavage, but he tries not to make that fact obvious. The flour between your breasts stares back at him, but he collects his composure, averting his gaze back to you.  He should point it out to you, he thinks, but you seem shy and he doesn’t want to embarrass you, or scare you away from wanting to come over again. 

“‘Preciate the cookies, sweetheart,” he says, voice low. His eyes stay glued to your face. You avert your eyes downwards and cross your arms, buckling under the weight of his gaze. You felt your cheeks and chest grow hot at his use of sweetheart. 

“I’m just – uh,” you trip over your words, nervous, “I’m just across the street if you need me,” you offer, giggling at the suggestive way that sounds, “you know, like a cup of sugar or anything like that,” you add.

Joel nods in reply, edges of his mouth coming up in a smirk as if to acknowledge your kindness, being careful not to full on grin in amusement of his apparent effect on you. 

“Same to you,” he says before closing the door, perhaps eyeing you a moment too long as you walk away. He turns to enter the house, only to find Sarah staring at him, cookie in hand, and a knowing grin on her face.

“Why didn’t you tell her she had flour all over herself?” she asks, teasing, like she could already tell he was embarrassed to admit the truth. 

“Did she? Hmm, didn’t seem to notice,” he says, trying to hide the lie behind a weak cough, before walking away, cheeks obviously flushed. 

Back in the safety of your own home, you come to a still with your hand pressing on the door, reeling from your interaction with Joel. You were wired up, buzzing with arousal and nerves. 

And God, the way he called you sweetheart. 

You replay the moment over and over in your head, not wanting to forget his Texan twang or the way he looked at you when he said it. You could have died, right then and there. You let your mind run wild, thinking of all the things you wanted to do with him, what you wanted to do to him. 

Needing to relieve the throbbing ache in between your legs, you decide a shower is in order. When stepping into your bathroom, you catch yourself in the mirror. You were mortified at the discovery of the flour on your face and chest. You had been so engrossed with baking the cookies and too anxious about taking them over to Joel’s that you failed to give yourself a once-over in the mirror before heading out the door. The arousal you felt temporarily held precedent, you’d process your embarrassment later. 

You step into the steamy shower and touch yourself, thinking of Joel. You shove two fingers inside your pussy, imagining they were Joel’s long, thick, dexterous fingers. 

Little did you know Joel was having his own feelings about your little introduction. 

Several of his new neighbors come to introduce themselves in the coming days, under the guise of welcoming him and his daughter, but in reality, they wanted to get scoop on who they were. Where had they moved from, what prompted the move, we’re they planning on staying short-term, what did he do for a living, was there a Mrs. Joel Miller? And once they found out he was a contractor, there were a whole other set of questions of “would you mind taking a look at my ____”. 

He liked the neighborhood, and while the people were nice and seemingly mean well, Joel begins to feel irritation at the consistently prying questions, annoyed that people felt like they were entitled answers to begin with. 

But you. 

He was not expecting you. 

Beautiful, endearing, kind eyes, a smile he thought could end wars. You had been sweet and respectful, and didn't appear to have ulterior motives. It made his heart palpitate and sent blood rushing somewhere he knew it shouldn’t. You were young, too young and sweet, too sweet for a man like him. 

Then he saw how you stared at his hands, grew warm and shy when his gaze had lingered too long on you. 

That night, with Sarah tucked into bed, he grabs one of the snickerdoodle cookies, Sarah insisting that he save all of the chocolate chip ones for her, but he doesn’t mind; snickerdoodles are his favorite. 

He bites into the soft cookie, his eyes fluttering shut as he does, an involuntary reaction to the sweet, perfectly soft texture. He lets out a moan, the kind that is elicited when tasting something delicious. 

And the fact that you made them? The thought sends blood straight to his dick. 

Joel, in inner turmoil, was trying to resist the temptation to touch himself to the thought of you. God, if your cookies were this good, so sweet and fluffy, how good would you taste. 

The thought consumes him, the temptation too strong. 

He polishes off more than three of the cookies, before heading to shower. That night he takes his cock in his fist to the thought of you, and your stupidly delicious fucking cookies. 

Joel was a gentleman, sure, but he was also a man. 

And the best way to get to a man’s heart? 

Through his stomach. 

THE END

[my-castles-crumbling]

Hi cas! Good morning? (I dk what time zone you are in)

If you want I'm really curious to know how you met your wife, if you fell on love immediately, if she reciprocated...

Txs sm <3

Hi! Thank you for asking :D

So the short story is we met on Tinder.

I had recently gotten out of a very toxic relationship and I was trying to Get Back Out There and I was on multiple dating apps. Honestly, I think I was trying to build my self-esteem a bit. I'd been asked on dates by a few people but I always chickened out at the last second. I was pretty fucked up from my ex, and I just didn't feel comfortable.

When we matched, we had mutual friends so I knew she was who she said she was. And then we started flirting over the app and we just clicked, you know? And she made me smile and everything lol

We agreed on a date and I was pretty convinced I was going to chicken out. She was actually LATE. But I was picking her up and I remember being so nervous, waiting in the car, like my heart was in my throat and my stomach was churning and then she got in the car and I just relaxed. And I'd never felt like that on a date. Like my ex made me feel like such crap and I had been so uncomfortable with the idea of actually dating someone else so it was the best feeling in the world. And I feel like that was a sign that she was the person I was meant to be with, you know? (And I was right. She's the most patient, kind, amazing person)

I'd brought her a flower and she was all happy about it, and then we drove to the restaurant and I ate about three bites of my food because I was still nervous (in the sense that I didn't want to say the wrong thing lol I felt completely safe) and she still gives me shit for not eating anything because she didn't eat much because I didn't and 8 years later she still tells me I owe her the rest of the pizza she didn't finish.

But anyway, we talked at the restaurant for about 3ish hours, and we both were absolutely horrible at flirting. I told her a story about my dead goldfish and she sang a song from Arthur (the kids show) and then at the end of the three hours, I drove her home only to realize she lived in the SAME APARTMENT COMPLEX as me. And then we were sitting there awkwardly bc I wanted to kiss her and she wanted to kiss me but neither of us wanted to make the first move so she just went inside.

And then she texted and asked me if I was straight! Like she had the audacity to think I was straight after we went on a 3-hour date after meeting on tinder lol. So I was like, NO.

But anyway she came over to my apartment....five days later? And I kicked my roommates out because I was DETERMINED to kiss her lol. And we had a perfectly respectable kiss and did nothing else at all because I know there are probably children reading this 👀

And then THAT day she told me she was planning on moving to a different state for grad school. And my response was "I can get a job in another state." And she was very happy about that.

So after knowing each other in person for five days and going on two dates, we basically had already decided to move in together.

And...we did! She moved 1000 miles away five months later and I went with her and I proposed while we lived there! And we got married almost to years ago!

The end!

[boundary-line]

finished the tx event right before maint!! i didn't realize i was cutting it so close, to be honest lol... i saw the event had 7 hours left, so i just assumed i had until then before maint took the game down. *sweats*

anyways, i really liked it! it was fun to get one without chief at all. having hella on her own was really cool! being able to see all her growth since the start of the story (figuratively, and maybe literally, her art looks taller??), get a bit of her internal monologue too...! i thought it was really charming overall. it's also nice to see her form connections with more than just chief, hecate, and ninety-nine. i really liked mira's character too! she also has my birthday, so that's fun. :)

since i'm from texas, i enjoyed seeing all the little "texan" things, like the dusty town, the mexican chef, all the cowboy hats, lol. i liked the hella's journal mini game and getting to place the stickers. i actually just started keeping a journal myself, so nice timing there! it made me wanna go write in my own, hehe.

i'm looking forward to the whitesands arc!!

[unique-high]

WATERMELON MOONSHINE | Cha Eunwoo x black female reader

summary: your daughter asks you about your first love.

Songfic is loosely based on the song WATERMELON MOONSHINE by Lainey Wilson. Some lyrics are written into the fic.

Mention of underage drinking.

Author's Note: I'm just a girl who loves a good country song, so please don't mind me, lol. I fell in love with this song and wanted to write something for Eunwoo and black readers. So this was made.

It's 2:30 pm in TX and I haven't been to sleep since 7pm last night, so this story was fueled by my lack of sleep. There might be some Grammar errors since I haven't really proofread it.

“Momma, who was your first love?” your daughter asks you one day as she flips through your album book of photos of you and your friends.

It felt so long ago that you were eighteen and in love. You curled to your daughter's side in your bed. “It was a boy named, Eunwoo.” you stroke her hair. “Being in love with that boy felt like I was dancing on my tippy toes on top of the world.”

You remember everything about Eunwoo that night. His smile. His laugher. The way he held on to you like he was afraid of losing you.

“Oooooh, so you were in love, love?” your daughter giggles.

“So in love, we thought forever would be forever.”

It's bittersweet, almost thinking of Eunwoo. You and him hanging out on the gate of his truck with the conversations that would lead to a comfortable silence. Being eighteen then felt like the bravest you and Eunwoo were.

“Like you're married to Dad now, but do you sometimes miss this Eunwoo guy?”

“I do sometimes.”

He still had your heart somewhere right along with the mason jars you and he drank Watermelon Moonshine from. God, you can still feel the burn of it and the taste of lime.

You were his, and every bit of Eunwoo was yours. You both were young. Too young to know what love was, but you and Eunwoo were learning on a sweet buzz.

And there's never nothing like the first time. And for you, yours was always going to taste like Watermelon Moonshine.

You remember how grown up you felt than. It was your first time drinking, you didn't want to tell him that. Eunwoo drank with his friends down by the lake all the time so this was nothing new to him.

“I told him he was the one.” You laughed. “you think you're so sure when you're that young. You think you got it all figured out.”

You pictured yourself with him then a little house somewhere on the coast. There was something about that night with Eunwoo that you thought the high would last forever. You couldn't tell if you were both drunk in love or maybe something else...

[youyoudfwk]

I do speedrun for couple of days(both work and art) so here's what i draw lately lol

Brush test

I once promise to redraw my ll tx yc in fatum outfit lol

Monday mug,what a delight---

Random light practice which apart from xuan face there's no good place to look at🥲

Brush test again but with yamaxuan(if you guys wonder how my tradition art style look like,this is the answer lol)

I do wonder what does nezha ribbon do---

That's all byeeee, I'm sorry I've been absent lately both work and exam are coming in so i was busyಥ⁠‿⁠ಥ

[typingatlightspeed]

Metal Gear Fanfic - Thunder

Hal discovers another metal gear leak, in perhaps the most obvious of places. A very stupid fic with a very stupid joke. Ao3 Link! @tarisbackyard made a joke about this months ago and I knew then I needed to write a silly lil ficlet of it, lol.

---------

The frantic clicking of Hal's laptop mouse and absence of any other active sound was what alerted Snake to the fact that something was amiss.

Typically, even when deeply engrossed in work, a flurry of sound tended to accompany Hal's computer activity. He usually listened to something, background noise to help him focus in the form of some 80s city pop or an episode of a mecha OVA, rarely actually paid attention to. When Snake was doing something in the same room, he'd wear headphones, but when he was alone, he didn't bother.

So when Snake walked out of the bathroom, fresh from a shower and toweling off his hair, it immediately set off alarm bells to find such relative silence, doubly so as he walked into the living room to find Hal sitting cross-legged on the couch, hunched over his laptop like a shrimp in near-complete silence, save for the sounds of his own busy typing and clicking.

"Everything okay?" Snake asked, digging in his ear with his towel. Rounding on the couch, he caught sight of Hal's face and stopped, his guts clenching tight. The man looked like someone had just shot his dog.

"Not even slightly," Hal murmured. A few clicks, and he sat back to let Snake see the screen, upon which were a set of metal gear blueprints. "This was just posted. Publicly, on the War Thunder forums."

Snake came up alongside Hal, peering at the screen, eyes wide. "War Thunder forums?"

"War Thunder's an online military vehicle combat game. It's whole gimmick is that it tries to be as realistic as possible with its portrayal of the vehicles it features."

"And they've added a metal gear?"

"Yes, but this isn't their post. Their public forums have a reputation. People get really passionate about their favourite vehicles, their specs, the verisimilitude, and a bunch of times over the years, there have been players with access to classified design and specification documents who've posted those documents on the forums in order to win arguments about the vehicles they're discussing."

"You're serious?"

"Never underestimate a military nerd with an axe to grind. Some people get so deep into it that they forget that winning an argument on the internet isn't the be-all end-all," Hal said, shaking his head ruefully. "It's happened enough times to become an internet meme known outside of the player base of the game. People who have no interest in the military, vehicles, or the game know about the War Thunder forums and people leaking classified information on it."

"And someone leaked metal gear plans."

"Yeah. Recently, they added TX-55 to the game, and it's caused a bit of an uproar on the forums. Some people are mad earlier iterations of metal gears weren't added first, others are angry that something that powerful was added before the infantry models like Metal Gear G, but for the most part there's been a lot of back and forth about the actual specs of TX-55 itself, how it compares to other metal gears, and modern innovations. And then someone leaked these plans."

Snake squinted at the schematics onscreen, scanning the information as quickly as he could. There was no mistaking the shape of it. "That's REX."

"It is," Hal confirmed, the weight of it making him sink in his seat, slouching over again.

"Who posted it?"

"That's what I've been working on," Hal replied, taking his mouse back in hand. "The username is a jumble of letters and numbers. It looks like a bot username, honestly, but the poster uses enough slang and has enough grammar errors in their post history that I'm reasonably sure it's a human user. They're here to argue about tanks and planes and metal gears, no doubt about it. So I've been working on figuring out how to hack into the forums' database and get their IP info. Once I do, I can work on finding them."

"You can do that." It wasn't a question, it wasn't a statement. The words left Snake's mouth bereft of tonal indicator, himself unsure which direction they should go.

"Of course I can." Hal smirked, and began typing something out.

"Alright. While you get on that, I'll go get dressed. Once you've got a bead on them we can make our plan from there," Snake said matter-of-factly.

"You gotta get dressed?" Hal lamented, reaching out and giving Snake's ass an appreciative squeeze.

"If I don't, you'll get too distracted to work," Snake chuckled, grabbing Hal's hand and removing it from his butt.

Hal pouted. "Now I really hate this leaker," he grumbled, turning to watch all the same as Snake chuckled and sauntered out of the room, swaying his hips for Hal's benefit.

[we-keep-odd-hours]

tagged back by @hex6rcist! Thank you!

under a cut since I also rambled.

1. How are you!? I hope your day is going well.

ehhhh. I'm working not a great job, but its from home and if everyone is going to be insufferable, every single second i get of downtime I'm going to be on tumblr to stay sane.

2. What are you currently working on? Any little projects of any kind you’re excited to share?

I have an original novel in the works, I'm in the brutal final stages of tying off the loose ends of the rough draft (while this advice is some that I struggle to accept, to all writers I'd like to share this: the only thing that a first draft has to be is done.), I have two on-going fics (an Aliens one that's posted anonymously but tbh you could probably find it easily) and one of Diamondback's origin story.

Her origin story is more or less done (posting new chapters as I edit) except for a few plot points I'll make my decision on as I get to them in editing. There's details from my next project, a full follow up to the movie, that I kind of want to include in an epilogue to her story, since they're scenes/plot threads tied on her character arc.

3. What have you been watching lately? I just finished Righteous Gemstones and I need a new show lol.

I'm halfway through my rewatch of Hannibal right now, and I SHOULD rewatch West World next so I can finally watch the last season, but I've been itching to rewatch X-Files for a year now....the only problem being that X-Files is nine seasons, a mini series, two seasons of Millennium (IMPOSSIBLE TO FIND), and one season of Lone Gunmen (ALSO IMPOSSIBLE TO FIND). I never technically finished Millennium either, because they [spoiler] and it made me so angry at Chris Carter that I rage quit.

4. (A Near Dark one because how can I not) what’s your favorite small detail in the movie that other people might overlook?

When they first walk into the bar, Jesse kind of surveys the layout, but Diamondback immediately looks over to her right--at the bartender and the waitress, she then smiles, holds onto Jesse's arm and sets her head on his shoulder--and looks over the waitress again. Between that and her grin when the woman walked over, that whole weird thing seemed like some continuation of whatever game they were playing when she kissed the hitchhiker, which....guys, get a room. Homer and Mae are right there.

There are others, but this is the first one that came to mind.

5. What blog should I follow right now?

I'm bad at this; most people I've followed on here for literal years, or else picked up along the way when we had the same media obsession of the day.

6. Best piece of advice you’ve ever received?

I said it above already, but THE FIRST DRAFT DOESN'T HAVE TO BE GOOD, IT JUST HAS TO BE DONE.

7. If you could add one fantastical element to the real world and have it be a commonly accepted and known about thing what would it be? (Ie make Santa real)

This is asking for trouble: I believed in fairies at an age that was much, much too old to do so. I think it would be fun, or at least interesting if the fair folk were commonly known to exist. Dangerous, unwise, but fun.

8. What’s the last book you didn’t just read, you DEVOURED?

In the Valley of Sun by Andy Davidson. It was nasty, infuriating, full of characters I didn't like for but occasionally felt bad for, and it's about a wandering killer turned vampire living in an old RV just outside of Waco, TX in the 1980s. Yeah, that's what I thought too.

It was a break-neck paced mystery, not exactly of ''who'' did it, but of what happened, how did they do it, and are they going to get caught?

9. What are you most passionate about?

Art, literature, zoology. The order of those items changes frequently.

10. What do you think is your best quality?

oh I hate this question. Passion, I guess? It's not easy to get interested in something, but when I am, I can learn fast, pick up on details, and make weird connections. I'm literal minded and frequently get over-detailed on things, but I can think on multiple tracks at once and have caught things that even our Risk department at work didn't notice because they disrupted something.

[arthurn9]

Opal, Byroden, And a Sense of Mexican/Latino Culture in Exandria

Aimee Carrero is a treasure for bringing Opal to life. She's absolutely my favorite character in EXU, and it's not even close. (That is to say, I love them all, but Opal is just...she's everything. Charismatic, fun to talk to, friendly, a little ditzy and naive, full of herself, show-offy...I could only dream of making PCs like her (and I have tried lol).) And while the character is amazing in and of herself, what she represents actually means so much more to me.

A little backstory. Breaking kayfabe a little here, don't worry, it can still be real to you, damn it, but I am not, in fact, a blue-skinned tiefling with sky blue hair and a silly tail in what some would call "the real world". I'm of Latino descent, specifically Mexican-American, first generation. My parents are from Chihuahua and Durango, Mexico, respectively, and came to the US to make a better life for themselves, finding each other and bringing me into this world in the process. Spanish was my first language, and although it's long since been supplanted by English as my default language, I still speak it enthusiastically when with my family.

I grew up going to fiestas, celebrated several quinceañeras for various cousins and my own sister, went to misa (church service) every Sunday as a good Catholic boy, and took several trips to Mexico over the years to visit grandparents and family.

And at some point, I kind of grew ashamed of that.

Apparently, it's not entirely that uncommon, and kind of understandable. For me, it's hard to say what caused this change in my mentality. It might have been because all around me, everyone spoke English and lived the culture of America (which is a paradox in its own right, considering the hodgepodge of culture that is America). Maybe it was leftover resentment from being put into basic ESL courses in 1st and 2nd grade despite being one of the fastest-learning readers of English in Kindergarten. (I won the limo-pizza party prize from Dominos for reading so many books, damn it!)

Whatever the case, by 6th grade, I was almost exclusively speaking English everywhere, only begrudgingly speaking Spanish when talking to my parents because that's basically all they spoke. I rolled my eyes at things like Pinatas at birthday parties and going to Church (though that might have just been my growing agnosticism). Hell, even my name changed; Arthur is just the Anglicized version of my real name. I'll let you figure that out. And in high school it got really bad. I basically had to take Spanish classes to get back some semblance of speaking the language, and even then I wasn't super happy doing it.

Since then, after maturing a fair amount, I've recovered most of my Spanish speaking ability and patched things up, largely, with my parents. Turns out moving out is all I needed to get the ball rolling! How about that.

Part of that recovery journey has been connecting a bit more over time with my Latino roots. Movies like Coco and Encanto helped recover my interest in a lot of those roots, and I started to more and more gain confidence in those roots. Slowly but surely I started to weave those Mexican roots back into my own storytelling. My favorite Original Characters, Rhys and Uniqua Plateado (from a RWBY AU called AXUR I made with my best friend that I may talk about some day) were deeply entrenched in Mexican/Spanish roots (or the Remnant equivalent of same), with Uniqua in particular deriving her battle style/armor design from both Spanish Flamenco and Mexican Jarabe. More and more of my writing was influenced by the culture of Mexico and the American Southwest.

And then the bomb that is Opal dropped.

To quote Aimee Carrero: "My first question when creating Opal was: 'What’s the Exandria equivalent of Laredo, TX?'"

It turns out that through talking to Matt Mercer, Aabria Iyengar, and creative down at Whitestone Towers (yes I did just make another wrestling joke What Of It), Aimee had created a hub of Exandrian-flavored Mexican culture. Before, Byroden was just a town in the twins' backstory, the site of tragic loss. Now, it was a lively community filled with wonderful cuture, debutant balls, and so much potential.

Because of that inspiration, I was able to finally fill in the gaps for my most beloved player characters' backstories. I was able to find a home for the Cena family, now officially retconned to be their true form: Ex-icans! (please don't shoot me it's a bad name but it's got spirit)

I was able to integrate its culture into my own campaigns. Several prominent Latino wizarding/magic families now live there in my campaigns' version of Exandria. Spanish flows there, and you can visit La Purisima Panaderia for a sweet treat (definitely named for a wonderful Panaderia in my local area that popped one of my players, another Latino native to the area). My main OC family, the Cena's, has a set of triplets among then, two of them (the bitchy, bratty ones) named after two characters from a legendary meme-worthy telenovela (and yes, this was mostly to have one of them spout the funny catchphrase). The third was named for my most beloved Aunt Leticia, who resides in my soul even 13 years after her passing. (Also apparently also named for the protagonist of said telenovela but that was actually a complete accident. Also the elder sister was named for an alias the protagonist of that telenovela takes at one point you know what I'm just gonna say I'm the 6th remake of Betty La Fea and be done with it.)

I was even able to put some of my own mother's heritage in my games! In my version of Byroden, a family owns a toy shop (that has all sorts of cool arcane toys and gadgets). However, its biggest attraction is an arcane doll that supposedly was a human woman at one point...and she sits dormant, celebrated every year by the people of Byroden around the point of Harvest's End. This was inspired by a similar story of a mannequin supposedly created by an embalmed bride-to-be, a legend in Chihuahua.

While I could definitely have done this on my own in some way, having that inspiration come when it did, when my own journey to recover that identity was at its peak, did so much to help show me how cool it could be to integrate that into my storytelling. I'm more excited than ever to implement my roots into my storytelling, and it's all thanks to one cute girl with white hair, a pink jacket, and a penchant for tying good knots. So thank you, Aimee Carrero. Now please bring my girl home, spider mommy is scawy and I don't wanna say goodbye to my giiiiiiiiiiiirrrrrrrrrrrrlllllllllll

also on another note though it's never been properly discussed Vax and Vex are a bit brown canonically and are from Byroden so um....maybeIheadcanonthatWeClaimThemokaybye

[withlovefromsimtown]

Lifa's Life Update (+Sims Progress)

Well it's been a minute, but We're still here & I don't mind.

Things roughly in order:

I fully remapped onto a custom SC4 terrain & rebuilt an entire Sims 2 BG neighborhood to update it to UC (any guesses?), started working on clothing defaults for the aforementioned neighborhood.

Started 2 huge TS2 projects that I may someday finish, completely unrelated to all of that, because I was in Milkshape & I can't control myself.

Had my partner's friends over A LOT, like it seemed like every couple weeks for awhile someone would be crashing in the guest room. (They're my friends too they just... started off as partner's friends lol.)

Barbecued & grilled a lot, because friends & food.

Went to a VNV Nation show with my friend (things that are on the Elder Goth Bucket List lol), made a whole Yeet Weekend outta it & also went to Ikea, Fivebelow, Spirit Halloween, a local outdoor market, & a snowcone stand.

The fucking holidays.

Got sick, part 1.

Surprise, my cat has diabetes & needs 2x daily insulin shots!

More of the fucking holidays.

Got sick, part 2.

2x/month cat checkups to check blood sugar & adjust the dose, for like 3 months.

TX freezes, local friend doesn't have sufficient insulation or central heating in their home to deal with the temps, because TX, & comes to stay with me (with their cat) for a week because I have central heating.

During that week that my friend was here, Mr Diabetes Cat decided to a) eat all the dry kibble out of every bowl, b) refuse wet food at shots time because he was full of dry kibble, & then c) throw up kibble & turn around & pee all over my carpet right after throwing up, which resulted in him not getting his shots that night--they have to be given with food---& getting scheduled an urgent vet visit in the morning. (He's fine, just expensive.)

On the day it actually warmed up outside before it went back to 20 degrees, friend & I did a mini-hike together. We also had food from the Generic Asian Cuisine place (yeah I know, it's Texas though) where we got Pho, Lumpia, & a tofu stir-fry.

I regret having to work during the freezy times, unfortunately.

Partner obtained me a uhh... knockoff Steamdeck handheld? Rog Ally? so I can keep Win7 on my monster computer & also play my dumb ancient murder-aliens 4x RTS game on Steam that I like, but I haven't fixed my mods for it to play it, because I...

Got sick, part 3.

While sick, took Mr Diabetes Cat to his very last 2-week checkup; we're on 3-month checkup schedules now! Because he's stable! Yay!

The entire house is a disaster & I'm still not 100% but I'm back to cooking/cleaning a bit between work at least.

Working on more of the necessary clothing defaults for the TS2 neighborhood I redid.

Planning for March when the entire zoo needs to be vetted again for vaxxing, just gonna wrap the diabetes checkup into that & do everyone's bloodwork at that time also unless something drastic happens. (We do like 2-3 cats at a time over the course of 2 weeks, & then the dog on her own, we're not like... hauling a van of animals to the vet all at once...)

Need to get some of the soft mesh transportation prisons for the cats before then, because the big crate with the lid is about to disintegrate.

[lover-of-mine]

As a native CA with friends in TX. If 911 was telling the story based on Christopher's actual needs. He's back before school because their programs and services don't come close to ours in any way. I just want everyone to know that😂🤣

KOSKSPSKSPSKSPSKPSKAPA tbf if they were thinking about this they wouldn't let Chris go in the first place. Sure, summer vacations just started, but he probably has doctors? And therapists? And an established routine of care for his CP that is in California. He's 13 now. They left Texas when he was 6. His grandparents are definitely not up to date with his care. And Eddie has phenomenal coverage for what they make it seem with the private school and the home aid. Like, sure, Chris is old enough to be aware of how managing his CP goes, but he is still very much a child that can't just set it all up himself. What were they even thinking? And that's not considered the way that the Diaz's parents have no legal power over Chris. If something happens there's only so much they can authorize without Eddie. The fact that they really sent Chris to a different state indefinitely is INSANITY from a logistical standpoint. How did they even set up to take everything he needs that fast? Also, I don't know how retirement and health insurance works on that front and across state lines in the us, but I'm pretty sure the firefighter/army coverage is probably better than whatever his grandparents have going on. So, yeah, they're definitely not thinking about this lol

[floralfractals]

Been thinking about continued fractions a lot lately :) thought I'd share.

Continued fractions are defined like this: suppose x is a real number between 0 and 1, then write x = [a_1(x), a_2(x), a_3(x), ...] whenever the sequence 1/a_1(x), 1/(a_1(x) + 1/a_2(x)), 1/(a_1(x) + 1/(a_2(x) + 1/a_3(x)))... converges to x. If your x is rational, the sequence terminates after a while, for example 1/3 = [3] and 2/3 = [1, 2].

How would you know what the digit a_i(x) is though? You can use the Gauss transform: define a_(n+1)(x) = floor(1/T^n(x)) where T(x) is the decimal part of 1/x (and T^n(x) is the n'th iterate, or T(T(...(T(x)))) where there are n copies of T). This converges for all x (cool!). Also, every rational number has two expansions: if [a_1(x), ..., a_n(x)] is a representation and a_n(x) > 1, then [a_1(x), ..., a_n(x) - 1, 1] is another.

Now this is fun and all, but the a_i(x) you get from this are all strictly positive. And, as you might know, I have a very sickly son.

This man is the graph of a function T(x) = 1/(2floor(x) - x + 1) (shown above is the 4th iterate, i.e. T(T(T(T(x)))), since it's more impressive lol). But if Tx is given by that, then x = 2floor(x) + 1 - 1/T(x). And also, Tx = 2floor(Tx) + 1 - 1/T^2(x).

Do you see where I'm going?

This way, each number can be represented as a continued fraction... with all negative digits! Now, not all rational numbers have a finite representation. For example, 1 = 1 - 1/(1 - 1/(3 - 1/(1 - 1/...) (this goes on infinitely with some silly pattern). How cool!