#working with a tiny grocery budget

[ms-demeanor]

Hey nobody has asked me about this ADHD money management tip and it depends on having at least a tiny bit of flex in your budget but I'm about to spend a frustrating amount of money on flour and I can only do it because of this tip:

Hide cash from yourself like a squirrel.

Use whatever receptacle you'd like, envelopes or a zipper bag or an old wallet, create labels for the stuff you're saving for, and tuck money in there occasionally.

My stash lives in an old wallet with strips of paper around it. It's got dividers for "car registration," "bulk food," "vet visit," and a couple other things.

These are things that I know happen every year or multiple times a year that take more cash than I can easily spare from a single paycheck. If I stick twenty bucks a month in an old wallet it will mean that even if I have to pay late fees, I don't have to put my car registration on a credit card and pay interest on my late fees. If I stick ten bucks a month in an old wallet I can buy 25lbs of flour twice a year. If I can stick a bit more or less cash as it's available into the wallet I can make sure that my twice-annual regular vet visits with senior dog bloodwork and vaccinations aren't going to be too much of a hit to that month's grocery budget.

Like, everyone talks about "put money in savings once a month" or "have an account you don't touch for emergencies" and that can totally work if you can swing it, but I know it's REALLY hard for me to keep from pulling from the "emergency" fund for stuff that's a minor emergency/or is regular maintenance that I should have planned for/etc.

It's much harder for me to pull from the actual cash sitting in a physical room in my house because A) I'll probably forget it and B) that means that I have to think through using those funds in a lot more of a direct way than I would when using a debit card and C) I literally can't access it when I'm out of the house (the emergency fund HAS to be on the card to be accessible, the "i need expensive groceries" money doesn't have to be ready to go at all times and if it is available I know myself and it'll get used before it's expensive grocery time).

Like. If you know you have an expense that you have to pay for every year, hide cash specifically for that expense instead of in a general "expenses" fund because if you're not great with money and you've got an iffy memory you might look at your expenses fund and go "okay my computer crashed and there's five hundred bucks in the fund I can replace it and get back to work, cool" and there goes your car registration and a vet visit. At least if you need to physically grab that cash for an emergency you can make note of what you're going to have a deficit for later in the year.

[pucksandpower]

Hands On

Lando Norris x Reader

Summary: celebrations after Lando’s first win get a bit hands on after he notices your obsession with a certain body part

Warnings: 18+ content

Based on this request

The pounding bass rumbles through the Miami club as Lando pulls you close, his arm snaked around your waist. The dim lights cast his face in chiseled shadows as he lets out a whoop of joy.

“We did it!” He yells over the music, eyes bright with elation. “My first bloody win!”

You beam up at him, heart swelling with pride. “I knew you could do it.” Standing on your tiptoes, you plant a lingering kiss on his lips, tasting the tang of celebratory champagne.

Lando grins against your mouth before reluctantly pulling back. “Let’s get a drink to toast, yeah?”

Nodding vigorously, you allow him to lead you through the crowd to the bar. Lando orders some lurid cocktails that probably cost more than an average person’s weekly grocery budget. You don’t care — tonight is for indulging.

As he hands you a glass, his calloused fingers brush yours, sending an involuntary shiver down your spine. You quickly look away, hoping he didn’t notice. But of course he did.

“Alright there, love?” Lando asks with an amused quirk of his brow.

You force a laugh. “Just, uh … got a chill, that’s all.”

“Mmhmm.” He gives you a look that says he’s not buying it, but allows the subject to drop for now.

The two of you migrate to a plush VIP area, sinking into the soft leather couches. Lando slings an arm around your shoulders and you snuggle into his side, basking in his warmth and earthy scent.

God, you’re so proud of him.

“To us,” Lando murmurs, clinking his glass against yours. “And many more race wins to come.”

“I’ll drink to that.” You take a sip of the violently purple concoction. It tastes like alcoholic cough syrup but you don’t care.

As the alcohol works its magic, you feel yourself relaxing further into Lando’s embrace. Your eyes trace the strong line of his jaw, the delicious smattering of faint freckles, those gloriously long lashes ...

Your gaze catches on his free hand resting on the arm of the couch. You find yourself fixating on those slender fingers, the calluses from years of clutching the steering wheel ...

“Y/N?”

You start, blinking rapidly as Lando’s voice pulls you from your trance. “Huh? Sorry, what?”

“You’re staring again.” His lips quirk in that devilishly handsome half-smile.

Flushing hotly, you look anywhere but at him. Or more specifically, his hands. “No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you absolutely are.” Lando chuckles, low and teasing. “Go on then, what’s so fascinating?”

You squirm uncomfortably, feeling your face heat up even more. How to put this delicately ...

Apparently catching onto your distraction, Lando sits up straighter, settling his drink on the table with a muffled thunk. “Actually, don’t bother answering that. I think I know.”

Before you can protest, he reaches out to gently grasp your chin, tilting your face up to meet his gaze. His thumb strokes your flushed cheek as those clever eyes bore into yours, equal parts amused and intense.

“It’s my hands, isn’t it?” Lando murmurs, voice dropping to a low rumble that has your heart tripping in your chest. “You can’t stop staring at my hands.”

You open your mouth to deny it, but Lando’s penetrating stare has you frozen, the words sticking in your throat. Slowly, you give a tiny nod.

Lando hums in acknowledgement, the pad of his thumb still caressing your skin in a maddeningly distracting way. “They are rather nice hands, to be fair. Years of keeping a firm grip, you know?” He winks at you roguishly.

You make a small, strangled sound in the back of your throat. Goddamn him and his innuendos.

“Would you ...” Lando pauses for dramatic effect, gaze dropping to your parted lips briefly. “Like a closer look?”

Every rational neuron in your brain screams at you to say no, this is too far, you’re in public, oh god. But your desire-muddled mind doesn’t seem to be receiving those signals. Instead, you give another mute nod, feeling yourself leaning the slightest bit closer.

“Yeah?” Lando’s voice is barely more than a gravelly rumble now. “You want my hands on you, don’t you?”

You make a tiny whimpering sound of assent, mouth suddenly bone dry. Your eyes drop of their own accord to those wicked fingers, still cupping your jaw so tenderly.

Lando lets out a quiet chuckle, deliciously sinful. “How bad do you want it, baby?”

Squeezing your thighs together self-consciously, you manage a strangled, “S-So bad ...”

“Good girl.” The praise has you melting into a puddle right there on the couch.

Then, in one torturously slow movement, Lando lowers his hand from your face … trails his knuckles down the column of your neck … over the swell of your chest … all the way to the hem of your skimpy dress. He hooks a finger under the silky material, drawing it up your bare thigh with agonizing leisure.

You inhale a sharp breath at the sensation of his rough skin on your flushed flesh. Your eyelids flutter shut, every nerve ending thrumming with exquisite tension.

“Look at me.”

Your eyes snap back open at Lando’s commanding tone. He gazes back, brows raised in silent challenge. You force yourself to hold his searing gaze as his hand maps lazy circles on the sensitive skin of your inner thigh.

“Good girl,” he praises again, the words liquid sin. “Nice and relaxed for me.”

Despite the burning awareness of being in a public place, you feel yourself subconsciously parting your thighs ever-so-slightly, allowing those talented fingers higher access. Heat pools between your legs, your rapid pulse thrumming double-time.

“God, you’re so wet for me already,” Lando husks in approval. “I fucking love how worked up my hands get you.”

As those dexterous digits tease feather-light strokes over your quickly dampening underwear, you have to bite down hard on your bottom lip to stifle a whimper of shameless need. Every touch from him sets your body alight with feverish want.

“Shhh, inside voice, darling,” he chides quietly, humor dancing in those multicolored eyes. “Don’t want to cause a scene, do we?”

You rapidly shake your head, wholeheartedly agreeing. The last thing you need is for someone to wander over here and catch you being debauched by your boyfriend in a public place.

The thought should probably mortify you more than it does.

Lando gives you a crooked grin, like he can read your deliciously filthy thoughts. “Good girl,” he praises again, rewarding you with another teasing caress between your legs.

You suck in a shuddering breath, spine arching ever-so-slightly as Lando’s sinful fingers work their magic through the damp fabric. He knows every spot that drives you crazy, rubbing and stroking with perfect pressure until your inner muscles quiver with delirious need.

“You’re dripping for me, love,” he murmurs in a thick rumble. “Been thinking about my hands on you all night, haven’t you?”

No use denying it anymore — not with the embarrassingly loud squelches coming from between your shamelessly parted thighs. You give another frantic nod.

Lando makes a tutting sound. “Use your words.”

“Y-Yes,” you force out in a ragged whisper. Already, your breaths are coming faster, the molten coil in your core winding tighter and tighter with every deft stroke. “God, Lando, please ...”

“Since you asked so nicely ...” With those words, he slips one long finger under the sodden lace, finally making direct skin-to-skin contact with your aching heat.

You choke back a moan as he delves into your dripping folds, crooking his finger to find that spot that makes you see stars. Alternating between tight circles and firm strokes, Lando works that magic digit at an agonizingly slow pace. Your hips lift shamelessly into his touch, desperate for more friction.

“So greedy,” he chides with a dark chuckle. But he acquiesces, slipping in a second finger to join the first.

You have to clamp your lips shut to muffle the broken keen that tries to escape. The stretch and burn as he scissors you open is pure bliss. Your inner walls flutter greedily around the delicious intrusion.

“Like that, baby?” Lando’s hot breath ghosts your cheek as he leans in close. “You feel so fucking good stretched around my fingers.”

You nod frantically, nails digging into the buttery leather as he starts pumping those wicked digits in a steady rhythm. Each slick thrust has your whole body tensing and the knot in your core winding ever tighter.

“You take me so well,” he praises in a hoarse rasp. “Always so tight and perfect around my cock too. Can’t wait to be buried in that sweet little pussy later.”

A broken whine escapes you at the filthy promise. Your thighs are trembling now, pleasure spiking through your veins with every curl and drag of those talented fingers. You’re quickly spiraling higher, that euphoric edge looming tantalizingly close ...

Lando’s free hand drifts up to toy with the strap of your dress, tugging it down to bare one straining nipple to the heated air of the club. He leans in to lave his tongue over the tender peak and you practically convulse in his lap. Too much, too good, you’re going to combust-

“Come for me, sweetheart,” he rumbles against your damp skin. “Let go.”

The low, commanding growl is your undoing. With a strangled cry, you shatter apart on his fingers, back arching as the pleasure crashes over you in relentless waves. It whites out your vision, every nerve ending set alight in blinding ecstasy.

You come back to reality cradled in Lando’s arms, his lips brushing reverent kisses over your damp hairline. As the pulses gradually subside, you slump bonelessly against his chest, thoroughly spent.

“That’s my good girl,” Lando murmurs, rich voice laced with smug satisfaction. He slowly retracts his drenched fingers with one final curl that has your body giving a languid shudder.

A blissed-out hum is all the response you can muster right now. Your eyelids are heavy, head swimming in that delicious post-orgasmic haze. Lando chuckles softly, tightening his embrace as he drops another kiss to your brow.

“Don’t go falling asleep on me yet, yeah? The night’s still young, love. Got plenty more celebrations planned for you ...”

***

The door to the lavish hotel suite bursts open with a bang as Lando practically shoves you through the entrance. You stumble slightly on your high heels, drunk on anticipation and champagne fumes. Before you can regain your balance, his strong hands are on you, spinning you around to pin your back against the nearest wall.

“Been wanting to get my hands on you all night,” Lando growls against the sensitive skin just below your ear.

You shiver at the rumbling timbre of his voice, already growing hazy with rekindled desire. “Y-You already did at the club ...”

He rewards your cheek with a teasing graze of teeth. “And you were such a good girl, taking my fingers so nicely in front of everyone.” His hips grind against yours, allowing you to feel every rigid inch of his arousal. “But now I want more. Need to be inside you properly.”

A broken whimper escapes your parted lips as Lando’s hands roam greedily over your body. You arch shamelessly into his possessive grip, craving his burning touch everywhere at once.

“Arms up,” he commands in a gravelly murmur.

You immediately comply, and he wastes no time in dragging your skimpy dress up over your head, leaving you in just a flimsy scrap of lace. His heated gaze rakes over every newly exposed inch of bare skin with undisguised hunger.

“God, look at you ...” Lando exhales a harsh curse through gritted teeth. “I swear you get more gorgeous every bloody day.”

Face flushing beneath his scorching appraisal, you resist the urge to cover yourself with your arms. You know he prefers an unobstructed view.

“Turn around,” he orders in a voice that brokers no argument. “Hands on the wall.”

You spin obediently, biting back a needy whimper as your breasts brush the cool surface. The room suddenly feels several degrees warmer from the blazing anticipation alone.

There’s a pause where you can practically sense Lando’s eyes devouring the lines and curves of your body. You fight the urge to squirm beneath his piercing scrutiny. Then his callused hands are on your hips, squeezing with delicious possessiveness as he steps in to blanket your back with his solid heat.

“Already so wet for me,” Lando observes in a rough purr, dragging your lace underwear aside to reveal your slick folds. “Seem to recall you liking a taste of your own medicine at the club, hmm?”

The tip of his index finger glides through your arousal in one torturously slow pass, gathering the evidence of your desire onto his skin. Before you can so much as draw a shaky breath, he brings that glistening digit to hover just in front of your parted lips.

“Open up, love.”

You moan softly in anticipation, obeying without hesitation. The instant his finger slides into your mouth, your eyes flutter shut in wanton bliss. Your tongue swirls around the thick digit, hungrily lapping up every last trace of your own tangy essence.

“That’s it, nice and sloppy,” Lando praises in a low, heated rumble. “Show me how much you love the way you taste on my fingers.”

Spurred on by his heated words, you begin sucking in earnest, hollowing your cheeks with shameless enthusiasm. The slick sounds of your efforts fill the air, the wet noises doing absolutely nothing to quell the rising tide of arousal between your legs.

Behind you, Lando exhales a harsh curse. “Fuck … so bloody good at that. Should’ve known you’d look perfect with my fingers in your greedy little mouth.”

A fresh gush of arousal floods your center at his filthy words of approval. You can’t help the desperate whine that vibrates around his digit as you increase your pace, desperate to drive him as crazy as he’s driving you.

“Alright, enough teasing now.” There’s the sound of a zipper rasping, then suddenly Lando’s other hand is shoving yours away from the wall and around to grasp his newly freed erection.

You moan again, shocked but overwhelmingly aroused by his boldness. He pumps his length slow and purposeful, engulfing your smaller hand with his larger one to set a languid but firm pace.

“Good girl, that’s it ...” he rasps out harshly. “Wanna feel how hard you’ve got me, baby? Aching to be inside your perfect cunt ...”

At his filthy words, your core pulses with a fresh rush of molten want. You can feel the fat head of his shaft nudging demandingly against the crease of your thigh, leaving smears of pearly fluid on your heated skin.

Before you can fully process what’s happening, Lando spins you back around to face him. His eyes are blazing with dark, predatory hunger as he swiftly sheds the rest of your flimsy underwear. Then he’s hauling you up by the backs of your thighs, pinning you against the wall with his hips nestled firmly against your aching core.

“Tell me what you want,” he rumbles in a tone of deliciously wicked authority. The thick head of his erection drags through your slick folds in one maddening tease after another.

You whine high in your throat, scrabbling at his broad shoulders for purchase. “P-Please, Lando! Need you inside me ...”

“Need me to what?” He tilts his hips in a slow, torturous grind, spreading your arousal in a slick glaze. “Use your words, sweetheart.”

“Fuckmefuckmefuckme ...” The desperate mantra spills shamelessly from your lips as you try to pull him closer.

Lando rewards your begging with a wolfish grin. “As you wish.”

And with one slick thrust, he buries himself to the hilt, stretching and filling you in the most exquisite way. Twin groans echo through the suite — his a guttural growl, yours a high-pitched mewl of relief.

There’s an endless moment where you both simply still, savoring the friction of being so intimately joined. Lando’s forehead drops to your shoulder, the pair of you panting harshly against one another’s sweat-slicked skin.

Then he starts to move.

It starts with a slow roll of his hips, languid but purposeful strokes that drag his length through every last velvet inch before pulling nearly all the way out. You clutch desperately at the carved muscles of his back as he sets a relentless pace, each powerful thrust punching the air from your lungs.

“So tight ...” he grits out in a gravelly burr. “Taking me so deep, god, you feel incredible...”

You can only whimper helplessly in response, overwhelmed by the feeling. Every nerve is alight with shuddering bliss.

Soon Lando’s lazy rhythm devolves into harsh, pounding strokes, the harsh clap of flesh on flesh echoing like thunder. The solid wall at your back provides delicious traction as your boyfriend jackhammers up into your fluttering heat with rapidly mounting frenzy.

“Yes … yesyesyes!” The breathless affirmations tear from your lips in sync with each punishing slap of his hips.

“Can hear how much you love this, getting pounded against the wall like a desperate little thing,” Lando rumbles with dark approval. “Am I hitting all those perfect spots, baby? Making that greedy cunt squeeze me so damn tight?”

“So close, so close!” You chant in a high, thready whine. Your release is rapidly building, that glorious crest just out of reach.

As if sensing your desperation, Lando shifts his grip so one hand can snake between your bodies. His clever fingers instantly find the swollen bundle of nerves at your apex and start working tight, purposeful circles with just the right amount of pressure.

“Oh god, oh god, oh god ...” The frantic mantra punches from your lungs in time with his feral thrusts. You can feel yourself teetering right at that blissful precipice, every nerve pulled tourniquet-tight with impending release.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” Lando coaxes in a rough growl. “Let go for me. Wanna feel you come all over my cock ...”

His filthy words are your undoing. With a sobbing cry, your vision whites out in a supernova of shattering ecstasy. Pleasure rockets through your veins in pulsing waves, every muscle locked in the most beautiful torment. Vaguely, you feel Lando snarling curses against the fevered skin of your neck as your convulsing walls grip him in scorching velvet vice.

When your senses finally begin drifting back to you, Lando is peppering your sweat-dampened face with gentle kisses. He brushes the mussed hair from your brow tenderly, eyes brimming with naked adoration.

“So perfect for me,” he murmurs in hushed reverence. “Every bloody time. Fuck, I love watching you fall apart.”

You manage a weak, boneless smile at the affectionate praise, still riding the afterglow. You feel deliciously hollowed out, pleasantly achy in all the right places. Like every muscle has turned to warm honey.

After another moment, Lando carefully lowers your trembling legs until your wobbly knees find purchase on the plush carpeting. He frames your face with those gloriously rough hands, calluses catching on the flush of your cheeks.

“That good for you, love?” He asks with a hint of gentle teasing.

“Mhmm ...” You nod drowsily, leaning into his solid palm. “S’always good with you.”

Lando’s answering smile is bright enough to power every chandelier in the lavish suite.

***

“Baby, where are you? I’m home!”

Lando’s voice rings out as the door to your shared flat opens with a muffled snick. You pause your lounging on the couch, book falling forgotten to your lap as he steps inside, hauling a discreet black bag.

“In here!” You call out with a smile, already tingling with curiosity.

He appears in the doorway, flashing you that signature crooked grin that always has your insides melting. “There’s my gorgeous girl. I’ve got a surprise for you.”

You sit up a little straighter, intrigued. “Oh? Do tell.”

Rather than answer, Lando moves to the couch and deposits the bag between you two with a heavy thunk. Your brows shoot up quizzically.

“Well someone’s being mysterious,” you tease, giving the matte exterior an experimental prod. “What’s in this, Mister Norris?”

“Why don’t you open it and find out?” There’s a wicked glint in his eyes as he gestures towards the zipper pull.

Fighting a grin, you obligingly grasp the metal tab and pull, allowing the discreet covering to gape open. The first thing you register is a tangle of padded straps and buckles in sleek black leather. Then your eyes catch on the protruding shape nestled securely in the center … and you promptly choke on your own tongue.

It’s a hand. Or rather, a perfectly molded silicone model of one — every crease and callus captured in lifelike detail down to each delicate whorling fingerprint.

A whimper catches in your throat as realization slams into you with dizzying force. This hand … this hand with those long, talented fingers you’ve fantasized about more times than you can count … this hand is modeled after Lando’s.

“Oh my god ...” The words slip out in a strangled exhale. “Lando, is this ...”

His expression is carefully neutral, but the fiery glint in his eyes gives away his smug satisfaction. “You’re always going on about how much you love my hands. Figured you deserve to have the full experience whenever you want it, love.”

“I ...” Words temporarily fail you as you lift the shockingly realistic appendage free of its padded enclosure. The weight and articulation is uncanny, from the subtle flare of knuckles to the blunt tips of each digit. It’s almost unsettling how realistic it is.

You glance up to find Lando observing you with dark, hooded interest. His tongue darts out to wet his lips in a reflexive tell of arousal.

“What do you think?” He asks in a low, rough murmur. “Want to take it for a test drive?”

Heat lances straight to your core at the blatant suggestion. You reflexively squeeze the silicone digits in your grip, reveling in the slinky give and firm resistance. Already you can vividly imagine those fingers pumping into your dripping heat, stretching and stroking with that same delicious friction you’ve come to crave ...

“Y/N?” Lando’s voice pulls you from your lust-hazed daze. His eyes are blazing now, pupils blown wide. “Need you to use your words, sweetheart ...”

You make a small, needy sound as your thighs instinctively shift in subtle search of friction. “Yes … yes, I want to try it. Please ...”

That’s all the encouragement he seems to need. In the span of a heartbeat, Lando is divesting you of your thin cotton shorts and guiding your legs apart to settle between them on the couch. The hand rests heavy and solid in his palm as he holds it aloft, allowing you an unobstructed view.

You bite your lip against a whimper, already flushing with a heady cocktail of arousal and shameless anticipation. Lando’s lashes dip to half-mast as he brings the sculpted digits to his lips and lays a reverent kiss to each knuckle.

“I’m going to take such good care of you,” he rumbles in that low, raspy tone that never fails to have you melting. And then, with agonizing leisure, he trails the smooth pads down your chest … over the soft swell of your stomach … through the damp thatch of curls at your apex ...

A gasp punches from your lungs at the first glancing stroke against your folds. This may be an inanimate object, but its perfected shape coupled with Lando’s practiced touch feels so exquisitely familiar. Like the real thing is finally breaching that aching place inside you ...

“Bloody hell, you’re already dripping,” Lando observes in a rough growl. The flexed digits slide through your arousal in one slick pass, gathering your essence onto the sleek silicone. “Is this what you were thinking about, love? Having my fingers buried knuckle-deep in that greedy little cunt?”

You can only whimper and nod frantically as he draws tantalizingly close again. That unhurried brush of solid firmness against your most sensitive flesh already has your inner muscles fluttering desperately.

“Tell me what you want,” Lando rumbles in a tone of smoldering command. Those clever fingers circle your aching entrance, spreading your slick arousal in a torturous tease.

“T-The hand,” you stammer out in a pitchy whine. “Lando, please ... I need it i-inside me ...”

A wolfish grin curves his lips as he rewards your obedience with a searing kiss. When he finally pulls back, his eyes are blazing with liquid smoke.

“As you wish.”

Then Lando is tipping the toy at just the right angle to catch on your swollen entrance. With one smooth, purposeful thrust, he sheaths every last inch to the knuckle root inside your clenching heat.

The fullness is glorious, that solid silicone bulk stretching you wide in the most delicious way. Every delicate ridge and contour drags against your velvet walls with maddening friction with the slightest movement.

“Fuck ...” Lando practically snarls the curse through gritted teeth as he begins pumping the toy in a slow, purposeful rhythm. “So goddamn hot seeing you grip it like this, baby … squeezing so perfectly tight.”

You can only whimper helplessly in response, overwhelmed by the intensity of sensation. With each careful stroke, Lando angles the silicone fingers to create a firm nudge against that spongy cluster of nerves. Jolts of electricity hoot up your spine until you’re shuddering and whimpering.

“There you are ...” Lando’s voice is a rumbling growl of smug satisfaction as he locates that magic spot. “Squirming like a desperate little thing on my hand.”

To punctuate his words, he rotates his wrist with a purposeful flex of hard knuckles against your tender front wall. The exquisite pressure has your hips jerking upward in a helpless spasm, eyes flying open to lock gazes with your wickedly grinning boyfriend.

“Like that, do you?” He husks, lips brushing your cheek. “Never seen you make noises like this before. So hungry for my fingers buried deep...”

As if to emphasize the slick sounds already filling the air, Lando picks up the tempo of his thrusts in rapid, punishing strokes. The squelches are more erotic than anything you’ve ever heard as he rails you open on that delightfully thick silicone.

“Oh god, oh g-god ...” The desperate mantra spills shamelessly from your lips as white sparks begin bursting across your vision.

“Let it happen, baby,” he coaxes. “Need to see those gorgeous walls fluttering when you come ...”

With a startled cry, your spine bows off the cushions as your long-awaited climax finally detonates. Searing pleasure lances through every nerve ending in tsunami waves. You’re vaguely aware of choking out Lando’s name over and over in a breathless keen, your inner muscles flexing uselessly around the thick silicone toy.

When you finally drift back down, it’s to the feeling of damp hair being brushed from your brow. You blink blearily to find Lando gazing down at you with naked awe and unguarded adoration.

“You’re a vision like this,” he murmurs reverently. The hand-shaped toy is finally, carefully extracted with a slick sucking sound that has you flushing. “So beautifully ruined all because of my hand ...”

In a tender gesture, Lando cradles the back of your skull and brings the glistening silicone digits to your parted lips. The clean, musky tang of your own arousal coats every contour.

“Clean it up, love,” he commands. “Know how much you love the taste ...”

You moan faintly at the filthy demand, feeling a fresh slick of heat pooling between your legs. But there’s no way you can deny him this or yourself the heady intimacy of such an act. So with hooded lashes, you obediently part your lips and take those thick fingers onto your awaiting tongue.

Lando’s low groan of approval vibrates through your very bones as you seal your lips in a tight ‘O’ and suck with wanton fervor. The harsh breaths punching from his lungs spur you on, swirling your tongue over every crease and imprint hungrily.

“So fuckiny gorgeous,” he grits out in a tone of strained reverence. “You have no idea the effect you have on me, do you?”

As if to emphasize his words, Lando shifts position — and you suddenly become aware of the painfully rigid line of his erection pressing against your hip. With a needy whine, you instinctively grind up against that hot, insistent length through the thin barrier of his athletic shorts.

Your boyfriend’s lashes flutter as he bites back a growl. “Easy there, minx. You’re going to get me inside you soon enough.” He nips sharply at the bolt of your jaw, silicone fingers still working your slack mouth in shallow thrusts. “But first I want to watch you come apart on the real thing one more time ...”

A full-bodied shudder races through you at the dark promise underlining his words. With a pitchy sound of submission, you allow your heavy eyelids to slip shut and your jaw to unhinge obediently around the thoroughly used toy.

Every expert curl and flick of those clever digits is centered on the singular goal of dismantling you again. You’re powerless to resist, simply allowing the heady l sensations to crest higher and higher. Lando’s hoarse rumbles of encouragement cradle you, pushing you higher until you finally shatter into sublime oblivion once more.

And fuck, you love it when Lando’s hands on.

[probablysimpledreams]

Birthday Boy! (Dabi x reader)

a/n: EEEEK IT'S MY MANS BDAY!!!! ugh I love you so much Touya just wanna give him so many kisses!! in honor of the princess' bday here is a cutie fic<33

wc: 1.2k

The moonlight illuminates the room as you lay against Dabi's chest, body practically stuck to his thanks to a mixture of sweat and his cum on your skin. The room was practically silent aside from the sounds of your heavy breathing and him smoking a fresh cigarette. The scent of cigarette smoke and sex filling up the room, creating a haze that clouded your mind as well.

"Hey Dabi," you're the first one to speak up as you felt yourself coming down from the high of it all. He looks down at you, turquoise eyes urging you to continue. "When is your birthday?"

There's a lot you were still learning about Dabi as he was always so hesitant to give you any information regarding himself. And he always shut down any questions regarding family, telling you that "you'll find out sooner or later, don't wanna ruin the surprise" whatever that means. And you knew better than to push him. You were a tad worried he'd brush off this question too as you watched him look over at the clock on the wall that read 3:00 am, grin spreading across his face.

"Today," he takes a final drag of the cigarette before leaning over the mattress to put it out on the ground. "Not that it matters."

"What??" you shoot up, looking at him with wide eyes. "Of course it matters." The gentleness in your voice and eyes made him uneasy. He turned away from your gaze, looking over at the wall as his heart began beating rapidly in his chest.

"Tch. I don't need your pity," he gripped the bedsheets hoping it would slow down the speed of his heartbeat and butterflies swarming his stomach.

You placed your hand over his, thumb rubbing gently where his staples meet. "Can I do something for you? It is your day after all," you giggle. You've known Dabi long enough to know more times than not your actions conveyed your true intentions better than words. That way he had no room to argue, to misinterpret, or any other self destructive method his mind has been trained to follow when something good enters his life.

His heart flutters at the sound of your giggles as warmth that only you could create within him travels through his body and up to his cheeks. He begins fidgeting with the sheets under his hand, body beginning to relax again as it remembers it's safe in your company.

"Dinner would be nice," he answers after giving your question some thought. "Those bastards spent the last of our grocery budget getting sushi so there hasn't been much to eat."

"Dinner it is then," you smile as you lay back against his chest, snuggling into him. He smiles as he watches you get comfortable against, arm snaking around your body as you begin drifting into sleep.

--------

The two of you wake up at 11 am, sharing a quick kiss before heading your separate ways for the day. The next few hours fly by as you hurry to get your daily work done. Once your final meeting with your boss wraps up, you rush over to the supermarket. It's been a while since you've made soba, so have multiple tabs pulled up on your phone to ensure you find the best recipe.

You swiftly navigated the supermarket, grabbing ask your supplies. After checking out, you begin heading back to your apartment. It was more out of the way compared to the hideout, but you felt the privacy your tiny studio apartment gave would be like an extra gift to Dabi. You spend the next few hours cleaning up the space and cooking dinner. Once the sun was finished setting, you heard a knock at the door.

"The birthday boy is here!" you cheered as you opened the door for him, smiling widely as he walks in. He rolls his eyes at your excitement, throwing his jacket onto the couch as he walks over to the table. You had two bowls of soba sitting out and a happy birthday banner hanging on the wall behind it all. A small smile tugs at his lips seeing all the work you put into making it a point to celebrate him. It may seem like a small set up to anyone else, but Dabi couldn't remember the last time anyone made him feel special like this. Had anyone ever made him feel like this before?

"Sit down. Eat while it's still fresh," you pull out the chair and usher him to sit down. He felt awkward as he sat, eyes locked on the bowl in front of him as you took your seat across from him. The mixture of emotion was clear just from looking at him, so the two of you enjoyed the meal in silence. The silence didn't feel heavy though which brought you some peace of mind. In fact, he looked very calm as you watched him enjoy each bite of soba.

Once he finishes his meal, he stands up and walks over to you. ".....thanks baby," he mumbles against your cheek before kissing the skin and grabbing your empty bowl. You hear the bowls clash against the sink, then join him on the couch.

"Mmm come here cutie," he pulls you on top his lap, resting his chin on your shoulder. You hum happily as you rub up and down his back, watching the tension leave his muscles in real time.

"OH wait I have something else for you," you hop off his lap.

"I told you I don't want-" you cut him off before he can continue his sentence by placing a gentle kiss on his lips.

"Well too bad. I'll be right back." He sighs as you disappear in the kitchen. A mixture of excitement and guilt began forming in his mind, the feeling of being seen like this by another unfamiliar. Your care always contradicted all the things he's spent his life believing about himself. And yet your care always persisted, giving him a sense of hope the way the sun emerging from behind rainclouds would give a farmer. Maybe there was room here for him in this world. In your world.

"Happy birthday to youuuu," you began singing as you walk out from the kitchen with a small plate in your hands. You continue singing as you approach him, handing him the small plate that holds a cupcake with a cigarette stuck on top. "Sorry, they didn't have any candles at the store," you interrupt the song to tell him. You two share a laugh over it before you finish singing, handing him a lighter as he takes the cigarette off the treat. "And many moreeeeee," you kiss his cheek as you conclude the song. He lights up the cigarette, the sweetness of frosting and nicotine made his taste buds cheer.

"Yeah okay," he leans back into the couch. He tilted his head up to stare at the ceiling, a calm smile spreading across his face. He moves the cigarette out of his mouth, taking a deep breath as he begins feeling a familiar warm red liquid threatening to spill from the patchwork under his eyes.

[deleteddewewted]

Supermarket Romance

Modern! Titus x Gn! Reader

S: Titus is a retired veteran who suffers from mental and physical disabilities. He’s stricken with social anxiety and depression to the point he only leaves home to shop for groceries. On one of this trips he meets you. This begins a series of encounters that create an unlikely relationship between the two of you.

W: PTSD episodes, Depression, Anxiety Disorders, Reader is a broke Artist, Titus works as an Analyst for a company, Ableist comments (From Titus and to Titus)

Next Chapter

He huddled up in his room, his alarm blaring for what felt like hours even after he woke up. He couldn't sleep and he refused to clock into work unless the nausea he felt dissipated. He could feel tears well into the corner of his eyes, threatening to spill over if he so much as inhaled deeply. He got up anyway, his right leg aching as he did. He grabbed his cane and made his way to his bathroom, hobbling slowly to his sink and flipping the light switch. Light washed over him. He looked pale and sick. He was sick but he didn't want to acknowledge it. He made quick business of washing his face and brushing his teeth. His leg began to act up and he had to give himself a moment to compose himself before leaving his tiny bathroom.

He made a quick breakfast, eggs with sausage and beans. He was going to grab his instant coffee from his pantry when he noticed the container was empty. He cursed under his breath and began shoveling his food down his throat before making his way to his bedroom. He clocked into work and began getting dressed. He had no meetings or urgent assignments so he left his apartment to buy his favorite coffee and other things he needed. It would be quick, he already knew where everything was at so there was no reason to take long.

He walked out of his apartment, heading to his car in jeans and a long-sleeved shirt that accentuated his body. He threw his car door open, throwing his cane into the back seat before he sat into the drivers seat and buckled himself in. He gave himself a moment, the feeling of pedals under his feet and the steering wheel in his hands brought back memories that he would rather forget. He turned the ignition on and made his way to the supermarket closest to his home.

When he arrived, he made sure to park as far away from the entrance as possible. He had a tag that would let him park in the handicapped spots but he refused to use it. Part of him knew he was just sabotaging himself but the other part of him, the one that was too prideful, wouldn't let him have it "easy". He made his way to the front of the store and grabbed a shopping cart. He started with the produce as he needed more tomatoes for a recipe he was thinking of making. He made his way down the aisles, doing his best to ignore other shoppers as he didn't want to make conversation or eye contact.

He always felt alien outside of his home. He knows his features arent pleasant and he does his best to hide as much as he can considering he tends to tower over the average person. His hairline scar, the scar on his cheek, on his nose, the one on his mouth. He knows he isn't winning any beauty contests soon and it irritated him just how unnatural he looked. He wished there was a cure all for his issues. Maybe then he wouldn't feel like shit in the mornings or when he went to bed.

As he made it down the coffee isle, he realized that he wasn't the only one looking for something in the isle. There, one the instant coffee section, was you. You were looking in the bottom shelf to see what cheap coffee would be good enough to drink but also fit in your budget. You were willing and happy to sacrifice taste if it meant it had enough caffeine to get you through the next month.

Titus watched as you looked at the limited options, hoping you’d move soon but that didn’t happen. He sucked it up and walked over hoping you’d move soon were to engrossed in coffee to pay him attention. He looked for his usual go too, a medium roast that wasn’t too heavy on his stomach. He grabbed it, thinking about getting another bag so he wouldn’t have to repeat this trip anytime soon. As he did, you jutted up, pumping into his arm with your head.

“Ouch, sorry, sorry.” You apologized. You got excited when you noticed one of the items had a sale and grabbed it without looking if someone else was near you.

“It’s alright.” He murmured. You rubbed your head and looked up at the man before going wide eyed.

He knew that look already. You were scared and uncomfortable. Everyone looked at him that way. His scars were ugly and they made him look deformed. He averted his gaze from your own and grabbed his items ready to leave but you spoke.

“Cool scars, man.” It wasn’t in exclamation like some people would say it, nor was it in the fake awe some people would do. It was a comment. Just a comment. Like the scars weren’t ugly and contrasted on his skin. Titus blinked to himself before turning around again and starring at you but you were gone. That was his first time ever meeting you.

The next time he saw you was a few weeks after. You were rummaging in your pockets for something all while debating if you should grab ice cream. He only wanted to grab some of the frozen meals he usually got when he was too lazy to cook so he walked past you to grab it. You had noticed him but didn’t acknowledge him. You thought you had made him uncomfortable with the comment you made last time about his appearance. You scanned the shelf seeing if anything looked good but nothing interested you. You turned, heading to the front of the store when Titus noticed you walking away. He wasn’t someone to do impulsive decisions nor was he the type to try and socialize, but your oddly friendly demeanor had interested him.

He grabbed two of the ice cream he liked and hastily walked over to the self checkout counter. He scanned his items quickly, eyeing if you had left the parking lot. Once the receipt printed he all but ran over to you. You were waiting at a bus stop with one of your earbuds out in. You couldn’t hear much of anything but you were surprised when the sun was completely blocked out by the hulking figure in front of you. A small oce cream container as presented to you by the man you had briefly seen in the store.

“I… I wanted…. I got this for you.” Titus panted. His leg was killing him and the muscles felt like they were on fire. He tried to not make his discomfort obvious but he’s sure he’s wincing.

You accepted the container and thank him. It was bizarre but a welcoming surprise to say the least. Free ice cream was always a good thing.

“Thank you, stranger.” You watched as he left back towards the parking lot noticing a slight limp present in his walk.

You wondered why he had bothered to gift you the container. It wasn’t like you’ve been particularly welcoming or nice to him.

As you contemplated the reasons why he would do this, your bus arrives and you get on without glancing back to look for the stranger. You made yourself comfortable in the back seat and internally cheered at the fact you had a sweet treat to indulge in after work. Maybe you should be nicer to more strangers.

[abitchnamedtia]

Alastor Moody as a dad would include

Infos : fluff

Warnings : none

I know, it's been a while. I'll try to post more, but I won't promise anything!

----------------------------------------------------------

- Him being scared that the baby would be scared as his scars.

Alastor is very insecure about it, because he knows how he looks. He can see people's stares. He knows that his scars can be repulsive and make him look scary.

But when he holds your child for the first time and see their smile, all his anxiety vanished

- Him being VERY protective towards you and your child. Even more protective than he is with you (you didn't even know that was possible).

Your house would be protected with every spells he knows.

And when your child will be older, he'll teach them self defense. Just to be a bit reassured when they go out without him.

- Him scared that his child could be bullied or targeted because of him.

Kids are cruel. Very cruel sometimes. He was so afraid that his reputation of a "mad man" will tarnish his child's reputation.

But when your child was in kindergarten, your child told his classmates that his dad was an auror and explaining that he was "fighting bad bad guys", all of them were in awe. At the end of that day, when Alastor came at the end of the day to take his child home, a herd of small child came to him to ask him questions about his work. He was surprised, but happy to answer it.

- Him loving them to death and spoiling them rotten. But still teaching them to be humble.

Almost every time that he goes to buy groceries, he'll buy a little something for them. And let's not talk about birthdays or Christmas... He blew up the budget every time. But he just wanted to make them happy, he couldn't help it !

-Him playing a lot with them. Tea time with the dolls ? Of course. Playing the villain for your kid to play the knight? Absolutely.

The sweetest thing you ever saw was him, sat on the ground at a small table with a tiny cup of tea in the hand with your child and a few dolls and stuffed toys. When you asked what was happening, he just answered "we are taking the tea, isn't it obvious?". ADORABLE.

And of course, he knows the dolls and stuffed toys' names by heart.

[hold-him-down]

Belleview Chapter Two: Triage

Notes: Don't believe anything I say about medicine, politics, or the workings of government agencies.

Belleview: Chapter 1

TW: Institutionalized slavery, a little tiny bit heavy on the exposition

✥ ✥ ✥

As far as ‘day one’s go, Lincoln thinks, it could have been worse. That is the best he can offer himself now. He looks down at his hands, which feel, no matter how many times he scrubs them, as if they are still covered in the blood, both metaphorical and physical, of the residents. They did not ask for his help, and by most metrics do not seem to want his help, and yet still, he is here. Helping? It weighs heavily on him. His hands shake, a product of adrenaline and exhaustion and, maybe, partly of desperation for some kind of emotional release.

Organizing the volunteers had gone smoothly enough. He had four doctors, eight nurses, and fifteen good samaritans (and a list of hundreds of others who were ready to step in if more help was needed), all eager to find their place in this beautiful hellscape.

After the former handler, Jared, was escorted to a waiting police car, Lincoln took a deep breath and rounded up the crew. The de facto Commissioner for the splintered Department of Labor Services in Florida, once responsible for the privatization and trafficking of low-level criminals and now responsible for sorting out the undoing of that system itself, estimated that there would be additional guidance available within two weeks and, between him and Lincoln, suspected that ultimately the residents would be placed in a sort of ‘foster’ situation, where they would be pseudo-adopted into the homes of long time opposers of the system while they accessed medical care and were slowly reintegrated. It was all a lot to stomach, and for his part, Lincoln tried not to look too closely. It was clear that the residents here all, at minimum, required some degree of inpatient medical treatment, and he was qualified to provide that, if nothing else. 

Lincoln had been contracted for four weeks, with the soft warning that it would likely extend beyond that, and the sincere gratitude of the Commissioner as well as a slew of other high ranking officials. His work is important, he was told countless times. It’ll be a hard job, but they can think of no better hands than his to leave the care of these men in. 

After accepting the position, Lincoln began forming something of a plan. He was given a budget and a list of items already at the site. He was sent lists of hundreds and hundreds of doctors, nurses, cooks, mechanics, police officers, former handlers, teachers… anything he could think of, he had available to him. People from across the country offered their support in any way they could. He selected his team, his backup team, and held a list of other local residents that he could rely on for support.

The initial team was small but mighty, fierce in their dedication to help. Four doctors. Five, including him. Twenty-one residents (with only twenty files, but that was for another day). Eight nurses. Fifteen volunteers. Enough for every resident to receive medical attention, with extra volunteers to sort out groceries and clothing and removal of the evidence of what had happened here, with extras to help keep everything flowing.

It was experimental, and no one knew exactly what it would look like. But this team was ready to throw themselves wholly into early recompense and that was all he needed. They would work the rest out as they went.

✥ ✥ ✥

The volunteers look to him for guidance as he enters the conference room and, given that he has run through his plan a hundred times in his head by now, he wastes no time in laying out the loose threads of what he is calling the ‘plan.’ There are people working throughout the building, sealing off some unused wings, repurposing others. They are irrelevant to what Lincoln is doing and have no impact on the residents he now oversees. They will not enter this unit, and his group will not be asked to leave. It does not matter what happens beyond the walls of C-wing anymore. 

There are two empty rooms at the end of the longest, main corridor, that were previously used for something adjacent to medical exams. This is not exactly the highest priority, but the easiest to get started. 

“Yang, Richmond, Jacoby, and Gilman,” Lincoln says, scanning the volunteers as people identify themselves. He hands them each a sheet of paper with a list of items that each room should have. “A truck should be arriving within the next thirty minutes,” he continues. “Start clearing out the exam rooms of anything not on this list, sanitize the hell out of them, and then work with the delivery people to get them set up. Use the south entrance so no one is wandering the halls. They’ll need to be fully functional by tomorrow at the latest.” The volunteers take to task quickly, and Lincoln moves to the next on his list.

“DeLuca and Dhar,” he says next. “Groceries were delivered earlier, let’s get everything put away. There was a large break room for the handlers here,” he says, as he points to the map on the tablet, “but no cafeteria. To the extent possible, clear it out. There are bins for anything that you find that looks remotely criminal. We’ve been asked to refrain from discarding the personal effects of the handlers or anything that might need to be reviewed down the line. Everything can go into storage, someone will come pick it up at some point this evening.”

They exit, and Lincoln is left standing with the medical staff and a small handful of remaining volunteers. He assigns four to scrubbing the common areas of all traces of abuse, the hope being that the residents can eventually comfortably navigate the wing without fear of encountering excessive reminders of their own suffering.  

“We’re going to start triaging,” he says to the medical team. “We have more volunteers ready if we need them, but I am concerned about overwhelming the residents with too much…” He gestures, and is met with nods and muted agreements. “Just, with too much.”

The residents are all, as of this moment, still locked in their rooms. Every doctor has already been assigned a caseload, the files sent out the day before, with each resident grouped first based on the severity of their need for medical attention, and second on their proximity to one another. The most severe cases get seen by the doctors first, with the nurses doing preliminary exams on the less severe cases and making modifications to the plan as needed. 

Lincoln expects four residents to require the most substantial medical support. The local hospital is prepared to provide aid in diagnostic testing, scans, or large scale inpatient procedures in the event that those needed, but all units are overwhelmed by the sudden influx of thousands, if not hundreds of thousands, of people who require care and are in the first wave of full release.

Triage first, he reminds himself. Each of them has four or five men total to see, and he watches as they make their own plans with the nurses on their team. 

Lincoln has one file and two patients. River London, a twenty-four year old man who has been in the system for three years and in Belleview for two of those, and “Felix,” whose file is uniquely absent. The handler told him that Felix had come to Belleview a year prior, and that he wasn’t sure if the handlers were ever told his real name, but if they were, no one remembered it. They estimated his age to be around twenty-two, and the information available was all from the past year. The DOH was working to trace his origins but, to Lincoln’s understanding, his file had been sealed when he was assigned to Belleview, and unsealing it was low in the list of priorities.

“I’m Philip,” the nurse who stands next to him says, holding out his hand. “Reed. I came down from Maryland, I’ve been working with the DoLS there to help organize and staff pop-up clinics in underdeveloped cities with heavy influxes of former workers for the last couple years.”

Lincoln nods and shakes his hand. “Lincoln Prescott,” he says. He doesn’t offer any details beyond that, although Philip’s expectant gaze lingers for a moment too long.

“Did you pick the short straw or volunteer for this?” he asks as Lincoln grabs the lone file from the table.

“A little of both, I guess,” Lincoln responds, flipping open River’s file.

The good news, he thinks, is that there are ample state of the art medical supplies littered throughout the unit already. All of the volunteers brought their own supplies as well, but there is a fully stocked pharmacy and most basic supplies already in house. The bad news is that he is not one hundred percent sure where the volunteers are at with sorting through everything, and if he has to wade through sixty years worth of whips, chains, shock collars, restraints, or whatever other torture devices live within these walls, he might have a nervous breakdown before he even gets started.

The volunteers disperse, the remaining extras assigned out to sorting deliveries and, hopefully, removing any obvious remnants of what this building used to stand for.

Lincoln closes his eyes and talks himself through what the next hour will look like. Minimally, he reassures himself, he has an amazing team and the residents are in good hands. They will be given food, blankets, phones or tablets, books. They will be treated with kindness. They did not ask for their help and he will likely be met with resistance, but it is a consequence of years or abuse, and his intent here is to help. There is a voice, soft but persistent in the back of his mind, that keeps him grounded in the reality that, at least on some level, he will be acting as a captor in a new kind of prison for these men.

If he is met with resistance, he reminds himself now, he will modify his course. He will act as a stepping stone toward freedom and that is all he can do right now. His job today, within the walls of the workers’ rooms, is straightforward. When he’s done talking himself down, he stands straighter, shoves the file into his bag, and makes way to 19-C.

✥ ✥ ✥ 

Belleview Taglist:

@pigeonwhumps @peachy-panic @whump-cravings @pirefyrelight @i-eat-worlds

@taterswhump @squishablesunbeam @inpainandsuffering @distinctlywhumpthing @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi

[saetoru]

tee! tee! will rb!gojo and reader eventually move in together? I can't stop laughing at the thought of gojo struggling with basic household chores bc he grew up with maids and servants doing everything for him 😭💗

also, can I be 🍒anon if it's not taken already?

i would love for them to move in together so much but idk how dating a rich guy works in a split financial sense LMAO like he could easily afford for them to live in luxury apartments. but. i don’t think reader would like that very much bc they’d probably wanna pay a portion. but then idk if like they’d be able to afford 50/50 of rent for an apartment so expensive

but then it’s like ok maybe he has the rent covered and they cover food and bills and stuff bc that’s not exactly out of their budget is it. IDK i just like for it to be kind of respectful to the middle class (i am the middle class) bc honestly if i had a rich bf. as much as i joke i want a rich man to pay for everything. i would feel quite pathetic if i was just grocery shopping while he was paying rich ppl rent. so idk how to go about it yet if they do bc i mean c’mon. i think satoru would insist on the nice apartments. as much as he loves her lil student apartment and it’s tiny living room, once it’s in his control, i think he’d wanna spoil and reader would be all insistent and yeah. IDK I OVERTHINK IT A LOT

ANYWAYYYY in a more lighthearted sense. i think he for sure is horrified when he realizes he has to DO CHORES. like you come home to a sink full of dishes and u drag him by the ear in the middle of playing video games w suguru like “wash these damn dishes” and he’s like :,) and then the first time he has to help clean a bathroom ??? JFJAJDJDN 💀💀💀 imagine him sobbing over having to clean a toilet. and ofc the classic laundry mess up of not separating the whites 💀 u have a lot of fun teasing him the first few weeks. but he finally learns basic life skills and sometimes he feels a bit more accomplished and he has u to thank

[queer-scots-geordie-dyke]

"The other photo on my wall is a black and white portrait of Andreas giving a military salute. In the photo he’s already bald from chemotherapy. Bald and intensely alive. Another old warrior, just like my father. Eccentric, wildly talented, deeply spiritual, Andreas had the ability to lift you to a whole different dimension when you were lucky enough to be in a scene with him. Any scene, even the most ordinary, the most insignificant one. (He would probably protest and say that “insignificant” scenes don’t exist if you’re a truly serious actor.)

Under all the latex, he was the most human of us all. You had a feeling that he could get away with any choice, even the most outrageous one. He was that free. He was that brave. I remember a scene we had one day on B5. As I was learning my lines at home, I didn’t think much of the scene. I saw it as an exposition scene, with lots of words and not much emotion. In the scene, the following question is discussed: is it justified to sacrifice a certain number of people (and aliens of course – we were on B5!) to save an even bigger amount of people (and aliens)? To me the scene seemed like a dry, philosophical, purely theoretical discussion between our characters. I was looking forward to working with The Master but wished for a more emotional scene. Oh well, I thought, even this was better than nothing.

So I come to the set, all made up. I sit in a chair. And there, facing me, is the big lizard G’Kar, looking at me. I say my first line and look into Andreas’s red eyes. Before answering me, he pauses. I see his chin trembling. I see a tiny tear appear in the corner of his eye. And, suddenly, I am moved beyond words. And, suddenly, I too feel a tear in my own eye. And, suddenly, the scene becomes a completely different scene from the one I had envisioned at home. The dialogue suddenly becomes deeply personal. The words don’t matter any more (or, more precisely, they suddenly start to truly matter, having been illuminated by the personal stake invested into them).

What Andreas brings to those words is his whole being, his whole human experience, all his pain and sadness. And, suddenly, we soar. And I am lifted to another realm. And while this is happening, I’m aware, somewhere in the corner of my mind, that I’m privileged to take part in a master class in acting which starts with one of the most important lessons: no scene can ever be dismissed as insignificant. Even if it is, an actor’s job is to make it personal. The job is nothing more (and nothing less) than to make EVERYTHING personal. Only then the words start to matter and the scene has a chance to come alive. I thank Andreas in my mind, grateful for that unexpected moment we all live for.

But Andreas is also deeply introspective and insecure. When I call him one day after the show had ended and ask him how he is, he says: “I’m mourning the death of my career.” He also says: “I’m just a mediocre actor. That’s not enough to ‘make it.’ The world needs exceptional actors, not someone like me.” (And I’m thinking: if you’re mediocre, where do I belong?) His insecurity is endearing to me and just proves that the best people are modest and humble. It also proves something I’ve been aware of for a long time: only fools are perfectly self-confident. Doubt, especially self-doubt, is a part of wisdom. A part of being human.

He comes to dinner to our house and brings a Greek desert he has made himself. He gives me the recipe. I have kept it on my fridge ever since. He collects coupons from the papers and uses them for grocery shopping. He has a weekly budget he sticks to, no matter what. He tells me he wants to collect a million dollars in his bank account before he dies. “Does it have to be a straight million?” I ask, laughing. “Yes, it has to be a round number,” he answers, dead serious.

I propose to Peter and Andreas that we do my beloved play, the one that I never had a chance to do: Harold Pinter’s “Betrayal.” In my mind it would be a dream job with a dream cast in a dream play. Peter is somewhat game but Andreas says he’s “burnt out” theater-wise. He says (and he’s right) that theater requires a different kind of readiness, a different kind of stamina, a different kind of mental and physical form. “We’ve all lost it. Since we’re not doing it any more,” he says and gets me worried. Would I ever be able to do theater again?

Billy comes up with the idea of doing a record. We all contribute two songs. It’s a lot of fun. Andreas says he can’t sing but Billy is persuasive enough and Andreas finally agrees to do it. Although he’s not a singer and is off key most of the time, he steals the record with his absolute honesty and his genuine feeling, capturing the very essence of blues.

And then he gets sick. We go to his house and read the Tibetan Book of the Dead, according to his wishes. He had found love by the end of his life. His wife put together a short film with clips from his performances. We watch the breathtakingly handsome young Andreas in a hot, sexy scene on some Greek island with the most famous model of the seventies, Verushka. We all laugh and Andreas laughs the most. We watch him do theater somewhere in Africa with the great master, Peter Brook. We don’t want to let him go. And when he dies, his wife invites us to sit with him and help him “make the transition,” as is the Buddhist way. G. and I sit there for half an hour. He looks like the Greek god that he is. He’s majestic. He’s like a sculpture. His body is cold and peaceful and so beautiful, so absolutely perfect. And death seems natural and not scary at all. Farewell, dear, sweet, talented man! We were lucky to know you.

My friends are with me all the time, alive or dead. After a while it doesn’t matter anymore. Sometimes the dead ones seem more alive than the living. Maybe it’s my nature. Maybe it’s my age. Maybe it’s just how it is."

- Mira Furlan, Love Me More Than Anything In the World

[sourkitsch]

Been thinking a lot.

I have become very tired of my museum job. They promised me that I’d be going full time for months but it keeps getting pushed back so apparently I’m going full time in April. They’ve done some things recently that have made me no longer happy to work there like cut hours so badly + without warning that I’m struggling to make rent this month. There’s a constant feeling that your coworkers are watching you to see if you make a mistake so they can report you and make themselves look better. It’s a lot of politics and responsibility that does not line up with the kind of pay I get.

With my other job I am in the heart of Boston every week and it made me realize how much I really miss living in a city, as I currently live in the suburbs. The rent in the suburbs of Boston is insane. Boston rent is equally insane and neither place really has any studio apartments within my budget. Can’t have roommates for reasons people are familiar with my blog can probably figure out. If I went full time at the museum I could probably stay in my current place, but right now 75% of my income goes to rent. I was already planning on trying to find something cheaper if possible because I would like to be able to spend money on things other than rent and groceries I can’t keep using my credit card to pay insurance co-pays.

The art scene in Boston is incompatible with my work. I am only getting shows through connections I made in art school, and I keep having conversations with curators about the venues needing work that’s “accessible” to a non-art going audience (read: not a penis with a tumor, the current thing on my easel after reading about how bestiality causes an increased risk of genital cancers isn’t that fascinating?) so I’m really only showing the work I made while in undergrad where I was afraid to like. Make the worst images.

I had that artist talk i gave to my mentor’s class and got to reconnect afterwards and it was wonderful and I felt so encouraged afterwards. He asked when I was moving to New York. He knows I’m from nyc originally and that I do plan to return there. And I went “oh yknow for grad school. I’m trying to move into Boston right now” and he was just like “You should really just move to New York” and like. He’s not wrong.

Like every time I’ve gotten upset about my life in the past 6 months I’ve scrolled through NY Craigslist apartments. They’re so much cheaper than Boston and the lower end fits comfortably in my budget. I could just find a tiny shitty thing in Staten Island.

But it’s such a big move??? Like am I ready to uproot my life like that again? Like I could just stick it out another year and see how being full time at the museum treats me and stay in this apartment for another year. My art practice won’t magically get any more support but still. I don’t know :( I’m very torn.

[cabezadeperro]

Codex + 69 heh heh (watch this be the most emotionally damaging song on your playlist kfjsjhfks)

hi friend!! you were right!!!!!!!!

the song was........... first time by hozier.

post order 66, established relationship, memory issues related to the chip. not a fix it.

Some part of me must have died The first time that you called me baby And some part of me came alive The first time that you called me baby

---

Budgeting was never something Rex thought he’d have to learn. He resettles the strap of the bag around his shoulder and pauses outside the shop, squinting against the bright noon sun to check his list one last time. 

One shop left, and then he can go home. Rex folds the flimsi sheet in two and returns it to his jacket pocket. The street’s quiet, the wind that blows in from the sea leaving the taste of brine on the back of Rex’s mouth. Rex stuffs cold hands in his pocket, and his right plays with the remaining credit chit, with his list, the calluses on his fingers catching on the edges of both. 

He never thought he’d have to learn how to budget for food, for clothes, or learn how and where to shop. It’s become part of his routine: every time he moves to a different world, if he knows he’s going to stay for longer than a couple weeks, he—plans. He makes a list.

Half an hour later, he’s making his way back to the small apartment he’s been sharing with Cody. It's on the top floor of a narrow old building with rickety stairs and a leaky roof, and Cody spent the very first night they spent there watching the street through the big window in the living room, leaving the bed right after he thought Rex had fallen asleep. 

It’s one of those things Rex has had to learn to plan around, very much like budgeting. Sometimes Cody doesn’t sleep.

And sometimes he—forgets.

It’s the chip. It must be: he had it so much longer than Rex ever did.

That morning, Rex leaves for the shops very early and returns when it’s almost noon. He knocks on the door of their tiny rented apartment and then unlocks the door with his copy of the keys. Shoes off, keys on the hook by the door, and then to the kitchen. He’s almost done putting away the groceries when it dawns on him how quiet and how empty the flat feels, and then—then.

Rex breathes in and out. Deeply. Slowly. He pushes away the fear, the awful, freezing panic, and makes his way into the bedroom. 

The bed is empty, the sheets a mess. He left Cody working in bed, half-naked and his datapad in his lap, mug with caf slowly cooling on the cluttered bedside table on his side. The datapad and the mug and his underwear are still there, somehow sharing the pillow. Rex snorts, something very like relief blooming in his chest. He reaches for the mug and leaves it back on the table, right over the crusty, sticky caf rings already there.

(Something else he’s had to learn to get used to: Cody’s awful, ever-growing mess. He hates that one much less than he once thought.)

That leaves the fresher. Rex sighs and knocks once before opening the door.

He can’t see anything at first: a cloud of heat and damp hits him in the face, and he blinks. Half-blinded. Then he first makes out the silhouette of the toilet, the sink; and then he sees Cody.

He’s sitting on the shower floor, naked and still wet, his back against the tiled wall and his arms wrapped around his bent knees. He’s watching Rex with his lips pressed tight, a flush high up on his cheekbones that might be shame or just the heat.

Rex closes the door at his back and clears his throat. 

“I found that brand of caf you like,” he says, feeling half-way between ridiculous and terrified. “It was on sale.”

Cody blinks. He looks away and scoffs. He rubs his face against his bicep and doesn’t stop Rex when he crosses the bathroom and steps into the shower to sit at his side. The water’s off, must have been for a while, but the off-white porcelain is slick and wet and still warm. Rex makes a face when his now soaked shirt sticks to his back but doesn’t move away.

“I’m fine,” Cody says. His shoulder’s touching Rex’s—they’re not big men, but the shower’s pretty small—but he’s not quite leaning away, the muscle tense and quivering slightly. Rex wants to reach out, to wrap his arm around Cody’s shoulders: he doesn’t. “I was just showering and—”

And he forgot. And it went away. And then it all came back, but it wasn’t the same. Rex looks down at his own feet and not for the first time wonders at all those months where he just… did nothing. Didn’t look. Didn’t try to find him.

“I’m fine,” Cody says again. He’s beginning to sound angry—that means he was—is—scared. 

Rex sighs. He gives in and throws his arm around Cody’s shoulders. Cody stiffens, and for a few long seconds Rex is so sure he’s about to move away. 

And then he doesn’t. He shifts closer, tucks his damp face into Rex’s neck, his lips brushing his throat and his hair wetting Rex’s shirt.

“Every time you leave I am so sure it’s going to be the last time,” he mumbles. Rex closes his eyes and buries his nose in Cody’s hair. They share the same shampoo—it’s a pretty cheap brand, but Rex has learned to love the way it smells on Cody’s hair, on his skin.

“Then I won’t,” Rex says. Cody snorts.

“You’re such a shit liar,” he replies, voice thick. Rex feels him swallow: he closes his eyes. He waits for the question: he has now learned to prepare for it. “You are Rex. Right?”

Rex wonders if someday he’ll learn how to stop his heart from breaking every single time.

“Yeah. Yes, Cody. I am.”

[love-aholic]

A PhitoxShrike thing I wanted to turn into a comic but I'm too sickly to do anything so I turned it into a fic instead yay (ft Kasper)

"Dad! Can we please get some ice cream?"

"No, Kasper, we have a budget, remember?" Phito sighed

"Uh..." Kasper paused. "We don't have a budget!"

"Hmhm, nice try young mister." Phito said condescendingly

Kasper quickly put his head down in disappointment. Seeing this, a certain squidhead stepped in.

"Yeah! What's this budget you're talking about?" Shrike chipped in

"Oh, Shrike, not you too..."

"I still don't see any evidence of a budget!" With this, Shrike peered down at Kasper, giving him a wink. Following shortly were childish laughter from the both of them

Phito, in a fit of annoyance, pulled out the grocery list from his pocket. "No, see, I have the list right-" Sadly for him, the list was quickly snatched by Shrike. "H-hey!"

"C'mon cariño just this once!" He said with puppy eyes

"Trinity bringing you two here was a mistake. No, no ice cream! ¡Nada, no compro!"

But Shrike just continued staring at him with a tiny smile. Kasper looked at his two dads before quickly joining Shrike with staring at Phito with puppy dog eyes, except much cuter.

"No NO, that doesn't work on me anymore! We have everything we need and-

---

The three waited in the checkout line, with ice cream in their cart. Phito stood with his arms crossed and brows furrowed.

"By the way, no compro isn't how you sa-"

"You're paying for this." Phito exclamined with the tone of an angry mother

"...Okie dokie."

Although Phito seemed displeased on the outside, there was a tiny voice in the back of Shrike's mind telling him Phito wasn't truly mad. Sadly for Phito, that tiny voice is right. He doesn't mind paying a few extra pixels if it meant his family was happy. Even if it was for ice cream that won't even last a week.

[whentherewerebicycles]

good morning! I felt pretty lousy all week but I feel so much better now—I think in retrospect I was bracing myself for something going wrong with the ultrasounds and delaying me another month. but I did the IUI yesterday and everything went well. I always feel most at peace right after the IUI because the timing is now out of my hands but I’m also still far enough from testing that I don’t feel too much anxiety about it. I’ve tentatively decided I won’t test at two weeks but will just wait for my period to come or not come. I am going to try not to calendar watch—luckily my days are a lot busier now that liz is here, school is starting, and I’m doing choir and voice lessons, so I hope the time won’t drag as much as it did last winter/spring. I’m also going to try to eat really well and will make it a fun meal planning game.

here are my goals for the next two weeks:

walk for 45-60 minutes every day (I’ve been slipping a little as things have gotten busier but I want to carve out time for it again esp while the weather is still so gorgeous)

no (or minimal) processed sugar

eat leafy dark greens every day—the easiest way to do this is to sauté big handfuls of frozen spinach with garlic and red pepper flakes and eat it as a little snack. so I will do that (but will also try to incorporate greens into my cooking).

try making beetroot juice lol apparently it’s very good for implantation in IVF cycles so might as well try it

really focus on whole food plant-based eating (although I am also eating eggs and full-fat dairy at the moment so not vegan)

don’t snack at work—people are always bringing in candy or pizza or treats which is nice but I can really mindlessly graze if it’s easily accessible. I’ll try chewing gum and/or making tea instead

hmm ok what else what else. choir was fine and then I had a great voice lesson yesterday. my teacher is a little eccentric but what person in a music career isn’t lol. she focuses a lot on helping you understand and manipulate the actual bodily mechanics of singing/sound production and I’m finding it really fascinating, so much so that it might be my next research rabbithole. I feel like she’s also good at identifying places where I’ve formed a very fixed rigid idea about what my voice “is” or is capable of doing, then creating exercises that get me to do the thing I thought I couldn’t without realizing I’m doing it. I think what I like most about the bodily-mechanics approach is that it does away with the idea that good singing is just a thing some people can naturally do and others can’t. it’s much closer to being an athlete! you have to strengthen and condition certain tiny muscles, and then through carefully scaffolded drills you develop a fine-grained ability to manipulate certain muscles and ligaments to produce different effects, and you have to be careful about using good technique when you train and perform (because like in sports, people develop bad habits to compensate for real or perceived weaknesses, which can put them at higher risk for injury). I sang for almost two decades and had 10+ years of formal vocal training as a kid/teen and I don’t know if anyone ever presented it to me in that way… or maybe they did but it didn’t click for me back then because I hadn’t yet done all of this reading and thinking about how people learn/improve/gain expertise in their chosen skills or fields. anyway I was originally thinking I’d just do a handful of voice lessons to help me feel more confident in choir but my interest is PIQUED you know my intellect is ENGAGED I think I might want to add weekly voice lessons to my budget. and I want to read everything out there on the subject lol. there is no greater joy for me than working in a focused way on improving at a skill.

okay and now let’s think about the day… here are some things I want to get done:

order peel and stick wallpaper (I am trying to figure out how to fix

plan meals

grocery shop

put laundry away

do old navy + everlane returns

swing by home depot to pick up soil, two paintbrushes, and paint (bring swatches to color match)

hourlong walk maybe on the paved trail

hammock reading in the park??

[ankidel]

How to stay motivated with delayed salary?

Staying motivated at work in today's fast-paced environment can be difficult, and when faced with the extra stress of a delayed salary, it becomes even more difficult. Dealing with financial uncertainty can have a negative impact on your mental and emotional health. However, it is critical to remember that difficult periods pass and that with the correct mindset and tactics, you can continue and stay inspired.

1. Communicate and Seek Clarity

The first step in dealing with a delayed salary is to discuss it honestly with your employer or HR department. Seek clarification on the reasons for the delay as well as any potential solutions. Understanding the problem might help you feel less anxious and make more educated decisions.

2. Create a Budget and Prioritize Expenses

Create a budget to manage your finances while you wait for your salary. Prioritise necessities like rent, utilities, and groceries, and limit discretionary spending until your paycheck arrives. Keeping your finances organised can alleviate stress and give you a sense of control over the situation.

3. Focus on Personal Development

Make the most of this difficult time for personal growth. Spend time acquiring new skills, taking online classes, or pursuing interests that could lead to future possibilities or job advancement. Self-improvement can keep you motivated and prepare you for better opportunities.

4. Lean on Support Systems

During this difficult time, seek help from family, friends, or coworkers. Sharing your feelings and experiences can be cathartic and lead to useful advice or assistance. Remember that you are not alone in enduring financial difficulties, and a good support system can make a big difference.

5. Set Realistic Goals

Setting realistic short-term goals might help you maintain focus and motivation when you are under financial stress. Celebrate tiny victories along the way, even if they are unrelated to your delayed income. This sensation of accomplishment might keep you motivated.

6. Stay Positive and Practice Gratitude

Maintain a cheerful attitude by practising thankfulness on a daily basis. Consider your blessings, such as your health, connections, and possibilities. Cultivating a positive mindset can help you build resilience and navigate difficult moments with grace.

A delayed salary can be a difficult task, but it does not have to damper your motivation. You may weather this storm and emerge stronger by talking freely, budgeting sensibly, investing in personal growth, and relying on support systems. To keep your motivation and mental health, remember to establish reasonable goals, stay happy, and practise thankfulness. Financial problems are just temporary, and with determination and tenacity, you will overcome this obstacle and succeed in your personal and professional life.

[laughingcatwrites]

I don't remember if I shared this before, but in the region where I live, a single person making a 6 figure salary is still considered low income under governmental guidance. The cost of living is so high that people with salaries well into the 6 digits live paycheck to paycheck and have essentially no savings for if something goes wrong.

Living out of cars and trailers is fetishized (think all of those Tiny House TV shows and aspirational stories about people living in campers to have shorter commutes to work) because if you don't glamorize it, you'll be destroyed by the knowledge that an itty-bitty, broken down wreck of a home on a postage-stamp sized parcel starts at 7 figures.

And watch out for things like grocery shopping and fuel. I went shopping recently to pick up a few necessities I was out of like bread, lettuce, and instant noodles. I even splurged and got some cat grass, instant rice, and I think a pack of grapes. That one bag of groceries cost what, not too many years ago, would have been my entire grocery budget for the week.

[techreviewsguide]

Pros and Cons of Earphones: A Personal Take on the Little Sound Wonders

Earphones are everywhere nowadays. Whether you’re jogging, working, or just relaxing, earphones have become an essential part of our daily lives. But, like everything, they come with their pros and cons. I’ve used all kinds of earphones, and let me tell you, there are some real highs and lows when it comes to these tiny gadgets. In this blog, I'll walk you through the good and the not-so-good sides of earphones—just like we’re having a casual chat.

What Makes Earphones So Popular?

Earphones have become a must-have gadget. I mean, just think about it: you see people with them on public transport, at the gym, and even while grocery shopping. What’s the deal with their massive popularity? Well, let’s dive in!

The Pros of Earphones

First, let’s talk about why we love earphones. Trust me, the list is long, but I’ll keep it to the most important reasons.

1. Portability – Your Music Everywhere

One of the biggest advantages of earphones is how portable they are. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve just stuffed mine in my pocket or bag before heading out the door. Unlike big, bulky headphones, earphones are tiny and light. You don’t need to worry about space or weight—they’re just always there for you when you need them. If you’re like me and hate carrying big things around, this is a game-changer.

2. Noise Isolation – A Bubble of Privacy

You know that moment when you just want to zone out and not listen to anything around you? Yeah, earphones help with that. Most of them now come with some form of noise isolation, whether it’s passive or active. For me, this is a lifesaver during long flights or when I’m working in noisy cafes. With a good pair of earphones, the world just disappears, and it’s just you and your music or podcast.

3. Great for Fitness – Stay Motivated

I’ve tried running with big headphones before, and trust me, it’s not fun. But with earphones, especially wireless ones, working out becomes so much easier. They’re light, stay in place (most of the time), and don’t get in the way of your movements. Plus, there’s something about music pumping through your ears that just makes you want to push harder at the gym.

4. Versatility – From Calls to Gaming

Another thing I love about earphones is their versatility. They’re not just for listening to music; they’re perfect for taking calls, gaming, or even watching movies on your phone or tablet. Some earphones come with a built-in mic, and it’s so handy when you need to take a quick call without having to dig out your phone.

5. Affordable Options – Good Quality Doesn’t Have to Cost a Fortune

One thing that really stands out about earphones is that you don’t need to break the bank to get a decent pair. While you can spend hundreds on high-end models, there are plenty of budget options that deliver great sound quality. I’ve owned both cheap and expensive earphones, and while the difference is noticeable, even the lower-cost options can do a fantastic job.

The Cons of Earphones

Okay, so we’ve covered the good stuff, but earphones do have their downsides. And honestly, some of them can be pretty frustrating.

1. Comfort Issues – Can Be Annoying After Long Use

Ever worn earphones for a long time? Yeah, me too, and sometimes it feels like my ears are ready to fall off. The biggest con for me is that they can become uncomfortable, especially if you’re using them for extended periods. Earbuds tend to press against your ear canal, and after a while, it can be downright painful. Some people (myself included) experience ear fatigue, and it’s definitely a dealbreaker if comfort is a priority for you.

2. Tangling Wires – The Never-Ending Struggle

If you’re still using wired earphones, you’ll understand this pain. No matter how carefully I put them in my bag, they always come out looking like a tangled mess. Honestly, untangling earphone wires is like trying to solve a puzzle sometimes, and it can be pretty annoying when you’re in a rush. Yes, wireless options exist, but they come with their own issues (more on that later).

3. Durability – They Don’t Last Forever

One thing I’ve noticed over the years is that earphones tend to break quite easily. Whether it’s one earbud going out, the wires fraying, or the sound quality deteriorating, they just don’t seem to have a long lifespan. I’ve gone through more pairs than I care to admit, and it can get expensive if you’re constantly having to replace them.

4. Sound Quality – Not Always the Best

Now, this depends on the type of earphones you get, but in general, earphones don’t offer the same level of sound quality as over-ear headphones. If you’re an audiophile or just someone who loves rich, deep sound, you might be disappointed. Earphones can sometimes feel a bit tinny, and the bass isn’t always as punchy as you’d like.

5. Wireless Connectivity Issues – The Bluetooth Struggle

Ah, wireless earphones. When they work, they’re amazing. But when they don’t… well, it’s another story. I’ve had more than my fair share of connection problems with Bluetooth earphones. Sometimes they won’t pair properly, or they’ll randomly disconnect mid-song. And don’t even get me started on the battery dying at the worst possible moment. As convenient as wireless earphones can be, they come with their own set of headaches.

My Personal Experience With Earphones

I’ve been using earphones for years now, and I’ve tried everything from the cheapest to the most expensive models. Here’s my take: they’re awesome for everyday use, especially if you’re always on the go like me. But you’ve got to be careful with them, as they can be fragile, and the comfort factor is hit or miss.

One time, I was on a long flight, and my earphones were the only thing keeping me sane. But after about three hours, my ears started to hurt, and I had to take them out, which led to hearing a crying baby for the rest of the trip. Not fun. I’ve also had moments where my wireless earphones just refused to pair with my phone, which resulted in me having to walk in silence. So, yeah, they’re not perfect.

Conclusion – Should You Buy Earphones?

So, after all this, are earphones worth it? I’d say yes, absolutely, but with some caution. They’re great for their portability, noise isolation, and versatility, but you might have to deal with some issues like comfort, durability, and occasional tech glitches. If you’re willing to overlook the cons, earphones can be a fantastic companion for your daily life.

But hey, that’s just my take. What’s your experience with earphones? Let me know!

#earphones

[rafaelbivar]

Money Tips for Unemployed Stay-at-Home Moms

Being a stay-at-home mom without a job can be really tough on the wallet, no doubt. But you've totally got this!

Get that hustle on! Think of little side gigs or odd jobs you could do from home to bring in extra cash. Selling crafts online, freelance writing, or even just taking paid surveys - it all adds up!

If you're still coming up short after trimming expenses and side hustling, looking into loans for the unemployed could help bridge that gap. These handy loans don't require credit checks or proof of income since they know your job situation. You can get some quick cash to cover important bills while you get back on your feet.

The crucial thing is just borrowing what you actually need until your next money-making opportunity comes through. However, having that short-term financial cushion can provide huge relief during this stressful time.

Reduce Grocery Costs

Slashing grocery costs is a total game-changer for saving big! A few simple tricks can stretch your food budget like crazy.

First up, get hip to the world of coupons and cash-back apps. Another smart move is buying non-perishable pantry staples in bulk sizes when they're on sale. Things like rice, pasta, canned goods - stock up when you can. You'll spend less per ounce.

And get in the habit of meal planning around what's on sale that week. Grocery stores make it easy by literally telling you their best deals! Base meals off those discounted proteins, produce, etc.

You can even try growing simple herbs or veggies at home. Cherry tomatoes, basil, and lettuce are super easy to maintain and harvest with fresh ingredients.

Find Free or Low-Cost Activities

Are you keeping that fun factor going when money's tight? No sweating is required! There are so many budget-friendly options for entertainment if you get a little creative.

Don't overlook all the free happenings in your community, too. Museums and zoos usually have certain discounts or no-cost days. Your local library hosts all kinds of rad events like crafting classes and book clubs, and you name it.

Instead of blowing budgets on fancy restaurant meals, switch it up with potlucks at someone's place. You each cook up a dish to share and hang out with friends but without that crazy bill at the end.

You need to get resourceful about where you can cut costs while still making amazing memories. Free fun is absolutely possible with a tiny bit of planning ahead. Your social life and wallet will both thank you!

Explore Side Hustles

Being home without a steady job can shake up your finances. But don't stress - there are awesome side hustles perfect for supplementing your income!

For starters, look into paid online surveys and freelance writing gigs. Companies will pay you just for sharing your opinions or lending your writing skills. Easy money from the comfort of your home!

If you're feeling crafty, set up a shop selling handmade goods like jewellery, artwork, or crocheted blankets on sites like Etsy. Baked goods and treats also make for yummy best-sellers!

Dog walking, babysitting, running errands - your neighbours will be thrilled to have someone trustworthy available for tasks they're too busy for. Just spread the word you're offering those services.

Yard work is another winner that lets you set your schedule. Mowing, raking leaves, shovelling snow - people happily pay for that helping hand.

The beauty of side hustles is you can take on as little or as much work as fits your life. Even just devoting a few hours a week provides meaningful income.

Manage Debt

Dealing with debt when you're out of work is no fun, but getting it managed should be a top priority. The last thing you need is fees and interest compounding bigger balances.

First things first - be upfront with your lenders about your employment situation. Many are willing to work with you by reducing minimum payments or interest rates temporarily. Don't go ghosting!

While you've got some breathing room, focus any payments on chipping away at high-interest debt like credit cards first. Those steep APRs can trap you in a cycle otherwise.

For looming bills, see if you can work out payment plan arrangements to avoid racking up late fees. Honesty and open communication go a long way!

And above all else, resist the urge to take on any new debt for a while through loans, fresh credit cards, etc. It'll only worsen your situation long term.

Funding

Money troubles can feel super overwhelming for unemployed stay-at-home moms. But same-day emergency loans provide a quick fix when cash is desperately needed.

These short-term loans get money in your bank account fast, often within just hours of applying. No more stressing over how to cover urgent expenses like car repairs or medical bills quickly.

You can frequently qualify regardless of income situation or credit score. They're designed to help during financial crunches.

Conclusion

Financial stress can feel super heavy, but you've got this! With some smart planning, the money strain is totally manageable.

Take a deep breath. This is just a temporary setback. In the meantime, see where you can trim some costs to stretch that budget further.