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#national high five day
murderousink23 · 11 months
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04/20/2023 is National Lima Bean Respect Day 🇺🇲, National Look Alike Day 👬🇺🇲, National Pineapple Upside Down Day 🍍🇺🇲, Weed Day 🇺🇲, National High Five Day ✋🇺🇲, Chinese Language Day 🇺🇳
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aesthetco · 11 months
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April 20th ~ National High Five Day
Happy High Five day! Make sure to high five somebody you know. Or someone you don't. It doesn't matter.
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ami-ven · 2 years
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Happy National High Five Day!
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nationaldaycalendar · 2 years
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April 21, 2022 - NATIONAL HIGH FIVE DAY – NATIONAL KINDERGARTEN DAY – NATIONAL YELLOW BAT DAY – GET TO KNOW YOUR CUSTOMERS DAY – NATIONAL CHOCOLATE-COVERED CASHEWS DAY
April 21, 2022 – NATIONAL HIGH FIVE DAY – NATIONAL KINDERGARTEN DAY – NATIONAL YELLOW BAT DAY – GET TO KNOW YOUR CUSTOMERS DAY – NATIONAL CHOCOLATE-COVERED CASHEWS DAY
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sp0o0kylights · 9 months
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Indie horror filmmaker Eddie Munson, high off his first big (underground but notable) success, knows the movers and shakers of the film world have their eyes on him. 
They're just waiting to see if he was a one hit wonder before they open all the doors he's been trying to kick down. 
His next upcoming film is his chance, his shot at finally making it. Of being like Rob Zombie and the other creators he looks up to that masterfully blended metal and horror. 
This is his golden ticket. 
The project starts off smooth. His last success has greased the wheels, and things fall into place faster than ever before. 
He's got the best idea for this insane haunted house story, a true "mazes in mazes" type of deal with a queer twist. A real look at how a place can haunt a person just as easily as a ghost can.
 Everything's going swimmingly--until one of his leads drops out the day they're due to start shooting.
No call no show's, and later, Eddie will find out the guy got a last second call back to be a contestant on one of those Love Island bullshit romance gigs (and laugh his ass off when the main love interest takes one look at Billy Hargrove and goes on a five minute rant about ugly mullets on national television) but right now? 
He's fucked. 
He's called in every favor he has for this film. Maxed out every credit card he owns, tapped every contact, got on his hands and knees and begged his rising star journalist best bud to help him market it. (Which Nancy agreed too, for way less cash than she should have.) 
 Eddie can't get anyone on the phone, much less find a replacement actor and the amazing place they rented, that is so dark and wonderfully eerie, is booked out the rest of the year as an AirBnB. 
If he doesn't film now, he loses it all.
Cue the other lead, unknown theater actor Steve Harrington, watching his hair pulling, tire kicking, 'cursing and hopping while holding a toe' mental breakdown and asks why Eddie himself doesn't act in it. 
"Just go full Kevin Smith man. Act and direct." He says, with an easy grin. 
Jeff, Eddie's tried and true videographer, trades glances with Gareth and Grant (Eddie's long used special effects and makeup team, who double for about twelve other jobs because they're also his best friends and they're all in this together, make or break.)
"We don't really have a lot of other options." Gareth hedges. "You're already using me and Grant as background characters." 
Eddie, hands fluttering around his face as though trying to wave away this entire situation, squeezes his eyes shut and lets out a pained hiss. 
"Fine, fine!" He announces with the air of a man running towards a fire. "Fuck it, this is our one shot and so help me I will be shooting it!" 
Steve politely hides a laugh with a cough. 
"Chuckle all you want big boy, I'm going to tragically romance you so hard people will forget both of our characters actually live." Eddie snarls.
Steve, the handsome bastard, just winks.  "Looking forward to it." 
Eddie blushes, but hides it with a surge of frantic energy, conveyed by lots of yelling and moving and getting the ball rolling. 
Two days later, Steve would give the performance of a lifetime down on his knees, covered in a literal pound of fake gore, booty shorts and nothing else as he sobbed about how a lover could become a home. His hands clawed at Eddie's jeans before resting a tear stained face on a slim leg as he bent his body towards Eddie like it hurt to be away from him. 
Eddie would later receive equal praise in his own acting during the scene, with the world and every reporter in it asking how he conveyed an otherworldly panic so beautifully throughout Steve's performance. What was he thinking, to evoke those expressions on his face? 
The way his own pale hand, unmarred by blood and acting as a metaphor for the plot, would come to stroke Steve's cheeks.
Eventually he'd come up with a smooth polished answer that cheekily pleased his audience, but nothing would ever come close to the truth. 
("Eddie I've known you since grade school." Jeff said that night, a scant few hours after they'd wrapped. "You can act man, but not like that." 
Eddie made a wild "shut up" gesture, looking frantically over his shoulder before admitting; "You saw how close his face was to the prince of darkness!? I was seconds away from popping a boner next to his lips, in front of the 4K camera!” 
Eddie bounced into Jeff’s face so he could hiss: “He fucking had his chin on my thigh, Jeff, and I am only a man. A mere mortal!" 
"So we're gonna unpack all of that later." Jeff said finally, when he'd managed to get his mouth working and Eddie back out of his personal space. "But dude, we've talked about you calling your dick the prince of darkness." 
Eddie flipped him off.) 
One year later and critics named Corroded the best horror film of the year, praising the camera work, practical effects, and how there wasn't a soul alive who was surprised to hear Eddie and Steve were dating after their explosive on screen chemistry.
No one ever quite understood the prince of darkness jokes or why Steve mentioning it made Eddie blush, but that was a secret to find out later. 
Today on WIP’s I have no intention of writing, indie horror movie AU!
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neil-gaiman · 3 months
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Hello Mr Neil Gaiman, I write to say you have ruined me; again. Four times in my life I have been utterly and hopelessly rotted and ruined and consumed by your work. First was when I was 4 and first watched Coraline, I didn't even know who you were and couldn't conceive it either way back then; but I remember watching the movie so much until the disc scratched, and making my mum buy me a coraline doll and lalaloopsy dolls that reminded me of it. Then when I was 12, when season one of good omens came out, and I immediately found out it was a book (WHAT?? IT'S A BOOK?? I NEED TO READ IT PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE-)(I read it), and it was all I could find myself speaking about for months. This year when season 2 came out, I was absolutely heartbroken, and this altered my brain in a way I had never even dreamed possible; everything clicked that the common denominator in making me go insane was *you*, so I followed you on tumblr and everywhere I could and I made it my life's mission to read more of your books. First, as soon as I could, I read The Neil Gaiman Reader in two days and it was SO GOOD (and returned it to the library as soon as I finished), and I knew instantly I had to get The Ocean At The End Of The Lane. Only trouble is, where I live has basically no books, of anyone's, ever, so I searched probably five different bookshops until I found it and I immediately got it. I wasn't allowed to read it till Christmas though. Then Christmas day came, the day I had hyped up in my head for so long, simply because I got to read this book, so in one sitting on Christmas, I read the ocean at the end of the lane. I think I have found a new obsession to occupy my brain. How do you write all of these things? How do you inspire these feelings? I feel like you have a kind of magic to you. I have spent basically the whole day since googling everything I can about this novel (and hoping, wishing and praying that the play will return and come to Western Australia some day), but now I have the VERY URGENT request of answering my questions please please please pretty please. 1) What are some things you wish people knew about The Ocean At The End Of The Lane that they don't know already? 2)What are questions that you want people to ask about it, but haven't yet? 3) Where did you get all of the magic and emotion and EVERYTHING encapsulated those pages? - Yours sincerely, an extremely obsessed high school senior.
Dear E.O.H.S.S.
I'm really happy it had that effect on you. Now we both have to hope that the National Theatre adaptation of The Ocean at the End of the Lane gets revived and makes it to Australia, because most of your questions are sort of answered in the play.
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pucksandpower · 5 months
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Family Feud
Charles Leclerc x Verstappen!Reader
Summary: Max thinks it’s bad enough that his sister is dating his emotional support rival … but did they really have to rub salt in the wound by making him want to puke on national tv?
Warnings: 18+ content mildly implied
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You take a deep breath as you walk onto the Family Feud stage, trying to calm the butterflies in your stomach. You never expected to be here, about to face off against your brother and his Red Bull Racing teammates in a battle of wits. But when Fred Vasseur talked to you about potentially doing an episode of the show for charity, you jumped at the chance.
Especially since it meant spending time with your boyfriend.
You glance over at Charles and he winks at you, his smile making your heart flutter.
You could stare into each other’s eyes all day so you force yourself to look away and turn to face the host Steve Harvey as he introduces the teams.
“Welcome to Celebrity Family Feud!” Steve announces. “Today we’ve got two Formula 1 teams ready to compete. Let’s meet the teams!”
Steve starts with the Red Bull Racing team. “We’ve got Team Principal Christian Horner, Red Bull drivers Max Verstappen and Sergio Perez, and AlphaTauri drivers Daniel Ricciardo and Yuki Tsunoda!”
The crowd cheers as the guys wave. Max shifts awkwardly, clearly not comfortable being on stage. You stifle a laugh, knowing he would rather be anywhere than here right now.
“And the Scuderia Ferrari team,” Steve continues, “led by Team Principal Fred Vasseur, with drivers Charles Leclerc and Carlos Sainz, Chief Technical Officer Y/N Verstappen, and reserve driver Antonio Giovinazzi!”
You and your teammates greet the audience. As you pass Max, you ruffle his hair teasingly. “Ready to lose?”
He swats your hand away, rolling his eyes. “You wish.”
Steve explains the rules and then it’s time for the face-off. You and Charles step up to represent Ferrari while Daniel and Max come forward for Red Bull.
“Alright, we surveyed 100 people, top five answers are on the board,” Steve says. “Name something you do to get pumped up before a race.”
You ring the buzzer just before Max. “Listen to hype music!” You shout.
“Listen to hype music!” Steve repeats. “Let’s see if it’s up there!”
You hold your breath as the board flips, revealing your answer in the #2 spot. You and Charles high-five triumphantly.
“Alright, Red Bull, you can steal if you have a better answer,” Steve prompts.
Max thinks for a moment. “Visualize winning,” he tries.
“Good answer, good answer,” Steve nods. But it’s not there. You grin at Charles, knowing Ferrari has taken round one.
The game continues, both teams battling it out trying to guess the survey answers.
You and Charles can’t resist teasing your brother every chance you get.
“What might a Formula 1 driver do to unwind after a long race?” Steve asks next.
You buzz in with a sly smile. “Make love to their partner!”
Charles doubles over laughing as Max makes gagging noises, his face turning bright red.
“Wooowee, let’s see if our survey takers agree! Is making sweet sweet love to their partner on the board?” Steve chuckles. Unbelievably, it shows up as the #4 answer.
“Yes!” You shout, kissing Charles on the cheek. Max is shaking his head, looking like he wants to disappear. You blow him a taunting kiss, which just makes him cringe more.
“Red Bull, you gotta come back from this,” Steve says.
“Uhhh ... play video games,” Daniel guesses but the large red X that appears on the screen shows that Ferrari maintains the lead as you head into the final round.
“Alright, this is for the win. Ferrari just needs 9 points to end this right here,” Steve announces dramatically. “Name something you might find in an F1 driver’s motorhome.”
Charles rings in first. “Condoms!” He calls out, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.
You laugh as Max lets out an anguished yell. “Stoooooop!”
“Survey says ... number three answer!” Steve announces. “Ferrari wins!”
Charles grabs you in a celebratory hug, spinning you around happily. You kiss him deeply, not caring that Max is fake vomiting behind you.
You break apart from your boyfriend, glancing back at Max still pretending to gag.
“Ugh get a room,” Max complains.
“Don’t worry, we plan to as soon as we get done with this,” you wink.
Max looks utterly disgusted as always.
“Alright folks, time for the Fast Money round!” Steve announces. “First up for Ferrari is Charles Leclerc!”
You blow Charles a flirty kiss as he takes the stage.
“Name something an F1 driver might eat before a race,” Steve begins.
Charles shoots you a shit-eating grin before winking at the camera. “Their beautiful girlfriend.”
You giggle as Max turns an unnatural shade of red alarmingly similar to your Ferrari branded shirt.
“Let’s see if the survey agrees!” Steve turns to the board.
No match but you don’t care.
Charles fires through the next few questions.
“Name something you’d pack for a race weekend.”
“Handcuffs,” he laughs at Steve’s scandalized expression.
You pretend to fan yourself while Max bangs his head against the podium in agony.
The buzzer sounds and Charles finishes strong. You give him a hug as you take the stage instead.
“Name something associated with F1,” Steve says.
“Fast cars and sexy drivers,” you reply with a wink towards Charles.
Charles blows you a kiss. Max looks ready to walk off stage or stab a mechanic with a fork.
You hope it’s the first option. One mechanic stabber in the family is more than enough, thank you very much.
You match Charles’ style, giving mostly normal answers until …
“Name something you pack for a weekend trip.”
You tap your chin playfully. “Lots and lots of lingerie.”
Charles whistles and cheers as you curtsy. Max is nearly crimson with embarrassment.
“And that’s the game!” Steve concludes. “Congratulations to Ferrari for their big win today on Celebrity Family Feud! $46,000 will be donated to Racing For Kids on your behalf.”
You leap into Charles arms, kissing him deeply. “That’s how it’s done, schatje!”
“We make an unstoppable team,” Charles smiles, dimples on full display, and you swear that some of the women in the audience swoon.
Max just shakes his head as he stomps to the exit. “You two need Jesus.”
But you’re too busy gazing adoringly at Charles to notice. Winning the show was fun but the real prize is having the love of your life by your side.
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dev1lm4n · 10 months
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moth to flame
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ko-fi | series masterlist
pairing: porn star!joel miller x f!reader
summary: you're pining over wicked fantasies or who you recently discovered to be mr. miller, even when it's indubitably wrong.
word count: 3.9k
warnings: explicit (18+), pre-apocalypse, accidental voyeurism, masturbation, age gap (joel's in his mid 30's and reader is in her early 20's), reader is an exchange student but nationality is not mentioned
notes: set in 2013. do reblog or comment if u enjoyed it!
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Turbulent wind pushed on the pickup truck to no avail. That, paired with the soothing rhythmic grunt of the ignition created a perfect moody atmosphere. It was the peak of summer; yet somehow, for whatever reason, Austin was looking awfully somber. Gray and bland like the taste of soaked cereals. Sarah was bound to return to school despite the hefty weekends she’s spent with the newest addition to the Millers, and she didn’t like it at all. She’s making it real obvious too for everyone. Cheeks puffed up like she is five and always a loud thump following her every move.
She landed her dad’s coffee on the table with a loud thump. She stormed back into her room with a louder thump. She swung the pickup truck’s door with the loudest thump you’ve ever heard, before making her way over to the school’s gate. Her small pout remained on her face despite your cheerful wave and words of encouragement from behind the rolled window.
She’s a cute kid, you decided. 
You’re sure things would link perfectly between you and your host family if it weren’t for the fact that you practically avoided Mr. Miller like he’s the goddamn plague. Everytime you slipped out of your room, you had to make sure he wasn’t in a five meter proximity. You’d rather be dehydrated and starved than to meet him after his day-time job (which you’ve recently learned was a contracting gig), lingering around the kitchen with a stale sandwich up his mouth. Similarly, you treated Sarah as a trusty messenger for every message you had for her dad. Whether it’s a leaky sink or a hefty request to drop you off at your college.
It’s a genuine miracle Sarah never questioned you on your abnormal behavior, nor did Mr. Miller. Was this your streak of luck?
You tucked your phone back in your pocket after a quick run through your texts, eyes focused back towards what laid ahead of you. Mr. Miller’s broad shoulders stretched across the length of the car’s cushioned seat, moving with a steady pulse at every breath of air he claimed. Your careful eyes watched over the seams of his shirt; the correct side up after Sarah’s clever remark earlier that morning. Slowly, you traced along the nape of his neck with your bare eyes. Further and further, right until you could finally spot the dark brown strands tangled in with hints of gray. It looked soft.. much like how it appeared to be on his videos. You wondered how it’d feel like to run your hands over it, feel it through the ridges of your knuckles, and pull on‒
“Hey, you listenin’ to me?”
The man’s baritone voice penetrated the thick silence and you were left aghast. Soul sucked out of your body as your eyes flickered towards the rearview mirror, eventually catching the small smile playing on his dangerously charming face. He’d be the end of you that’s for sure. This was a bad idea, asking him to drive you to college just because taxi rates are crazy high this time of the year, leaving the two of you alone. Alone and hidden under the privacy of his truck, you were fucked through and through. You just hoped he wasn’t clever enough to somehow figure out your utterly shameful thoughts.
“Sorry.. um.. I was thinking of something. What were you saying, Mr. Miller?”
Yeah, that’s right. You were thinking of how nice his hair would feel when you’re gripping on it for dear life, but he didn’t have to know that.
“No worries, kiddo. Just.. I have a question.”
“Shoot.”
“Did I do something to make you uncomfortable?”
At the last syllable he uttered, you were already rigid. Parched, feeling like your tongue magically turned into sandpaper; you’d always consider yourself to be an excellent debater at all parts of life, but his lone question left you high and dry. Your eyes darted back onto the rearview mirror and instead of his candid expression, you were met with his scintillating gaze. Curious and prodding into the deepest part of your head. It enthralled you, encouraged you to say the truth.
“You’re always scurrying off when I’m around,” he gave a thought to what he’s about to say. “I get that Sarah is friendlier and a lot more relatable to talk to. Talkin’ to an old man isn’t exactly preferable, is it?”
He let out a polite set of laughter, which was met by a deafening silence. You crumpled under the tension. Awkward and wanting nothing more than to escape the car like some fugitive in handcuffs. Killing Me Softly With His Song by Fugees continued to play faintly in the background, once again becoming a fitting ringtone for your impending response.
“No,” you denied slowly. Effectively lying, but it was as obvious as a kid trying to pocket candies from the cash register. “It’s not you. It’s me.”
His expression eventually twisted into one of mirth; brows quirked with interest, a tight smile edged to unfold. He’s probably finding the telenovela-inspired reply hilarious, but the man’s polite enough to store all his witty comments in the back of his head.
“What I mean is,” you paused to inhale deeply. What were you even supposed to say? You used to watch all his explicit videos and therefore you couldn't look him in the eye without getting reminded of every single scene? Lying has never been your forte, but the other option was far too humiliating. Even for you. “I’m naturally awkward, Mr. Miller. I.. I feel embarrassed when approaching you. Feels like I’m bothering you or something.”
That was half a lie. A white lie, you’d conclude.
“Oh sweetheart, you never bother me.”
The way he said that nickname had you sweating buckets. Seconds away from throwing up your entire breakfast menu out of sheer nervousness. You knew he meant it in a platonic familial-bond type of way, but God did it remind you of what he calls all his pretty co-stars.
“You and Sarah are my number one priority now. You know that, right?”
“Right. Thanks, Mr. Miller.”
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“I’m home.”
Exhaustion trailed after your every step as you made your way through the empty hallway. A result of caffeine-induced studying paired with the buzzing busyness of commuting in peak-hour. This was all easily avoidable. You should’ve accepted Mr. Miller’s offer in picking you up after his gig up West, but the fear of making a slip up is overriding your desire for convenience. You wouldn't want to make things even more weird than it already is. Your most prized possession, the laptop you’ve owned since the beginning of time, weighed your shoulder down exceptionally as you trudged through. A loud grunt passed your lips as you stumbled across; appearing exactly like the hunchback of Notre Dame.
“Oh! You’re here!”
You took a step back to meet the feminine voice, bubbly and hearty from the girl sitting in a criss-cross manner in front of the TV. Sarah was smiling. A big toothy smile that was too hard to resist, despite the fatigue weighing your shoulders down. You’re just soft when it comes to the little girl.
“Dad’s giving me a massage. Do you want one too?”
You must’ve been dog-tired, because you foolishly didn’t notice the large figure looming over her from the sunken couch. It was admittedly dim in the living room, but he was as obvious as an elephant, big and rigged with muscles out of a need for his profession. Both his contracting gig and his other.. scandalous endeavors. Breathing was all that you needed to focus on for now, and perhaps schooling your expression. You’re almost entirely sure you wouldn’t be able to speak no matter how hard you try.
A small unsure quirk of your head was what you settled with and Sarah, being the nicest girl you’ve ever known, quickly ushered you to sit by her side. On the wooden floor. For a damned massage from Mr. Miller.
You complied, of course. Even when you look mildly petrified by the idea.
“What’re you up to all evening?” 
His voice grazed your eardrums, alike to a powerful gust of wind, as you seated yourself on the foot of the couch. Sarah by your side, looking fondly in your direction, giving you all the more pressure to appear put together when you could simply falter at the bare sound of his voice. You needed to get your shit together. Mr. Miller’s an actual man, for fucks sake, it’s horribly immoral to think of him as the Wicked Fantasies in these kinds of setting.
“Studying.”
“Is that why you’re so pent-up?”
No. You’re pent-up because you’ve spent the entire week trying to be on your best behavior, trying to act like you’re not openly thirsting over this sweet girl’s father, trying to act like you’re not tipping into insanity from merely being placed in the same room as he is, but he didn’t have to know that.
“Think so,” you hummed softly.
“Poor thing.”
Anticipation almost killed you right there and then. You knew he was going to place his calloused fingers over your shoulders, knew that it was the basic requirement to give someone a shoulder massage, but you couldn’t help but develop butterflies in your belly at the thought. It wasn’t beautiful nor poetic, instead, it was an absolute nuisance to conceal your thoughts. When he began to place his hands on your upper back, you flinched.
A hitch in your breathing, then a throaty groan.
You were sensitive, touch-starved, and his touch practically confirmed that.
Mr. Miller’s touch was expertly firm yet gentle, the way you imagined it for a long time. His calloused fingers glided along your trapeze muscles with finesse. Fluid and seamless, as if he’s a master to the human body. Your eyes fluttered shut as he focused on the tension points. The nook between your bones which was constantly weighed down by your bag didn’t go unnoticed. His skilled fingers kneaded away every knot and tightness, making you surrender to his ministrations.
You didn’t want him to stop.
You wanted him to touch you more.
To have each one of his rough fingers stroke every soft bend of your body, like how he treated May and Sadie as if they were his own personal ragdoll.
To feel him under the constraints of your thin t-shirt, without a veil separating the two of you.
You craved him so bad, even when it’s wrong.
“You feel better?”
When he spoke, his raspy voice was magnetic to the core of who you were, as if he's able to resonate with all of you when others can barely achieve a fraction of it. It sounded sincere, like he truly cared about your well-being and not to simply feed into your secret desires. He meant well and you’re here acting like a starved pervert. The thought made you cringe ever so slightly.
“Yeah. Much better.”
“Good then, kiddo.”
The nickname turned you sour. You're more than willing to debate him on it, unlike last time.
“I’m not a kid.”
“No?”
He was so smug about it too. Even when you're looking all pissy.
“No. I’m a fully grown adult, Mr. Miller. Do note that I’m in my twenties,” you schooled him persistently.
“Twenties? Wow, you’re truly ancient.”
“Yeah and you’re a dinosaur, Mr. Miller.”
The silly quarrel you’ve gotten into with the older man made Sarah burst into laughter, breaking your tenacity and effectively making you laugh along with her.
It was the first time in forever that the Millers laughed that hard together.
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As the evening sun painted the kitchen in sepia hues, you stood before the cutting board; a bunch of onions staring right back at you, waiting to be transformed. You have always been passionate about cooking as you viewed it a stress-relieving activity, similar to those medley of coloring books marketed for adults. With a polished kitchen knife in hand and earphones stuffed in, you began your culinary adventure. Your hands moved swiftly, guided by blind confidence. The rhythmic sound of knife to wood began to echo all around the room.
“What are you cookin’ up?”
You could hear him as clear as day, timbre vibrating through your ear canals. Only then did you notice that he had indeed pulled one of your neatly stuffed earphones away, leaving you exposed to the world. To him who you’ve been avoiding despite your little chat in the truck. You looked dumbstruck. Lost in your own thoughts, your eyes wandered up the pools of honey in his eyes. The subtle movements, his thoughtful expression, all seemed to weave a tapestry of intrigue in your mind.
“I’m just chopping up onions here. Nothing exciting, really.”
It took all of you to tear yourself away from his gaze. Even so, the sensation lasted, leaving an anchor of trepidation in your chest.
“You’re back early,” you remarked matter-of-factly.
“Construction guys finished cementing early. Why? You miss me?”
You chuckled fondly. Only to shake your head as you mouthed a brief ‘no’. It’s hard not to entertain the cheeky older man despite your best effort. He was better than you could ever imagine from the confines of your laptop. He had a personality, one that easily made anyone hooked, and a kind heart, therefore it’s terribly hard to keep your burning feelings at bay. It’s wrong. Terribly wrong to view him as such when you’re almost entirely sure he viewed you as his kin, as someone to protect and show guidance to. You were drawn to him like a moth to flame, but he didn’t need to know that.
A sudden lapse in concentration caused your knife to slip, nicking your finger in the process.
A sharp sting shot through your hand.
Then a bead of crimson appeared, mingled with the pungent scent of onions.
“Shit..”
Momentarily stunned, you sucked in a sharp breath, your eyes widened with surprise. It didn’t hurt that bad yet, but it’s still a sight that made you frantic and out of your element. You instinctively brought your injured finger close to your tightly pressed lips, intending to investigate the severity of the wound. Droplets of blood seeped its way through the slim cut as you pressed on the soft pads of your pointer finger. You need to get the wound clean and so tap water was your first option.
However, fate had other plans in store.
“Oh no.. does it hurt, sweetheart?”
You grimaced at the nickname. This wasn’t a good time to get all desperate, but his voice did nothing but burn you with need. Without hesitation, Mr. Miller took hold of your nicked finger, his touch tender and reassuring. He guided your finger closer to his lips and in the many years you've lived, this was the most sensual scene you’ve ever witnessed. Your eyebrows quivered, a mixture of confusion and anticipation swirled within you. 
He was your drug.
One touch and the intoxication was fatal. Whatever he wants to do is what you’ll do and there isn't a thing you can do to stop him - not that you’d want to.
With gentle care, he leaned in. He had to crouch ever so slightly to get to your level and never once did his velvety brown eyes leave yours. You’re starting to think that he was doing it on purpose. That this entire scene you’re trying to make sense of was just a part of his orchestrated show, that he indeed felt the same way you do and was just as afraid of confronting it. Though you’re never really sure; the sheer attention he gave you made your brain turn into mush.
His warm breath ghosted over the wound, and before you knew it, he pressed a soft, delicate kiss on where crimson was pooling. Your breath caught in your throat. You wanted to choke. The sting that had plagued you a moment ago now seemed to dissipate into thin air, replaced by a warmth that spread from your hand to every inch of your aching body. His mouth was a furnace. Plush at all sides as his slick tongue stuck flat against the nick.
The concentration in his face, the emphasized crows feet, the stray strands of brown dappled on his sweaty forehead. 
“It’s a little old-fashioned, I know,” he whispered, his eyes locked with yours, “but sometimes a little love can make the pain go away.”
“Love?” you mumbled foolishly, still in a trance.
“You’re a part of the Millers, remember?”
What he said stung you more than the nick. It pushed you off the ledge of delusions. Your gaze slowly grew somber despite your best efforts to stay nonchalant.
“Of course, Mr. Miller.”
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The steady patter of rain upon his window stirred Joel awake, droplets yet to scatter the nascent rays of the settling moon. A strange occurrence for late summer. Though, the gentle sound brought a certain calmness to his mind; a soothing melody, one that stripped him of fear and incompetence. He looked around, blurry vision still intact while he scrambled to find the time. His alarm clock flashed back the time in big bold numbers. Barely past midnight, he noted internally. Joel wasn’t so sure on why his throat felt incredibly parched, dry to the bone, in need of refreshment even when it’s only been a few hours since he tucked himself in. Was it the one beer he had at dinner?
With an irritated sigh, he groggily stumbled out of bed. His knees creaked at its rusty hinge everytime he took a step down the dimly lit staircase of his home. He felt like a nutcracker. An old worn-out one at that. He wondered if he’s gotten too old for this, too old for construction and his side job - has he developed arthritis? His worries came to a halt when a soft glow caught his attention, emanating from a partially open door. 
If he remembered correctly, it was the small room by the garage he’s gifted to you. 
Curiosity piqued, he hesitated for a moment.
Would he be an absolute prick if he took a short peak? Probably. But you interest him. You’ve always been interesting to him, in ways that confuses him more often than he’d like.
He neared the door. One step at a time, praying to whatever God up there that’d be kind enough not to let the wooden boards ahead of him creak at his heavy steps. In that solitary moment, he felt a mixture of emotions welling up within him. It was as if he knew that he was about to stumble upon a secret, a private moment that’d be permanently embedded in his mind. He contemplated once again when he’s just a step away from getting a clear view. Respect for you tugged at his conscience, yet an overwhelming ugly curiosity pushed him to stay, to try to understand the significance of your nocturnal act.
His brown eyes peered through the small gap left.
He could see you now, but you couldn’t see him.
In the dappled moonlight, he carefully mapped out each and every one of your soft curves. How you were bathed in gentle light, sat comfortably on top of your stacked comforter as you typed away at your laptop with lightning-like speed. How you slowly leaned forward to get a closer look at the blaring screen, hair left relaxed and rear-end clearly emphasized by your inept sleeping shorts. How you eagerly repositioned yourself, straddling two rolled pillows as if you were to ride a horse. Joel didn’t mean to look. He didn’t mean to stare in such a perverted, disgusting manner. You were just too captivating and he was one weak-willed man.
With bated breath, he continued to observe.
Joel found himself captivated, his thirst momentarily forgotten, as he marveled at the scene unfolding in front of him.
This was wrong, he reminded himself. This was you he was looking at, not anyone else. You who he always viewed as a wide-eyed young girl still trying her best to navigate around her life. You who’s naive enough to believe his lies that the pink condom packets in his pick-up truck were single-packet wet tissues. You who’s sweet enough to cook his entire family a good dinner for once; turkey, mash, and green beans. He shouldn’t be looking at you like this. He shouldn’t crave you, because you’re you and he’s him.
His dilemma fell short when you clumsily tugged both your thin shorts and cotton panties off your legs, shin planted deeply into the pristine comforter. Your cunt gleamed under the thick moonlight, arousal formed in globs of clear stickiness right around where your tiny hole appeared. The visage caused him to stiffen in his sweatpants, twitching uncontrollably as he watched you rub yourself along the soft material.
Joel had a first-class view on how you cautiously ground down against it and he was.. shamefully thrilled. A moan bubbled up, before you did it again, and again, and again, each time the pillow appeared more and more damp.
“Fuck,” you hissed to yourself and it drove Joel insane. He pushed his pants down embarrassingly as if he’s some teenage boy catching a coincidental sight of a strip tease, before he cupped himself through his briefs. You’re putting on such a good show, even when it’s not for him, or for anyone on that matter. He watched with anticipation as you leaned back on both hands, edging yourself, before you rutted against it desperately.
Your hole throbbed, contracting and loosening everytime the soft material made contact with your sensitive nub. It’s all that you focus on now. Which was working wonders, considering your quiet gasps and labored breaths were starting to turn into much vulgar noises. Loud moans and whimpers that made Joel’s cock grew with interest, dribbling with pre-cum and desire.
“Please, please, please,” you begged breathlessly.
Both of your hands disappeared for a split second. He wondered silently where it went, but the honest shadows on your wall told him more to the story. You were cupping both your breasts, massaging it kindly before going over to pinch and roll your nipples to harden. You seemed to be sensitive there. Would you enjoy his thick fingers around them?
“More.. oh please,” you begged helplessly.
He wished to come and help you, to stick a finger into that tight hole of yours, to circle your clit with his thumb, flicking indulgently until you gave up. But it’s all a part of his far-fetched fantasy. Watching is more than enough for now. Joel couldn’t even see your face, but this entire thing got him off better than all the pornos he’s personally made.
“I’m gonna- oh, oh, God.”
Your cries echoed around the room, He could see how you quivered, thighs clamping shut around the drenched pillow as you reached your final ecstasy. Everytime you rolled back, he salivated over the sight of your sopping cunt. Untouched and sensitive even from just humping. Your thrusts never falter, not even when you’re making a mess on top of the once pristine, white pillow. What a dirty girl.
Joel watched you until the very end. Right until you collapsed forward, flat on your stomach after exerting such work on your body.
Cock sore and in need of relieving.
Though, something else caught his interest. A revelation that he found to be more important to comprehend than the state of his throbbing cock. 
The video you're watching to get yourself off.
They were his.
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odinsblog · 2 months
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Game of Thrones stars and other actors read South Africa's case file charging Israel with genocide at the International Court of Justice.
Transcript:
It was already known that repeated exposure to conflict and violence, including witnessing and experiencing housing demolition, combined with Israel'siege of Gaza since 2007, is associated with high levels of psychological distress amongst Palestinians.
Indeed, the United Nations Security Council Resolution 2712 expressed its deep concern that the disruption of access to education has a dramatic impact on children and that conflict has a lifelong effect on their physical and mental health.
This disruption and its dramatic impact on children must be considered in particular and in the context of the number of Palestinian students and educators who have been killed, 4,037 and 209 respectively, and wounded, estimated at 7,259 and the number of Palestinian schools having been damaged or destroyed 352 or 74% of the schools in the whole of Gaza.
Medical professionals assess that the health effects on all Palestinian children, women, men, older people, people with disabilities and people marginalized identities are immense.
An emergency coordinator for Médecins Sans Frontières interviewed on her return from five weeks in Gaza, describes: It's even worse in reality than it looks. The amount of suffering is just something incomparable. It's really unbearable. I'm speechless when I try and think of the future of these children. Generations of children who will be handicapped, who will be traumatized.
The very children in our mental health program are telling us that they would rather die than continue living in Gaza now.
The extreme levels of bombardment and lack of any safe areas are also causing severe mental trauma in the Palestinian population in Gaza.
Even before the latest onslaught, Palestinians in Gaza suffered severe trauma from prior attacks. 80% of Palestinian children experienced higher levels of emotional distress, demonstrating bed wetting, 79% and reactive mutism, 59% and engaging in self harm, 59% and suicidal thoughts, 55%.
Eleven weeks of relentless bombardment, displacement and loss will necessarily have led to a further increase in those figures, particularly for the estimated tens of thousands of Palestinian children who have lost at least one parent and those who are the sole surviving members of their families.
For the families who remain intact or partially intact, quote, “It's about doing everything you can so your child doesn't realize that you've lost control.”
There are reports of Israeli forces using white phosphorus in densely populated areas in Gaza.
As the World Health Organization describes, even small amounts of white phosphorus can cause deep and severe burns, penetrating even through bone and capable of reigniting after initial treatment.
There are no functioning hospitals in the north of Gaza in particular, such that injured persons are reduced to waiting to die, unable to seek surgery or medical treatment beyond first aid, dying slow, agonizing deaths from their injuries or from resultant infections.
Large numbers of Palestinian civilians, including children, have reportedly been arrested, blindfolded, forced to undress and remain outside in cold weather before being forced onto trucks and taken to unknown locations.
Medics and first responders in particular have been repeatedly detained by Israeli forces, with many being detained in communicado at unknown locations.
Videos published by Israeli media on Christmas Day appeared to show hundreds of Palestinians rounded up inside al-Yarmouk football stadium in Gaza City, including children, older people and persons with disabilities, being forced to strip to their underwear in degrading conditions. United Nations Office for the Coordination of Humanitarian affairs, or UN OCHA, reports video footage showing bruises and burns on the bodies of detainees.
Images of mutilated and burned corpses, alongside videos of armed attacks by Israeli soldiers are reportedly circulated in Israel via a Telegram channel called, 72 Virgins Uncensored, billed as exclusive content from the Gaza Strip.
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afeelgoodblog · 10 months
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The Best News of Last Week - May 15, 2023
🧲 - Magnetic Marvels: Researchers Flip the Switch on Depression
1. New Zealand Government announces prescriptions charges will be free.
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The $5 prescription fee at pharmacies will be scrapped in July. This is set to save about 3 million people a year money, and in particular 770,000 people aged over 65. It will make most prescriptions in New Zealand free.
Free access to medicines is also hoped to ease pressure on the over-burdened health system by helping people get medicines sooner.
2. Platypuses return to Sydney's Royal National Park after disappearing for decades
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Platypuses have been relocated to the Royal National Park in Sydney, after they disappeared from the park's waterways about 50 years ago. A joint project by the University of New South Wales, NSW National Parks and Wildlife Service and the World Wildlife Fund has reintroduced five females to the Hacking River, with a group of males to follow next week.
3. 74-year-old musician Otis Taylor gets Denver high school diploma decades after being expelled for hair
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A musician who was expelled from a Denver high school over 50 years ago received his diploma. Otis Taylor was kicked out of Manual High School in 1966 because of his hair. This was decades before laws ending racial hair discrimination. Denver Public Schools wanted to right a wrong.
4. Researchers treat depression by reversing brain signals traveling the wrong way (with magnets)
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A new study led by Stanford Medicine researchers is the first to reveal how magnetic stimulation treats severe depression: by correcting the abnormal flow of brain signals. Powerful magnetic pulses applied to the scalp to stimulate the brain can bring fast relief to many severely depressed patients for whom standard treatments have failed.
The FDA-cleared treatment, known as Stanford neuromodulation therapy, incorporates advanced imaging technologies to guide stimulation with high-dose patterns of magnetic pulses that can modify brain activity related to major depression. Compared with traditional TMS, which requires daily sessions over several weeks or months, SNT works on an accelerated timeline of 10 sessions each day for just five days.
5. Electricity generation through solar, wind and water exceeded total demand in mainland Spain on Tuesday, a pattern that will be repeated more and more in the future
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The Spanish power grid on Tuesday tasted an appetizer of the renewable energy banquet that is expected to flourish in the coming years. For nine hours, between 10 a.m. and 7 p.m., the generation of green electricity was more than enough to cover 100% of Spanish peninsular demand, a milestone that had already been reached on previous occasions, but not for such a prolonged period.
6. RI Senate passes bill making lunch free at all public schools
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Free lunch for all public school students in Rhode Island is one step closer to becoming a reality.
Tuesday night the Rhode Island Senate overwhelmingly passed a bill by a vote of 31-4 that would do just that. If the companion bill in the House were to pass, that takes effect July 1. The bill would make breakfast and lunch free for all public school students in the state, regardless of their household income.
7. Critically endangered red wolf pups born at North Carolina Zoo
The North Carolina Zoo in Asheboro celebrated the arrival of “not one but TWO litters” of the world’s most endangered wolf – the red wolf – in late April and early May.
A total of nine pups were born – three to parents Marsh and Roan, and six to Denali and May – the zoo announced on May 9.
----
That's it for this week :)
This newsletter will always be free. If you liked this post you can support me with a small kofi donation:
Buy me a coffee ❤️
Also don’t forget to reblog.
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kaiijo · 1 year
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HE HAS A RIVAL FOR YOUR HEART — [BLUE LOCK]
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characters: itoshi rin, mikage reo, nagi seishiro content: fem! reader, reader is a pro-athlete in rin’s but there’s no physical descriptions, feat. miya atsumu + bokuto koutarou (hq!!), kagami taiga (knb), characters are pro-athletes so i envision them as being in their 20s in this notes: when can this be me?
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⋆。° itoshi rin
Rin glanced around the stadium, taking in the lights and spectators and other athletes with disinterest and a mounting annoyance. He loathed having himself and the rest of the team paraded around like show ponies, but he supposed he could play nice (well, as nicely as he could) given that this was a charity event and that you were here.
You were the starting setter for Japan’s women’s volleyball team, and someone who Rin had taken a recent liking to. He found you to be pleasant to be around, never irritating or pushy and you were kind and talented. He had a certain fondness for you, not that he would ever admit that to anyone.
He spotted you a few yards away in the stadium. The charity event had professional athletes competing in something like a field day, and you were all grouped by the type of sport you played, which meant you stood with both your own team and the men’s national volleyball team.
Rin’s eyes trailed over you, a small smile making its way to his face as he admired how you looked in your uniform. His mood soured when he saw who you were talking to: Miya Atsumu. He had only met Atsumu a handful of times, usually when you invited a couple of friends to hang out, but he knew the two of you were close, if Atsumu’s frequent presence on your social media was anything to go by. Rin’s lips would curl into a sneer whenever he’d see Atsumu’s smirky face appear on his Instagram in a post from your account, envy clawing at his throat when he saw Atsumu’s arm thrown around your shoulders as you two took a post-practice picture together.
His eyes, unfortunately, met Atsumu’s gaze and Rin scowled at the smug smile and wave Atsumu gave him. He tuned out most of what the host of the event was saying, only listening in again when they announced that Japan’s men’s volleyball team would be going up against the national men’s soccer team in the first game.
His eyes met Atsumu’s again, and he glared when he saw you give him a high-five and wished him good luck. Then, you turned away from him and made your way over to Rin. He stood up straighter as you approached and you grinned at him, clapping your hands together. “Good luck, Rin.”
He replied, “I don’t need luck to beat these mediocrities.”
You just smiled and nodded and said, “I’m sure but I wanted to say good luck anyways.”
Rin paused for a moment, watching as his teammates began to get into position for the first event. You said, “I should get to the sidelines.”
You turned to leave and then Rin asked, “Don’t I get a high-five?” You snorted but raised your hand up anyway. Instead of simply hitting his hand against yours, Rin took your hand in his and intertwined his fingers with yours.
You stared at him as he grew a second head. “What’s this, Rin?”
He released your hand and shrugged. “Soaking up your supposed good luck.” He met Atsumu’s gaze for the third time and this time, it was Rin’s turn to smirk.
⋆。° mikage reo
Reo glanced over the crowd of people in his apartment again, spotting his own teammates as well as other friends and friends of friends. He frowned when he didn’t see you anywhere. Chigiri, who he had been chatting with, patted him on the back and said, “Be patient, I’m sure she’ll show up soon.”
Reo sighed and offered him a tight-lipped smile. He felt his phone buzz in his pocket a few moments later and he reached for it frantically, a message from you on his lockscreen. He swiped across the screen to open it.
You [10:32 PM] sorry i’m running late!! you said u were ok if i brought a friend right?
Reo typed back a quick reply. Of course! The more the merrier hahaha
You [10:34 PM] perf! we’re about a block away
When you said you’d be bringing a friend, Reo had expected it to be one of your girl friends. When he opened his door, however, he didn’t expect to see the semi-familiar, six-foot-three form of pro-basketball player Kagami Taiga standing beside you.
You beamed at Reo, throwing your arms around his shoulder in a hug. “Thanks so much for the invite,” you said. You pulled back to introduce the two of them, and Kagami said, “I think we’ve met before. Mikage, right?”
“Yeah, that’s me,” Reo chuckled but he could hear how strained he sounded. There were a thousand thoughts racing through his head, though the loudest one was Who is Kagami to you? You had called him a friend, but really, what did that mean? Was he just a friend or was he a friend?
He realized he had been just standing there, so Reo moved to the side and said, “Sorry, come in.”
As the night progressed, Reo found himself torn between being happy you wanted to spend time with him and irritation that you also insisted on dragging Kagami along with you. He forgot that you had spent a lot of your childhood in America, where you apparently had known Kagami. When you moved to Japan for high school, when you and Reo met, you lost touch with Kagami and only recently reconnected.
As you regaled him with stories about you and Kagami, not only from when you were kid but also from the past few months after you got in touch again, Reo resisted the urge to frown. The two of you sounded close and he didn’t appreciate the affectionate glances Kagami threw you when he thought no one could see. Was this it? Was he going to lose you?
“So,” Kagami asked, “how did you two meet?”
“Oh!” You smiled so brightly at Reo and he felt his heart skip a beat. “Back in the first year of high school, I saw Reo buy a drink from one of the school vending machines but it didn’t come out, so I offered to stick my hand up and grab it.”
Kagami snickered. “Were you successful?”
“Yup!” You wrapped an arm around Reo’s waist, leaning into him. “That’s how we became friends.” As you launched into stories about yours, Reo’s, and later on, Nagi’s exploits in high school, Reo couldn’t help but feel warmth spread through his chest as you spoke fondly about him. Maybe there was a chance for him, after all.
⋆。° nagi seishiro
All Nagi had wanted was to have a lazy Saturday with you. They had been given a brief break in training and he immediately asked if you wanted to hang out with him, to which you enthusiastically agreed and asked if he wanted to come over to your apartment to watch movies, play video games, and relax all around. Nagi couldn’t have jumped quicker at the opportunity.
What he didn’t anticipate was one of your other friends, a pro-volleyball player named Bokuto Koutarou, weaseling his way into these plans too. Apparently, his team was also giving their players a week’s reprieve from practice and training. And suddenly, your two person plan became three and Nagi’s hope for a peaceful day was shattered because, as he quickly discovered, Bokuto Koutarou was very loud and very energetic.
Nagi pouted from behind his phone, peeking up at you and Bokuto, who were animatedly discussing something one of your mutual friends did. He didn’t even really care that he wasn’t in the conversation given that he had no idea what was going on; what he did care about was how Bokuto monopolized you and the way your eyes were so bright around him. Was that the kind of guy you liked? Hyperactive and noisy?
Nagi’s frustration only grew when his phone screen flashed a big GAME OVER sign at him. Then, he watched as Bokuto leaned close to you, reaching towards your hair and pulling out what he claimed to be a piece of fuzz or whatever, and Nagi felt his tenuous patience snap. Time to get serious, it seemed.
Nagi stood up from the chair he was sitting in, plopping on your other side on the couch and draping his large body of yours. Both you and Bokuto startled a little and Nagi felt a sick sense of pleasure when he saw Bokuto’s eyes narrow at him. Nagi’s voice came out in a low purr, feigning drowsiness as he asked, “Can we watch that Netflix movie we planned on today?” His eyes flickered up to Bokuto’s face, his silent message clear: Let’s watch the movie we planned on before we were rudely interrupted.
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tigertales9 · 2 months
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Hard Reset XI
Pairing: Joe Burrow x Reader
Warnings: 18+ / Smut / Fluff / Angst
Description: This chapter covers the week 9 win against the Bills and the week 10 loss against the Texans with a couple of flashbacks thrown in.
Time/Place: Tuesday, Nov. 7, 2023 - Tuesday, Nov. 14, 2023 / Cincinnati, Ohio (with flashbacks to New Orleans & NYC)
A/N: This is the eleventh fic in the Hard Reset series.
This chapter got totally out of hand, y'all. It jumps around a bit due to the flashbacks, so I hope it's not too hard to follow. It's also long as hell even though I tried to condense it as much as possible.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
You close your eyes and tilt your head back, a proud smile gracing your lips as a blizzard of purple and gold confetti rains down on you from the roof of the Superdome in New Orleans.
"He did it," you whisper, brushing away happy tears as you return your attention to the field where Joe and his LSU teammates are celebrating one of the most impressive undefeated seasons in college football history. You take a deep breath and exchange hugs and high fives with everyone around you, never taking your eyes off of Joe for more than a few seconds while you wait for him to hoist the Championship trophy.
~ A month ago, you watched him hoist another trophy, the Heisman, at a ceremony in NYC. It was the largest margin of victory in the history of the award, and his speech was still being talked about. You knew the exact moment he went off script because he'd practiced the speech with you over and over, nervous that he'd forget to thank someone or somehow embarrass himself. Instead, he spoke from the heart and delivered an emotional Heisman speech that folks will be talking about for years to come. The impact of his heartfelt words -- bringing attention to the high poverty rate and food insecurity in Athens County -- was evident in the amount of donations pouring into the local food bank. The Joe Burrow Hunger Relief Fund was just getting started but showed no sign of slowing down anytime soon.
Joe was surprised at the outpouring of support, but it wasn't the only time he spoke something into existence. He spoke this Natty into existence when he transferred from Ohio State to LSU; from day one he told his new teammates that all they had to do was work harder than everyone else and the results would follow. He led by example, as always, first to arrive and last to leave, never asking for more effort from others than he was willing to give. The buy-in came swiftly for some and a little slower for others. By the end of his first season at LSU -- a very respectable 10-3 record culminating in a victory over UCF in the Fiesta Bowl (snapping UCF's 25-game winning streak, the longest in the nation at the time) -- even the most hardcore doubters were begrudgingly starting to admit that something special was brewing in Baton Rouge.
At the start of his final season at LSU, optimism was at an all-time high, but a few folks were still a little hesitant to believe that this team might catch lightning in a bottle and prove the naysayers wrong. One by one the dominoes fell, and by mid-season, even the skeptical were made into believers as one of the most dominant offenses in college football history rolled through opponents with an unrivaled flair and swagger. ~
Silent tears roll down your cheeks as you watch Joe lift the Championship trophy that he and his teammates worked so hard for, his expression showing equal parts accomplishment and relief; you take a deep breath as you soak in the moment, the love you feel for him -- your fiancé since about a month ago, although nobody knows it yet -- creating a visceral ache in your chest. You close your eyes and hear words from his Heisman speech in your head … "Just a kid from Ohio, coming down chasing a dream …"
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Tuesday, 11/7/23 - Cincinnati, Ohio
You flutter your eyes open, disoriented for a few seconds before you realize you were dreaming about Joe's Natty; you turn your head and look at him sleeping peacefully beside you, the bed covers pushed down below his waist revealing a delicious amount of bare skin since he's shirtless. You check the clock on the bedside table -- 3:33 am -- before returning your attention to Joe as you push up onto an arm and look down at him in the dim light filtering in from the bathroom. You both hated to sleep in total darkness, so there was just enough light for you to appreciate the view.
And what an amazing view it is, you think to yourself, your gaze slowly moving from his beautiful face to his broad shoulders, down his muscular chest and sculpted abs, lingering for several seconds where his dirty-blonde treasure trail disappears beneath the sheet. You lean a little closer and take inventory of all the scrapes, scratches and bruises from his most recent game -- a 24-18 victory at home over the Bills on Sunday Night Football day before yesterday.
Joe stirs in his sleep, rolling onto his side to face you before letting out the tiniest snore from between his parted lips. How can one man be so damn adorable and hot as fuck at the same time? you muse, a smile gracing your lips as you let your gaze slide back down to his treasure trail.
"Like what you see?" Joe purrs, causing you to jump and let out a squeal.
"Damn it, Joseph! You scared me!" you scold, softening your tone with a smile. "I was just looking at your boo-boos," you deflect, ignoring his dirty grin that tells you he knows exactly what you were looking at. You clear your throat and run your fingers over a couple of bright red scratches on his left forearm. "Do they hurt?"
"Nah, that's football, baby."
You roll your eyes playfully as he continues.
"Besides, you put way more scratches on my back during our post-game victory sex."
"You asked for those," you remind him.
He gives you a wink. "I didn't ask; I ordered."
"Exactly," you agree, biting your lip as you think back to the intense sex y'all had when he got home from the game early Monday morning (yesterday); it was a fairly quick session by your usual standards, with Joe feeling himself for the prime-time win over a major conference rival, and your arousal red-lining due to the fifteen minutes of filthy talk he teased you with on the phone during his drive home from the stadium. The result was pure, concentrated pleasure, frantic and feral, more raw need than finesse.
His voice interrupts your thoughts. "Why are you awake at this ungodly hour?"
"I had a really vivid dream about you, and I guess it woke me up."
"Mmmm, a really vivid dream, huh?" He gives you a naughty smile while dropping a hand beneath the sheet to squeeze your bare thigh. "That sounds promising."
"It wasn't that kind of dream, horndog," you chuckle, shaking your head when he pokes his bottom lip out in an exaggerated pout.
"Dang," he mutters, heaving a sigh while keeping his hand firmly wrapped around your leg. "What was the dream about?"
"You winning the Natty. We were back in the Superdome with confetti raining down."
"Sounds like an awesome dream."
"It really was."
"Did you dream about the crazy-hot victory sex we had that night?"
"You mean the next morning?" you tease, since it was well into the wee hours of the next day before you were finally alone with him.
"You know what I mean," he states, licking his lips and inching his hand higher up your thigh, stopping just before reaching your crotch.
"I actually woke up before that part," you admit. "The last thing I remember is a quote from your Heisman speech."
"You dreamed about the Heisman, too?"
"Yeah. The quote was 'Just a kid from Ohio, coming down chasing a dream'." You give him a smile as you continue. "It occured to me in the dream that you sometimes speak things into existence."
His eyebrows inch toward his hairline. "Like what?"
"Like the Hunger Relief Fund that eventually morphed into the Joe Burrow Foundation. You spoke that into existence by mentioning the food insecurity in Athens County in your Heisman speech. That started all the donations rolling in." He studies your earnest expression in the dim light as you continue. "Plus you kind of spoke the Natty into existence. You told anyone who would listen that y'all had the right stuff to go all the way, as long as you worked like hell for it."
"Half of doing something is believing you can," he states, sounding every bit like a coach's son. "But make no mistake, that speech only worked because our Championship team was loaded with talent. If I ended up just about anywhere else, there would be no Natty. Fiery speeches and pep talks only work if you've got the goods to back 'em up."
"And the work ethic?" you ask.
"Yes."
"And the insane team chemistry?"
"Yes."
You smile at each other for several heartbeats before a thought hits you. "It's been a while since I thought about this but … it's crazy to me that we came so close to never meeting. You really wanted to transfer to Nebraska, and …"
"And thank God they didn't want me," he finishes, giving your thigh another squeeze.
You roll over onto your back and stare at the ceiling, a little surprised that this is still messing with your head after all this time. "Do you ever think about it?" you ask.
"Think about what?" He scoots closer and pushes up onto an arm to look down at you.
"About how close we came to never meeting?"
"No, I don't ever think about it because what was supposed to happen happened. Me transferring to LSU was meant to be, not just for football but also for you. -- For us. -- It was fate."
You take a deep breath and let his words soothe you; it's not the first time he's had to talk you down off of this particular ledge.
"Also," he forges ahead. "Just so you know, I spoke our relationship into existence."
"How so?"
"Mainly pep talks after all of the many times you shot me down before finally agreeing to go out with me; sometimes the pep talks were just in my head, sometimes they were out loud while staring at myself in a mirror like a huge dork."
"What did you say?"
He thinks for a few seconds before answering. "Don't give up. Be respectful but also relentless. Prove to her that you want more than a quick fuck."
"You were def relentless," you chuckle. "I figured you were chasing me so hard because you'd never been told no before, and it hurt your ego."
He's shaking his head no before you finish your sentence. "I chased you so hard because I wanted you more than anything. I thought if I could prove I wasn't a fuck boy, you'd hopefully give me a chance."
"I'm glad you didn't give up."
"Me too." He leans down and presses a quick kiss on your lips before continuing. "Speaking of the Heisman, you scared the shit out of me Heisman week-end when I thought you were gonna break up with me, but it all worked out in the end."
"Heisman week-end will always be extra special for your acceptance speech, and also for the amazing marriage proposal you surprised me with."
"I was persuasive as fuck, wasn't I?" he grins.
"Very persuasive."
His grin levels up from cute to cocky. "I guess you might say I spoke our engagement into existence?"
"You might say that," you agree, rolling your eyes playfully at his cocky demeanor.
"Okay, but on a serious note …" he clears his throat before continuing. "Remember when I said -- 'Death Valley, where opponents dreams come to die, but where mine came true?'"
"Yeah."
"I know I've told you this before, but I want to say it again. When I said that, I wasn't just talking about football. I was also talking about you. You're a dream come true for me."
You close your eyes as you feel that familiar visceral ache in your chest; you always thought the saying "I love you so much it hurts" was just hyperbole until you met Joe.
"What are you thinking?" he asks.
"I love you so much it hurts," you admit, pressing a hand against your chest. He drops a kiss against your hand before gently moving it aside to drop another kiss between your breasts, his lips warm through the thin fabric of your t-shirt. He slowly kisses his way up from your chest to your neck, his breath tickling your ear when he finally speaks.
"I love you more than anything. You know that, right?"
"Yeah," you whisper, your pulse picking up as he kisses and nuzzles the sensitive spot behind your ear for several heartbeats before capturing your lips, treating you to the kind of slow-burn kiss that always makes your pulse race and your toes curl. You lean into him, your body craving more contact as he deepens the kiss, a thrill shooting through you when you feel his erection against your thigh.
Before you have time to grind against his obvious hard-on, he pulls his hips back and breaks the kiss, giving you a sheepish smile before speaking. "I'm trying really hard not to be a horndog right now."
"Why?" you giggle at the look on his face before scooting closer.
"Because we just had a soft, tender moment, and I don't wanna ruin it with a raging boner."
"Nothing wrong with a soft moment being followed by a hard one," you purr, dropping a hand down to tease him through his boxer briefs.
"Who's the horndog now?" he asks, hissing when you slide a hand inside his undies to grip his hard length.
"Both of us," you whisper, spreading your legs to accommodate his big body as he crawls on top of you.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Sunday, 11/12/23 - Cincinnati, Ohio (after the home loss against the Texans)
Joe finishes brushing his teeth and does a swish-and-spit of mouthwash; he pats his lips dry with a washcloth and throws you a look that you can't quite read as he strides from the bathroom.
He's in a hurry to get in bed. That seems promising, you think to yourself, your pulse picking up as you quickly finish your nightly skincare routine before following him into the bedroom, making a face at the sight of the empty bed. "Guess I was wrong," you mumble, taking a deep breath as you step out into the hallway, the faint sounds of game film drawing you toward his office.
He'd been grumpy as hell ever since he got home from the game -- a 30-27 home loss against the Texans. Since it was an early game -- 1:00 pm kickoff -- his parents headed back to Athens before Joe got back from the stadium.
"Lucky fuckers," you mumble under your breath as you plaster a smile on your face and breeze into his office. "Hey babe," you chirp, leaning down to drop a kiss on his cheek as he watches one of the four sacks he took.
"Hey," he grunts without taking his eyes off the computer screen.
"You almost done?" you ask. "You've watched a lot of film at this point. Maybe it's time to take a break."
"I took a break for dinner," he states, giving a derisive snort as he watches himself throw an interception. "Dumbass," he seethes, quickly turning his head to lock eyes with you. "I was talking about me not you. I'm the dumbass."
"You're not a dumbass," you soothe, running your fingers through his tousled curls. "And I appreciate you taking a break to have dinner with me, but let's go to bed, okay? You can watch more film tomorrow."
"I'm not sleepy," he grumps, closing his eyes as you massage his throwing shoulder.
"Who said anything about sleep?" you tease, giving him a dirty wink when he opens one eye to check your expression.
"I don't want pity sex," he mutters, hissing when you hit just the right spot on his sore shoulder; he threw for 347 yards, so you know that thing is barking.
Not this 'pity sex' shit again, you think to yourself. This is the first time he lost a game since y'all got secretly married, so you decide to use that as leverage. "Did you just accuse your wife of offering you pity sex?"
"Sorry," he mumbles, raking a hand through his hair before turning his attention back to his computer; you step behind him and continue the shoulder massage, your mind running through options to get his mind off the game so he can get a good night's sleep.
Food and sex, you think to yourself. That's pretty much it. A full belly and empty balls. You lean down and press a kiss against the nape of his neck. Full belly is a done deal, just gotta finish him off.
"You can go to bed," he grumbles. "I have more film to watch."
Fuck that, you muse, knowing that the film watching is just self-flagellation at this point. You watch as he rewinds a play a couple times before scribbling a note in a small spiral notebook. A thought forms in your mind, and you smile as you give it some consideration. "Perfect idea," you whisper.
"Huh?" Joe asks, spinning his desk chair around to face you.
"Nothing," you shrug, reaching past him to snatch his precious spiral notebook before retreating a few steps.
He rolls his eyes when you waggle it at him. "Give it back," he orders.
"Come and get it," you purr, backing toward the door as he narrows his eyes at you.
He spins his chair back around, and you think he's going to ignore you, but instead he shuts his computer down and slowly stands up; he gives you a thorough once-over, taking in your bare legs and purple t-shirt -- one of his -- that hits you mid-thigh. "We can do this the easy way or the hard way," he states, giving you a loaded look while yanking his socks off, leaving him wearing slinky black shorts and a gray t-shirt.
Ohhh, he means business, you muse, a little thrill shooting through you at his obvious intention -- he knows you're going to run, and he's getting ready to chase you. "You know I'm gonna pick the hard way," you tease, putting as much sexual innuendo in your voice as possible. You watch in fascination as his nostrils flare, like a predator catching the scent of his prey; you give him a dirty grin before spinning around and running for the door.
You let out a squeal when you hear him pounding down the hallway right behind you, literally inches away when you finally bust into the bedroom and spin around to face him, holding a hand up as words spill from your lips. "Okay, okay, okay," you pant, your pulse racing way more from excitement than exertion as you continue to back away from him. "Stop right there and I'll give you what you want." You hold the notebook out toward him like a peace offering, giving him an innocent smile as he steps forward and reaches a hand out to take it. You let out a naughty giggle as you snatch the notebook back at the last second and dance away from him.
"You better stop playin'," he warns, the husky tone of his voice setting off a steady throb of arousal deep inside you. "Or what?" you chirp, sticking your tongue out as he takes a step toward you. He doesn't answer; instead he continues to walk toward you, his gaze dropping to your chest where your hard nipples are very visible through the thin fabric of your shirt. "Hold on a sec," you say breathlessly, giving him a smile when he drags his gaze from your breasts to your face. "Let's play a game."
He gives you a skeptical look as he stops about a foot away from you. "What kind of game?"
"Guess which hand it's in, and I'll give it to you." You wave the notebook at him before hiding it behind your back.
"I think I'll just come and take it," he smirks, closing the distance between you in one long stride and reaching a hand behind your back; you transfer the notebook from one hand to the other before lifting it over your head and rising up onto your tiptoes. He gives you a bemused look before easily plucking the notebook out of your upstretched hand. "Should've gone low, shorty," he gloats, his eyebrows rising as you give him a wink while dropping to your knees at his feet.
"Good idea," you purr, holding eye contact while palming his erection through his slinky shorts; you eventually slide your hands up and sink your fingers in the waistband of his shorts, pulling them plus his undies to mid-thigh. You catch his hard cock as it springs free, your tongue immediately lapping at the precum on his tip.
"Fuck," he hisses, his gaze locked on your mouth as you continue to tease him. "I just got played, huh?" he asks, more than a little admiration evident in his tone. "Like a motherfucker," you admit, giving him a cocky smile before tracing your tongue over a prominent vein, base to tip, finishing it off with a slow swirl and thorough suck. "Just consider this my victory formation," you purr, relishing the angle as he towers over you, his feel and taste on your tongue causing a gush of liquid heat in your mouth and core; he makes a sound low in his throat as he drops the notebook on the floor and wraps a hand around the nape of your neck, his grunts of approval spurring you on as you hit a rhythm that has his hips thrusting forward, dirty praise spilling from his pretty lips as you continue to pleasure him.
"Hold on a sec," he rasps after several minutes. "Let's get naked."
You pull off of him and give a quick nod before shoving his shorts and undies all the way down; he steps out of them before stripping his shirt off, dropping it on the floor as he backs up a few steps and sits on the bed, his thick thighs falling open in his usual manspread. "Come here," he orders, giving you a dirty grin when you strip your shirt off and walk toward him, your eyes dropping down to his impressive erection as you lick your lips in anticipation of finishing what you started.
"Hold on," he stops you as you start to kneel between his thighs. "Lose the panties."
You slide your thong off, your eyebrows rising when he reaches a hand out to grab it before quickly bringing the scrap of black lace to his face; he takes a deep breath and then another, his cock twitching at the scent of your arousal. You feel a gush of wetness between your thighs as you sink to your knees, your lips barely making contact with his shaft before he reaches down and picks you up. "What are you doing? I wasn't finished sucking you," you yelp, spreading your legs so you end up straddling his waist with him flat on his back on the bed.
"I'm calling an audible," he states, gripping your ass in both hands and sliding you up his body toward his face. "I need to taste you."
"I need to taste you, too," you whine. "Don't get me wrong, I love the manhandling, but I wanna finish you with my mouth."
He laughs at your pouty expression. "There's a way we can both get what we want."
"How?"
He raises one eyebrow, smiling when a look of realization hits your face.
"Sixty-nine?" you mumble, sticking your tongue out at his 'well, duh' expression. "It's your fault I didn't think of that sooner," you grump, trying and failing to keep a stern look on your face.
"How is it my fault?" he asks, helping you spin around and get into position.
"You got me so dickmatized I can't think straight."
"Ohhh, I love that. I'm gonna get you a t-shirt that says that."
"Shut up," you giggle, gasping when he grips your hips and pulls you toward his face.
"Don't worry," he purrs, licking a long stripe up the length of your wet slit. "I know better than to talk with my mouth full."
The last coherent thought you have is thank goodness y'all are alone in the house, since there's a 100% chance of you getting loud as hell.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
You watch the play unfold in slow motion on your TV screen, your heart skipping a beat as two defenders converge on Joe; you gasp in horror as they wrap him up and twist him to the ground, his body language and grimace of pain speaking volumes as he grabs his knee. "Oh no!" you yelp, tears streaming down your face when you realize how much pain he's in. "Noooooo!" ~
"Babe, wake up! You're having a bad dream!"
Joe's voice snaps you out of your nightmare; you take one look at his concerned face and break down crying. "What day is it?" you ask between sobs.
He throws a quick glance at the bedside clock before answering. "It's Tuesday, November 14th, 2023. 1:44 am to be precise."
"Thank goodness," you whisper as you collapse against him. "I thought I was still dreaming for a sec."
"You're awake," he soothes, pulling you tight against him, your hot tears falling on his bare chest as he cradles your head in one big hand, his other hand rubbing your back. "It's okay, baby," he whispers, pressing a kiss on top of your head.
"It's not okay," you sniff. "I was dreaming about your knee injury. That awful dream where it happens in slow motion and I can't look away."
"Damn," he mutters, pressing a couple more kisses against you as your tears continue to fall. "That's def a nightmare."
"I felt so helpless since I couldn't be at the game because of Covid," you sputter, grinding your face against his chest as your emotions overwhelm you.
"You got to me as soon as you could," he murmurs. "And you helped me through that hideous rehab. I couldn't have done it without you."
You cry for a few more minutes before your tears finally taper off; you take a deep breath before speaking, your words muffled against him. "Sorry for crying all over you," you sniff.
"It's okay. I'm waterproof," he says, dropping another kiss on your head before hopping up to grab some tissues for you. You blow your nose, cringing at the loud noise before placing the soiled tissues in his outstretched hand; he disappears into the bathroom to toss the tissues before rejoining you in bed.
"Booger check," you urge, tilting your head back for him to inspect your nostrils. "You're good," he assures you, stretching out beside you and pulling you against him. You bury your face in his neck, his warmth and familiar scent soothing your frazzled nerves.
Several minutes pass before he breaks the silence. "You haven't had that dream in a while. I was hoping you'd never have it again."
"Me too," you mumble. "I think I had it again because I'm worried about you."
He tries to pull back and look at you, but you burrow your face deeper into his neck; you feel him take a deep breath, hold it for several seconds, then slowly let it out. He repeats the action before speaking up. "Talk to me."
"It's just …" you scramble to organize your thoughts before continuing. "The short week has me worried. Playing Sunday the 12th then Thursday the 16th seems crazy. That's basically no time for your body to recover."
"I'll be fine," he murmurs. "My calf's been feeling damn near 100%."
You finally pull back and lock eyes with him. "What about your arm?"
"What about it?"
"You've been wearing the compression sleeve pretty regularly lately."
"My arm is fine. The compression sleeve is just precautionary to keep the normal swelling down that most QBs experience at this point in the season."
You study his face for several seconds before speaking. "You'd tell me if something was actually wrong, right?"
"Of course I would."
"This week just feels so rushed, doesn't it? You just played a game two days ago, and you've got a night practice tonight at 6:00 pm, then you're on the team flight tomorrow headed to Baltimore. I also hate that it's a late game. You're gonna be dead tired by that 8:15 pm kickoff."
"Kickoff could be at midnight, and I'd be ready to go." He gives you a cocky grin as he continues. "Don't you think I might have a little extra adrenaline flowing going up against a division rival?"
"Obvi," you concede, returning his grin even though you still have a vague sense of dread. "Sorry for waking you up," you continue, snuggling against him. "Let's try to go back to sleep. You need all the sleep you can get."
"I wasn't actually sleeping when you had the nightmare."
"You weren't?"
"Nope. I'd been awake for about thirty minutes. I tried to go back to sleep, but I was having a hard time turning my brain off."
"Thinking about the upcoming game?"
"Obvi," he admits, scrunching up his adorable nose when you push up into a sitting position and look down at him.
"What will help you sleep?" you ask. "Maybe a snack? How about a peanut butter chocolate chip cookie?"
"I was thinking of a different kind of snack," he purrs, licking his lips and dropping his gaze down to your crotch.
"Marriage has turned you into a shameless horndog," you chuckle, raising your arms as he sits up and strips your t-shirt off.
"That's a good thing, though, right?" he asks, tossing your shirt on the floor.
You nod, giving him a wink as you lie back. "That's a very good thing."
"Good. 'Cause I can't help that I'm perpetually horny," he teases, giving you a dirty grin as he slides your panties down your legs before crawling between your spread thighs. "I mean, have you seen my wife? She's smoking hot."
Your giggles turn into groans as he lowers his head, your vague sense of dread quickly disappearing with every stroke of his talented tongue.
~ ~ ~
An hour later, you gently ease out of bed and look down at Joe sleeping peacefully, the last words he said before he drifted off echoing in your head. Get some sleep, babe. I promise there's nothing to worry about.
You grab your t-shirt and panties and creep out into the hallway, quickly shimmying into the articles of clothing before tiptoeing downstairs to the kitchen; you pour a glass of water and grab a cookie, savoring a few bites before rolling your shoulders to ease some tension. "There's plenty to worry about," you mumble under your breath. "Football is violent as fuck, and a bunch of players get hurt every week."
You hadn't said that to Joe earlier because he needed sleep more than you needed to make a point, so you held your tongue. "It is what it is," you mutter, "no reason to argue about it." You finish your cookie as you try to put the negative thoughts out of your mind; you heave a weary sigh as you walk to the living room and plop down on the sofa. "I'm not sleepy," you grumble, trying to decide what to do to take your mind off of things. You don't feel like watching TV or reading or scrolling your phone, so what does that leave?
After a few minutes, an idea hits you, and you open a drawer on the end table and pull out a book bound in black leather. You tuck a plush blanket around your legs before you flip the book open, reading the title out loud. "The Story of Us - Volume One." A smile immediately graces your lips as you peruse the pics of you and Joe, and you laugh quietly at how awkward y'all look in some of the pics from when you first started dating.
You slowly flip several pages before stopping on a page dedicated to Joe's Heisman win. There are pics of him on stage accepting the award, in Times Square with his face and name in flashing lights, and pics of both of you the following night at the gala dinner where everyone in attendance couldn't get enough of him. "Especially the women," you mutter, shaking your head as you close your eyes and let your mind rewind.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ December 15, 2019 - Marriott Marquis Times Square NYC
You take a deep breath and hold it for a few seconds as Joe follows you into the elevator and presses the button for the 18th floor. He gives you a smile as the door slides closed, cutting you off from the crowd of people still mingling after the Heisman gala dinner. "Alone at last," he murmurs, leaning down to drop a kiss on your lips as the elevator whisks you upward.
A few seconds later, the elevator slows to a halt, and Joe throws a look over his shoulder to see what floor you're on. "Six," he mutters, spinning around and using one big hand to tuck you behind him as three very loud and rowdy guys join you in the elevator.
"Oh shit!" one of them yelps. "It's Joe Burrow, right? I mean, I know it's you since your face is all over Times Square right now."
"Yeah, it's me," Joe mutters, exchanging greetings with the very inebriated guys while you stay firmly hidden behind his large frame.
"Dude," one of the drunks slurs. "You're about to be living the life! Heisman winner and soon to be first pick in the NFL is no joke, bro. You're gonna be absolutely drowning in pussy."
"No shit!" another drunk chimes in. "Hot chicks will be throwing themselves at you!"
Before Joe has a chance to respond, the elevator crawls to a stop and the door swishes open, the trio of loud-mouths cackling as they stumble out into the corridor. You stare at your feet as the door slides closed, encapsulating you and Joe in a very tense silence; he turns to face you and you swallow hard, fighting back tears as the elevator continues its ascent.
"Bunch of drunk idiots," he mumbles, shifting his weight from one foot to the other as you continue to stare at your feet. "You okay?" he inquires, turning to look at the floor number as the elevator grinds to a halt. "This is our floor."
The words are barely out of his mouth before you dart around him and exit the elevator, hiking the hem of your dress up and legging it down the long hallway toward your suite; you swipe the key card and sling the door open, immediately rushing through the lounge area into the bedroom then into the en suite bathroom as Joe follows close behind.
"Are you okay?" he asks again, his voice slightly frantic.
"I'm fine. I just need to pee," you lie, shutting the bathroom door in his face before locking it. You toss your tiny, sparkly bag on the counter and stare at your reflection in the mirror above the sink, a wave of nausea rolling through you as you replay the words said in the elevator. "Drowning in pussy, indeed," you sneer under your breath, yanking the sleeves of your slinky black dress down your arms, relishing the ripping sound as you roughly shove the gossamer fabric over your plump butt. "Fuck it," you grit out, kicking the dress off and stomping on it a few times, literally grinding it under your stiletto heels for several seconds before catching a glimpse of yourself in the full-length mirror on the bathroom door.
"Calm down," you whisper, taking several deep breaths while studying your reflection, your gaze raking over the purple lace teddy you wore under your dress because you knew Joe would love it, especially the way your breasts spill out of the demi cups and the snap crotch just waiting to be unsnapped.
"So much for that," you mutter, kicking your heels off and reaching for one of the plush hotel bathrobes hanging beside the door. You shrug the robe on and gather up your dress and heels, slinging the door open and giving Joe a bland smile as you walk into the bedroom. You notice he's changed out of his tux into a pair of gray sweatpants and a black long-sleeve t-shirt. He's sitting on the bed looking nervous as hell.
"You okay?" he asks for the third time, quickly standing up as you walk in the room.
"I'm fine," you mutter, jamming your dress and heels in your suitcase before breezing past Joe to walk into the lounge area; you head straight to the bar and grab a glass, dropping a couple of fat ice cubes in it before adding a mini bottle of vodka. "Fuck it," you mumble under your breath, grabbing a mini bottle of silver tequila and adding it to the glass with the vodka, swirling it around for a few seconds before taking a sip, the potent elixir burning all the way down just like you hoped it would.
"Can I have a taste?" Joe asks, giving you a smile when you turn your head to look at him.
"Sure," you answer, walking to where he's sitting on the leather sofa before offering him the glass; you watch closely as he takes a hearty gulp, his eyes immediately going wide.
"Got damn! What kind of cocktail is this?" he wheezes, making a face as he hands the glass back to you.
"Fuck boy repellant," you state, your full lips curling into a cunty sneer as you drop into an armchair directly across from him, the hotel robe you're wearing -- which is too big for you -- sliding off of one shoulder far enough to reveal a strap of your teddy. His eyes are drawn to the wisp of purple, lingering there for several seconds before you part the robe just below your crotch, letting it fall open to reveal your bare legs. You take a small sip of your drink and watch in annoyed amusement as his gaze drops down to your smooth legs, slowly sliding from your feet -- toenails painted LSU purple -- all the way up to your barely-concealed crotch. Men are so fucking predictable, you think to yourself. Even the decent ones are constantly thinking with their dicks.
He eventually clears his throat and meets your eyes. "Are you mad at me?" he asks, nervously picking at his thumbnail in a way you wish you didn't find endearing.
"I'm mad at the situation."
He nods vigorously. "Because of those rude drunks spouting bullshit in the elevator, right?"
"They may have been drunk, but they were 100% correct," you state, taking another sip of your godawful drink before sitting it on a coaster on the side table. "No bullshit detected."
He opens his mouth to argue, but you beat him to the punch. "I wouldn't try to deny it if I were you. At best you come off as an oblivious doofus, and at worst you come off as a manipulative liar." He snaps his mouth closed as you plow ahead. "Having said that, I don't really want to have this convo tonight. You've had an amazing couple of days, and I don't want to ruin that. Let's save this heavy topic for some other time."
"I prefer to have the conversation now," he urges, swallowing hard when you raise an eyebrow at him. "Please?" he adds. "I won't be able to sleep or think or anything until we clear this up."
"Fine," you state, taking a deep breath before continuing. "Remember when we first met just after you transferred to LSU in the summer of 2018?"
"Yeah."
"And remember how I refused to go out with you for several weeks before you finally convinced me?"
"Yeah."
"This shit right here is the reason I was so reluctant."
He furrows his brow in confusion. "What do you mean?"
"I mean … once I found out you were a football player, I promised myself I'd stay away, even though I was super attracted to you."
"Because you thought I was a fuck boy."
"Exactly. And now -- after being with you for almost 18 months -- my worst fears are about to be realized."
"I don't understand. You know I'm not a fuck boy, so what's the problem?"
You take a deep breath as you struggle to find the words to say, fighting back tears as your mood shifts from mad to sad. "Look … I don't think you're a fuck boy, but you're only human, and you have women throwing themselves at you left and right. I lost count of how many women propositioned you right in front of my face tonight."
"And damn near every man in the place was eye-fucking you, but I know you'd never cheat on me. Don't you trust me?"
"That's a loaded question," you mutter. "I mean … you're a Heisman winner, and unless an asteroid destroys the Earth before January 13, 2020, you're gonna be a National Champion." You wipe a tear before continuing. "Then you're gonna be a number one pick in the NFL draft and an instant multi-millionaire. There's a saying about how a man is only as faithful as his options." You shrug as you continue. "And you're about to be drowning in options."
"I don't want options; I want you! I've wanted you since I first laid eyes on you!"
You give him a sad smile. "I want you, too, but I also want to live a normal, quiet life. I had no idea when we started dating that you were gonna have one of the most amazing college football seasons of all time and end up in the NFL."
"Are you breaking up with me?" he grits out, his voice cracking with emotion.
"I'm … not sure."
"Oh my God," he snaps, leaping off the sofa like he got poked with a cattle prod; he paces back and forth several times, raking a hand through his hair while muttering under his breath. You watch him with equal parts fascination and trepidation, not exactly sure where this is going.
He eventually stops right in front of your chair and stares at you for several seconds before grabbing the lethal drink; he takes two gulps before slamming it back down. "Fucking hell, that's awful," he gasps, his gaze locking onto yours as he drops to his knees at your feet. "Have I done something wrong?" he asks, his earnest expression breaking your heart.
"You haven't done anything wrong. I just … I don't want you to feel like you're stuck with me."
"Stuck with you? Are you serious?" He shakes his head as he continues. "These last 18 months have been the best of my life, and football is part of that, but you're also a huge part. You're a dream come true for me."
You chew on your bottom lip as he scoots closer and forges ahead.
"And you're right, this season has been absolutely crazy. You've been the eye of the storm for me. My safe space." He reaches a hand out toward you, waiting for you to grasp it before continuing. "I'm not sure we can have a normal, quiet life for however long I'm in the NFL, but I promise I'll do everything I can to shield you from the bullshit."
"I feel like I'm already waist deep in bullshit," you mutter, "and I think you're being a little naive to think you can shield me from it."
"You're right," he admits, "all I can do is try my best. Whatever you need from me, I'll do it." He takes a deep breath before continuing. "Football is gonna be one chapter in our story, but there are so many other things I'm looking forward to experiencing with you."
"Like what?" you ask.
"Like house hunting when I finally know which team is gonna draft me, finally living together so we can go to sleep and wake up in the same bed all the time, vacations, marriage, kids, stuff like that."
"Stuff like that?" you laugh. "You threw marriage and kids in there pretty nonchalantly."
"I kind of got ahead of myself," he grins. "It's probably not the right time for this because I'm totally unprepared but fuck it, I'm calling an audible. Hold on a sec," he continues, hopping up and striding to the coat closet in the entryway; he pulls out his LSU letterman jacket and shrugs it on as he walks back into the lounge, dropping to one knee in front of you and reaching both of his hands out. Your heart skips a beat at the look on his face as you place your hands in his.
He swallows hard and licks his lips before speaking. "Coming to LSU was my destiny, not just for football but also for you. I was gonna wait until I signed my rookie contract to do this so I could give you the engagement ring you deserve, but right here, right now, I need you to know that I want you by my side for this journey. It's our journey, not just my journey. Will you marry me?"
It takes you a few heartbeats to be able to speak, so you nod your head as tears roll down your cheeks. "Yes," you finally manage, burying your face in his neck when he pulls you close. "I love you," he murmurs. "I love you, too," you sniff, relaxing into his embrace for several minutes before he pulls back and stands up.
"Take your robe off," he urges as he shrugs out of his letterman jacket. You stand up and do his bidding, smiling when his eyes go wide at the sight of your purple lace teddy. "Damn," he mumbles, "hope I get to see more of that later. But for now I want to give you my jacket." He holds the jacket for you while you slip into it. "We need something symbolic since I don't have a ring yet."
"Thank you, babe," you whisper, rising up on your tiptoes to press a kiss on his lips. "It's a little big, huh?" you giggle, spinning in a circle to show off the fit.
"It's perfect," he grins, engulfing you in a hug for several heartbeats before pulling back. "We need a pic," he mutters, grabbing his phone before plopping into the armchair and patting his lap; you dab the tears off of your cheeks as you sit in his lap. "Do I look okay?" you ask. "You look gorgeous," he answers, waiting for you to get settled before snapping the selfie.
Y'all are admiring the pic when his stomach growls loudly. "Those dinner portions were tiny," he grumbles. "You wanna order room service?"
"Sure," you agree. "What sounds good?"
"I'm thinking club sandwiches, fries and a bottle of champagne to celebrate."
"Sounds great."
~ ~ ~
Thirty minutes later, y'all are sitting side by side at the bistro-size table, feeding each other fries and guzzling champagne while looking out the window at the bright lights of the city that never sleeps.
"We can't tell anybody we're engaged until after the Natty," you state, accidentally wiping your salty hand on your robe before you realize it's not your napkin (the letter jacket is safely back in the closet). "Not even family," you continue. "The pressure on you is insane right now, and you don't need the distraction."
"True," he agrees. "I was actually thinking we might wait until we get your engagement ring to tell folks. The draft is April 23rd, and I should sign my rookie contract some time in July. We can tell close family and friends before that, but I want the ring on your finger before we make a public announcement. Is that okay?"
"Sounds good to me," you smile, feeling a little lightheaded from the champagne and the sheer giddyness of the moment. "Just so you know, I don't need an expensive ring."
"We'll see." He grins with a mouthful of sandwich before hopping up to root around in his duffle bag; he sits back down and places a small spiral notebook on the table. "We need to make a to-do list," he states, flipping to a blank page and brandishing a pen before continuing. "First off, next Sunday the 22nd, there's an important game between the Bengals and Dolphins. If the Dolphins win, the Bengals secure the first pick in the draft. So if that happens, we need to start looking for houses in Cincinnati, preferably close to the stadium."
"And two days before that," you interject, "you're gonna receive your master's degree. Be sure to put that on the list."
"Yes, ma'am," he grins, doing your bidding; you top off your champagne glasses as y'all continue to add items to the list:
Dec. 20, 2019 - Joe receives master's degree
Dec. 22, 2019 - if Dolphins beat Bengals, start house hunting in Cincinnati
Dec. 28, 2019 - beat Oklahoma in the Peach Bowl
Jan. 13, 2020 - win the Natty
April 23, 2020 - NFL draft
May 15, 2020 - Y/n receives bachelor's degree (you're a year and a half younger than Joe - also keep in mind spring semester was mostly done virtually b/c of Covid)
July ??, 2020 - Joe signs NFL rookie contract
July/August, 2020 - buy engagement ring & make public announcement + buy house
Joe reads the list out loud before giving you a look. "Can you think of anything else?"
"Not right now, but I'm feeling kinda lightheaded from the champagne."
"Let's finish it off," he grins, pouring the remainder of the bubbly in each of your glasses.
"You're such a bad influence," you giggle, taking the champagne flute as he hands it to you.
"Just one more sip, okay? I wanna propose a toast."
"Okay, go ahead," you snicker, busting out laughing at the look on his face.
"What's so funny?" he laughs.
"Nothing really, I'm just giddy as hell. Combination of drunk and high on life."
"Cool," he grins, holding his glass up. "Here's to happily ever after. Is that cheesy?"
"Cheesy as fuck and I love it," you giggle, clinking your glass against his before downing your entire drink.
"Am I gonna have to carry you to bed?" he asks, sliding a hand up your thigh and under your robe until it's nestled against your crotch; he makes an inquisitive face as he runs his fingers over the snap crotch of your teddy. "This feels different," he muses, his forehead wrinkling in consternation as he tries to figure out what he's feeling.
"It's a snap crotch," you state.
"Oh. -- Sooo I can just … unsnap it?" he asks, the look on his face sending a sizzle of heat through you.
"Yeah," you whisper, shrugging the robe off as he stands up and reaches for you, picking you up bridal-style as he heads for the bedroom.
~ ~ ~
Joe's voice pulls you out of your flashback.
"Hey babe," he mumbles around a mouthful of peanut butter chocolate chip cookie. "What ya looking at?"
"Our picture book," you answer, giving him a smile when he sits beside you on the sofa.
"That was an amazing night," he says, looking at the pic of you sitting in his lap wearing his letterman jacket. "I really thought we'd be married super fast, but it didn't happen that way."
"No, it didn't," you whisper, your mind thinking back to all the reasons why -- Covid -- Joe's horrible knee injury -- losing the Super Bowl -- etc. Plus, the stress of planning a big wedding was something that neither one of you wanted to deal with.
"But we're married now," he states, "even if nobody knows it yet." He takes the picture book off of your lap and places it on the coffee table. "You wanna try to get a little more sleep before we have to get up?" he asks, stretching out beside you on the oversized sofa when you say yes; he tucks the blanket around both of you as you snuggle against him, dropping a kiss on the nape of your neck as he pulls you close, your back to his chest.
You close your eyes and try to relax, but your mind has other ideas. Why do I have such an uneasy feeling, you think to yourself. I'm sure everything is gonna be just fine.
"Relax, babe," Joe mutters, dropping another kiss on your neck. "Everything's gonna be just fine."
"You really need to stop reading my mind," you chuckle. "It's getting a little crazy."
"I'm not really reading your mind, we're just always on the same wavelength."
"That sounds like something a shameless mind reader would say."
"Okay, you caught me. I always know exactly what you're thinking."
"What am I thinking right now?"
He considers the question for a few seconds before answering. "You're thinking that you wanna have super naughty shower sex before I leave for practice."
"You are such a horndog," you giggle.
"Obvi, but is that what you were thinking?"
"No, but I'm thinking it now."
"I love it when a plan comes together," he gloats, laughing along with you for a bit before quieting down; you feel the tension leave your body as he pulls you closer and drops another kiss on your neck, your eyelids fluttering closed as you drift off to sleep in his embrace.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
shoutout to @sofferaddict for the idea to incorporate more flashbacks while we wait for good news on Joe's wrist.
shoutout to @joeys-babe for requesting a flashback of Joe proposing.
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haggishlyhagging · 5 months
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The more women are paid, the less eager they are to marry. A 1982 study of three thousand singles found that women earning high incomes are almost twice as likely to want to remain unwed as women earning low incomes. "What is going to happen to marriage and childbearing in a society where women really have equality?" Princeton demographer Charles Westoff wondered in the Wall Street Journal in 1986. "The more economically independent women are, the less attractive marriage becomes."
Men in the '80s, on the other hand, were a little more anxious to marry than the press accounts let on. Single men far outnumbered women in dating services, matchmaking clubs, and the personals columns, all of which enjoyed explosive growth in the decade. In the mid-80s, video dating services were complaining of a three-to-one male-to-female sex ratio in their membership rolls. In fact, it had become common practice for dating services to admit single women at heavily reduced rates, even free memberships, in hopes of remedying the imbalance.
Personal ads were similarly lopsided. In an analysis of 1,200 ads in 1988, sociologist Theresa Montini found that most were placed by thirty-five-year-old heterosexual men and the vast majority "wanted a long-term relationship." Dating service directors reported that the majority of men they counseled were seeking spouses, not dates. When Great Expectations, the nation's largest dating service, surveyed its members in 1988, it found that 93 percent of the men wanted, within one year, to have either "a commitment with one person" or marriage. Only 7 percent of the men said they were seeking "lots of dates with different people." Asked to describe "what concerns you the day after you had sex with a new partner," only 9 percent of the men checked "Was I good?" while 42 percent said they were wondering whether it could lead to a "committed relationship."
These men had good cause to pursue nuptials; if there's one pattern that psychological studies have established, it's that the institution of marriage has an overwhelmingly salutary effect on men's mental health. "Being married," the prominent government demographer Paul Glick once estimated, "is about twice as advantageous to men as to women in terms of continued survival." Or, as family sociologist Jessie Bernard wrote in 1972:
“There are few findings more consistent, less equivocal, [and] more convincing, than the sometimes spectacular and always impressive superiority on almost every index—demographic, psychological, or social—of married over never-married men. Despite all the jokes about marriage in which men indulge, all the complaints they lodge against it, it is one of the greatest boons of their sex.”
Bernard's observation still applies. As Ronald C. Kessler, who tracks changes in men's mental health at the University of Michigan's Institute for Social Research, says: "All this business about how hard it is to be a single woman doesn't make much sense when you look at what's really going on. It's single men who have the worst of it. When men marry, their mental health massively increases."
The mental health data, chronicled in dozens of studies that have looked at marital differences in the last forty years, are consistent and overwhelming: The suicide rate of single men is twice as high as that of married men. Single men suffer from nearly twice as many severe neurotic symptoms and are far more susceptible to nervous breakdowns, depression, even nightmares. And despite the all-American image of the carefree single cowboy, in reality bachelors are far more likely to be morose, passive, and phobic than married men.
When contrasted with single women, unwed men fared no better in mental health studies. Single men suffer from twice as many mental health impairments as single women; they are more depressed, more passive, more likely to experience nervous breakdowns and all the designated symptoms of psychological distress—from fainting to insomnia. In one study, one third of the single men scored high for severe neurotic symptoms; only 4 percent of the single women did.
-Susan Faludi, Backlash: the Undeclared War Against American Women
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fatehbaz · 1 year
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“Is it green energy if it’s impacting cultural traditional sites?”
Yakama Nation Tribal Councilman Jeremy Takala sounded weary. For five years, tribal leaders and staff have been fighting a renewable energy development that could permanently destroy tribal cultural property. “This area, it’s irreplaceable.”
The privately owned land, outside Goldendale, Washington, is called Pushpum, or “mother of roots,” a first foods seed bank. The Yakama people have treaty-protected gathering rights there. One wind turbine-studded ridge, Juniper Point, is the proposed site of a pumped hydro storage facility. But to build it, Boston-based Rye Development would have to carve up Pushpum — and the Yakama Nation lacks a realistic way to stop it.
Back in October 2008, unbeknownst to Takala, Scott Tillman, CEO of Golden Northwest Aluminum Corporation, met with the Northwest Power and Conservation Council, a collection of governor-appointed representatives from Washington, Oregon, Idaho and Montana [...]. Tillman, who owned a shuttered Lockheed Martin aluminum smelter near Goldendale, told the council about the contaminated site’s redevelopment potential, specifically for pumped hydro storage [...]. Shortly thereafter, Klickitat County’s public utility department tried to implement Tillman’s plan [...].
Meanwhile, Tillman cleaned up and sold another smelting site, just across the Columbia River in The Dalles, Oregon, a Superfund site where Lockheed Martin had poisoned the groundwater with cyanide. He sold it to Google’s parent company, Alphabet, which operates water-guzzling data centers in The Dalles and plans to build more. For nine years, the county and Rye plotted the fate of Pushpum — without ever notifying the Yakama Nation.
The tribal government only learned of the development in December 2017, when the Federal Energy Regulatory Commission (FERC) issued a public notice of acceptance for Rye’s preliminary permit application. Tribal officials had just 60 days to catch up on nine years of development planning and issue their initial concerns and objections as public comments. [...]
When the tribe objected, FERC said it could file more public comments to the docket instead of consulting. [...]
When asked what Rye could offer the Yakama people as compensation for the irreversible destruction of their cultural property, Steimle suggested “employment associated with the project.” [...] Presented with the reality that Yakama people might not want Rye’s jobs, Steimle hesitated. “Yeah, I mean I, I can’t argue that — maybe it won’t be meaningful to them.” [...]
Klickitat County’s eagerness creates another barrier to the Yakama Nation. In Washington, a developer can take one of two permitting paths: through the state’s Energy Facility Site Evaluation Council, or through county channels. Both lead to FERC. In this case, working with the county benefits Rye: Klickitat, a majority Republican county, has a contentious relationship with the Yakama Nation [...]. “Klickitat County refuses to work with us,” said Takala. [...]
Fighting Rye's proposal has required the efforts of tribal attorneys, archaeologists and government staffers from a number of departments. [...]
And Rye’s project is just one of dozens proposed within the Yakama Nation’s 10 million-acre treaty territory. Maps from the tribe and the Washington Department of Fish and Wildlife show that of the 51 wind and solar projects currently proposed statewide — not including geothermal or pumped hydro storage projects, which are also renewable energy developments — at least 34 are on or partially on the Yakama Nation’s ceded lands.
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Headline, images, graphics, captions, and text by: B. Toastie Oaster (High Country News). “Green colonialism is flooding the Pacific Northwest.” As published at The Wenatchee World. 25 March 2023.
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thewales · 1 month
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OH WOW 😮
The Times:
The Prince of Wales is to build and fund a £3 million social housing development on his land to tackle homelessness.
William has overseen plans to construct the 24 homes in Cornwall to be ready next year. They will provide high-quality accommodation in an area with one of the most acute homelessness problems in the UK.
The development in Nansledan, a suburb of Newquay, the Cornish seaside town famous for its surfing, will include a mix of four-bedroom houses and one-bedroom flats.
The duchy, which provides the heir to the throne with an income, recorded profits of £24 million in 2022-23. It will supply the land for the project free of charge and cover all construction costs. It will also invest in local infrastructure, including a bus link and connections to electricity, water and superfast broadband.
The new low-carbon homes will feature slate roofs, granite lintels, solar panels, heat pumps and colourful timber windows. It will be built in a “traditional Cornish seaside” style, designed by Adam Architecture and local firm ALA Architects.
It is understood William wants the development to “look and feel as homely as possible” to combat the stigma of social housing. The site will also be re-landscaped and shrubs and wildflowers planted to encourage biodiversity.
Sources close to William, 41, said he wanted to “lead from the front” and encourage other landowners to build more social housing. He is said to be considering further projects on his land.
The duchy is working on the project with the Cornish homelessness charity St Petrocs with the long-term aim of helping people move from temporary accommodation at Nansledan into permanent homes.
It will provide residents with a range of “wraparound services”, including mental health support, counselling, training and employment opportunities, in what Kensington Palace described as the duchy’s “first innovative housing project to help address homelessness”.
For future local developments, HRH has committed to increasing affordable housing from the 30 per cent national requirement to 40 per cent, with a focus on social housing, meaning an extra 200 affordable houses will be built in Nansledan, where there are 1,020 homes at present.
Last year William, who is patron of the homelessness charities Centrepoint and the Passage, launched Homewards, a five-year initiative to tackle homelessness. It will provide £3 million from the Royal Foundation of the Prince and Princess of Wales — £500,000 to six locations across the UK where groups of housing experts, businesses and councils will work on plans to end homelessness in their areas.
Experts from Homewards will also work on the Nansledan project with the hope that its success can be replicated nationwide, and in the Homewards locations in Northern Ireland, Lambeth, Aberdeen, Newport, Sheffield, and Bournemouth, Christchurch and Poole.
Kensington Palace said: “The prince is delighted that the duchy is using the Homewards approach as inspiration for building this innovative housing project, partnering with St Petrocs to find ways of ultimately getting people into permanent housing.
“It is exactly what he wants to do and for him it’s another example that if we can show people here and in other countries what is possible, maybe others will follow our lead. The prince hopes that every town and city in the country will take inspiration from this project.”
During a day of engagements in Cornwall last year, the duke and duchess visited St Petrocs, which works alongside Cornwall council to identify those experiencing homelessness or at risk of becoming homeless.
William was given a copy of the charity’s book People. Project Cornwall which explores the experiences of people with housing difficulties. He was “deeply moved” and arranged for all members of the Prince’s Council, the Duchy of Cornwall’s board, to receive a copy.
Henry Meacock, the charity’s chief executive, said: “Where Prince William is showing great leadership is in wanting change in the approach to prevention and early intervention around homelessness. “We have a unique opportunity in Nansledan with a socially-minded landowner who has a long-term development mindset, demonstrating to the private sector that you can still be commercial and make a profit but also invest in the local community. The focus for us is about breaking the cycle of homelessness and ending it for good.”
The plans for Nansledan will go out for public consultation this month, with work on the development to begin in September. The first homes are due to be complete the following autumn.
FULL ARTICLE
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maxsimagination · 2 months
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𝘂𝗻𝗲𝘅𝗽𝗲𝗰𝘁𝗲𝗱 - 𝗺.𝗹𝗲𝗼𝗻
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warnings: smut. frenemies to lovers. 18+ under the cut.
------
"sooo, are you excited about being in the starting lineup?"
alexia bumps my shoulder with her own, grinning down at me. i look down with a blush and shy smile, it was first time starting for barcelona since i had transferred here at the start of the season.
"ah, yes? just nervous about being chosen over others like mapi or irene."
alexia laughed, knowing full well about the in-club rivalry between me and maria. both of us being defenders, me being the newcomer, she didn't like it much when i was 'chosen' for things over her. of course it never got nasty or vicious to the point of bullying, but i would not label us as friends.
"there's a reason jona chose you. you're just as good a player as mapi. i'd even go as far to say you're better. don't tell mapi i said that."
she whispered the last part and i giggled at her words. ale had always been my biggest supporter when i moved, she knew me since the U17's spanish national team.
we had reached the locker room after training, walking in to join the rest of the girls in changing. my cubby was, of course, directly next to maria's but that didn't bother me much anymore.
i whipped off my training shirt, leaving me in my shorts and sports bra, before grabbing my bag. i could feel maria's eyes on me, daring to catch her gaze as she unabashedly looked at my abdominal muscles tensing.
i went to the showers to freshen up before heading home, our next game being at our home stadium against real madrid.
——
match day was here, it was t-2 hours until kickoff and the team was on the pitch doing pre match inspection.
we'd go back to the locker room afterwards, so jona could give his match day speech. i was as jittery as ever, being put in the starting eleven. alexia assured me i'd do great, attempting to calm my nerves.
less than an hour until kickoff now, and we were warming up on the pitch. the starting eleven and the subs were in separate groups, so me and ale were together and the others; mapi, were in a different area.
it felt like time was moving too fast because suddenly we were all lining up in the tunnel to walk out. my body worked like clockwork, a routine that was followed every time. the team photo took a split second and we all jogged off to get into position.
it was me, ona and marta defending , ale in her usual spot as a midfielder and cata in goal for a change.
i was semi worried about this game against real madrid, we had beaten them before, but not while i was at the club. once everyone was on the pitch and ready everything faded away and i was focused on the play.
——
halftime and it was 3-0 to barca.
i was over the moon at the results so far, it hadn't been too much work for me in terms of defending but i took all the corner kicks and the free kick that was awarded after ale was taken out by one of the defenders from madrid. that kick didn't go in directly but oshoala got a head to it to score a goal.
we were back out on the pitch in no time and i was buzzing to go again.
this time there was another penalty kick and i lined up for it. three steps back, i got ready and ran forward, booting the ball towards the net. miraculously it curved perfectly and went directly into the top left corner of the goal. i raised my arms in celebration and all my teammates on the pitch ran towards me to hug.
it was a successful 70 minutes that i played, when jona subbed me off to give me a rest. mapi was replacing me and i jogged towards the sideline where she was standing.
she put her hands up for the traditional high five and hug, which i didn't think twice about. she grasped my hips tightly before running onto the pitch and i sat down on the subs bench with the thought of her hands touching me on mind.
——
barcelona won, 5-0 with alexia finishing off the score sheet. i jumped on her back when she came to congratulate me, and we walked around signing some shirts with me being piggy-backed by her.
the team all made their way into the locker room where we all celebrated, i had taken my shirt off to give to a fan, yet again being left in sports bra and shorts.
it was an absolute party in the locker room, jona wasn't there just the girls on the team. ale was jumping around next to me, this was my first big win against a big team so she was celebrating for me and with me.
i couldn't see mapi in the room but left it to the back of my mind as we calmed down the celebrations. most of the team went to get showered but i slipped out to go to the toilet before i came back. it was just down the hall, and i didn't take long, 5 minutes later and i was walking back down to the main change room.
but before i could reach it i was grabbed by the arm and dragged into a nearby physio room.
"hey, what the-" my mouth was covered and i realised who was holding me. maria leon.
"you have no clue what you do to me, do you?"
i knew it was a rhetorical question but i was petty and shook my head anyway, her hand was still covering my mouth.
"walking around in nothing but your bra and shorts, the things i would do to you.." she trailed off and left the rest to my imagination. her eyes were alight with desire and her eyes raked over my entire body. i couldn't deny the a feeling bubbling in the pit of my stomach, it sent shockwaves straight to my core.
maria had removed her hand from my mouth, one hand placed on the door behind me to hold her up and the other resting on my right hipbone.
"so show me."
i had no idea where the confidence came from, but i blurted the words out anyway. her head cocked to the side, looking me up and down subtly before leaning in close, barely two inches away from my own lips.
"can i kiss you?"
her voice was low, husky, and it was hot. i nodded quickly and maria wasted no time in crashing our lips together. it was unlike anything i'd felt ever, maria took the lead and guided my head to tilt back so she had better access. my mouth instinctively opened and she slipped her tongue through.
her hands were now on my body, one placed on the nape of my neck and the other travelling up and down my hip, occasionally slipping under the edge of my sports bra. my hands had fallen to her waist, just resting there.
maria broke the kiss, a grin plastered on her face. i'm sure i looked as disheveled as ever, i certainly felt it as she guided me over to the physio bed that was in the room.
"can i..?"
"please."
her hands had dropped to my shorts, requesting permission to remove them. she worked quickly as soon as the word left my lips, thumbs hooked in the waistband and tugged down. i lifted my hips from where the rested on the physio table to help the process.
maria placed her hand on my chest and lightly pushed me back to lie on the table. from my position, i noticed she hadn't removed a single piece of clothing so i tugged on her shirt.
she quickly lifted it up and over her head, tossing it somewhere in the room without a second thought. her hands were all over me by now, trailing up and down my lower half, never dipping to the inside of my thighs but coming dangerously close.
i could already feel the tingling feeling going straight to my core, aroused from only a couple of touches.
"maria.."
i practically moaned her name as she continued grazing her fingers up and down my body.
"words, cariño. use your words."
"touch me already." i knew i sounded desperate but i didn't care. her touches were driving me insane and i needed her to do something.
"touch you where?" she dropped her fingers to caress my hips.
"here?" then moved them closer, towards my thighs. "or here?"
then moved them even further, dipping her fingers to slide through my labia. "or here?"
a guttural moan left my throat as maria pushed my legs apart, giving her more access to my cunt. her fingers traced my clit, teasing me even more before she plunged her digits into my hole. it was a sudden but welcome intrusion, and my gasp turned to a pleasurable sigh as maria set the pace.
"more, maria. more please."
she happily obliged and added her tongue to the mix, attacking my clit with it first. my fists flew to her hair at the added stimulation, gripping it and pushing her face further into my pussy.
between her fingers and her mouth, i was closely approaching my high.
"'m close, maria. so close."
i could feel her grin against me, fingers and tongue picking up her pace, coaxing my orgasm out. she could feel me clenching around her; i was right on the edge of coming. maria detached her mouth from me to speak.
"that's it, bebita, come for me."
then her mouth was back on my clit, pushing me over the edge and coming on her face. she lapped up every last drop of it, like she hadn't drunk in days. maria helped me come down off my high, still giving kitten licks to return me to reality.
the tremors from the orgasm slowed and stopped, my breathing returning to normal and i started to sit up to look at maria. she had stood up from where she was on her knees, her shirtless and me pantless, both grinning at eachother like maniacs.
"that was so unexpected, but i loved every second of it."
"round 2?" maria smirked at me knowingly.
"slow down, tiger. take me to dinner first."
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