#Pascal's principle | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

communistkenobi · 1 month ago

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I'm curious how you stomach going thru Tom Cruise's entire filmography when he's such a massive piece of shit. Like I feel like I'd just be thinking about all the women in films he has costarred in and abused beyond reason the entire time.....

I’m going to step very slowly into a minefield so please bear with me:

I don’t find that approach to art particularly helpful or interesting most of the time, and even if you do (which I don’t begrudge you for) I don’t think anyone has a principled stance on the matter, which would prohibit you from watching any film ever made, because the production of film under the current economic and social conditions of the world is itself unjust. Perhaps this is a lazy cop-out - if the moving image is evil then all actions vis a vis said moving image are equally damnable and therefore equally permissible. However, everyone carves out exceptions for what they can stomach (MY favourite celebrity would never do that) or cannot stomach (see: depp, jkr), myself included. And that’s not even getting into the actual issues of the content of the art itself. iirc Tony Gilroy scabbed during the writers strike to finish the Andor S2 script and I still watch it and enjoy it! I am also glad they fired Gina Carrano from the Mandalorian for her transphobia and white supremacy meltdown on twitter, and her character on that show is permanently ruined for me now because of it. I will not be able to enjoy anything involving Noah Schnapp as a direct result of his Zionist views. And so on.

An anecdote I always liked that I heard from a prof is his explanation of what a social position is: once a music band reaches sufficient fame, one of the members will inevitably sexually assault someone. So this might sound overly cavalier, but I don’t care to litigate the moral character of Tom Cruise or figure out exactly what he did or did not do (I’m not familiar with the abuse allegations you mentioned), nor do I care to do that with most celebrities, because that would mean accepting the assumption that doing so will give you an answer as to whether you should continue enjoying their work. I don’t generally find this assumption helpful for how I interact with art, nor does it give me the answer I want - which is always, inevitably, no I should not enjoy this, because accruing that much wealth and fame is unjust regardless of who they are or how hard they worked or their talents as an artist or etc., and this injustice structurally produces abuse (#MeToo is a response to this structure). Like the fact that celebrities exist as a social position is itself a problem lol.

Now does this mean you can engage in celebrity worship, free of any guilt? Again I don’t know if this is a productive question, or if the answers it gives you will be helpful. I find it generally distasteful, but I likewise engage in celebrity parasociality - I watch Tom Cruise press interviews! I enjoy hearing his little stunt anecdotes and it’s not just because they’re interesting, I find him charming and fun to listen to. And we all had a great time when Pedro Pascal was posting the word socialism on twitter. The examples are infinite.

And maybe this is all just motivated reasoning (I don’t want to consider myself a bad person, etc) to let myself off the hook, but it would be effectively the same critique as like, consuming the MCU despite its deep ties to the US military or what have you. Which again, I have engaged in this argument on this blog, and will almost certainly engage in it again! I will mock anyone who still likes Harry Potter on both moral grounds (JKR is abominable) and aesthetic ones (you have dogshit taste). I am also not principled in this regard. You can call me a hypocrite and I’ll agree with you. But I find a lot of movies ideologically despicable (see: Top Gun) or made by awful people (see: Kubrick) and still really enjoy them. This is not a contradiction for me because I (generally) do not operate under the assumption that my engagement with art first requires me to figure out if the artists are good people or not.

And a lot this is adjacent to the point you’re making, and is a strain of discourse I’m anticipating in this response, so maybe this all sounds off topic or overly defensive, but this leads into the broader discussions surrounding the politics of like, ‘moral consumption’ and using the quality of the moral character of an artistic object or artist as a guide for what you should buy into. your mileage will ultimately vary, including my own. and personally I’m really enjoying Mr Tom Cruise!

#asks #cruiseposting #this is off topic but I am blocked by a lot of tom cruise blogs. like specifically TC fan blogs. which I think is very funny #so whatever parasocial posting I’m doing is not up to snuff

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boiohboii · 2 years ago

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Hi! Could you do like toddler Leclerc reader, like she’s the baby sister of the Leclercs and even tho they are quite a lot older than her they love her more than anything and are very protective and doting over her, especially Charles

The three big bad wolves (leclerc!toddler!reader)

N.B: dear anon, thank you for the request......i had this in my inbox for a while, I hope you like it.... WARNINGS: not proof read, don't focus too much on age and stuff, baby leclerc having a crush on mr carlos sainz (who doesn't), I feel like I could've written the ending in a better way of sorts..... if I missed anything please let me know....

masterlist

The three leclerc boys had fallen in love in 2016, Lorenzo was 20, Charles was 19 and Arthur was 16 when they saw their first love. It was when YN Leclerc was born. Her lips parted as hiccups left her small body, her hands laying on her mother's chest and her eyes twinkling as she looked up at her three brothers.

The three boys didn't think their love for yn could be deeper, could be so much more than their hearts dancing at the sound of her giggles, so much more than sitting on small chairs, having their nails painted bright colors and their faces smeared by their mother's make-up. They didn't know how far their love can go, how deep their feelings could be but when tragedy struck the Leclerc household the three boys swore that they'd not just die for their baby sister, they would kill for her, they would tear down worlds for her.

YN coming to races had been rare, Pascale rarely leaves her baby girl out of her sight, she always wants her within her eyesight scared of what the world might do to her little baby.

So when Charles made his way with YN on his hip, some would argue that she is too old for this, her face hiding in his neck and arms wrapped tightly around him feeling safe in her brother's arm. Lorenzo and Arthur were with them as well, just behind Charles, trying to get yn to look at them but to no avail.

"Is that baby leclerc?"

A British voice rang through the hallway as Lando ran up to Charles, pushing Arthur out of the way to take a closer look at yn, stretching his hand to squish her chubby cheeks.

"Hey!"

Lando's protest was loud and clear as soon as Charles moved yn out of his hands way

"Stay away from my sister norris"

Lorenzo's sharp tone scared the youn brit into moving away, allowing Arthur to squeeze himself back into his rightful place.

"Yn baby"

"Yes 'tur"

The sound of her small voice had all 4 men melting, wanting to wrap the little girl in a blanket and keep her away from everything bad in this world.

"Come here"

Arthur extended his hand so that he can carry yn, but Charles maneuvered away from his younger brother refusing to let go of yn

"You have to let her go man, you need to change anyway"

"No no, just for a bit"

"Charles!" His team principle came within their eyesight, looking at charles as he pouted, wanting to have yn in his arms for a bit more.

Not wanting to get fired Charles moved yn into Arthur's arms as Lorenzo kept running his hand through her hair upon seeing her yawn.

"Hey, little leclerc!"

All tiredness disappeared from yn's face as Carlos Sainz jr. entered the room, yn had a crush on him and it wasn't a secret. Her mother and Carlos found it cute, it was a silly little thing that she'll grow out of, her brothers however hated it they didn't want to entertain the idea that she should even have a crush before being 25 years old.

"No, go away" Lorenzo spoke as he moved in front of yn, trying to block her eyesight but it was too late.

"Enzo, moovee" yn whined as she tried to push lorenzo away from her so that she could see the Spaniard

"Come on man, it's just a baby crush, it'll go with time" Carlos reasoned as yn stretched her arms towards him and started fussing in Arthur's hold, wanting to be held by the oldest driver.

"Hey yn" Carlos greeted as he bounced her lightly on his hip, the two words making the little girl blush, a smile on her lips so wide that she would later complain of her face hurting

"Non! Not again! Carlos!" The heavy sound of racing boots running closer reached everyone's ears as they looked towards charles

"Leave yn alone! Give her here"

"Non! Charles, I want to stay with Carlos" tightening her grip onto carlos' shirt, yn looked at Charles, challenging him and making sure that he sees her little hands on his teammate's shirt as a way to make it clear that she's not going anywhere.

"Mon ange!" Charles whined as he stomped his feet

"Honestly, which one of you is the little kid?"

"Zip it norris"

"Be nice to landy" yn frowned at her older brother, reaching one of her hands towards Lando's hair as she patted it as a form of apology making all three leclerc brothers annoyed

"This is just unfair" Arthur complained as he watched his sister have a puppy crush on two drivers, they really shouldn't have introduced her to any of the drivers.

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therobotmonster · 1 year ago

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"Doctor Martin, why are you an atheist?"

Director Maria Kleinheart wasn't the sort of person who asked indirect or idle questions. She was in every way a Kleinheart, the spitting image of her grandmother. Only she wasn't staring out from a yellowed ad in a back issue of Popular Science or Woman's Day, she was staring from across desk made of polished slate.

Emil Martin didn't respond immediately. That sort of question usually came with an invitation to services or a badgering about Pascal's wager. That didn't fit what he knew about the director, though that wasn't much. An intense religious conversion would explain the rumors around her distance from the rest of her family.

"Director, is this a personal or work related question?" Emil finally asked.

"Work." She replied.

"Is that appropriate?"

"Yes. This is about security clearances."

That made even less sense. Emil decided to risk a lecture on his eternal soul and answered truthfully. "Pretty standard, insufficient evidence."

"Would you rather it be true?" She asked. "Would it be comforting to know you existed for a purpose, that someone was in charge of your existence, caring for you?"

"Not really." Emil replied. "I'm rather Hitchenisan in that regard."

"Good enough. Follow me."

"BE NOT AFRAID."

The words seemed to come out of the air itself. The thing was at the center of the large, expansive lab that had once been a missile silo. It was a sphere, surrounded by two rings of brass-like metal. The rings were lined with hemispherical semi-translucent white glass or crystal protrusions. The inner ring spun slowly, as did the central core, though only the faintest irregularities in its glowing blue-white corona revealed that motion.

The outer ring was held in place with steel chains, each link six inches in diameter. Two chains locked the ring to the floor, while a third latched the top to the ceiling. The cuffs the chains connected to seemed to have been welded shut around it.

"BE NOT AFRAID." It 'spoke' again. Its voice was clear and musical, but wrong and artificial at the same time. It sounded like familiar voices; his mother and father, his cousins, his old school pals, his boyfriends, even Director Kleinheart, each synthesized poorly via an AI speech simulator, all speaking in perfect time.

Every time it spoke, Emil smelled his grandfather's sweet cornbread fresh from the oven.

"That looks like an angel." He finally gasped.

"Looks like." Director Kleinheart smiled. He wasn't sure she could do that. "I knew we picked the right man."

"This is why you were asking about my beliefs?"

"Yes Doctor Martin. You see, freedom of religion is an extension of the principle of innocence until proven guilty. Once one faith is shown to be correct, all others are revealed as wrong."

"And you wanted to make sure I, what, wasn't guilty of being wrong?"

"No, the mistaken are innocent of everything except the actions they directly take." Kleinheart continued. "It's the ones who would take this to mean they were right that are fifth columnists to an unaccountable alien power."

"Oh." Emil replied. He didn't know quite what else to say.

"I want you on our team that's studying it. We need to know how it works, what it's made of, what those things its made of can be used for, you know the drill."

"BE NOT AFRAID." Again came the smell of cornbread.

"Are the restraints necessary?" Emil asked. "It is telling us we don't need to be afraid of it."

"Oh, we thought that too at first." The director said. "But we've already learned quite a bit about our little intruder here, even a bit of its 'source code' for lack of a better analogue. That message isn't meant for us."

"What is it then?"

"Can't you guess, Doctor?"

Dr. Emil Martin shrugged. "I have no idea."

"It isn't giving us a warning."

Director Kleinheart smiled for the second time in Emil's memory and spoke again.

"It's repeating its orders."

#be not afraid #ophanim #short story #flash fiction #kleinheart robotics #do you think god stays in heaven #etc #melinoe labs #melinoe laboratories #the rare non unreality melinoe thing #not unreality in the sense that its prose and not an in-universe artifact

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radfemsiren · 8 months ago

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I am deeply, deeply afraid of God (Allah) i just want to say... lets for a moment say it's true. Lets say if you don't believe in allah, you will go to hell and be tortured there (ik you don't believe that, just asking you for a second to humor me)

What if... i reject faith and I die. What if it's true? Then it will be too late. God then (according to the quran) 😔 will not forgive. What will I do if it turns out to be true? Can't go back then..

I'm afraid. I can't live without Allah. I reject the mysogyny and the pedophilia bc that is NOT fucking okay. But i cannot live without allah. I'm afraid of death.

I'm sorry

Thank you for sending this ask ❤️

I want to talk about Pascal’s wager, because this is a popular concept that was argued between Christians and Atheists when I first got into debate. Pascal’s wager was proposed by a Christian, and his argument was yours: It’s better to just believe in God and follow Christ’s teachings “just in case”, that way if it’s true, you go to heaven, and if not, then at worst you just wasted some time. Because if you don’t follow the faith, and risk it being true, then you go to hell. So the least risky avenue would be to follow the religion…

This is a logical fallacy: it doesn’t make sense when put to the test of rational thought. This risk to reward analysis would only work if there was one religion.

There are thousands of religions, almost all of them punish non believers. What if Christianity was right? Now you risk going to their hell by being a Muslim. What if Hinduism is correct? What if the ancient Greeks were correct, and you will now be punished by Zeus?

There is no safety in choosing a faith, almost all of them rule by fear and will punish you if you make the wrong choice out of thousands…There is only one rational conclusion : none of them are correct, and our life is simply ruled by the principles of science. When we die, we decompose, and new life is created. We are made of dying stars, and will become a dying star once again… You can find beauty in that or not, but it’s the simple truth.

There is also another logical fallacy with Pascal’s wager when it’s proposed by Muslims: intent is everything with good deeds. We know this, it’s taught repeatedly to us. If you pray wrong for years, and learn the right way, they still count because of your intention. You can’t force someone at gunpoint to be Muslim or pray because any worship done without pure intention is not a true good deed, and won’t be counted for judgement day:

You can not make yourself believe something. You either do, or don’t. It’s not a choice: you can actively work against it for years, but in your heart, you know what your true perspective is. I know the sky is blue, I can keep trying to make myself believe it’s not, but it won’t work. If you pray to Allah for years, and in the back of your mind you know he doesn’t exist, those prayers don’t count. The only unforgivable sin is being an unbeliever in Allah… that’s the one thing that Muhammad can’t argue on your behalf on judgement day. And it’s also the one thing you can’t make yourself do: once you realize how fake it all is, you can’t make yourself unsee the lie.

I hope this helps! ❤️

#asks #exmuslim #ex Muslim #anti Islam

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donjuaninhell · 1 month ago

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what is a rationalist?

You're better off not knowing, but lemme just put it this way...

Imagine a bunch of very smart and very good boys (because they know how to use computers see?) deciding that they are going to reinvent philosophy from first principles having done none of the required reading and in the process drive themselves insane with a version of Pascal's wager so unbelievably stupid that any outside observer is forced to conclude that computer engineers and system admins are paid too much.

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cocosugars · 7 days ago

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★ ˖ ⊹ 𝗶𝗻𝘁𝗿𝗼𝖽𝗎𝖼𝗂𝗇𝗀 ⌕ . . . 𝖼𝗁𝖾𝗌𝗍𝖾𝗋_𝖽𝖺𝗐𝗌𝗈𝗇 ! for #wicklowridge 𝐞𝐬𝐭. 2025

★ ‧₊˚ ⋆ pedro pascal. cis man. he/his … now playing: midnight train to memphis by chris stapleton — oh , that ? might be chester “ chet ” dawson , a fifty year old retired nascar driver who’s been hanging around wicklow ridge for eight years , just long enough to stir up some trouble if you ask me. they’re a regular at the stag’s rest , always going on about “ you keep smilin’ at me like that and i’ll forget this ain’t a date. ” like it’s gospel. around town , folks say they’re principled & no nonsense — but when they think no one’s listening ? it’s more like stoic & sarcastic. are the rumors true ? maybe not … but it sure makes life around here a little more interesting.

[ ★ ] 𝗅𝗈𝖺𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗀 . . . . 𝘀𝘁𝗮𝘁𝗶𝘀𝘁𝗶𝗰𝘀.

﹟ 𝗯𝗮𝘀𝗶𝗰𝗶𝗻𝗳𝗼𝗿𝗺𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻.

full name: chester dawson.

nickname(s): chet, throttlejaw

age: fifty.

date of birth: october sixteenth

place of birth: laredo texas.

ethnicity: chilean

nationality: american.

gender: cis man.

pronouns: he, him.

occupation, current: retired

occupation, previous: professional stock car racer ( NASCAR ).

﹟ 𝗿𝗲𝗹𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻𝘀𝗵𝗶𝗽𝘀.

mother: pauline dawson ( adoptive ), deceased.

father: earl dawson ( adoptive ), deceased.

siblings: none.

spouse / partner: ex-wife, babette mary-helen dutton ( divorced )

children: dafne dawson ( daughter, age six ).

pets: an old hound with a clipped ear named biscuit.

﹟ 𝗮𝗽𝗽𝗲𝗮𝗿𝗮𝗻𝗰𝗲.

face claim: pedro pascal

hair color: dark brown, graying at the temples.

eye color: brown

height: 6'1"

tattoos: flaming gearshift on left bicep, “hold fast” knuckle ink, old faded #86 on his shoulder, pinup girl riding a nuke on the back of his leg

piercings: none — “i don’t need extra holes in my damn head.”

[ ★ ] 𝗅𝗈𝖺𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗀 . . . . 𝗮𝗲𝘀𝘁𝗵𝗲𝘁𝗶𝗰𝘀.

gas station coffee and asphalt-slick boots. cracked knuckles, oil-streaked jawlines, and sunglasses worn indoors. denim jackets lined in shearling and burned at the elbows. cigarette smoke curling through a busted sunroof. a cassette player that only plays zz top and heartbreak. leather steering wheels gripped like lifelines. motel room bibles with beer rings on the covers. voice like gravel, hands like wreckage, and a laugh that still knows how to roar. trophy dust, torn-down banners, and a lucky silver zippo that’s outta fluid but still in his pocket. a car number tattooed on skin like a curse. truck bed stargazing with a six-pack and nothing left to prove.

[ ★ ] 𝗅𝗈𝖺𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗀 . . . . 𝗽𝗲𝗿𝘀𝗼𝗻𝗮𝗹𝗶𝘁𝘆.

chet’s a human tire fire — loud , loyal , and a little bit lethal. he’s got a short fuse , a sharp tongue , and a stubborn streak longer than a backroad in july. still, he’s got that dusty , old-soul charm — the kind that makes strangers trust him and devils confess. too honest for his own good , unless it’s about feelings — then he’s all dodge and deflect. runs on instinct and impulse , rarely looks before he leaps ( or crashes ). protective to a fault. quick to punch , quicker to apologize — if he cares. and if he cares ? he cares hard. gruff on the surface , soft in the center. the kind of man who’d fight a god and lose just to keep his kid’s smile intact. he calls it grit. others call it reckless. either way — he ain't changin’.

[ ★ ] 𝗅𝗈𝖺𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗀 . . . . 𝗯𝗶𝗼𝗴𝗿𝗮𝗽𝗵𝘆.

triggers: parental death, car crashes.

early life … chester dawson was born in laredo , texas not far from the rio grande — a patch of sunbaked land where the air always smelled like diesel and mesquite. his mother left him at the door of a rural county hospital , wrapped in a thrift store blanket with no note , no name , and no explanation.

at just a few weeks old , he was adopted by earl and pauline dawson , an elderly white couple who’d long given up on having children of their own but still felt the ache of an empty home. pauline was a retired elementary school teacher with hands like soft bread dough and a laugh that could cut through anything. earl , a former oil field worker and korean war vet , was rigid and quiet — the kind of man who believed boys became men through hard work and silence. he never raised a hand to chet , but he never quite reached for him either.

they raised chet with as much love as they could muster , but he grew up knowing he was different. tan skinned and dark eyed, he stood out against their small town church pews and even more so once he started growing into the sharp , angular features that would later earn him attention — both good and bad.

chet struggled in school. he was diagnosed with dyslexia young , but in a rural district with little support , he was labeled “ difficult ” more than he was helped. he could barely read by age ten , and by twelve , he’d stopped trying. but if you gave him a busted engine and a little elbow room , he could bring a dead car back to life like it was nothing.

by thirteen , he was racing beat up pickups and junker stock cars on illegal dirt tracks out in the mesquite brush , where the only rules were “ go fast ” and “ don’t die. ” and chet ? he was fast. unnaturally fast. raw instinct , no fear , and a total disregard for his own safety.

he was already a local legend when he turned sixteen. but the dawsons didn’t live to see what he’d become. pauline passed first , quietly in her sleep from heart failure. harold followed less than a year later , some said from grief , others from liver cancer he never told anyone about. at seventeen , chet was on his own — no diploma , no family , just an engine , a toolbox , and a hell of a temper.

the nascar years … chet’s break came in 1995 at a regional race in talladega where he was filling in last minute for a driver who’d wrecked his car. chet had no real credentials , but he caught the attention of a mid level truck series scout who saw something raw in him — unrefined , yes , but electric.

he started in the craftsman truck series , quickly making a name for himself with his no holds barred , aggressive driving style. he had no patience for politics or pr — he just wanted to drive. and fans loved him for it.

by 1999 , he’d moved up to the nascar busch series , where he earned his nickname: “ throttlejaw. ” he won three back to back races in one season — a feat nearly unheard of for someone with no formal background and no family ties to the sport.

in 2003 , he went full time in the nascar cup series , the top tier. his first major sponsorship came from a texas based whiskey company — a perfect match for his outlaw image. while other drivers were polished and media trained , chet was the rogue: sleeveless shirts , cigars in his mouth at press conferences , always one step away from getting fined.

his prime lasted from 2004 to 2011. he won nine cup series races , placed top five in multiple standing s, and was often in the running at daytona and talladega. he never won the big one — the daytona 500 — but he came within inches in 2008 , spinning out on the final lap in what fans still call “ the nastiest heartbreak of the decade. ” but the lifestyle was unsustainable. chet drank hard , partied harder , and carried the emotional weight of abandonment and unresolved trauma wherever he went. by 2012 , the cracks were starting to show — on and off the track.

then came the crash.

it happened at the charlotte motor speedway during a night race. his car clipped another during a tight turn , went airborne , and slammed into the wall at over 170 mph. he survived , but with a crushed collarbone , fractured spine , and lasting nerve damage in his right leg. he never raced professionally again.

after the glory … post-crash, chet tried to stay involved in racing — as a commentator , a consultant , even a short lived team owner — but nothing stuck. his temper , his drinking , and his unwillingness to play the game cost him every opportunity.

he’s a relic of a wild , dangerous era in nascar. one they don’t talk about much anymore. he’s not looking to be saved. he doesn’t believe in clean slates or second chances. he believes in running — fast , loud , and until the wheels come offf.

during the height of his fame, chet met babette —better known as babs. she was fire in boots. loud , mean , hotter than sin , and just as dangerous. they were the couple on the circuit: his pit lane princess.

they got married in a vegas drive thru at 2am , pit crew in tow , no rings , no vows — just motor oil and adrenaline. but fast love burns quick. they were either making out behind the hauler or throwing wrenches at each other. the divorce came less than two years later , but the heat never really died.

they have one daughter: dafne. she’s six. got her mama’s fire and her daddy’s eyes. chet calls her booger. she’s the only thing he’ll ever admit to loving clean. he’s kept her out of his mess. no late night benders , no shouting matches , no broken-down trailers. he says it’s to protect her. truth is , he doesn’t think he deserves her.

chet is an alcoholic , full stop. been drinking since before he had facial hair. it started as a post race ritual and turned into a coping mechanism somewhere between his parents’ funerals and his third dnf. he hides it poorly. he’ll show up to interviews with listerine in the cupholder. his breath always smells like either mint or bourbon, never in between. he swears he’s “ not that bad ” because he “ don’t drink in the mornings anymore, ” but if dafne wasn’t in his life , he’d be dead in a ditch or in a dive bar in juárez. his crew used to sneak pedialyte into his gatorade bottles just to keep him upright on race days. they knew.

babs wasn't just a mistake — she was his mistake. chet loved babs in the most self destructive way possible. she was the only person who ever matched his chaos beat for beat. their fights were the stuff of legend. full on screaming matches next to the hauler , throwing pit radios , threatening to sleep with rivals just to prove a point.

he cheated. not because he didn’t love her , but because he needed to feel wanted by someone new. he has that deeply broken need for validation. like if a stranger wants him , he must still be worth a damn.

dafne is his redemption arc , whether he deserves it or not. she’s six now , with scraped knees , missing teeth , and no tolerance for his bs. he calls her “ little booger, ” tucks her in with stories about “ when daddy used to be fast , ” and lets her paint his nails because “ purple’s a power color , darlin’. ”

he still doesn’t know how to raise her. he forgets to pack lunches, mixes up parent-teacher conference dates , and curses too loud at cartoons. but dafne never doubts he loves her. she feels it like gravity. when she’s around, he drinks less. swears less. tries more. his biggest fear is dying before dafne gets to see “ the good parts of him. ”

chet loves chet. the ego is real. chet dawson thinks he’s hot shit in a champagne bottle , and sometimes ? he ain’t wrong. his garage still has walls full of framed magazine covers , racing suits from his prime , and a cardboard cutout of himself from a firestone promo he insists “ is good for morale. ” he flirts like it’s muscle memory. waitresses , gas station clerks , cops pulling him over — it’s all the same routine. wink. comment. southern drawl dialed to ten. he’ll say “ i used to be somebody ” with a smirk like he still is. he has a natural genius for machinery. doesn’t matter if it’s a ‘67 camaro or a busted blender , if it makes noise , he can fix it. but emotional maintenance ? forget it. therapy is for “ folks who got time and money and not a damn clue what’s wrong. ”

he refuses to talk about his birth mother. when dafne asked once , he told her , “ some folks don’t get the mama they deserve , baby. but i’m gonna make damn sure you do .” there’s still a handful of ex racers who hate his guts. some slept with his exes. some he wrecked “ accidentally .” some just think he was an arrogant prick who never grew up.

he’s got one rival who never forgave him for the “ chicagoland incident ” , where chet brake checked them into the wall and somehow still took home the win.

he sends anonymous checks to his old pit boss , the one who nearly had a heart attack during his vegas wedding. they never talk , but chet pays the hospital bills. quiet guilt.

#wicklow:intro #this is a mess i'll fix it later (i love lying)

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sadquickchristmassnowman · 1 year ago

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masterlist of episodes featuring prof duncan? I only JUST made the connection that he's played by john oliver

fantastic idea anon. I’m honestly surprised I haven't made this list yet as I am an avid duncan enjoyer lmfao and yes john oliver is great. so I’ll make the list right now. here we go:

the feat. professor duncan episode masterlist

1x01: pilot

he is the reason jeff chose to enroll at greendale

he has multiple interactions with jeff throughout the episode

1x04: social psychology

annie, troy, and abed participate in his psychological experiment in which he proves the existence of "the duncan principle"

1x05: advanced criminal law

duncan, dean pelton, and chang create "greendale court" in order to put britta's alleged academic dishonesty on trial

1x25: pascal's triangle revisited

first shown doing a therapy session with britta

constantly fighting with chang, escalating into chang punching him at the end

does his iconic rap after he gets drunk at the transfer dance

2x03: the psychology of letting go

takes over as the anthropology professor despite knowing nothing about the subject

uses the restraining order he got against chang to torment him

has a few conversations with jeff about the inevitability of death

is civil with chang by the end of the episode

2x05: messianic myths and ancient peoples

exclusively shown "teaching" the anthropology 101 class

2x11: abed's uncontrollable christmas

leads abed's "therapy" session but is generally unhelpful

2x12: asian population studies

again, just shown "teaching" anthropology 101

2x15: early 21st century romanticism

watches the liverpool vs. manchester united football game with jeff at jeff's apartment

has conversations with jeff about friendship and greendale etc.

2x21: paradigms of human memory

appears very briefly in a flashback to the events of "abed's uncontrollable christmas"

2x22: applied anthropology and culinary arts

is shown again at the head of the anthropology class, this time "administering their final" (getting drunk) but disappears very quickly as soon as the dean walks in

5x03: basic intergluteal numismatics

"helps" with the psychological aspect of the ass crack bandit investigation

(you might notice he is not in seasons 3 or 4. irl it's because he got too busy with his other projects, but in the show his character explains that he was "taking care of his sick mother")

5x05: geothermal escapism

shown briefly playing the floor is lava game, but loses very quickly after jeff knocks over the chair that he was going to jump on while chasing britta

5x06: analysis of cork-based networking

shown as a member of the save greendale committee

helps jeff, shirley, and chang choose a theme and decorate for the dance (bear down for midterms)

5x07: bondage and beta male sexuality

asks jeff to help him scheme a way into getting a date with britta, which ends up backfiring

ends up hanging out a lot with jeff. this episode re-establishes that the two of them have known each other longer than any of the other characters

5x11: g.i. jeff

appears briefly only in jeff's animated dream, as "xim xam"

(so, I guess it's not technically duncan, but it's jeff's g.i. joe dream version of duncan, so I’m counting it)

5x12: basic story

appears again as a member of the save greendale committee

5x13: basic sandwich

tries to help the save greendale committee uncover the hidden computer school but gets electrocuted lmfao

alright yep. that should be all. I personally went through the credits of every single episode to double check everything because I do not trust the lists that are already online tbh. full of discrepancies smh. also, yeah, he is indeed not in seasons 3, 4, or 6. anyway! hope this is helpful. duncan is hilarious and every single line that comes out of his mouth is comedy gold. bye

#community #nbc community #community nbc #community tv #ian duncan #professor duncan #community encyclopedia

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anyplaceisparadise · 4 months ago

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I saw Pedro Pascal reading, so I had to read too. Kinda.

The truth is, I heard awesome things about Drive Your Plow Over the Bones of the Dead and picked it up about a year ago. I read the first few chapters but it just wasn't clicking and set it down. I picked it back up yesterday on a whim and the click that wasn't occurring last year clicked suddenly, and I devoured it. I finished it not ten minutes ago.

Oh, Mrs Duszejko. You wonderful, strong willed woman. An unreliable narrator for sure, but such a fun one to go on this ride with. I loved her principles, her way of seeing the world around her, and the questions she posed. Who has the right to live? Who has the right to take a life? Why are some lives worth more than others? And then some. Questions you could ponder all day, and it's all set on a backdrop of nature. Questions I want to come back to once I am a bit more removed from the book; the pages are still warm and I need to think.

"How great and full of life the world is." - Olga Tokarczuk, p. 107

Seeing that Pedro Pascal shares my taste didn't hurt either 😏

#pedro pascal #drive your plow over the bones of the dead #olga tokarczuk #books #allie rambles

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clavissionary-position · 1 year ago

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What Emma Would Do

Ignore me. This is just me working through my own thoughts and feelings on this. Also I'm an idiot.

***BIG EDIT: I misread and misinterpreted. Azel was nearly drugged and SA'd, so his reaction, however cruel, makes complete sense to me. If he was real I couldn't apologize to him enough.

Moving @/caffedrine's billion-dollar comments up here.

My original, misguided post is below the cut if you're interested.

I have to ask myself what Emma would do. Within reason. And only within the scope of this fictional game, because I'm not about to touch this topic as it exists in the real world. That's for people much smarter than me.

But for the game, my dismissing of Azel as a cruel misogynist without seeing his circumstances and worldview shuts down the conversation the same way it does when Azel dismisses a woman as a slut without seeing her circumstances and worldview.

(Did he actually use the word 'slut' or did google just translate 痴女 like that for me... I should double-check... edit: oh my bad, he calls her a "female molester", which... I can't say he's wrong considering she tried to give him an aphrodisiac...? The word also means "stupid woman", so he could very well have meant it that way too, especially for some reasons I get into later in the post.)

Soooo, he didn't actually call her a slut. I'm an idiot 😌 I'm sorry, Azel. Dunno if any of my points below mean anything, but I'll leave it here anyway:

The running theme in Ikepri is to look beyond the beast and see the human inside. To meet them halfway. To see their heart. And that heart is always so very terribly scarred. All these guys have gone through their own traumas and come out the other end behaving in ways designed to be armor, to protect themselves from any further pain.

I can only speculate about Azel this early in his story arc, but being showered with the same adoration and reverence that people only show a god, day in and day out, probably fucks with your mentality a bit if you are still only human at the end of the day. Having women try to seduce you only because you're The Living God, well, we saw what that kind of shallow treatment did to Silvio. Women see you as an object and so women become objects to you. You want to be loved, but you don't want to be hurt.

That might only be scratching the surface with Azel, though. He's also clearly jaded from listening to the same old interpersonal problems people have when in relationships. Love is actual trash to him, not even worth a single penny. It's trash because the very people who follow him prove it to him on a daily basis, I imagine.

Yet that's still not the full picture. I mean, we obviously won't have the full picture until his main route drops, but there's another key factor to consider with Azel.

He quotes Pascal in Licht's sequel. "Man is only a reed, the weakest thing in nature; but he is a thinking reed." The full quote goes onto say:

"All our dignity consists, then, in thought. This is the basis on which we must raise ourselves, and not space and time, which we would not know how to fill. Let us make it our task, then, to think well: here is the principle of morality.”

(Did I read the entire context of the quote? HA! What do you take me for? A scholar or something?)

Free will and independent thought is arguably the most important thing to Azel. He has no respect for the sheep who flock to him for direction (though he'll happily take their money and tributes). Even with the dancer who tried to seduce him in the prologue, when he tells her to lick up the food she dropped after he tripped her, he presents it as a choice. Nevermind that the staggeringly unequal power dynamics at play made it so this was nothing short of coercion in the end; there was no way the dancer was in a position to stand up for herself and say no, even if that's exactly what Azel wanted. But from his perspective, defiance would have been welcome. That's why he phrased it as a choice. That she started licking up the food only solidified in Azel's mind that this woman is an unthinking reed without dignity. If you're going to act like trash, he'll treat you like trash... maybe that was part of his thinking.

On a slightly different note, I think another reason he hates the idea of love so much is because love makes people lose their ability to reason, to think. I believe he outright says as much, iirc.

In the end, I don't know from where exactly Azel's fury and cruelty comes from. It could be all of these things, it might be something else entirely. All I can think is, you can't be 'God' everyday and not be scarred by humans.

In conclusion, I can't excuse Azel's behavior. I don't excuse it. But I think Emma would try to understand the why of it, like she does in any other route. The other running theme in Ikepri is that, as a certain someone would put it, the essence of all people is love. It's their environment that twists them. Somewhere in Azel is the purest kind of love. A kind that would make any god look away in shame. That's what I want to believe in, anyhow.

Also, I need stress that I was SO wrong about whether he actually called the dancer a slut or not. Google fucked me over by translating it that way! Ah, Azel, I'm so sorry!

#ikepri jp spoilers #ikepri azel #ikemen prince

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nerdieforpedro · 1 year ago

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Chapter 5: Dissonance

Pleasure Principle Series

Main Masterlist/ Dave York Masterlist

Dave York x Kiara (plus size OFC)

This Fanfiction is 18+

Summary: Dave and Kiara can't seem to agree on anything that's not physical. A separation occurs and reflection is had by both parties.

Warnings: cursing, mentions of sexual activity, a little blood, poor communication, Kiara's mom, implied domestic Dave?

Word Count: approx 4k (feelings are big 🫢)

Notes: This chapter is pretty tame actually. We're setting up for the next one. Context and all that jazz. I pinkie swear more smut is coming. Can't leave you high and dry? 😜 Plus I do smut with feelings now, sometimes.

Kiara called Dave ‘David,’ he didn't like that at all. She did it on purpose to piss him off. Tired of being led on and tired of not being fucked. Tired of wondering if they were going anywhere together or if they were just filling each other's needs for a time. After putting the medical supplies away, she leaned her forehead against her bedroom wall. She might be fine if it was just sex, but it’s not. He’s invaded her space since the first night. Granted she thoroughly enjoyed him doing so, but she thought there would be a separation. It also begged the question: did she want him to stay? Is that why she’s reacting like this?

Dave barrels upstairs, anger on his face but his tone is measured when he speaks.

“Call me by my name Kiara.”

“I’ll call you Dave when you tell me how long this is going to go on.. I’m not good with this ambiguous shit.” She does not turn to face him. If she does, he may see her eyes. They’ll rat her out. Dave’s nothing if not observant, much more than she is. He knew when all her shifts were, about how long it took her to get home. The shows she liked to watch, music she likes, what did she know about him? He’s at the very least some type of ex-military something. What exactly, she didn’t know. The man exudes confidence and can back it up though his speech, never using more words that needed but can be deviously charming when the need arises. God his mouth… even while she was pissed, the memory of it causes her to move her feet a bit closer so her large thighs press together. Damn him…

“You’re not? News to me, the last few weeks you’ve been fine with me buried in your soaked pussy while you attempted to suck the skin off my dick. We didn’t need to say anything else.” The assassin places his hands on her shoulders and turns her around to face him then, an arm at either side of her body to box her in against the wall, but doesn’t touch her again.

“But you also stay the night. Eat out with me-“ Dave laughs. Fucking smile, arrogant ass grin. Kiara can’t look at him in the face, she needs to stay mad. Confronting him is the only way to get an answer out of him. He always tells her she’s not ready, but for what?

“Just…you’re becoming…” The nurse is nervous that she’s admitting it. Saying it aloud is worse than just running it through her mind. It will be out and she won’t be able to take it back. Dave sighs, his broad shoulders slump slightly.

“Important is what you mean Peach. I know.” Her face snaps back to his. He knows?!

“If you know then why? Do you like fucking with me emotionally as well? I get sexually and I enjoy that about you…” She’s losing composure. She wants to grab hold of him, but he’s not that type of man. Casually in front of a TV or out and about is different then this type of intimacy, craving a comforting touch. Dave is much too hardened for that and she had no idea why. Her lips are quivering as she focuses on him. His face tells her nothing, gives nothing. How can he not react at all?

“Kiara you’re the one who hooked me in with emotions. I really was just going to fuck you and make it a few times a week. You being so open with what you wanted and letting me mark you. Use you, such a damn juicy and sweet Peach for me… It had me think about feelings I haven’t had since before I became the man I am now.” Dave peered into her honey eyes. It was something he had thought about since the first night. He had the idea and it was nagging at him, always on the edge of his thoughts.

“What…What feelings are you talking about Dave?” He doesn’t answer but keeps eye contact. She touches his face. “Are you saying you…what kind of feelings do you have for me? What do you want from me?” He could just tell her, but that required him to be honest. Something he has not been for years, it’s been a requirement not to be. He survived because he wasn’t. Deception, misdirection and backstabbing had kept him alive and his family fed and clothed since his military unit was disbanded, thanking him and his colleagues for their service to the Government.

“Don’t put it like that. You’re mine. I’m as unbridled in my desires as you are. It’s why we’re good together. You and I.” The confidant smirk on his face. The indignation returned. How dare he? Claim her while dismissing her at the same time. The gall of this man. Kiara wrapped her arms around his neck and leaned up to his cheek, giving it a small peck.

“Is that why you won’t fuck me Dave? Because we’re so good together?” A smirk for a smirk. If he’s going to say something as off the wall as ‘you’re the one who hooked me in with emotions,’ then he’s about to learn how petty she can be.

His lips tighten as he backs away. Still staring at her. His hands tighten into fists, his right hand turning crimson again from the pressure to his laceration. “I don’t need to tell you why I won’t fuck you. I told you you’re not ready.”

“You never said why I’m not ready. Is there a way I should be preparing for you Dave?” Kiara can see his face change now, he’s seething, jaw clenched. Normally this would be a moment where the nurse would see if she can either get another barrier between herself and whoever was angry at her or haul ass to the nearest exit. She knew. This was what she wanted. She was always the one who came undone, crying, overstimulated from his hands, lips, chest, toys, anything he felt like using on her. She wasn’t able to do the same, but she could break him by appealing to his pathos which he despised, more intensely then even she thought.

“You’re really going to be pushing this aren’t you? Just follow my-” Dave released his fists upon feeling wetness in his right hand, he likely had messed up the wrap she had put on it. Kiara was being entirely too bold. She apparently had forgotten that she’s supposed to adjust to him. Why wasn’t he fighting her so much on it then? Was he tired of not admitting it? No, he had told himself downstairs already what would happen if he did what he originally planned.

“Dave your hand,” Kiara’s eyes darted to her right and saw the blood, “Dave. Let me look at it.” The fingers from his right hand touched her cheek, smearing a few drops on her cheek. She looked beautiful in red, did he want to draw her into this world? He’s been able to keep them separate with his previous marriage, so much so that his ex-wife really still thinks he’s a contractor for the FBI. Kiara knows, not everything but enough to where she’d put some pieces together.

“No. Not right now. Just let me…Fuck.” Dave whispered to himself. Her concern and confusion were understandable, but he didn’t care. “You want to know how I really feel about you. What I really think Peach? Fine.” He placed his bloody hand on the back of her neck, pulling her in for a kiss. She didn’t react at first, but her fingers found their way into the loops of his cargo pants. It could have been the frustration at not really saying what they meant or that they had just been arguing but as their tongues danced, they crept toward the bed falling onto it and laughing at how absurd the situation was.

It was then that Kiara initiated the kiss this time, grabbing Dave’s shoulders and pinning him under her. But after a few more make out sessions they both fell asleep in their clothes. Blood smeared on the pillows sheets and their clothes.

The pair were greeted by the sunlight of a new day.

Dave was awakened first. He cleaned and re-wrapped his hand, leaving a note for Kiara that he’d be back in a few days without injuries and an actual explanation. He watched her sleeping form, the blood he’d wiped on the back of her neck and smeared on the pillow and from where his hands had roamed, the stains may not come out of her robe or her sleep shirt. Staying would be good. It would actually be the correct thing to do, have another breakfast, sit and talk. But he did actually have an assignment that he needed to do. Could he commit to another woman? Did he want to?

“Peach, I’m not going to let you go, even if you’re pissed at me.” He walked back over to the bed and sat on the edge, Kiara rolled over toward the warmth but didn’t wake. His fingers ran across her cheek, heard a soft sigh. “So responsive, Kiara. When I come back, I’ll tell you why. You’ll think I’m an idiot but...” He chuckled to himself before standing and making his way to the bedroom door. He looked back one more time at her sleeping form, “I just can’t help the way you make me feel. I thought I hated it. I don’t. You’re also not getting away with calling me David.” The assassin exited out of the house, making sure to lock the door.

Dave and Kiara communicated via text mainly over the next month. The independent contractor couldn’t go into details but he said that the assignment had evolved into a large project, one that was becoming more and more tedious according to Dave. He only gave her the broad strokes, details involved that two of the targets were already down and their hard drives were wiped. Their homes and offices were ransacked, making it look like Corporate espionage and pinned the frame job on an opposing company so it would look like the two were instigating and fighting each other. Initially, it was just supposed to be the murder of the two targets, but more money was offered for the hardrives and the ransacking. Dave put his foot down after the frame job. It was becoming way too involved for his taste so he bowed him and his team out. More money was offered but it wasn’t worth getting that involved.

York also had a more pressing matter to attend to. He needed to see her. He told her that he’d explain via his three burner phones when he saw Kiara again, but he could tell even over text that she was getting frustrated again. And that was a week ago when he last texted her. York didn’t recall who stopped replying first. It didn’t really matter, he wasn’t going to play into it this time though. She’s fine to stew for a bit and the real lesson will take place when I get back… Dave rubbed his temples. Looking around the hotel he was put up in, it was fine. He’s been in better, but it’s only for tonight. He just needed a place to sleep though he wasn’t sleeping as well as he had been. Rubbing his neck, he took a shower to try and relieve some tension, it only helped slightly. Drying off and plopping down on the bed, it still lingered. I was going to say home. It didn’t take long. I haven’t gone soft have I? No, I just…fucking care dammit. He checked in with his team, who were in a few different hotels, and they were preparing to depart tomorrow morning as well. They’d separate for two weeks then meet up for their pay out and debrief. Dave shook his head and dozed off a few times during the night.

Kiara on the other hand, was not taking the lack of communication well. She was aware that he couldn’t go into detail about his work. It was better for her that he didn’t. However they had managed to sort of not be mad at each other through their intense and bloody make out session, it didn’t resolve anything. His note was still on her bedside table and she was angry with herself for looking at it when she woke up each morning. Maybe she was more frustrated than anything, despite her attempt, Dave still had the upper hand and he wasn’t here. It was then that she decided to pack a weekend bag and visit her family. She had stopped texting him when he mentioned that he had to ‘step away for a bit.’ It meant that he was about to go do, well whatever dangerous shit he was doing. The nurse knew she should have reached back out, but picked up an extra shift to distract herself from typing the same message repeatedly and not sending it.

The drive to her parents’ home was good, a few hours to listen to her playlists and zone out. Kiara found that she should have called ahead first though. There were too many cars out front…was something going on?

“Hey baby! You were able to make it! Your brother is visiting from Tennessee. Come on in!” Her mother had seen her from the window and came out of the house in her husband's oversized flip-flops. It was quite a funny sight and Kiara laughed when getting out of the car with her bag and purse.

“Hey Mom. I didn’t know they were coming in this weekend. Are they staying?” She asked on the way into the house, removing her hoses and taking out her slippers to put on. No shoes past the foyer.

“Socks, barefoot or slippers only. Lest you’re gonna start sweeping young lady.” Kiara recalled from her childhood. There were so many happy memories in this home, it was then that her mother said something odd.

“I thought your handsome friend would have told you. Your brother and his wife are stopping by before driving to see some friends outside of New York, then they’re going to come back and stay for a few days. They may be back in the middle of next week.” Her mother explained as Kiara sat down in the living room. Everyone else was in the den, laughter could be heard even with the door closed.

“Wait…what handsome friend?” The nurse asked her mother, holding her hand as her mother went to put on her purple sweater she wore around the house. Even after ten years, that sweater was still in pretty good shape. She laughed and kissed Kiara’s cheek, flicking her hand off, put on her sweater and sat on the couch, patting the seat on the couch next to her.

“He was tall, wearing a gorgeous dark gray suit. You can always tell a lot about a man and how he wears a suit. It was tailored and fit him quite well. No wedding ring and a nice full head of hair. I mean do prefer my men bald like your father, but his hair looked very soft. He seemed very nice. We had a light lunch while you were at work and chatted a bit. Dave I believe his name is. Why haven’t you told me about him? I hope it’s not one of those…what’s it called…situationships or whatever… He seems like a good man. He brought groceries and was putting them away.” After the initial shock of what her mother was saying, Kiara was forced to think. As pissed as she was at Dave, she couldn’t recall over the last few months, when she’d last gone to the grocery store or picked up her medications. She knew she did her laundry, but not as often as before maybe…so wait…is Dave really doing all this stuff? He is isn’t he…but then why won’t he just have sex with her? Is it a game? But then why be chummy with her mom?

“I was coming to check on you and see if you needed anything but it looks like you’re in excellent hands. I picked his brain about a few things while lunch settled and he walked me to my car. I didn’t tell your father about him yet though, he’d want to talk his ear off about the Marines and how it’s different from when he served. No one wants that.” She chuckled and patted Kiara’s knee. “I see you panicking, baby. Whatever it is, you should talk to him calmly. I know you can get loud and hold a grudge. Come on, let’s go see your brother and his wife. They can see you and then get out of my house. You know what they brought?! They brought your father a damn ten gallon hat and me one of those confounded jean skirts. What the hell do I look like wearing one of those?!” Kiara leaned on the door frame of the den after her mother opened the door. The woman’s face changed from that of annoyance to glee as she saw her grandchild and the little girl ran up to her.

Her brother’s visit listed a few more hours and then they hit the road. Kiara’s father strutted about the house in his new hat and wore it while watching his Gunsmoke DVDs but her mother folded the shirt and put it in the winter clothes bin never to be seen again, huffing that her daughter in law should have just got her a target gift card. Her parents fixed dinner and they ate together, laughing and reminiscing. It was a good escape for her, though when she went to bed that night, she was left with more questions. Kiara decided she would reach out first. She had checked her phone and didn’t see any new messages from any unknown numbers, though she wasn’t sure if he needed to switch phones again. She decided to send it to what she called his ‘off-duty’ phone, though she maybe shouldn’t have done it at 3am while she was still awake and pissed, why wouldn’t he mention meeting her mom? Has he gone through all the stuff in her house? What has he seen in her house?

So I visited my parents’ house and you didn’t mention that you met my mom, made her lunch and hung out with her. The more I think about things, the more ingrained you are in my life Dave. And I’m not entirely sure how you did it, but you did, like everything I guess. So are you just keeping me focused on work and doing kinky shit with you?

What does this all amount to? What do I mean to you?

You’d better explain like your note said. It’s still on my nightstand.

I had some holiday days to use up so I’ll be off for the upcoming week, if you don’t come home yet, then I’ll move some stuff around and see if you can find it while I’m at work since you know where everything is.

Kiara read over what she had sent him and realized a fatal error - she had referenced him coming home. That’s not weird right, he had been sleeping in her bed every night that he wasn’t on his ‘assignments’ but it’s her home. “He probably knows where my damn pads and razors are for goodness’ sake. It’s become more of his house and he didn’t even have to change any decor.” She decided to type out a follow-up before laying back down and sighing,

Do you want it to be your home too Dave? Is it already? It is weird when you’re not there. I’m insane, what am I even saying

Kiara decided to set her phone on the charger and send it, unaware that Dave was home and watching his phone flicker with the three little dots before they disappeared. She figured he wouldn’t see it for at least a few more days.

He had been reading along as she had been sending the texts after he’d got in. The plane ride back was shorter than expected and he came straight to her house. Dave had been in the kitchen when the first text came in and he silently cursed himself. He was going to mention meeting her mother but then he had a job that evening and had been injured, then they argued after she patched him up. Didn’t really leave much of a discussion after since he had to leave again.

Meeting Kiara’s mother was unexpected, but not unpleasant. She was actually funny and he learned a bit more about his peach and her family life. It seems that what he had found in his research was correct, it was a fairly stable childhood with a two parent household and she was indeed the only girl of a blended family. He did appreciate that her mother didn't distinguish between any of the children by calling them step-sons or daughter in laws. They were all her sons and daughters. Her mother did surprise him though, she told him that if he made her daughter cry or hurt her, she would cut him from ear to ear and removed a switchblade from her purse and smiled at Dave. Nodding he understood her intent and had even more respect for her in that he didn’t see it coming. He had assumed her arthritic hands wouldn’t be able to move so agility, but Kiara had mentioned that she recently had to discourage her mother from working on the roof herself. While walking the woman to the car, she gave him a hug and told him that, “we’ll see how things how things go between you two and I may call you son too Dave. Have a good afternoon.” She hopped in her car and drove off.

Dave was much more comfortable in Kiara’s bed then he had been the last month, her scent calmed him and he started at the ceiling. “It’s also weird when you’re not here Kiara.” He did chuckle at how she hadn’t noticed what exactly he had been doing for her this whole time, it meant that he was keeping her sufficiently distracted. He’d been slowly learning her home and maybe before this latest assignment, he was moving his belongings in, not that he had much in his condo anyway. He could sell the place and have one less end to tie up if need be. The money can go toward and trust for his daughters and take Kiara on a small trip to start.

“I’m planning a damn life with her for fuck’s sake. It’s a horrible idea. Didn’t work the first time.” Dave recalled what he thought one evening when they were watching some British baking show. There was an older woman with bright pink lipstick talking about someone’s ‘great bake’ that maybe was a squirrel? And there was a man with white hair, maybe it once was platinum blonde, but that’s white, he dyed it white. Kiara was watching intently, her large legs draped over Dave’s lap where he rubbed her skin, slowly, pressing into her flesh, he found it relaxing with the repeated motion and the weight of her legs made him feel grounded. He looked over at her with a small smile, shaking his head slowly. He’s watching this crazy ass show because he knows she’ll watch it for hours at a time and that means he gets to sit like this for those same hours. Under her weight, pressing into her skin and feeling content, hearing her laugh and talk at the TV, asking him if he saw what one of the bakers dropped, could it ruin their bake. Despite refuting it for years, the former marine still longed to hold onto something or someone.

“You’re not the only insane one Peach.” Dave muttered to himself as he drifted off to sleep, he’d tell her when she came home, well to their home now.

Dave York apologists: @yorksgirl @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @goodwithcheese @musings-of-a-rose @iamasaddie @legendary-pink-dot @morallyinept @for-a-longlongtime @angelofsmalldeath-codeine @megamindsecretlair @daddy-dins-girl

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