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rheeblogs · 6 months ago

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★ — PIT STOP

★ — pairing: trucker!abby x fem!gas station clerk

★ — your boring job brought old men, homeless people, and little kids maxing out their parents cards on candy. but when she came in, your stomach turned inside out. | fyi, i'm aware most trucks don't have backseats or anything 😭, but let's imagine for the plot period

★ — warnings: southern!abby, strap-on sex, car sex, dirty talk

🔖 — moodboard by me :)

The hum of fluorescent lights overhead buzzed softly as you stood behind the counter, absentmindedly flipping through a magazine. The little gas station was quiet tonight, save for the occasional car rolling in to fill up. You didn't mind the solitude, though--it gave you the chance to enjoy the peaceful hum of the night.

But that peace shattered when the low rumble of a diesel engine filled the air.

You looked up just as a massive, dusty, semi-truck rolled into the parking lot. Its headlight cut through the darkness, and it came to a halt right in front of the store. Moments later, the driver's door creaked open, and down climbed a woman who seemed like she'd stepped right out of a trucker-themed romance novel.

She was tall, built like she spent half her life wrestling grizzly bears, and had a confidence in her swagger that could stop traffic. Blonde hair peeked out from under a well-worn baseball cap, and her Southern accent was thick as molasses when she spoke.

"Evenin''," she drawled, stepping through the glass door. Her blue eyes locked onto you immediately, a slow, crooked grin spreading across her face.

"Good evenin," you said, smiling politely, though you couldn't help the way your heart skipped a beat. She was... gorgeous, in a rugged, intimidating kind of way.

"Damn," she said, stopping in her tracks as she looked you over. Her eyes roamed shamelessly, lingering a second too long on the curve of your hips and the swell of your tits before flicking back up to your face. "Didn't think I'd be gettin' a view like this at sum' gas station inna middle of nowhere."

Your cheeks flushed immediately, and you stammered. "I--I think you're lookin' for the snacks. They're over there." You pointed toward the aisle, trying to ignore the heat creeping up your neck.

Abby chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that made your stomach flip. "Oh, darlin', I'm not lookin' for snacks. Especially when somethin' as sweet as you is in front of me."

You blinked, your lips parting slightly in surprise. Most of the truckers who rolled through were gruff and standoffish, more interested in their coffee than conversation. But this one? She was relentless.

"I, uh..." you trailed off, not sure how to respond.

Abby stepped closer, leaning an elbow on the counter. The scent of diesel fuel and a faint hint of cologne wafted off of her. "You're a pretty lil' thing, ma'am."

"Thank you," you said, almost too softly.

"It's no problem, honey. You got the kinda face that can make a girl forget she's been drivin' for sixteen hours straight," Abby said, her blue eyes sparkling with mischief. "And don't even get me started on that body of yours. Lord have mercy."

You couldn't help it--you laughed, a flustered, nervous sound. "Do you always flirt with gas station clerks, or am i just special?"

"Oh, you're special, all right," she said, her grin widening. "Reckon I'd remember a face like yours anywhere."

You shook your head, biting your lip to hide your smile. "What do you want, Abby?"

Her eyebrows rose in mock surprise. "What makes you think my name's Abby?"

"Your truck's got "Anderson's Logistics'' painted on the side, nd' your nametag has an 'Abby' patch in bold letters." You said, gesturing to the embroidery.

"Sharp, too. I like that," Abby said, straightening up. "But if you must know, I came in for a coffee. Black. And maybe your number, if you're feeling generous.

Your face grew hotter at her boldness. "Coffee's over there," you said, pointing to the back.

Abby chuckled again but did you said, sauntering over to the coffee machine with the same easy confidence. She poured herself a cup, took a long sip, and then returned to the counter.

"Not bad," she said, placing a couple crumpled bills on the counter. "But I think this place just became my new favorite spot. Couldn't imagine why."

You rolled your eyes, but your smile betrayed you. "Whatever, Abby."

"You wanna take a ride?" Abby asks you abruptly, gesturing to the door.

"In your truck?" You asked, a sly smile creeping on your face.

"Sure, that too."

----

"God, honey. Your body fits my lap perfectly, huh?" Abby teases, as you adjust yourself on her muscular thighs, the friction from your jean shorts making you eager.

"You do this every pit stop?" You ask, your hands placed on her shoulders to hold your balance.

"No ma'am. I told you, you're special, darlin'." She tells you, looking you deep into your eyes, hers a piercing blue. "But enough talkin'. I got sumthin' in my back seat, if you're down for that kinda thing."

And with that, you climb out of her lap and into the backseat, your cheetah print thong peeking out, following a smack to your ass from Abby.

She damn near tears your tanktop off, leaving your chest clad in your matching cheetah print bra, and the shoulder tattoo with words 'Angel' black and bold, close to your collarbone.

"Angel, huh?" Abby says, biting her lip.

You nod, tilting your head, giving her access to you neck. She starts to kiss it slowly, taking in your scent of woody vanilla, getting sweeter everytime she works her way up or down.

"You smell s'good, honey." Abby says, easily lifting you back onto her lap. Her hands fly to the back of your bra, unclasping it with ease.

"Fuck, Abby. You're s'strong." Her hands are on your hips, forcing you to grind on her lap, making your pussy wetter by the second.

"Lay back, honey."

----

Abby's kisses are tender, yet demanding. She kisses with so much passion, like you were the only girl she needed in her life. Who knew a pit stop would make her this crazy?

You're laying in her backseat, leg propped up over her shoulder, as she grips your thighs and sloppily eats you out.

"Pussy's sweeter than honey, darlin'." She says, her voice sending chills into your clit, the vibrations stimulating you more than she was alone.

"Mmm..--just like that, Abby, fuck." Your manicured hands scratch her scalp, the semi-neat braid coming undone in the process. Abby makes eye contact with you, gripping your thighs tighter.

It's almost as if Abby learns your body quickly, the way her tongue thrusts in and out of your pussy, leaving your legs quivering after every movement.

She stops, leaving you confused.

"Under the seat, that box. Grab it." You look around for a second, spotting a black box covered by a jean jacket under her seat. You move the jacket and open the box--revealing a seven-inch clear strap.

"It's new, I promise. Haven't gotten a chance to use it yet."

You look at the strap and back at Abby, who has a very convincing look on her face.

"Then, fuck me with it, Abby."

----

Abby secured the harness around her waist, trying to make sure not to hit her head on the roof of the truck in the process. It was veiny, girthy, and looked like it could absolutely ruin you.

She grabs your hips, letting you hover over her lap, watching you let your panties that originally were pooling at your ankles, fall to the truck's surprisingly clean floor.

"You wanna' ride this shit, honey?" She says, still holding your hips steady.

You nod your head up and down, and slowly sink onto her strap.

"Yeaaaah... sink on it, darlin'. Just like that." Her praises were making your head spin, and the way her strap felt so deep inside of you almost felt like it was attached to her.

Abby jerks up, letting the rest of her inches sink of inside you.

You grind against her, the pleasure almost bringing you to tears. Your rhythm steadies, the rocking of your hips sending Abby into orbit. The base of the strap is hitting her clit, causing her hands to grow tighter around your ass.

"Fuckin' me like you mean it, huh baby?" Her voice. Her accent. Her everything. You were so close, beginning to go from grinding to practically jumping on her dick, feeling your stomach start to heat up.

"Mmmph.., I'm--fuck, Abby.. close." That's all Abby needed to hear. She takes a firm grip on your hips, and roughly fucks her strap inside of you.

"Yeah, angel. Take this fuckin'.. dick," Abby starts, throwing her head back as the base of the strap hits her pussy just right.

"I'm--Abby.." You manage to moan out.

"All over me, honey. Fuckin' cum on my shit." She pounds into you, the both of you gushing, all over her lap.

"You truly are an angel, miss." Abby says, holding you close as you catch your breath.

You put your clothes back on, checking your phone's time. Twenty minutes. Not too bad.

"I really gotta get back on the clock." You say, giving Abby your phone to insert her number in.

"I understand, darlin', so do I. I had a great time." She smiles, fixing her tight white tee to put her jacket back on.

"I did too, Anderson." Abby leans in to kiss you, almost as if she could get used to doing this more often. You climb out of her truck and make way back into the gas station.

"Drive safe, Abby."

"Oh, don't you worry about bout' me, honey," she said, tipping her hat slightly as she started the engine. "I'll be back here soon enough. Just don't go breakin' hearts in the meantime, alright?"

"I'll call you after my shift, Anderson."

"Perfect."

And as the roar of her truck faded into the distance, you realized you were already looking forward to her next pit stop.

🏷️ — @rosemariiaa, @d3arapril

#abby anderson #abby anderson smut #abby anderson tlou2 #abby anderson x reader #abby the last of us #kennedy’s works ⋆·˚ ༘ *

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mostlysignssomeportents · 4 months ago

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Brother makes a demon-haunted printer

I'm on a 20+ city book tour for my new novel PICKS AND SHOVELS. Catch me in RICHMOND TOMORROW (Mar 5) and in AUSTIN> on Mar 10. More tour dates here. Mail-order signed copies from LA's Diesel Books.

You guys, I don't want to bum you out or anything, but I think there's a good chance than some self-described capitalists aren't really into capitalism.

Sorry.

Take incentives: Charlie Munger, capitalism's quippiest pitchman, famously said, "Show me the incentive and I’ll show you the outcome." And here's some mindblowing horseshoe theory for ya: Munger agrees with the noted Communist agitator Adam Smith, whose anti-rentier, pro-government-regulation jeremiad "The Wealth of Nations" contains this notorious passage:

It is not from the benevolence of the butcher, the brewer, or the baker that we expect our dinner, but from their regard to their own self-interest. We address ourselves not to their humanity but to their self-love, and never talk to them of our own necessities, but of their advantages.

Incentives matter – if you design a system that permits abuse, you should expect abuse. Now, I'm not 100% on board with this: every one of us has ways to undetectably cheat the system and enrich ourselves, but most of the time, most of us play by the rules.

But it's different for corporations: the myth of "shareholder supremacy" has reached pandemic levels among the artificial lifeforms we call corporate persons, and it's impossible to rise through the corporate ranks without repeating and believing the catechism that there is a law that requires executives to lie, cheat and steal if it results in an extra dollar for the investors, in the name of "fiduciary duty":

https://pluralistic.net/2024/09/18/falsifiability/#figleaves-not-rubrics

And this attitude has leaked out into politics and everyday life, so that many of our neighbors have been brainwashed into thinking that a successful cheat is a success in life, that pulling a fast one "makes you smart":

https://pluralistic.net/2024/12/04/its-not-a-lie/#its-a-premature-truth

In a world dominated by a belief in the moral virtue and legal necessity of ripping off anyone you can get away with cheating, then, sure, any system that permits cheating is a system in which cheating will occur.

This shouldn't be controversial, but if so, how are we to explain the whole concept of the Internet of Things? Installing networked computers into our appliances, office equipment, vehicles and homes is an invitation of mischief: the software in those computers can be remotely altered after you purchase them, taking away the features you paid for and then selling them back to you.

Now, an advocate for market-based solutions has a ready-made response to this: if a company downgrades a device you own, this merely invites another company to step in with a disenshittifying plug-in that makes things better. If the company that made your garage-door opener pushes an over-the-air update that blocks you from using an ad-free, well-designed app and forces you to use an enshittified app that forces you to look at ads before you can open the garage, well, that's an opportunity for a rival company to sell you a better software update for your garage-door opener, one that restores the lost functionality:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/11/09/lead-me-not-into-temptation/#chamberlain

I'm no hayekpilled market truefan, but I'm pretty sure that would work.

However.

The problem is that since 1998, that kind of reverse-engineering has been a felony under Section 1201 of the Digital Millennium Copyright Act, which bans bypassing "an effective access control"

https://locusmag.com/2020/09/cory-doctorow-ip/

There's a pretty obvious incentive at play when companies have the ability to unilaterally alter how their products work after you buy them and you are legally prohibited to change how the product works after you buy them. This is the first lesson of the Darth Vader MBA: "I am altering the deal. Pray I don't alter it any further":

https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/26/hit-with-a-brick/#graceful-failure

I've been banging this drum for decades now – like when I got into a public (friendly) spat with the editor of Wired magazine over their reviews of DRM-based media devices. I argued that it was irresponsible to review a device that could be unilaterally downgraded by the manufacturer at any time, without – at a minimum – noting that the feature you're buying the gadget for might disappear without warning after you've shelled out your hard-earned money:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/12/03/painful-burning-dribble/#law-of-intended-consequences

Of course, companies that get a reputation for these kinds of shenanigans might lose market share to better competitors. Sure, if the company that made your phone or your thermostat or your insulin pump reached into it across the internet and made it worse, you're shit out of luck when it comes to that device. But you can buy your next device from a better company, right?

Well, sure – in a competitive market, that's a plausible theory of "market discipline." Companies that fear losing business to rivals might behave themselves better.

In theory.

But in practice, the world's "advanced economies" have spent the past 40 years running an uncontrolled experiment in what happens if you don't enforce competition law, and instead allow companies to buy all their competitors. The result is across-the-board industrial oligopolies, cartels, duopolies and monopolies in nearly every category of good and service:

https://www.openmarketsinstitute.org/learn/monopoly-by-the-numbers

Now, even a duopoly has some competition. If you don't like Coke, there's always Pepsi. But again, in practice, companies in concentrated industries find it easy to "tacitly collude" to adopt one another's worst habits – the differences between the outrageous payment processing charged by Apple's App Store and the junk fees charged by Google Play are about as meaningful as the differences between Coke and Pepsi.

Which brings me to printers.

I know.

Ugh.

Printers are the worst and HP is the worst of the worst. For years, HP has been abusing its market dominance – and its customers' wallets – by inflating the price of ink and rolling out countermeasures to prevent you from refilling your old cartridges or buying third-party ink. Worse, HP have mastered the Darth Vader MBA, bushing updates to its printers that sneakily downgrade them after you've bought them and taken them home.

Here's a sneaky trick HP came up with: they send a "security update" to your printer. After you click "OK," a little progress bar zips across the screen and the printer reboots itself, and then…nothing. The printer declares itself to be "up to date" and works exactly like it did before you installed the update. But inside the printer, a countdown timer has kicked off, and then, months later, the "security update" activates itself, like a software Manchurian Candidate.

Because that "security update" protects the security of HP, against HP customers. It is designed to detect and reject the very latest third-party ink cartridges, which means that if you've just bought a year's worth of ink at Costco, you might wake up the next day and discover that your printer will no longer accept them – because of an update you ran six months before.

Why does HP put such a long fuse on its logic bomb? For the same reason that viruses like covid evolve to be contagious before you show symptoms. If the update immediately broke compatibility with third party ink, word would spread, and some HP customers would turn off their printers' wifi before the "security update" could be applied to them.

By asymptomatically incubating the infection over a long, patient timescale, HP maximizes the spread of the contagion, guaranteeing a global pandemic of enshittiification:

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

HP has done this – and worse – over and over, and every time I write about it, people pop up to recommend their Brother printers as the enshittification-free alternative. I own a Brother, an HL3170-CDW laser printer that's basically indestructible, cheerfully accepts third-party toner, and costs almost nothing to run.

But I still don't connect it to my wifi. The idea that Brother is a better company than HP – that is possesses some intrinsic antienshittificatory virtue – has always struck me as a foolish belief. Brother has means, motive and opportunity to push over-the-air downgrades to block third-party ink as HP.

Which is exactly what they've done.

Yesterday, Louis Rossman, hero of the Right to Repair movement, revealed that Brother had just pushed a mandatory over-the-air update that locks out third-party ink:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bpHX_9fHNqE

Rossman has a thorough technical breakdown of the heist, but it boils down to this. Brother is just as shit as HP. Look from the men to the pigs and the pigs to the men all you want – you will never spot the difference. Take the Pepsi Challenge – bet you won't be able to guess which is which:

https://wiki.rossmanngroup.com/wiki/Brother_ink_lockout_%26_quality_sabotage

This was the absolutely predictable outcome of the regulatory incentives our corporate overlords created, the enormous, far-reaching power we handed to these corporations. With that great power came no responsibility:

https://pluralistic.net/2025/02/26/ursula-franklin/#franklinite

Filling our devices with computers that run programs that can be changed in secret, that we're not allowed to inspect or alter? It's a recipe for a demon-haunted world, where the devices we entrust with our livelihood, our privacy and our wellbeing are possessed by hellions who escape from the digital Tartarus and are unleashed upon humanity.

Demons have possessed the Internet of Things. It's in Teslas:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/07/28/edison-not-tesla/#demon-haunted-world

and in every other car, too:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/07/24/rent-to-pwn/#kitt-is-a-demon

Our devices – phones, pacemakers, appliances and home security systems – are designed to prevent us to find out what they're doing. That means that when malicious software infects them, then – by design – these devices prevent us from knowing about it or doing anything about it:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/01/18/descartes-delenda-est/#self-destruct-sequence-initiated

This should not come as a surprise to anyone. Show me the incentive and I'll show you the outcome.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2025/03/05/printers-devil/#show-me-the-incentives-i-will-show-you-the-outcome

#pluralistic #brother #printers #ink #ink-stained wretches #ink wars #demon-haunted world #drm #dmca #dmca 1201 #anticirumvention #incentives matter #ulysses pacts #enshittification #darth vader mba

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chipsarescran · 4 months ago

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Greasedinah hcs!!!! Since like I cannot get them out of my head.

I think that Greaseball definitely grew up in a scrap yard, the reason why she was called Greaseball is because she’d scavenge so many engines she’d be covered in grease. Even when she meets Dinah, her face is blotched in grease from working on her own engine.

Greaseball was also bought by a company for racing (in a fic I’m currently writing, the characters call it the Woodstock.) where she gains the fight or fight mentality.

I personally think Dinah is the older one of the both of them, since it’s just makes sense Greaseball would’ve used a fake I.D to race when she was younger.

Dinah bakes when she becomes stressed, she always says it’s to bake for Tass and Belle becsuse they’re hungry. But the amount of dishes on the table suggests it’s for at least 20 people.

Greaseball has chronic neck pains due to repeatedly injuring her neck when she was younger, she had never told anyone until Dinah noticed right before a race that her neck was completely stiff. Since then Dinah would make sure to massage her neck before every race.

When Greaseball had to get her radio checked, Wrench discovered that when he turned the radio on, the frequency was set to Dinah’s channel by default.

Dinah is the one that imports diesel oil to their yard. Greaseball has yet to figure out who cuts her supply when she argues with Dinah.

After Pearl “stole” Greaseball from her. Tassita and Belle came back to Dinah eating the dish she would make Greaseball every morning before every race.

Dinah openly shows her anxiety about her problems, she had always thought that Greaseball wasn’t anxious about anything. The longer she dates Greaseball, the more she realised Greaseball was anxious about almost everything.

Greaseball was the first partner to buy Dinah a valentines gift.

#dinah the dining car #greaseball the diesel #greaseball x dinah #greasedinah #starlight express #headcanon #rusty the steam engine #tassita the quiet car #belle the sleeping car #wrench the repair truck

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redsrooftopprincess · 9 months ago

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Could you do anymore headcannos for the tmnt 2014/2016 boys? Idc what the headcannon is but I love it hc so much

Sleeping Headcanons

Headcanons you say? Let's get into it!

Warnings: mental health, drugs/alcohol

We spend nearly half of our lives asleep, and the boys are no different! They're a little backwards, being basically nocturnal, but they sleep (and struggle to), just like anybody else.

Leo

Bed. Leo is a traditionalist and sleeps on a firm Japanese Futon. He sleeps on his plastron because that's the most practical. He's usually on his side, hugging a pillow, by morning.

Temperament. Even as always, unless he has a migraine, then he's in his room the second he gets home. Dark and quiet. If someone disturbs him, he'll get up and address whatever it is that needs seeing to, but don't expect conversation. However, he *is* a morning person! They all hate him until about 10 am.

Routine. If he has a headache he'll usually have no choice but to just lay down the second he's off the clock. If he doesn't, he has a very strict routine that is *always* adhered to, or he can't sleep (no, that's not a joke):

Tea (usually jasmine) with Dad while processing the day.

Shower.

Teeth.

Undress.

Meditate for 30 minutes.

Sleep.

The morning is much the same but in reverse:

Wake up.

Meditate for 15 minutes.

Get dressed.

Downstairs for coffee/breakfast/discussing the day with Dad.

Training.

Sleeping with a partner. Having someone around to upset his routine is ROUGH. Don't ask to sleep in his bed. Seriously, don't. Sharing *his space* is a HUGE step for him and if you push it, it'll just take longer. He'll start small, inviting you into his room for tea. Be PATIENT with the boy. Once you start sleeping in his bed it'll take him a while to get used to it. The first few times he doesn't sleep. But eventually, you worm your way into his routine, and he can't sleep without you. Until then, he will happily hold you until you fall asleep, even stay watching over you until morning. But he won't sleep.

Mikey

Bed. Pillow pile! He started collecting pillows as a kid to add to his hoard, which is now comically large and takes up 1/3 of his room. He loves the weird ones and has ones with tassles and beads and insane shapes. It's actually pretty impressive and could probably double as a modern art piece!

Temperament. It's all good! No matter what state he's in, he's always the life of the party. Always.

Routine. He's usually parked in front of the TV until everyone disperses (video games/tv/ect). Then, depending on how hard his depression is hitting that night, he'll either grab a bong (hard) or a bottle (harder). He'll drink in his room , but he'll skate down one of the south tunnels to smoke because he doesn't want to hear about it from Leo. Splinter knows about the weed, but doesn't have a problem with it, because it really does seem to help. He would, however, have a problem with the liquor. Once Mike is thoroughly gone, he tosses himself on his pillow pile and attempts to pass out. Sometimes he does. He gets hangovers from the alcohol, but the second he wakes up that mask is firmly back in place and he's good to go! 😃

Sleeping with a partner. ALL. THE. CUDDLES. Expect him not to let go. Like, pee beforehand. He may not be as big as his brothers, but he's still pretty damn heavy. You are HIS Angel. You are HIS miracle. And you aren't going ANYwhere. Lots of nuzzling/scent marking, LOTS of churring, and when he does eventually fall asleep, he snores like a diesel engine. Just poke him in the side and he'll shut up.

Don

Bed. What's a bed? You mean the cot in his lab? On the rare occasion that *someone* convinces him to actually sleep in a bed, it's pretty much whatever bed or bed-adjacent thing they bring him to. By the time he's tired enough that he can be convinced, he's too far gone to care.

Temperament. When Donnie is tired, expect to be snapped at. He'll apologize immediately, but his temper is a hair trigger when he needs sleep. And my dude goes until he stops. Don's body wakes up before he does. Expect mumbled one-word answers that may or may not make sense as he gradually comes to consciousness over the next half-hour.

Routine. Donnie doesn't make the decision to go to bed. He just wakes up and it's later. When he does wake up, his body has been conditioned to perform all the necessary morning tasks without him having to actually be fully conscious. Sit up. Grab freshly brewed espresso from desk next to cot. Shotgun espresso. Wrap joints. Stand up. Go to kitchen for second cup of coffee (because Raph has already brewed a pot, and because at some point in his teenage years, his father insisted on seeing him at least once a day). Make/drink coffee. Eat the closest edible thing. Go back to the lab. By this point, his conscious mind has usually kicked in and he can get back to work.

Sleeping with a partner. I hope you like to be lulled to sleep by computer fans! You'll get used to the phrase, "go and lie down, Dove. I'll just be a minute." It's always a lie. You know it. He knows it. The wall of computer towers behind you knows it. But he does the song and dance, anyway, because he thinks it makes you feel better. It doesn't. If he does happen to fall asleep with you, of COURSE he's the big spoon. He wraps himself around you and holds you as close as he can (he's still working on getting past all those pesky air molecules), with his beak buried in your hair so that he can breathe you in as he falls asleep (at least the air molecules are good for something).

Raph

Bed. My guy is BIG, and needs a ton of support. A traditional flat mattress is uncomfortable unless he sleeps on his plastron which he HATES doing. His carapace is HEAVY, and it feels like he's literally being crushed under his own weight. Besides, he's in enough pain when he wakes up, and as much as he loves working out, he really doesn't want to have to do pushups first thing in the morning. Instead, he has a carbon fiber hammock that he wove himself. It hangs from a reach stacker arm modified with two lifting jacks bolted to the floor, all "liberated" from the shipyard. It supports all of him with the added benefit of pressure on all sides due to his weight, which helps him sleep, especially when he's in a low.

Temperament. When he's tired he's a grump. He's not quick to anger, but expect a lot of grumbling and begrudging acquiescence to things. He doesn't usually push it too far before heading to bed, because let's face it, pain is exhausting, and if he's laying down he's not having to hold himself up. He's not a "morning person," but he's usually okay as long as he knows there's a cup of coffee in his near future.

Routine. Pretty standard. Shower, teeth, etc. Once in bed, he'll mess around on his phone for a while, watching movies/tv/anime, before eventually falling asleep. In the morning, he rolls out of his hammock and heads to the kitchen for coffee with his Dad before everyone else emerges. After that it's his morning workout and he starts the day. Honestly the mostly boring/normal out of all of them.

Sleeping with a partner. He won't sleep in your bed. He just won't. Don't ask. He'll hold you until you fall asleep, no question, but he won't stay. The only hope for a sleepover is at his place. He likes to give you a big hug around the middle and roll into the hammock with you, and it always leaves you giggling as you snuggle up against his plastron. That's when he sleeps best, with you laying on his chest, his arm wrapped around you. Not only is it added pressure, but this way he knows you're safe.

.......

Tag list:

@thelaundrybitch @the-cauldron-witch @fyreball66 @ninnosaurus @tmntngl @thegirlwiththeninjaturtletattoos

#bayverse tmnt #tmnt raphael #tmnt donatello #tmnt michelangelo #tmnt leonardo #headcanons

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joezworld · 28 days ago

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Express Engines

I gave Gordon a friend!

The news that The Fat Controller had found a new engine - and a steam engine at that! - had caused an uproar. The subsequent revelation that there were two increased things to an almost unbearable furor.

“Oh please sir,” James begged the Fat Controller one afternoon. “At least tell us which Castle it is. Everyone is going batty over it!”

A skeptical eyebrow raise met this. “James, you and everyone else will find out in due time.”

“But sir!”

Stephen stopped and hung his head in exasperation. “If it helps you at all, one is from Swindon, the other Crewe. I shan’t tell you anything more, so stop asking!”

---

“That doesn’t help at all!” the others grumbled when James reported back.

“What has he done? Buy Duchess of Sutherland or Britannia?” Delta asked incredulously. “That’s the last thing we’d need. Between them and that Castle, they’d make Gordon explode!”

“Maybe he bought a Black 5,” Bear pondered. “I do hope they’re an all right sort. Some of them didn’t have the happiest of lives.”

“Maybe it’s a diesel,” Henry said brightly. “Perhaps you two can make a new friend!”

The two shuddered. “Oh please don’t let it be a Crewe Diesel…” they said in unison.

“I bet it’s a standard of some kind.” BoCo said to Edward. “I don’t imagine that anyone would be willing to part with anything from before the grouping.”

“You don’t think so?” Edward looked thoughtful. “I’m sure that there’s some engines to spare. Goodness knows that the Barry Island engines aren’t in short supply.”

“Well what do you think it’ll be?”

“I bet it’s a goods engine. Something like an Ivatt Mogul - remember them?”

“All too well. Also, for the record, they became the Standard 2s, so I’d still be correct.”

“Oh hush!”

---

“Maybe it’s a Garrat!”

“Those aren’t Crewe engines, and they scrapped those.”

“A Dreadnought tank engine?”

“Scrapped those too.”

“Patriot class?”

“Scrapped.”

“LNWR Experiment Class?”

“How do you know that those exist but don’t know that they were all scrapped?”

“Well, what about the-”

“Thomas, are you just listing any LMS engine that you know of?” Percy snapped after a while.

It was a suspiciously long time before Thomas said “No!” in a very defensive tone.

Silence reigned for a few minutes.

“What about the E2s?” Toby said, innocently.

“Wrong region, and I wish they’d scrapped those.”

“... Hey!”

------

“You’re all thinking too big.” Oliver said to Henry at the big station. “They built hundreds of tank engines at Crewe. Could be one of them.”

“They also built those Class 91 electric locomotives at Crewe.” Henry sniffed. “And tanks for the army. So it could be anything, if we’re just going to be spouting baseless ideas.”

“Oi! Who put sludge in your boiler this morning?”

“I’m sorry, but it has been three days of this. I’ve barely slept for being asked my thoughts on numbers! Standard 2, 3, 5, 6, 7, 8, who do we appreciate! It’s all becoming meaningless! Half-term’s almost half-over, so whatever this maths problem of a locomotive is, it had better get here soon before we all go completely mad!”

----

Later, Gordon took a train down to the ferry docks at Tidmouth Harbour. Marina, one of the harbour diesels, was shunting trucks nearby.

Marina wasn’t shy, but she also wasn’t chatty, so the silence between the two eventually grew unbearable for Gordon. “I’m surprised you haven’t started peppering me with questions about these new engines.”

“I’m not particularly concerned, unless they’re coming down here to take my work from me.” She said, shunting a row of vans.

“And if it is a harbour engine of some kind,” Gordon ventured. “You would be welcome up at the main sheds with open arms.”

“I appreciate the offer,” she smiled. “But shouldn’t I be offering space to you? Rumor is that it’s at least one new express engine.”

Gordon rolled his eyes. “Please. Pip and Emma have already forced that reckoning. There is no “true” express role on the Island anymore, so I have already “adapted,” as it were.”

“And here we all thought you’d be clinging to the midday express like a drowning man to a life ring.”

Again, his eyes rolled. “Being ten minutes faster than the Limited does not make an express service. There is prestige, and honor, and the promise of onward connections, all of which Pip and Emma have now.” He looked thoughtful. “I’d be far more upset if I weren’t almost 80.”

“Old age giving you a new perspective on life?” Marina wasn’t sure if he was being funny or genuine.

“Ha, no.” He said, face betraying nothing. “I’m just tired. I could stand a rest, to give myself some time to figure out what the next move is.”

“That is… shockingly mature of you,” Marina now was the one being genuine. “And I’m pleasantly surprised to see it.”

“Well, someone has to be.” A sly look was making moves across his face. “I think Henry is about two days away from shunting James into the sea.”

“Ooh. How will Delta fare with that?”

“If James makes it three days, she’ll be helping.”

“And you wonder why I like the harbour so much.”

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

The Works

A jubilant mood was suffusing itself throughout the building. Two major projects had been officially “wrapped” within hours of each other, and a well deserved celebration was in full swing, with high-tempo dance music filtering out of the staff canteen.

For the two “projects” quietly building steam on the shop floor, it was difficult to not feel giddy.

“I can’t believe this is actually happening to us.” Samarkand said, feeling the heat of her fire for the first time in almost three years. “It hasn’t really set in until now. I feel… god I feel better than new! I mean, look at me! Roller bearings, automatic lubricators, a water trough scoop, a feedwater heater, and whatever a Lempor ejector is? I’m going to be… so much stronger than anyone else it won’t even be funny…”

Caerphilly barely noticed Sam going on and on. She barely noticed anything, except the absolutely intoxicating feeling of fire inside her once again. It had been almost 40 years since she’d felt this, so long that she’d forgotten what it felt like. What it could be. What she was.

“I’m going to be an express engine again…” she said as the music from the canteen grew to a crescendo. An excited smile stretched across her face, big enough to crack her smokebox in half.

“I’m going to be an engine again.”

----------

Early the next morning, Henry was trying (and failing) to convince his fireman to pour some coffee into his tender. “Maybe it’ll work this time!”

“No! It doesn’t do anything but waste it. Buy some yourself if you think it works so much.”

“With what money?”

Further conversation was broken off as an unfamiliar whistle sounded in the distance.

“Who could that possibly be?” The driver asked, poking his head out of the cab windows.

“I imagine it’s one of the new engines.” Said the fireman. “There were a few numbers on the board I didn’t recognize.”

“And you didn’t think to mention it?” Henry stared.

“When would I have? The first thing I hear is “oh lord I’m so tired, give me that coffee.” It’s like being home with the wife!”

Henry chose not to respond, and instead stared intently towards the rapidly growing cloud of steam in the distance. “It doesn’t sound like a tank engine…”

“Maybe it’s the Western engine?”

“Points are lined for the goods platforms. You think the Fat Controller is putting a Castle on goods work? It’d be like asking Gordon to shunt.”

The engine kept getting closer, a steady chuffing sound reverberating across the station throat.

Eventually, finally, surprisingly, the train came into view.

“Well I’ll be damned.” The driver said. “I didn't think they'd found something like that.”

“I suppose with all the talk of standards, we did forget about that one.” The fireman mused. “Hopefully the firebox isn’t as big as it looks.”

Henry was speechless for a long moment - long enough for the huge engine to clank past him with a call of “Hi!”

“You’re enormous!” he squeaked at last, and the engine laughed her way into the station.

----

Gordon had fallen asleep in the middle of Barrow yard (only the truly desperate tried to rest in a shed where Bloomer was awake), and was rather rudely awoken by the weeshing steam of another engine. “Gurghr-have you no decency? Can’t you tell that I’m asleep?!”

The other engine’s laughter was a euphonious sound that emerged from the cloud of steam. “Forgive me, but we’ve been put onto the same train back to Tidmouth. The stationmaster said to whistle in your ear until you woke up, but I figured this was kinder.”

“I stand mistaken,” Gordon rolled his eyes. “You have an incredible well of decency, madam. Even if you act on the orders of far more juvenile creatures.”

Another laugh that rang like a bell. “Oh goodness, I haven’t been madam in decades; let’s not start now, lest I become old and stuffy.”

“Well, if there wasn’t a massive cloud encompassing me, I might be able to see who it is you are.”

“Perhaps I’m trying to be mysterious. Have you considered that?”

“Puh. Any Crewe Engine would have relished at the chance to whistle until I was deaf. Which means…” There was next to no chance the other engine could see him, but the eyebrow raise was compulsory. “What sort of bilgewater is it that you drink, Westerner?”

A sharp gust of wind blew through the yard, dissipating enough of the steam for the shadowy outline of the other engine to metamorphose into the Castle class he was expecting.

Then he read the nameplates.

“Only the finest - sourced directly from the hull of the Great Eastern.” Caerphilly Castle said with a half-smile.

Gordon would never admit it, but it took a lot of discipline to keep his facial expression in check. “You know, I was under the impression that the pride of the inter-war Western had been locked away in a museum, far from anyone who would ever care for her properly.”

The half smile grew slightly. “Circumstances changed, and my old jailors found me to be nothing more than unsightly decor. Then the new ones found me far too ‘mouthy’ for their tastes, and rid themselves of me at first opportunity.”

“And the Fat Controller presumably turned their loss to his gain?”

“And yours!” Her eyes sparkled in the mid-morning sun. “I’ve been led to understand that I shall be taking over your duties once your boiler ticket expires. I assume it’s only correct that one top link engine is replaced by another?”

Gordon’s expression was inscrutable. “You’re very different to the last Western engine we played host to.”

The smile wavered, and grew slightly sharper. “I should hope so. Will you take my word that I have no plan for mayhem and destruction?”

“Around here, we call it ‘confusion and delay.’”

The smile became genuine once again. “You remind me of another engine I knew once. I feel like we shall get along just fine.”

-----

A little later, and the two were coupled together at the platforms, Caerphilly in front.

“Now then,” Gordon said behind her. “This is merely a learning trip for you, dear Caerphilly, so try not to exert yourself too much. You need to be aware of the line’s foibles, and let me assure you that there are many of them!”

“Oh god, he’s doing the teaching voice.” Both crews had been conversing on the platform, and covered their faces with their hands in four-way unison.

“Excuse me, but what tone would you find acceptable then, hmm?”

“Do not mock him! He is the instructor. I need to know this!”

“oh no there’s two of him now.” Caerphilly’s fireman said with dismay.

“And you should be grateful for it.” Caerphilly said firmly. “Express engines are few and far between, so to have two fine examples on the same line is a marvel in the current day.”

“Well said!” Gordon beamed.

The crews looked horrified.

---

It was still some time before the train left, and Caerphilly was watching in interest as the station pilot added yet another pair of coaches to the train. “I say. I can’t recall the last time an express working had… what is it now? Fifteen coaches?”

“Oh, it shall only get worse.” Gordon murmured as the little diesel - on loan from some heritage railway somewhere - scuttled away for yet another coach. “It’s the last weekend of half-term, and there was some form of sale on tourist class accommodations.”

“But still, on an express?”

“Goodness no.” Gordon almost rebuked, before catching himself. “The morning express is London-bound only. This is the Limited; slightly slower than the Express, but much faster than the all-stop trains.”

“This railway can support three tiers of passenger trains? I thought that everything had been replaced by motorways?”

“You are correct that many people have turned to automobiles for their travel choices, but rest assured that they do not do so here.” Gordon explained. “While many of our mainland connections like the Sudrian and the Leeds Express have long since made their final departures, within the island our domestic service level has not changed much since the 1970s - and that was hardly changed from the 1950s!”

“You’re serious? There’s no A or M road across the Island?”

“They tried to build a motorway across the island once. I’m told that the blueprints were so beautiful that the road decided to stay on them.” Gordon boasted. “So instead, we trains take the strain of travel.”

“I’m sorry, have I gone back in time to the War? Is there still fuel rationing?”

“Caerphilly, I think you will find that we do things quite a bit differently on this island.” Gordon was approaching almost radioactive levels of smug self-satisfaction, and his crew was in mild agony listening to it.

Not that Caerphilly noticed in the slightest.

“I’m beginning to see that.” She said with a hint of eagerness, excited smoke rings puffing from her funnel.

After a few more minutes, the shunter came back. Gordon and Caerphilly watched him roll past.

“Gordon?”

“Yes?”

“Don’t take this as a slight, but I don’t think any engine could get twenty coaches started on their own.”

“That is not an incorrect statement.”

“Can you teach while we both work?”

“I can believe I can give adequate instruction - provided of course, that you can listen while pulling the train?”

“I think that you’ll find that I am just as good at learning as you are at teaching.”

“This is somehow worse than them fighting.” A voice crackled over the radio.

“Shut it!”

“Be quiet!”

--------

Later

The run was going so much worse than the crews ever could have anticipated. Instead of fighting with each other, or trying some childish game of one-upmanship, Gordon and Caerphilly were working together, puffing in not-quite-perfect unison to get the train up to the absolute maximum speed limit any section would allow for. Station stops got earlier and earlier, and by the time the train stormed out of Killdane station like they’d left most of it behind, they were almost three minutes ahead of schedule and gaining fast. This fleetfooted pace was suiting the engines just fine, but the crews were less than enamored with the footplates getting progressively bumpier and less workable as the two engines bounced off of each other's buffers high-spiritedly.

“Gordon!” The driver yelled, holding onto the throttle with a white-knuckled grip. “Just because the signal is green doesn’t mean the next one won’t be!”

“You never complained like this on the express!” Gordon bellowed as they careered through Cronk station.

“This isn’t the express!”

“Tell me, how many more stops do we have between here and Tidmouth? Is it zero? The timetable said zero!” Gordon sounded like he was smiling. This was very bad.

“Is an express run now?” Caerphilly whistled at the front, her voice distant and distorted from the wind roaring past as they crossed the Cronk viaduct.

“Only the midday limited stops in Wellsworth!” Gordon called ahead to his trainee. “The morning and afternoon trains would conflict with Edward’s local services!”

“Do we have to worry about any local trains being in our path?”

“Not at all! We’ve got an express path to the big station, non-stop!”

“Excellent!” Black smoke poured from Caerphilly’s funnel, and she lunged forwards, sending the fireman stumbling into the coal pile with a yelp. The train continued to pick up speed as it made the uphill charge towards Maron. Gordon’s driver advanced the throttle like it might hurt him, and the bouncing on the footplate took on a new sideways element as they thundered over the crossovers just outside the station.

“Gordon! What are you going to do about the hill?!” The driver shouted. “We’ve got to slow down for it!”

“Cut off steam and coast once we’ve hit the summit! Don’t you remember how we did it with the express?”

“Gordon, the express was seven coaches, not twenty!” The fireman was not thrilled at this plan, screaming at his engine even as he tried to get the coal in the firebox.

“Chaps?” Caerphilly’s driver sounded remarkably calm over the radio. “Should we be concerned about that storm in the distance? Any rain or leaves on the line?”

Looking ahead, Gordon’s driver felt yet another surge of dismay. The “storm” on the horizon was a towering wall of thunderclouds that reached thousands of feet into the sky. High-spirited engines, pulling a heavy train, in the driving rain? Oh, spiffy.

“The storm will hold!” Gordon crowed. “Can’t you feel the air? I’d say we’ve got at least half an hour before it really kicks off!”

Maron station had come and gone in a flash while they discussed the storm, and Gordon’s crew shared a look of wide-eyed horror as Caerphilly whistled to the signal box just before the summit.

Anyone watching from the lineside must have had the most incredible sight - a GWR Castle and a Gresley Pacific, whistling fit to burst, roared over the summit of the hill like they intended to fly to Tidmouth, twenty coaches clattering along in their wake and a trail of leaves and dust dancing in the slipstream. Above them, thunderclouds towered over the landscape, the first bolts of lightning streaking through the black mass.

In seconds the train was gone, whistling into the distance like a banshee, the red light on the rearmost coach vanishing down the steep slope of the hill into the pre-storm darkness.

-----

It was perhaps fortunate for both engines’ reputation that no other engine was present when the Limited screeched into the big station a full seven minutes ahead of schedule. Gordon and Caerphilly were laughing and whistling like newly-built tank engines as they let off steam. Behind them, the passengers began to stream out of the coaches, and the silence of the platform turned into a dull roar of people and staff.

The disheveled, bedraggled crew staggered out of their engines, waiting for the world to stop shaking.

“What happened to you?” The yard crew, there to take the train back to the shed, looked with confusion between the cheerful engines and the haunted-looking crew.

“Shut up.” Gordon’s driver said, slapping some paperwork against the other man’s chest before staggering off to the station offices.

-------

A little later, the two engines were parked at the coaling stage. The yard crew had taken one look at the sky above, with lightning arcing through the sky, and had decided that there were far safer places to be than directly under the steel structure that jutted fifty feet into the sky.

“You were right.” Caerphilly said. “The rain hasn’t come yet. How did you know?”

“The one advantage of age,” Gordon said, eyes never leaving the sky. “Is experience. I can feel the pressures in the air. Once it starts to drop, then we have our rainstorm.”

“Yes, but,” Caerphilly looked away from the sky and back to him. “Barometric pressures often drop hours beforehand, not minutes. It’s basic weather science. How can you put such a fine timeline on it?”

“What are we, if not vessels containing water, wind, and pressure?” Gordon mused. “After a certain point, you just begin to know. Truth be told, I’m far more surprised that you don’t know. Usually ignorance of instinct is left to the dunderheads like James.”

“You forget that I’ve been indoors for forty years.” Caerphilly watched as a distant bolt of lightning streaked through the clouds. “In a science museum. I could tell you all about textiles, rockets, agriculture, even medicine.” She looked wistful. “But weather? I can talk about cyclones and pressure systems until I am blue in the face, but it won’t change the fact that I’ve forgotten the feeling of the rain.”

The wind picked up, and the air shifted noticeably. “Did you feel that?” Gordon said knowingly.

“A little.”

In the distant staff room, a radio snapped on, and a soft song began wafting out over the yard.

“Focus on that.” Gordon advised. “It means you’re about to feel something you haven’t in years.”

“What-?” Caerphilly started to say something, and then stopped as the first drops of rain fell onto her. “Is that-?

“Oh yes.” Gordon’s eye had a tiny hint of a sparkle in it.

The rain began to pour down from the heavens, joined by the winds and the lightning.

Caerphilly’s glee could be heard across the yard.

“Oh what is that idiot doing now?” James scoffed. “He’s getting the new engine all wet!”

“I don’t know…” Henry said thoughtfully. “They look too happy to be wet. Maybe they’re under the coaling stage enough that they’re dry.”

“What are you talking about? Look at them! They’re shining like they just got waxed!”

“Well they could have been-”

“No they haven’t! What do you know about rain on paint? The last time you tried to develop an opinion on that you got locked inside a tunnel!”

“Well maybe they don’t mind getting their paint wet, unlike some engines I could name in this shed…”

“Gordon? Not mind something? Pah!”

“Are they always like this?” Samarkand whispered to Delta and Bear on the other side of the shed.

“No,” Delta replied at a normal volume, knowing that neither engine would notice her. “Usually Gordon is in here and then it’ll go on until tomorrow.”

“But it’s ten in the morning?”

“That’s nothing,” Bear rolled his eyes, voice colored by many years of experience. “One time they kept going for two whole weeks. By the end of it they didn’t even remember what they were arguing about.”

“Are you being serious?” Samarkand looked like she was reassessing her life choices.

“Oh yes. They’re very tenacious when it comes to things like that.”

“The worst part,” Delta said with a faraway look in her eyes. “Is that after a while you start to find it incredibly charming.”

“Yep…” Bear had the exact same look.

“What?” Sam looked from one diesel to the other. She found no clear answer. This was very disconcerting.

#ttte #sodor #sodor shenangians #fic #sentient vehicle headcanon #sodor island forums

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mwolf0epsilon · 5 months ago

Text

I got bored waiting for my brother's therapy session to end, so here's a vague description of every TTTE Movie premise in order of release:

Thomas and the Magic Railroad - Sugar, Spice and a lot of Crack Cocaine gives us the most whimsical nonsensical Thomas adjacent adventure.

Calling All Engines - Love thy neighbours, or suffer the most horrific existential nightmares ever (no seriously).

The Great Discovery - Thomas gets ostracised because he's a jealous self-saboutaging little shit, and other repeating little blue tank engine motifs.

Hero of the Rails - In which yet another engine puts into question the existing timeline, oh and Spencer hates old people for petty reasons...

Misty Island Rescue - Thomas does not, in fact, make good decisions.

Day of the Diesels - Neglect causes needless problems for everyone involved, especially if they're not the fat controller...

Blue Mountain Mystery - Communication is key to problem resolution, but hiding in a cave for several years is much easier I guess!

King of the Railway - Old man spotted! Very exciting news for the Old Man Appreciation Brigade!

Tale of the Brave - James woke up and chose violence, and it becomes everyone else's problem. Also something about fossils or whatever...

The Adventure Begins - What if we re-did the entire first season, changed a few things, and made it a nicely animated movie? 10/10.

Legend of the Lost Treasure - No one ever taught Thomas about Stranger Danger, also his jealous self-saboutaging ways get him in trouble yet again.

The Great Race - Thomas nearly causes an international scandal because of one-sided beef, also Gordon almost dies. The Flying Scotsman is in this one tho, so all good!

Journey Beyond Sodor - James chose violence 2, electric boogaloo. Oh and can someone teach Thomas about Stranger Danger already? Next thing you know he'll follow some race car on an ill-conceived trip around the wor--

Big World Big Adventure - Australian Lightning McQueen breaks several traffic laws, Thomas's crew is probably wanted internationally for crossing borders without papers, and a homeless tank engine from Kenya decides a British island is the perfect place to move to...

#Thomas and Friends #TTTE #TTTE Movies #Shitpost

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gracieheartspedro · 2 years ago

Text

Crave

Part 3 of "How Long"

pairing: f!reader x brother-in-law!joel miller

find part 1 and 2 here!

dedication: @jenispunk <3 I love you sm jen. thank you for always supporting my writing and being the best wife a girl could ever dream of. you make my heart so happy. thank you for helping me edit and being the first to read this and encouraging me no matter what! love you love you love you!!!

description: a weekend escape with joel and sarah, kinda. the bed situation is a little confusing. luckily you and joel make it work. when sarah's not around, of course.

word count: 5.5k

warnings: MINORS DNI! this is 18+, pre!outbreak joel, there is smut in this part!! unprotected p in v, oral sex (f receiving), joel is a CONSENT KING AGAIN, dirty talk, daddy kink (aha), hotel sex?, begging? lmao I think that's it.

author's note: finally. it's here. I feel like I've been staring at this doc for 7 years. thank you all for your patience. I want to continue this series but I have to sit down and really brainstorm what I'd like the next parts to be. let me know your thoughts! THANK YOU FOR READING!

“My favorite Millers!”

Your face was beaming, seeing Joel hop out of his truck with Sarah in tow. The truck was still running, the diesel engine chugging louder than any truck you had been in before. Joel always had a nicer, newer truck. He made great money and he was always having to go into construction zones that needed an all terrain vehicle. They always got pretty banged up with dirt and rocks, but he took excellent care of the interior.

Joel grabs both of your bags, taking them to the backseat where Sarah would be crammed in with all the luggage. You give him a nod, silently thanking him. Sarah wraps her arms around your waist, giggling with excitement.

“I’m so happy you’re coming with us! It’s going to be a great weekend,” She explains while you two walk over to the tall truck. You always found climbing into a truck unnatural and awkward yourself, but it was hot watching Joel hop in with ease. You agree with Sarah, all the while opening up the door for yourself. Sarah springs up to her seat, and you struggle to crawl up into the cab. It makes Joel chuckle.

“I’m making you lift me into this thing next time,” you joke, easing back into the fabric seats, “Especially since you think watching me struggle is funny.”

Joel looks back in the rear view to see if Sarah’s paying attention, “‘s no problem at all, darlin’. I will gladly help you next time.”

You knew he was flirting. It makes your stomach bubble with excitement. He makes sure you two are buckled and starts on the two and half hour journey to Houston. Once you leave your neighborhood, Sarah taps your shoulder and holds out her new CD player. It’s purple and covered in sparkly stickers.

“Looks like your Dad is supplying you with all the ways to listen to music,” you observe, glancing over at Joel. He’s just watching the road, one hand on the steering wheel, the other propped up on the shifter. He looks younger, the dusk sky the perfect back drop for his pronounced nose and beautiful eyelashes. You couldn’t help but stare, even as Sarah’s talking your ear off. He just nods along to her, making sure she knows she’s heard.

“Think I’m gonna listen to my Kelly Clarkson CD this time,” Sarah explains, putting her earphones over her voluminous curls, “So don’t try to talk to me!”

You and Joel giggle, shaking your heads at her comment. It’s not like you were the one’s talking before, you both think.

It gives you both a moment without a kid’s ears nearby.

“How was the rest of your work week?” He asks, tapping the shifter to the soft hum of the radio.

“Boring,” You mumble, “Think one of the guys in marketing has a crush on me and he’s making it impossible to avoid him. I can’t even go to the break room without him bothering me.”

You didn’t know why you felt the urge to tell Joel about the situation. It wasn’t even a real situation, it was just an annoying thing happening in your life.

“Hmph,” he ponders for a moment, “Want me to kill him?”

His tone is serious, but you know he’s just messing. You grin, nudging his arm with your elbow gently, ensuring it doesn’t move the steering wheel.

“My hero,” You comment as you watch a smile crack across his face, “No, thank you, though. If it starts to get to stalker status, I will call you.”

“Seems like stalkin’ already, baby girl.”

The nickname makes your stomach flip. You purse your lips, contemplating his words. Sure it was creepy, but the guy was scrawny and you could probably snap him in half with two fingers. He had nothing to really worry about. Right?

Joel steals a glance over at you.

“Maybe, but I’ll handle it.”

You wanted him to think you were strong enough to deal with unwanted attention, but to be honest, you weren’t sure how to say no to most men. You only ever had Tommy and he scared everyone away. Now everyone around town knew you were on the market, and men were drawn to your natural beauty and somewhat sassy attitude.

Little did they know, you were hung up on the other Miller boy.

“You let me know if you need me to talk to him,” He doesn’t take his eyes off the road, just reaches his right hand out to rest on your thigh, “Man to man.”

His hand is so warm, you feel it through your black leggings. He was almost always like a furnace, but it was okay, because you always ran cold. But every time he touched you, you felt that warmth trail up your arms and legs. He made you feel different. Every fiber of your being became electrified when he was around. It was a sensation you never noticed when you were with Tommy. You begin chalking it up to just being nervous because he was older and larger and… well, hotter.

“Again, my hero,” you respond sarcastically, letting your hand rest on top of his. It makes him more confident, gently massaging that area. You watch as his hand creeps closer and closer to the crack between your legs. You practically gasp at the contact, but you catch yourself before you do, remembering there’s a child behind you.

So you smack his hand away, shooting him a glare.

“What are you doing?”

“Nothin’ just… sorry.”

You didn’t want him to pull away, your leg already missing his touch, but you knew what would happen if you did stuff like that in front of Sarah. She’s a teenage girl. She’ll talk. It’ll find it’s way to someone’s ears.

You wanted to act like you didn’t care if Tommy found out, but deep down you knew it would be a disaster. You didn’t feel like being the talk of the town. You didn’t feel like explaining yourself to Tommy. You didn’t feel like watching Joel deal with the flack from his family, especially his mother.

If you two wanted to continue this… game… you would have to keep it secret. That included keeping it away from Sarah’s eyes and ears. You and Joel would just be friends. You would just be her aunt. That’s it.

“Don’t apologize,” You whisper, “Just not here.”

You two let the radio take over the rest of the trip, occasionally chatting about a song or what the newscaster says about the weather. Once you get into Houston, it’s already 8:30 at night. Joel pulls into the parking garage to the Marriot and you already start craving the bed that awaits you inside.

“I call the bed near the window!” Sarah throws her stuff down, jumping straight onto one the huge queen size duvet. The room was nice. A large television set catches your eye immediately, proving that this was probably an expensive room if they were giving you free cable tv. The curtains were open, giving a beautiful view of Houston’s skyline.

One thing you notice, too, is the fact that there was only two beds. You knew this, but it still made your stomach sink a bit.

You realize you three hadn’t discussed the sleeping situation. You didn’t care where you would sleep, honestly. You just knew Sarah was a restless one, having slept next to her in a tent when she was 9. Family camping trips entailed you, Tommy, Joel, and Sarah sharing a 6 person tent and being absolutely miserable the whole entire time. Between Tommy’s snores and Sarah practically flailing all around the tent at night, you remember not getting a lick of sleep.

“Go get a shower, Sarah. We will figure out who’s sleeping where.”

She groans at Joel, like usual.

“Dad!”

“Shower,” he throws his bag down on the ground near the dresser, “No arguin’.”

Sarah sulks, her bag in hand, straight to the bathroom by the front door. You don’t say anything. You just start following Joel’s lead by putting your bags down next to his. You stand a bit too close to him, waiting for him to say where you’d be sleeping.

He clears his throat, “I will take the recliner, if you want the bed.”

“Of course I want the bed, but I don’t want you to have to sleep in the recliner.”

It makes him laugh, how matter-of-fact you are.

You hear Sarah start up the shower. You wouldn’t have to fear she hears you and Joel talk about the possibility of sleeping with one another. Again.

“It’s not a big deal,” He explains, unzipping his bags to grab his pajamas, “Sleep on the couch all the time.”

“But you have a nice plush couch,” You gesture towards the hard and structured looking recliner, “That doesn’t look comfortable at all.”

For a girl who didn’t want Joel touching you in the car, you were practically begging him to sleep next to you in the big comfortable hotel bed.

“So, where do you want me to sleep?”

“Just take the bed.”

“But you want the bed.”

You swallow, not even looking up at him, “We both can have the bed.”

He’s silent, gripping onto his sweatpants and t-shirt. He slowly looks down at you, his eyes carry a curious glint in them. You cock your head, giving him a mischievous smirk.

“You and Sarah?”

“No, you and Sarah.”

He groans, “You are a fuckin’ tease.”

You giggle, watching him brush pass you to position himself close to the closet. He opens the closet door, slipping in like he’s looking for something in there.

“What are you doing?”

“Changin’.”

“In the closet?”

He grabs his shirt from the nape of his neck and pulls it off smoothly. You can’t peel your eyes away, partially seeing his right peck from how he’s standing. It was like the morning after having sex with him. Your eyes were glued to him, his tanned skin practically asking to be touched and licked.

You horny bitch.

“Joel, get out of the closet.”

He chuckles, “Why? You want me to give you a show?”

Why yes, I really do, Joel. You think to yourself. You hum a response, peeling your eyes away. You needed to find your pajamas, a pair of Nike sports shorts and a black tank top. Lately, you’ve been sleeping completely naked, but that was obviously not an option here.

Sarah finally leaves the bathroom as soon as Joel slides his pants up. She has her hair wrapped in a towel, which makes you smile. She looked so grown up, it’s hard to believe you met her when she was 6 years old. You wordlessly walk into the bathroom, beginning to change your outfit for your sleep wear. You splash some cold water on your face, your cheeks still blushed from seeing Joel shirtless.

You hear the door outside open and close. You peak out, your traveling clothes wrapped up in your arms. Joel stands in the middle of the room, fiddling with the remote for the TV.

“Where did Sarah go?” You question, packing your clothes back into your duffle.

“She wanted to go get ice from the ice machine,” He grumbles, “Said she wanted to see if any of her teammates were awake or nearby.”

“Is her whole team staying here?”

“Yeah, pretty much every team gets a floor. Last year it was a like a huge sleepover. Fuckin’ nightmare,” Joel mutters, flicking through different channels, before landing on some westerns. You smirk, deciding to plop down on one of the beds. As soon as you lay back, Sarah comes back in, bucket in hand.

“Can I go stay in Amelia’s room? Her mom is there, just two doors down.”

Well that solves the bed problem.

Joel rolls his eyes, you can tell he’s already annoyed. “Is Amelia’s mom okay with that?”

“You want to go talk to her? I promise Dad, we will get up at 5:30 like we need to. Pleas-”

“Let’s go talk to Amelia’s mom.”

You hear them leave the room without saying anything else.

You were tired from a long day at work and the long drive. But some excitement blooms in your stomach when you realize it may just be you and Joel, all alone in a hotel room.

Before you have time to ponder all the wonders that may be in store for you, Joel comes back with a frustrated huff.

“She staying over there?”

“Yeah, Amelia’s mom said it was fine. Then she started askin’ who you were. Guess they saw us in the hotel lobby.”

Your stomach twists, nervous at what his response was.

“And?”

“Told her you were Sarah’s aunt. She gave me a weird look.”

“Great, now the soccer mom’s will be oogling me tomorrow.”

“Well they will anyway,” Joel responds, finding a spot next to you on the edge of the bed, “Single ones won’t leave me alone.”

You know he’s really just seeing if you’ll get jealous. But you don’t play into his little game. You just let out a loud hearty laugh.

“The ladies just love a Miller.”

He grumbles something inaudible, nudging you with his elbow. “You do, don’t ya?”

“Sure do.”

His face softens, his eyes flicking down to your lips.

You grin, “She’s 14 and super goofy. Loves to play socc-”

“You’re truly testin’ me today, ain’t ya?”

You can’t help yourself at that point. The way he’s flirting only gives you more reason to taunt him.

“Is Sarah seriously going to be gone from the room all night?”

“Yeah,” He nods, leaning back on his palms. He acts like he’s watching TV, ignoring your not-so-subtle hints that you want his eyes on you.

“So, I can finally ask you why you think it’s okay to tease me in the car?”

“Don’t know what you’re on about, darlin’,” He smirks, he knows.

You tilt your head to the side, finally lifting your hand onto his lap. You immediately start toying with him the same way, your hand creeping towards his crotch. His eyes peel away from the TV. He watches you closely, his eyes trailing from your gaze down to your fingers dancing on his pant leg.

“You put your hand on my thigh and started inching closer and cl-“

“Are you tryin’ to make a point or pose a question?”

He was getting annoyed with the games already. But you’d only just begun.

“I’m just trying to explain how you can’t do things like that to me in front of Sarah,” You remark, flicking your eyelashes up to his glare, “Especially when you can’t finish it.”

“Who said I ain’t gonna?”

You huff, “Well here we are, all alone in a hotel room. No kiddo in sight. Still not touching me.”

“Don’t think you deserve it cause you’re a tease.”

“How am I a tease, Miller?”

“You exist and that’s enough. Walkin’ around in a tank top,” He gestures to your chest, “Just beggin’ to be touched.”

Your skin is set alight. The words go straight to your core.

“Joel-“

You’re cut off. His hands work quickly, pulling you by the nape of your neck, right to his eager lips. You begin to realize you had been longing for this moment for so long. He couldn’t resist anymore, his whole body buzzing at the fact that he finally has you again.

His lips are soft and slow as they make their way around yours. His hands eventually trail down to your butt, his hands cradling both cheeks. He lifts you forward, sliding you up and onto his lap.

“Been wantin’ this for months, baby.”

Butterflies erupt in the pit of your tummy. You can feel them travel up to your chest as you look down at him, his eyelids heavy and his lips pursed.

He waited for you to respond to his calls, knowing you needed time. He needed to be patient. You would come around, he knew it. After months, here you are.

He thinks back to every time he was touching himself late at night, he would imagine the night you two shared. Your soft curves and needy dripping pussy. It drove him wild imagining you like this again.

“I think it’s been more than wantin’, Joel,” You grind down on his prominent bulge growing in his sweatpants, “Think you need it.”

He grins, finally getting out of his own head.

“Such a little tease, damn it.”

You lean down, mindlessly speckling kisses behind his ear and neck. Your boobs rest right in front of his face, and you’re right, he needs it. His hands leave your behind, reaching up to the straps of your tank top. He tugs them down your biceps, allowing your cleavage to spill out more.

Your hands find his dark peppered curls at the nape of his neck, pulling downward. You needed him closer and he obliged. He starts to kiss your collarbones, wandering down to the swell of your breasts. You can feel yourself staining your sports shorts with anticipation.

You rock your hips, craving more. He takes the hint, reaching back down to lift you from your ass. He switches spots, laying you on your back on the plush white duvet. He’s leaning over you now, which gives you a great view of how spent he looks already. His gray sweatpants are hanging lower, tenting where his cock has grown hard.

He smirks, taking off his shirt the same way he did earlier. With one hand, it slips right over his head and onto the floor.

“Jesus,” You huff out, using the time to remove your top, “I need you, Joel.”

The smirk never leaves his lips. He leans down, pushing your legs apart with his pointer and middle finger. You open up for him, wanting nothing more for him to dive into you in every possible way. You watch as he slides his fingers up your thigh, past the openings of your shorts.

He realizes you aren’t wearing underwear. He sighs as he swipes the pads of his fingers across your wet slit.

“I know you do,” He drawls, watching you writhe under his touch, “You need me as much as I need you.”

He practically tears off your shorts, not wasting any time fighting with the fabric.

You adjust how your laying to accommodate him laying between your thighs. He lays down on his stomach, bringing your hips close to his mouth. You watch as he kisses your inner thighs, his breath hot fanning against your skin.

You remember the last time you were in this position. You spent night after night remembering the best head you’ve ever gotten, from the one and only, Joel Miller. And you could tell Joel was not going to go another moment without making you cum on his tongue.

When his tongue hits the top of your slit, you whine at the contact. He presses his face in, diving deeping into your lips. As soon as he finds your clit, he puts all his attention there. His nose is pressed against your mound as he hums against your sensitive bud.

“Joel,” You cry, reaching down between your legs to grab the crown of his head, your hands lacing into his locks, “Right fuckin’ there.”

He continues his movements, only increasing in speed in which he flicks his tongue. He wraps his lips over the swollen area, sucking and lapping your sweetness. He pulls away, the slick between your thighs missing him instantly. He brings his fingers up to his mouth and wets them with saliva. He glances up at your completely dazed face.

“‘M gonna fuck you with my fingers first,” His voice is deep and hushed, “Make you cum. You gonna cum for me like a good girl?”

You don’t even know where it comes from. But you say it with your chest.

“Yes, Daddy.”

You never expected the moan to come out of his mouth. It’s deep and guttural. He couldn’t believe his ears, and he can’t believe the words came from your mouth. His good girl? That fuckin’ flithy?

He slips his fingers into you without resistance. His mouth finds it’s way back to your core, fucking you in unison.

You reach up to your chest, cradling your own boobs. Joel’s still only in sweatpants but they are riding low on his hips. As he’s giving you his all, he’s grinding his hips into the bed, trying to get whatever friction he can. Watching the motion alone is driving you wild, sending your hips rotating on his tongue. You knew the release was coming, you could feel it in your fingertips.

And when it comes, it’s like fireworks inside your stomach and chest. You lurch forward, crying out his name. You knew it was probably way too loud for the thin hotel walls, but you couldn’t help yourself. The orgasm sends stars speckling across your vision.

Joel fucks you through the comedown. You are the hottest thing he’s ever laid eyes on, he thinks. When your body rests back, you’re panting, trying to ground yourself for a second. Joel pulls his fingers out and sucks each digit.

“You’re gonna be the death of me,” You mewl, reaching out for him. You just need to touch him.

He shimmies his sweatpants down and off his legs. He’s sitting back on his knees, smiling down at your desperate eyes. He crawls on top of you, his dick prodding at your thighs. He leans down, trapping your lips into another longing kiss. His hands trail down your sides, leaving goosebumps in their wake. He pulls back after a couple seconds, gazing into your eyes.

“You still on that birth control?”

You hum in response.

“Need me to pull out still?”

You smirk, lacing your arms around his shoulders, “No. Need you to cum inside me.”

He shakes his head, sitting back to line himself with your entrance.

“My dirty girl,” He runs his cock head between your swollen red lips, triggering your hips to move closer to him, “You drive me insane.”

“Come on, Joel. I’ve been waiting for ages for you to fuck me. Need you. Now.”

He chuckles darkly, still not giving you what you want. “Waiting ages, huh?”

“Joelllll,” You beg, smacking his chest, “Please.”

“Mmm,” He pushes forward just enough to relieve your ache, “Love it when you beg for it.”

He practically splits you open when he snaps his hips. You both groan simultaneously, unable to hold back this sick fantasy you’re both playing into. You feel more full than you ever did before. You don’t remember it hurting this good.

“Holy fuck,” you whine, “So fucking full, Joel.”

He slowly pulls back, “You tell me if it’s too much, ‘kay?”

You shake your head, throwing your head back as he sets a cautious pace. He’s watching all your facial expressions, making sure he’s not hurting you. You wince when he starts to pick up the pace, which causes him to halt completely.

“No,” You plead, “More. Faster. Please, just please.”

He says nothing, just pushes up your thighs so the back of them are flush with the front of his. He leans over you, his elbows on each side of your head. He grinds into you while his dark curls fall into your face. You tilt your head up, finding the crook of his neck again.

His cock felt so good dragging in out of you. You felt like you could stay in this position forever. You molded so perfectly around him. He treated you like this beautiful mural, taking his time with delicate strokes. His hands wrapped around the back of your head, holding you in the curve of his body.

You latch your lips onto his neck, peppering lovebites everywhere. You didn’t even think about if they could be seen later. In the moment, you only thought of him as yours. He was yours and everyone would fucking know it.

He’s starting to get more greedy. He pulls back, his warmth moving away from your perked up nipples. His upper body the best view you could get, so you couldn’t complain too much. He grabs behind your knees, using them as leverage as he starts to pound into you.

Your eyes meet and for fuck’s sake, he’s perfect. You never knew you could see Joel Miller like this. Like someone who fucked you so good, but also cared so tenderly for you. He wanted to see you in the throws of pleasure, not even worrying about when he’d get his rocks off. He got his rise out of seeing how much you enjoyed yourself.

His ravenous drive to bring you to the edge is causing the headboard to slam against the wall which each stroke. He brings his left hand up to your bouncing tits, grabbing your nipple and tugging on it. He knew what touching your boobs did to you. He remembers watching your visceral reactions to him toying with them before. It brings a smile to his face.

“I’m gonna-”

You don’t even finish your sentence, you just gasp as you feel his cock head hit the deepest parts of you. A place no other man has made it to.

“I don’t want anyone else,” He musters out, his teeth clenching as your pussy restricts around him. He means it. He may be drunk on you, but he feels those words down to his bones. “I only ever want this.”

It was never just about the sex. Joel cared for you. Fuck, maybe he even loved you.

You swallow, propping yourself up on your elbows. You glance down, watching his cock slip so perfectly, in and out of you.

“I’m yours, Joel,” You manage to peep out before the orgasm you’ve been holding back builds to a maddening point, “I’m yours.”

The words make his cock twitch. He can’t help himself, he needs you to cum right this very moment. He doesn’t say anything, just unhooks your legs and uses his right hand to put pressure on your clit. Tears start to prick in your eyes as he lazily rubs circles, humming in satisfaction. He feels you tightening up, he knows your close.

Your vision goes white. You body starts to vibrate, the pure bliss he’s sending you into takes you to a whole other dimension. You want more. More. More. More.

As he watches you seize up, he can’t resist his own orgasm. The explosion sends him into a moaning mess. He fucks into you, painting your walls with his cum, not letting a drop go to waste.

He collapses on top of you. You don’t even care, you feel like jello anyway, he could melt right into you.

He rolls off after a minute.

You always miss him when he’s not near you.

You stare at the ceiling, pondering the right words to say to him. Nothing comes to mind. He gets up, walking naked to the bathroom. He grabs a rag from the shelf above the toilet, running it under some warm water.

When he returns, you let him clean all around your body. You make sure he doesn’t wipe away the wet kisses he left all over you, though.

“You okay?”

You finally look at him.

You want to say yes, because you were okay. Physically. But your heart wanted to pulsate out of your chest.

“I will be,” You state simply, “Just tired.”

He slowly starts grabbing all your articles of clothing off the floor, dressing you once he collects all of them. He’s careful with you. Gentle.

“Do you want to sleep in the same bed?”

The question rings in your ears. Of course you did.

“As long as you get up at the ass crack of dawn and move before Sarah comes in.”

He chuckles, pulling his sweatpants back over his waist. He doesn’t even bother to put on his shirt.

“Will do, baby.”

When you wake up, you realize the overheard light flickered on. You contort your sleep dazed body, Joel’s upper body practically laying over you. You try to blink the haze out of your eyes, but your tired mind is completely shocked when you see an outline of a girl.

Shitshitshitshitshit.

You fling your body upward, rattling Joel awake. He’s startled, his arms flinging off of you.

“I knew it!” Her voice is piercing. “I knew it! Holy shit!”

“Sar-”

“Are you two dating? Or are you just… wait, ew!”

She’s rambling, her words clashing together in confusion. Your heart is about to hammer out of your chest.

“Sarah, we aren’t dating,” You declare, your voice shaking.

“But you’re sleeping together?”

You could cut the silence with a sword. It’s so thick and awkward.

A 14 year old girl shouldn’t know you’re sleeping with her Dad. Let alone walk in after you spent all night tangled up in him.

“Sarah,” Joel’s voice is buttery and raspy after he wakes up. You hold the comforter up to your chest. You had your tank top on, but it hangs so low on you, you don’t want to risk anything. “Grab your uniform, get dressed. We can talk about this later.”

“Does Uncle To-”

“Sarah! Stop!”

It scares you since it’s so close to your ear. His voice changes so abruptly, it makes you cringe a bit.

Hearing the question from Sarah’s lips makes you feel queasy. Having the girl who you always considered your niece ask if her uncle knew you were sleeping with her dad... God what a fucking mess.

You watch her storm across the room, grabbing her backpack and race to the bathroom, slamming the door behind her.

Joel groans next to you as he slams back into the plush pillows.

“She will be fine. We will talk about it later,” Joel says under his breath.

You open your mouth but nothing comes out.

You hadn’t thought much of this through. Ever since you and Joel first slept together, you pushed your harbored feelings to the side. Sometimes they creep in, which would send you into a panic. Because deep down, you knew you felt something for Joel. Something you hadn’t felt since you first started dating Tommy. Maybe even ever. It was exciting. He made you feel special. After everything he said to you last night, you knew he possessed some similar emotions and feelings.

You felt crazy for believing this could work.

You knew this would be complicated. Now Sarah is involved. How do you explain these emotions to a child? You don’t.

You think about all the horrible outcomes to this situation. Tommy wanting to fight Joel. His mom never accepting you back into the family. Who knows, maybe Sarah gets so upset at the situation, she never treats you the same again.

But then you think about Joel. How he’s a night and day difference to what Tommy was to you. He wore his emotions on his sleeve. He wanted to protect you. He wanted to take care of you every chance he could.

You start to think back to the times when you were still with Tommy. Joel defended you when you two had a blowout fight. He always made sure to have a watchful eye on you when you all went out to bars. He was even there when you graduated college, giving you a bouquet of beautiful daises he swore up and down Sarah picked out. But you knew the truth. Joel loved daisies. He even had his Mom plant some in his front yard last year.

You were just so scared. You didn’t want to be hurt again. You did not want your feelings to be wrong.

You glance down at him, your back still turned. He could read your face, he knew you were overthinking everything. Your mind was working overtime, trying to muster up some excuse to run away and forget everything that happened between you two. There was nothing normal about this situation.

But fuck, you both really wanted it. So bad. You couldn’t keep lying to yourself.

His hand creeps up your back, resting a reassuring palm on your aching shoulder.

“Stop thinkin’ for a minute,” he whispers, “You don’t need to make any decisions right this minute. We will just take it one second at a time. Ain’t no way ‘m lettin’ you go. I want you here.”

You didn’t know if he meant here in general or in the figurative sense.

He meant it both ways.

Maybe it was crazy, but that feeling was deep in your chest. This palpable inkling that this could evolve into you being his.

This being more than sex? More than a crush?

Being Joel’s sounded like a fever dream.

He wanted nothing more but to wrap you up into his arms, hold you and kiss your head, reassuring you that you two can figure it out together. But instead, Sarah walks out in her soccer uniform, squashing the moment. She stands in front of the bed, finally making eye contact with you.

“You guys gonna get up and watch me kick ass, or are you gonna to lay in bed all day?”

You smile at her. You silently prayed this girl would stay in your life forever.

“I know my answer.”

Joel smiles, “’s go kick some ass.”

again thank you for reading!! let me know your thoughts!

find part 1 and 2 here!

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