#anyway yesterday I took my car in for an oil change and tune up thing and didn’t know how long it was gonna take so I set up a ride

[insanechayne]

~ ~ ~

[survey--s]

638.

Do you have the right time set on your microwave?: Our microwave doesn't have a clock on it.

Do you have any old newspaper articles? Why?: Just one my dad sent me to read yesterday but I haven't got round to it yet - it's about cats.

Do you have a flat screen tv or just a regular box?: Ours are all flat screens. We have three in total.

Do you have a radar detector for your car?: Mike does but I don't have one in mine.

Have you ever been arrested? For what?: Nope.

Do you know how to change the oil in your car?: Yes, I had to learn as part of my driving test.

Have you taken your shower yet?: Yeah, I had a shower before I went to work this morning.

Do you like Tootsie Rolls?: We don't have those here.

Do you have a printer? What kind?: We do have one - I don't remember what make it is though as it barely ever gets used anymore.

Are you seeing anybody currently?: No. We're married, lol.

Do you or have you ever smoked cigarettes?: I have in the past.

Do you like it when it snows?: Only if it's proper snow.

Are your ears pierced?: They are indeed.

Where do you do most of your shopping?: Like, for groceries? Tesco.

Who do you live with?: My husband, a dog, two cats and a kitten.

What is your most expensive bill?: Our mortgage, but even that isn't huge. We live in a super cheap area so we haven't really been hit by the cost of living crisis.

Do you have a big yard?: It's not huge but it's surprisingly large for a terraced house.

Do you live in the country or the city?: Country.

Do you sleep alone or with someone every night?: With my husband and the dog.

Did you have a treehouse as a child?: I had a clubhouse/shed type thing.

At what age did you obtain your driver license?: 28.

Do you look in the newspaper for coupons?: No.

Did you get a big tax refund from last year?: No. I think I got about £14 back, lol.

Do you like Slim Jim’s?: I mean, I like the UK equivalent, sure.

Is there someone you would love to punch right now?: No.

Did you grow up fast?: No, not really. I had a pretty safe and secure childhood and I never really worried about anything.

What are you favorite kind of chips?: Salt and vinegar, cheese or paprika flavoured.

Have you taken any medicine recently? For what?: Yeah, a paracetamol for a headache this morning.

What have you eaten today?: Peanut butter and banana on toast, some leftover crisps and some olives and feta.

Did you or are you going to wash your hair today?: I did this morning when I took a shower.

Does the water in your shower take a long time to get warm?: No, it takes less than ten seconds.

Where did you go today?: Tesco and then to feed the cats I'm currently looking after.

Are you sleepy right now?: I wouldn't say sleepy, but I am feeling really relaxed.

What color is your mousepad?: My trackpad is silver.

Should you be doing something else at the moment?: No. I do need to give Simba his probiotics after this, though.

Do you like your neighbors?: They're nice enough, sure.

Do you have bedroom shoes?: No.

Do you get your eyebrows waxed?: No.

Has anyone given you flowers recently?: Nope.

Do you work Monday thru Friday?: Yeah, as a general rule. I sometimes have cat/horse visits at weekends but generally I try and keep them as free as possible.

Is there anything you are looking forward to tomorrow?: I'm just glad tomorrow is Sunday.

How many miles does your car have on it?: Uh, just under 50k I think.

Is your alarm clock set to radio or beep?: My phone is just set to play a tune.

Do you like to go fishing?: No. Mike loves it but I really don't see the appeal.

Has anyone you know been arrested recently?: One of our neighbours was arrested last week. The police blocked the road as he was resisting arrest so I got to watch the whole thing from my car, hahah.

Do you have more than 1 email address?: Yes.

Do you think you will have the same job 2 years from now?: Yeah, I suspect so. I have no plans to change career, anyway.

Do you have central heating and air?: We have central heating, yeah. Air conditioning isn't really a thing in UK homes.

Do you speed while driving?: Yeah, I think everyone does around here.

Is there someplace you would rather be right now?: No.

Did you build the computer you are using?: Hah, no.

Do you have good computer speakers?: No, they're pretty rubbish but I never really use my computer for anything noisy anyway.

Are you waiting on anything at the moment?: No.

Where is your favorite person?: Upstairs in bed.

Do you keep track of your debit purchases?: My banking app does that for me.

Do you ever shop at Harris Teeter? I’ve never even heard of that before.

Do you like to burn incense?: No, it gives me a headache. I love scented candles/wax melts though and always have one of those going if I'm at home.

Are there any plants in your house?: No.

How long does it take you to get to work?: My furthest job is a 15 minute drive, but the vast majority are five minutes or less from my house..

[cchellacat]

The Wedding That Never Was

Love All The Marvel Ships Challenge 

Day Eight ~ Formal Wear

“Hey.  Are you ready?”

Pepper pops her head round the door and finds Darcy standing in front of the mirror.  The lace covered satin she wears is off set with golden embroidery of tiny Fleur de Lise.  She makes a beautiful bride.  Her thick dark hair has been swept up in an elaborate up-do, each strand perfectly placed.

“I don’t know….”

“Darcy?”  Stepping into the room, Pepper closes the door behind her. “Oh honey, come on, tell me what’s wrong?”

“Pepper, I think I’ve made a huge mistake….  I don’t know what to do?”  Darcy stares at her through the mirror, her skin too pale against the pink of her lips.  Huge blue eyes plead with her for help.

“Darcy, come on, sit down.  They say everyone gets cold feet right before they get married.”

“I know, but that’s not what this is.”  She shakes her head and then sits carefully on the chair, trying not to ruin her dress.  The struggle to get the words out is very real, Pepper waits patiently, she’s never seen Darcy so distracted and worried… not for a long time at least, not since…  the less thought about that the better.

“I saw him again…”

Pepper didn’t need anything else to know who Darcy meant.

James Buchannan Barnes had made an impact on them all in some way.   However it had been Darcy who had been affected the most.  It had been the most fascinating thing to watch the two fall in love.  Pulled together like magnets, orbiting around one another like the earth and the sun.  It had been fast and passionate and the two were soon joined at the hip.  Where one was the other was sure to follow.  They had been like a tempest, their love for each other clear to any who even glanced at them.  Then like any good tempest, they’d blown out.

Pepper still doesn’t know what happened to end things between them, not really.  She has theories and nothing more.  One day they had been happily snuggling on the couch and the next he’d packed his bags and left.

Darcy had been a wreck, for nearly a year the girl had been grieving, utterly heart broken by his departure, but she wouldn’t talk about, not a word passed her lips about why.

She had slowly picked herself back up and moved on.  Now two years later she was happy, in love with a good stable man.  It might not be the epic romance of the ages, it would never burn with as much passion and fire as her relationship with Barnes, but is was gentle and kind, a still pond compared to the raging ocean storm.  Ian was good for her, a little easily walked over, but he didn’t seem to mind.  Where Barnes was complicated Ian was simple, where Barnes had been physically imposing Ian was anything but.  They were as different as different could be and that helped Darcy more than anything else had.

“Did he contact you?”

Darcy shook her head and wiped a finger under her lashes, catching the tear before it could ruin her makeup.

“No…  I was out yesterday, I went down to the park for a walk, feed the ducks, I just needed some time to think and then as I was coming back…  I swear I’m not going crazy Pepper, but he was there, watching me.  He was by the gates, I was close enough I could see the blue in his eyes.  A crowd came through and when I tried to find him again he was gone.”

“Darcy…  if it was him, if he wanted to talk, don’t you think he would have approached you…  I mean, well…  Does it really change anything?  Does it change all the things you’ve planned, just one look at him can’t have disrupted everything you’ve worked so hard to achieve.”

When the younger woman looks up at her Pepper’s words turn to ash in her mouth.

“Oh…”

Darcy gives her a refuel smile.

“Yeah, oh is right.  I don’t think I can walk down that aisle Pep.   Not with Ian.  I’m no good for him, I’ll only make him miserable if I do.  I know he’s in love with me but…  I’m never going to be in love with him.  There’s only one man that I ever felt that way for, it’s time I recognised that and face up to this.  It wouldn’t be fair to Ian, he’ll spend the rest of his life trying to make me happy and he’ll always fall just a little short.  I’ll ruin him if I marry him.  It took seeing James yesterday to understand that.  I’m never going to be over James Barnes, he’s in my blood, he owns me, body and soul, he’s a mark I’m never getting out.  A mark I don’t want to wash away no matter how much it hurts.”

“Darcy…  What happened between you?  Why did he leave?”

She stands suddenly at the question and crosses the room, her back to Pepper.  There are lines of tension across her shoulders and the way her head dips before she speaks again tells just how heavy a weight she was carrying.

“I asked him if we could have a baby…  That talk did not go how I thought it would.”  She says with a bitter laugh.

“He didn’t want children?”

“No… that…  he asked me if that’s what I wanted, children, with him. God help me Pepper I was honest, it’s all I had been thinking about for months.  I was 34 of course it was weighing on my mind.  Jane, you, even Maria Hill, you all had had babies within a year of each other.  He just looked all wistful like as he listened to me.  I didn’t have any reason to think he was…  anyway, everything seemed fine we went to bed and made love….  When I woke up in the morning there was just a note.   He said he didn’t want me to be held back, that he could see how much I wanted a baby, that he wanted that for me, but not with him.  Hydra sterilised him way back, he thinks they were trying to make it easier to control him.  Idiots, that man’s an ornery as a bull.  He said he’d be a danger to a baby, that he wasn’t safe and that I should find someone else who could give me the family I deserved.”

Pepper goes to her and wraps her in her arms and lets her cry.

“Why didn’t he just tell me?  I would have told him it didn’t matter, that I wouldn’t want that with anyone other than him…  I felt like I was dying…  he cut off his phone and no one seemed to know how to get in touch with him…  Fucking Steve wouldn’t even tell me anything and I know that he must have known where James went or he’d have been right on his tail looking for him and not sitting in the Tower without a fuckin care in the world.”

Pepper sits her down again and grabs the tissues for her.

“Pepper, could you…”

“Just sit tight, I’ll go take care of it.  I’ll get everyone cleared out.  Do you want me to talk to Ian, send him up here?”

“I can’t face him right now, I guess I’m a coward.  Tell him I’ll call him tomorrow.”  She picked up her bag and withdrew an envelope, she pulled the ring off her finger and slipped it inside as she passed it to Pepper.

“Could you give him that?  I guess I made my choice last night after all.  I came home and wrote it after I saw James.”

Pepper’s heart breaks for her friend all over again as she leaves the room, letter clutched tightly in her hand.  James Barnes was an idiot.

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

Steve tugged on his tie irritably as he stood outside the small church.  He hated formal wear, it made him feel like he was wearing a monkey suit all over again.  He’d come out for some air when it looked like the bride was going to be a little late.  He’s had a feeling all week that something is off, it’s part of why he’s out here right now.

He was happy that Darcy had moved on, that she was getting married.   She deserved to be happy.  Ian was a bit of milksop, not much back bone, he was happy to jump to Darcy’s tune, but if he made her happy, that was all that mattered.  When Bucky had left two years ago, truthfully Steve had been a little relieved.  Bucky and Darcy were like oil and fire, both of them too stubborn and loud and wilful, they were two of a kind, both unable to back down when they thought they were right, they had been explosive together.  When Bucky finally told him why he’d left Steve had wanted to shake him.  Darcy would never have put up with that if he’d given her the chance to make the choice herself.  But he’d kept his word to Bucky and told Darcy nothing.

From the corner of his eye he caught movement in the tree line across the street.  Suspicion curling up his spine he made his way over, the blue eyes that met his as a man emerged from the shadows proved him right.

“What are doing here Buck?”

His friend looked past him to the steps of the church where the flower girls were playing together.  The tiny girls all wearing matching dresses.  Morgan Stark, Freya Thorsdottir and Robin Hill were deemed old enough for the responsibility.  At age three and half they were all big enough to have their role in the wedding.

“I wanted to see… I wanted to know that she was happy.”

“I told you Buck, she’s moved on, she’s happy with Ian, you don’t have to worry about her anymore.”

“I’m not so sure of that.”

“Bucky…”

“I got back two weeks ago, I’ve been watching her.  She’s not herself.  She’s….  there’s no spark, do you know I haven’t seen her smile reach her eyes once?”

“She’s about to get married Bucky, don’t do this to her.”

“I love her Stevie.”

“She loves Ian now.”

“No she doesn’t.”

Steve sighed and shrugged helplessly.

“No, she doesn’t…  So, what’s the plan?”

“They still ask if anyone objects at these things?”

“Seriously?”

“Need a grand gesture.”

“You need a suit.” Steve counters holding up his car keys.  “In the trunk.”

Bucky grins and shakes his head.

“How’d you know, Punk?”

“I just did, Jerk.”

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

Bucky adjusts his cuff-links then opens the duffel still in the trunk.  He’s wearing the same suit he wore to Stark's wedding four years ago.  The dark blue silk shimmers in the sun.  From the depth of the bag he pulls out a small box.  It’s something he should have done years ago, something he had been about to do before Darcy had started talking about babies.  He sighs and opens the box, the ring is just a perfect as he remembers.  He tucks into his pocket.  Better to have it and not need it than to need and not have it.  He’s still not sure what she’s gonna say, but he knows he gotta try.

Across the street people begin to file out of the church.

“Stevie, what the hell’s going on over there?”

Steve glances up from his phone and hold it up for Bucky to read.  *Wedding off.  Don’t ask questions.  Give Darcy her space.*

“Pepper sent it, I guess Darcy changed her mind.”

“Do you think that makes it more of less likely for her to give me another chance?”

“You really going to go in there right now?”

Bucky stares at the quaint stone building.  Inside is the love of his life.  She’s gonna be upset, guilty and sad at what she’s done and she’s gonna be pissed at him if he walks through those doors, but he’s got to try.  He’ll take her raging and furious at him over the apathy and resigned complacence he’s watched her live with the last two weeks.

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

Darcy pulls the pins out of her hair, the strands were pulled tight, tugging on her scalp.  This really wasn’t her style.  As the pins drop to the vanity she wonders what she’d been thinking at all, agreeing to go through with it.  This wasn’t who she was, some elegant socialite, cover ready for a magazine.  But she’d tried for him, tried to be someone new, someone that didn’t love James Barnes.

It turns out that was impossible.  She’ll always be that Darcy, the one that drinks a little too much, laughs too loudly and tells the dirtiest jokes.  Bucky’s girl, with her red lips, sex hair and a permanent blush.  Even when he’s gone, that’s who she is in her mind.   Picking up the tissue she wipes off the pale pink lipstick and pulls the cherry red from her purse.  She paints the line of who she truly is back on.  Then she looks in the mirror and smiles for the first time in months.  Darcy Lewis grins back at her, bee stung lips a bright blood red, her hair a tousled mess around her shoulders and she feels like she’s stepped back into her own skin again.

In the mirror, behind her, the door opens and a man steps inside the room.

Darcy can’t breathe, can’t think, wondering if she’s imagining it after the stress of the day.

“Hey, Doll.”  But no, it’s his voice carrying across the room, that thick Brooklyn drawl heating her blood and making her mouth dry.

She doesn’t move and continues to watch him in the glass, afraid if she turns away, he’ll vanish again like he did that day in the park.

Their eyes meet and hold, she lets a shuddering breath out slowly as her heart pounds in her chest.  She swallows as they silently continue to gaze into the other’s eyes.  He was here, he was really here.  He’s right behind her now, she can feel the heat of is body radiating into the bare skin on her back.  When his hand comes down on her shoulder and brushes back her hair, she closes her eyes and breathes.  She is not going to cry, nope, this is not the time to cry.  Briefly she wonders if she should shout instead, scream until she’s horse and broken at what he did.  But with his hand touching her, the callouses of his fingers rubbing gently into her skin all she feels is relief.  Like the pain she had held in for two years was suddenly numbed.

“What are you doing here Bucky?”  He sits on the bench beside her, his thigh pressing into hers, even through layers of lace and silk and satin she can feel the play of his muscles flexing as he twists to take her hands in his.

“I came to stop you.  To ask you for another chance.  To apologise for being an idiot, for hurting you the way I did.”

She gives him an incredulous look.

“You were going to stand up in the middle of my wedding with some sort of speech about how I couldn’t marry Ian?”

“When you put it like that is sounds stupid.”

She’s about a half a step from hysterics.  Biting her lip, she stifles the peel of sobbing laughter threatening to get out.

“Jesus, James, did you think it would work?”

“Seemed like a good idea at the time…  Would it have?”

Darcy pauses for a moment, yeah, it would have worked, or course it would.  And he knew that, he knew her inside and out, grand romantic gestures aside he'd always known what pushed her buttons.

“Depends, what were you going to say?”

“You really need me to say it?”

“Yeah, I really do.”  She bites out a shade bitterly because fuck him, why should she make this easy?

He stands and runs a hand through his hair, it’s shaking, barley, but she sees it and she softens just a little.  He looks at her, completely open and exposed, she can read his sincerity in every line of his body, in his eyes that plead with her to listen.  Nothing could have prepared her for what came next, for the desperate honesty and heartbreaking sorrow in his every word.

“I’m an idiot.  I ran when I should have stayed.  I stayed silent when I should have spoke up.  I’m sorry, from the bottom on heart, I’m sorry, I never should have left.  I love you, I never stopped and I never will.  Don’t marry him, marry me.  He doesn’t know you like I do, can’t see the spark and the fire and understand  it.  Don’t marry him, marry me, because you don’t love him, you still love me.  I don’t deserve it, but I want another chance, I’ll do better this time, I’ll talk even when it hurts, I’ll stay even when I want to hide, I’ll be there, from now until you tell me to go, but don’t marry him.”

When he goes down on one knee before her and brings out a ring she thinks she might just faint.

“Marry me, Darcy.  I promise, I will never, leave you, again. I’m gonna love you for the rest of our life doll, if you’ll let me.”

“You left me.”  Her voice is small in the wake of his naked emotion.

“And I’ll never forgive myself for it.  But I’m here now, I’m staying, even if you won’t have me back, I’m not leaving.”

Darcy feels even the token resistance leaving her, James Barnes could charm the birds out of the trees.

“If I wake up to a note and an empty bed ever again I swear I will track you down and kill you myself.”

“And I’ll let you.  Just, I’m begging you sweetheart, give me a chance to fix this.”

“A chance with a ring?  That’s a pretty big ask James.”

“You took a chance on me once, hoped you might again.  Marry me.  I ain’t too proud to beg, I’ll do whatever you want me to…  Just, marry me.”

“I hate you.”  He grins.

“I love you too, Doll.”

“Well?  What are you waiting for, put the damn thing on me.”

He slides the ring on, it fits perfectly on her ring finger, the bright garnet like blood in the light from the window.  It was his mothers ring, three slim gold bands, two with small diamonds bracketing a third with three garnet stones.  She smiles as she admires it, it’s everything she would have chosen herself.  It’s warmth and sparkle and speaks of the past.  The ring Ian had given her had been cold and hard, with a modern sleekness that could never match the charm of the vintage ring James had just placed on her finger

James kisses her fingers one by one, lingering by the ring before tugging her closer and meeting her lips in a soft slow kiss.  His lips are firm against hers, drawing her into him, she twines her hands into his hair and grins as she feels his hands lift her up and onto his lap as he sits on the bench.  God she’s missed it, the way he would move her like she weighed less than air.  His arms come around her, one hand sliding into her hair causing her to let out the tiniest of whimpers. It’s safety and home, the brilliance of summer and the comfort of a winter fireplace.  She would always want him, always need him, just like he did her.  He licked into her mouth, stroking his tongue against hers until she couldn’t think or feel anything but the man whose arms she was in.

This was the kiss she’d wanted today, this was the perfect conclusion to the day she didn’t get married.  He was home and so was she.

NEXT

@captain-rogers-beard

[whattimeisitintokyo]

Somos Familia- Ch 2

Chapter 1 here: https://whattimeisitintokyo.tumblr.com/post/170479472164/somos-familia

Chapter 2: Santa Cecilia

 As soon as the train squealed to a halt in Santa Cecilia station and the harried train attendant managed to pry open the door, Héctor leapt from the passenger car, belting out a soulful grito and twirled in a circle, swinging his cases and nearly taking out a few bewildered pedestrians in his wake.

“Buenos Dias, Santa Cecilia! Aaaay-ha-heeyyy!... Ah heh- perdon, señora.” Héctor reigned in his excitement long enough to apologize to the poor old lady whose head was nearly knocked off by his guitar case. He also didn’t notice the train attendant shake his head and sigh, glad to be rid of this annoying boy who talked his ear off for eight hours about his beloved familia.

The train station was very small, and by the time he passed the ticket booth Héctor was in the outer marketplace. Héctor face lit up as he saw all the familiar faces at their own stalls, and he took a deep breath in. Smells of leather, straw, oil, animals, and street food, all cooking under the hot sun and melding together into a wave of nostalgia, melting away the ache in his chest. I’m home. Finally!

“Héctor?”

Héctor turned to the direction of the voice and smiled as he recognized his neighbor. “Facundo! Qué onda?!” He set his cases down and embraced, then lifted, the shorter man.

“Oy oy oy, basta! You know I hate it when you do that!” Héctor put the man down, but still smiled. “I am surprised to see you, though. It’s been what, eight months since you left?”

“Six actually,” Héctor sighed, “but it might as well have been eight. I must have really been homesick if I’ve missed seeing that mug of yours.”

“Oh, like you’re one to talk.” Facundo harrumphed. “Well, amigo, I haven’t seen you or Ernesto’s names splashed across the papers, so I’m guessing your little path to fame and glory didn’t turn out quite like you had hoped?”

Héctor scratched the back of his neck and shrugged. “Ah heh heh-… It’s true, were not famous, per se, it’s more like we’re… well known! I haven’t given up with my tail tucked between my legs, if that’s what you’re thinking. It’s just been put on the back burner for a while so I can spend time with my precious girls.”

“Ah si… you’re… girls.” Facundo awkwardly coughed and shifted his gaze away from Héctor. “Well, I was just getting some feed for my horses, but if you want I can give you a lift back home.”

“Ah, Facundo, I have so much energy right now I could practically sprint home!” Héctor sighed, and then turned with a smirk. “But if you’re offering…”

 -------------------------

Sitting backwards of Facundo’s horse drawn buggy on top hard bags of grain, Héctor waved at passersby and shouted greetings to all the neighbors, the viejos, and snot-nosed brats that he didn’t ever think he would miss six months ago. Some waved happily, while others, which caused Héctor some concern, shouted back that they didn’t they would ever see him again. Never come back? How? His family lived here, why wouldn’t he return?

               Finally, the buggy pulled up to a courtyard with the large set of green doors that he had painted himself, and Héctor jumped off in excitement and joy. “Gracias, Facundo!”

               “De nada, Héctor.”

               “Oye, why don’t you stay for lunch? It’s Friday, so I’m sure Imelda will be making sopa de pescado!”

               “No gracias amigo, I don’t want to be caught in the cross fires.”

               “Eh?”

               Without another word, Facundo snapped his reins and made a quick escape from the Rivera complex. Héctor shrugged. More for him anyway. In his haste to come home he had ignored his stomach by bypassing all the stalls selling grilled meats and pan dulce, not to mention he hadn’t eaten since yesterday afternoon, which was only half of a chorizo that had seen better days. Just the thought of Imelda’s cooking made his stomach fold in on itself to remind him how empty it was.

               As he walked up to the doors he heard a sweet sound, like tinkling little bells, and a large grin split his face. Ah, how he had missed that voice! Peering through the crack at the doors, his heart melted at what he saw: His sweet little Coco, sitting on the ground by the edge of the boarded up well, humming a little song to herself while making her doll dance and twirl to the tune. Even from a distance he could tell she had grown a bit since he had last seen her, and that the song she was humming was their song: Remember Me.

               Héctor took his guitar out of his case and, slowly and quietly, eased the double doors open and slipped inside. Thankfully she was facing away from him. Then, very softly, he started to play the accompaniment. Coco stopped humming and looked up and around, probably thinking her mind was playing tricks on her, and that’s when he finished the song with a loud flourish. Coco’s head whipped over her shoulder in shock, and her eyes grew big as saucers and let out a gasp too big to have come from such a little body. Héctor put the guitar on the ground and held out his arms.

               “Mija…”

               “PAPÁ!”

               Coco shot up from the ground and sprinted as fast as her chubby little legs would allow, letting out high pitched squeals and stumbling a little. Héctor met her halfway through and pulled her into his arms, spinning her around, laughing with tears in his eyes. Then he peppered her little face with wet kisses.

“I- *mwah*- missed- *mwah*- you- *mwah*- so much! Ay, my sweet little Coco!” He kissed the crown of her head, inhaling the scent of talcum powder, lilac soap and milk, and hugged her tight. “Pobrecita, I’m so sorry I was away for so long.”

“It’s been forever since your last letter, Papá! I was worried!” Coco said as she looked up with big doe eyes.

“Perdonome, mija. But I’m here now! And isn’t your Papá in the flesh better than some old letter?”

“Sí!” she giggled, which turned into shrieking laughs as Héctor started blowing raspberries on her neck. They were so busy laughing and hugging, they didn’t notice they were being watched, until-

“Yes, it has been a while since your last letter. A whole month, to be exact.” An icy voice startled Héctor out of his revelry, and he saw his wife standing in the doorway, arms crossed and an unreadable expression on her face. Oh, that face. So strong like steel, but still so soft and warm that it made his insides turn to jelly. And those sharp eyes sent a bolt of lightning straight to his very core.

“Imelda…” Héctor whispered. “Me amor-“

“Would you be so kind as to hand me my daughter please?” Héctor could not deny her anything, yet he reluctantly handed Coco to Imelda, despite only just being reunited with her. Imelda looked at Coco and smiled in a way that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Mija, why don’t you go inside and set the table with your tios, make sure they don’t break anything.”

“Sí, Mamá!” Coco chirped, and skipped inside where Oscar and Felipe were waiting, looking at Héctor like they had seen a ghost. Héctor tipped his head and waved to them, which they meekly returned before slamming the door shut.

“Imelda, I cannot tell you how much I-“

*WHACK!*

An explosion of pain whitened out Héctor’s vision before a sea of colorful stars cascaded down. He pinched his nose and barely managed to bite down several curses, knowing little ears were nearby. Having been so enamored with seeing his wife, he didn’t notice Imelda stealthily slipping off her boot the second she had put Coco down. As his vision slowly came back, he was faced with his irate spouse, wagging the shoe in front of his face as if threatening to hit him again.

“For weeks I have waited for you without a word! Would it have killed you to at least write to let me know where you were?! I thought you were dead in a ditch somewhere, or off with some tavern maid!” she screeched.

“I-Imelda, I would never- Ay, I think you broke my nose!”

“Oh please, if I was trying to break your nose, you would surely know it!” She huffed. “You could have at least written to Coco. For four nights I’ve had to console her, she’s had such horrible nightmares of you never returning home!” Her hardened face cracked a little and Héctor could see the hurt behind the fire. “And the stares of the townspeople. And the talks I hear whispered as I walk past. I can take a lot of things, Héctor Rivera, but I will not stand being abandoned!”

Héctor sniffed and looked at his fingers. No blood. That was a good sign. “Never! I would never abandon you, mi diosa-“

“Don’t call me your diosa!” she snarled. “You abandoned me and your daughter as soon as you walked out the door with that payaso to follow some stupid musical fantasy!”

“You’re right.”

“And now you come crawling back- wait what?”

“I said you’re right.” Héctor smiled sadly and rubbed his sore nose. “It was stupid. I thought that if I traveled the road I would be inspired to write new songs. I should have realized from the beginning that all my inspiration came from you. And Coco. My beautiful muses.” Imelda’s expression didn’t change from the flattery, so maybe some humor would. “You know what kind of song I managed to come up with? Let see, there was Ten Hangovers in a Row, then came the romantic ditty Why Are There Brown Stains on the Ceiling?, and of course, my favorite, The Ballad of the Snoring, Sleep-Talking Roomate!”

Nothing, not even a smile. Mierda.

“I had writer’s block so bad, I couldn’t even write to you these last few weeks. I must have started a dozen letters, but nothing I wrote could describe how miserable I was, how much I wanted to sleep in my own bed, braid my daughters hair, hold you in my arms as we danced to La Llorona for the hundredth time. How much I just wanted to come back home. And in the end, I just figured I would show up to surprise you both! I guess you were surprised, huh?”

Imelda looked away and sighed, and the toll of the last few weeks showed in her face and voice. “I’m… relieved more than anything.” She turned back to glare. “But I’m also wary.”

“About?”

“You want to come home now, but what about the future? What if you get antsy again and want to pursue your fame and glory with Ernesto again? How long would you be gone then? Would you come back-“

“Then!” Héctor interjected while holding up placating hands. “Then I would think back on this trip and decide it’s just not worth it! And it’s not.” Imelda still stared hard. “Please, Imelda, what can I do to prove to you that I’m here to stay?”

Imelda folded her arms again and pondered, and then her eyes fell to something on the ground. “Your guitar.”

Héctor looked over his shoulder to where he had left the instrument on the ground and back to Imelda. “Sí?”

“Smash it.”

Héctor felt the blood drain from his face and his heart lurch. He looked back at the guitar frantically and then to his wife. He let out a weak chuckle. “Pero, mi amor.” He paused and gulped down the lump in his throat. “You-you gave it to me for my birthday.”

“Sí, I bought it, and now I want it gone. You said you wanted to prove to me that you’re here to stay; this is the only way I can keep you from wandering off again. No-more-music!” She emphasized.

His eyes widened at that. No more music? A guitar was one thing, but to give up all music entirely? Would it be worth it? But, again, he thought about the last few months were he had nothing but music, and no loving family to come home to. That life was not ideal either. Maybe some time down the line things could change and she would lighten up, but right now was a crucial moment in their relationship, and he was determined to save it. He sighed and nodded. “Aye, only for you, mi amor.”

Héctor slowly walked over, picked up his guitar, and walked over the center well. That would be the best place to cause the most damage. Holding the instrument like an axe, he tapped it against the edge of the stone border, then raised it high above his head, the gold tooth of the painted skull winking at him for the last time. “Adios, amigo.” He said, and then brought it down.

“NO, STOP!”

Muscles tensed in reaction, halting the guitar descent into oblivion, and then gravity kicked in, sending Héctor flying backwards and hard onto his rump. The guitar slipped out of his grasp and hit the ground with a twang! but was otherwise unharmed. Héctor groaned and sat up, rubbing his sore behind as a flurry of purple skirts flashed passed him and knelt by the guitar. “Dios mio, it’s not scratched is it?!” Imelda shouted as she looked over the guitar from every angle before sighing, relieved to know it survived unscathed.

“Imelda?” Héctor was confused. What was going on?

Imelda looked at Héctor with wide eyes. “You-… You were really going to do it. You were going to smash your guitar, for me?”

Héctor’s eyes softened and he reached out and caressed her cheek, happy that he didn’t flinch away. “I would do anything for you, diosa.”

Imelda face crumpled and she launched herself into Héctor’s chest, wrapping her arms around him squeezing hard. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I would never make you make that choice. I might as well have asked you to cut off your arms!”

“I think I might draw the line there.” Héctor chuckled.

“Oh Héctor, how I have missed you.” Then she planted such a passionate kiss on Héctor’s lips, which he happily reciprocated. All the worry, loneliness and stress melted away from them as they reclaimed their passion for each other. All was right with the world again.

They finally broke apart when Imelda accidentally ground down on the sore part of his face. “Ay! Why did you have to hit my nose?”

“It was the biggest target.” Imelda deadpanned, and Héctor couldn’t help but bark out a laugh and kiss her again. Imelda squeezed his sides again, and then pinched his belly, causing him to yelp again. “You’ve lost weight, idiota.”

“Yeah, I suppose I have-“

“You can’t afford to lose weight, flaco! I can feel your ribs underneath your suit!”

“Oye!” The two of them turned to see Felipe leaning casually in the window sill, smirking. “If you two lovebirds are done screeching at each other, the sopa de pescado is about to boil over!”

“Then take it off the fire, you lazy bum!” Imelda rose to her feet and patted the dust off her dress. “And you!” she glared at her husband. “You are going to eat no less than three bowls as well some bread and fruit. You did not come home just so you can keel over and die from malnutrition!”

Héctor laughed. “Ah Imelda, you are an inspiration! I’m not home five minutes and I’ve already come up with some new lyrics to an old classic!” He picked up his guitar, grateful to still have his old friend, and plucked out a familiar tune.

Imelda recognized it immediately. “Oh no…”

You say “Smash your guitar!”

Ay mi amor, ay mi amor!                    

But then you change your mind

Ay mi amor, Ay mi amor!

“Callate!” Imelda screeched as she ran into the house, laughing like she hadn’t done in a long time.

You nearly broke my nose

Ay mi amor, Ay mi amor!

It doesn’t need to get any bigger

Ay mi amor, ay mi ammooorrrr…..

[onceuponamirror]

heart rise above

///// CHAPTER 6

summary: It wasn’t an experiment with freedom borne of some Americana fantasy; rather, a road trip of purely logistical intentions. The plan was simple. Drive from Boston to Chicago for his sister’s college graduation. That’s it.

Or, he drives a Ford Pickup Named Desire.

Mechanic!AU

fandom: riverdale ship: betty x jughead words: 25k chapters: 6/?

[read from the beginning] [read the latest]

Well, I've been afraid of changing 'Cause I've built my life around you

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“Knock, knock,” comes a familiar voice, quickly followed by Veronica’s dark head peeking around her bedroom door.

“Hi, V, come on in,” Betty says distractedly, standing back to get a better look at the organized piles on her bed. “Where’s Kevin?”

“Downstairs, being interrogated-slash-interviewed by your mother. She says she wants to do an article on the pageantry of parade floats.” Veronica takes a seat by Betty’s pillow, crossing her legs as she presses one hand into the soft florals of the bed sheets. She’s wearing a short black sundress and her sunglasses are perched on the top of her head. She glances around. “Are we going somewhere tropical?”

Betty looks up. “What? No. I’m just making sure I have everything.”

“There’s like two weeks worth of sun products here, B,” Veronica replies, her lips curling upwards. “We’re going to Sweetwater, not Waikiki; you don’t need four towels and SPF three-thousand.”

“I’m just going through my options,” Betty insists. “Besides, Polly texted me this morning and said she and the kids are going down to the river today too, since it’s so nice out. They need high SPF; they’re so fair.”

“Let Polly bring her own kids’ sunscreen.” Her look is pointed.

“I’m sure she is. I thought I’d have it just in case,” Betty says, throwing the jumbo bottle into a bag anyway. Veronica throws a hand into the air, but doesn’t say anything else. “Anyway, what suit should I wear? I’m sure you have an opinion.”

“Mais oui,” Veronica preens, standing up and coming around to the selection of suits laid out on the bed. She immediately reaches for the stringiest bikini available and dangles it in Betty’s face; a tiny pink thing that Betty hardly ever wears and, right now, wonders why she even still has it.

Betty grabs it out of Veronica’s hands and puts it back on the bed. “Not that one.”

“I thought you might say that,” Veronica grins, something glittering in her eyes. “You’d look so Bikini Kill in it, but I get it. It’s a lot for just Sweetwater. Okay, what about this one? One-pieces are very in right now. I’m wearing one too. Granted, mine has quite a few more cut-outs in it.”

Veronica has selected a simple white one-piece with a low back and high hips, and Betty smiles and takes it, going behind her closet door to change.

As she’s pulling her cutoffs on over the suit, she hears Kevin enter the room and immediately exclaim, “Oh my god, am I going off to war?”

“You two are so dramatic,” Betty huffs, slipping an open pink button up over her arms and coming around the door. “I just wanted to have enough food and sun protection for everyone. You’ll be thanking me when you’re hungry and want one of the sandwiches I made.”

Kevin and Veronica exchange looks. “True,” he admits, shrugging. “Alright, I’m loading up the car. Gimme something to carry.”

Throwing the rest of the snacks into one of her large canvas bags, Betty passes it and the cooler to Kevin, who accepts them with a theatrical grunt and a poorly repressed eye roll.

“I’ll take this one,” Veronica offers, grabbing the second beach bag, and then they’re both gone.

Betty moves in front of her little vanity mirror, staring at herself. She hasn’t quite gotten past catching her reflection in the mirror of her childhood bedroom; amongst the pink flowers on the wall and the old photographs, it feels like a looking glass into time, like she’s sixteen again and questioning everything, especially her own appearance.

But looking at herself now, she actually likes this look—pale pink, light washed denim blue, and crisp white have always been her colors. She reties her ponytail and tugs it through the back strap of her ratty old blue baseball cap, hoists the last bag over her shoulder, as well as her purse, and slips onto her Keds.

When she gets downstairs, her mother is typing away by an open window, a glass of fresh lemonade beside her. “I’m going now, Mom,” she says, and it’s a moment before her mother looks up.

“Have everything?” She asks, folding her hands together. Betty nods. “Sun-block?” Betty nods again, and Alice Cooper returns her gaze to her computer. “Then have a nice day. By the way, the fridge looked a little empty yesterday. Pick up some fruit and milk on your way back, would you?”

“Sure,” Betty says easily, waving goodbye. Kevin and Veronica are waiting for her outside, leaning against her big blue car and gossiping away. They fall suspiciously silent as they spot her, but move aside for her to throw the bag through the open window. Veronica slides into the passenger seat and Kevin climbs into the back, and then they’re off.

“So how was your date last night? I was very patiently waiting to ask until Betty was here so you wouldn’t have to tell the story twice,” Kevin says, leaning forward and resting his chin on the back of Veronica’s seat.

She twists excitedly. “It was quite nice, for a first date,” she says demurely. “We went to that French place in New Paltz you like, Kevin.”

“What does Archie do?” Betty asks, eyes on the road, realizing that if he’s sticking around with Jughead, he must also have some kind of freelance job.

Veronica laughs. “I can’t believe I didn’t open with that. He actually writes commercial jingles. Do you remember that one about the singing vacuum cleaner?”

Kevin and Betty simultaneously burst into the same hypnotically insipid tune, and Veronica giggles again. “Yes, that one. The twins were so obsessed with that commercial. Cheryl took the televisions out of their rooms because they were constantly singing it.”

“How could I forget?” Betty half-gripes. “That sounds like a fun job, though.”

“He says it’s just to pay his bills, and he wants to really be a singer-songwriter,” Veronica adds, with a slight sigh. “Which is cute.”

“Or potentially annoying, if he’s not any good,” Kevin quips.

Veronica waves a hand and her bracelets tinkle slightly. “I don’t think I’ll know him long enough to get annoyed. We’re just having fun. He’s leaving in, what, less than three weeks? How long do you think it’ll take you to fix that truck, Betty?”

“About that,” she says, sighing.

“So, have you slept with him yet?” Kevin asks, a smidge too excitedly.

“I have my rules, Kevin Keller,” Veronica replies with faux-offense. “I’m not quite as prone to playing with my food as I used to be, but I still like to wait a little bit. Probably date two.”

“You’re seeing him again, then? Besides today, obviously.”

Veronica nods. “Tomorrow night. I suppose this could count as a second date, but considering you two sprung his inclusion in our afternoon plans on me, I’m not partial to anything that wasn’t my own idea.”

“Well, it was Jughead’s idea,” Betty says, “and we did check with you.”

She notices Kevin and Veronica exchanging looks again. “Yeah, though we couldn’t exactly say no, with him making such big puppy eyes over at Betty,” Kevin says, after a moment. Betty exhales loudly. “I’m sorry, I know I said I wouldn’t meddle, but—”

“Then don’t,” Betty interrupts. Veronica opens her mouth, but Betty is faster. “Either of you. Don’t think I haven’t noticed you two whispering already. Please, guys. I’m not going to be able to unwind at all today if I feel like I need to babysit your twitter feeds. And you both have been on my case about relaxation, so you don’t get it both ways. Pick one and stick to it.”

They stare at one another, then at Betty. “Very well,” Veronica pouts, shifting in her seat so that she faces the road again.

Betty reaches forward and turns on the radio, and the sweet crooning of doo-wop filters through the speakers. She’s always liked the genre; it has the chronic romanticism that can span to relevance of any part of her life, but it’s also as soothing as it is saddening. Like catching the eye of her reflection across the crowded room of her heart and not being able to close the distance.

She slips her hand out the window, undulating it against the wind, and lets her mind clear.

They reach their destination not much later, and it’s still early enough for the parking lot not to be madness. Sweetwater River is an inlet of the larger Hudson River, with a small stretch of patchy water mostly used by kayakers and other boaters, but largely a leisurely stream of floating inner tubes, frolicking families, and warm, coarse sand.

It takes a moment to gather all the things Betty has packed, plus the collapsible and utterly gigantic beach umbrella Veronica insisted on and secretly stashed in the trunk (“I never want to hear another word about my packed lunches, Ronnie.”), but eventually they heave everything out of the car and find an unoccupied patch of beach to drop anchor.

Betty texts Jughead instructions for their location, having gotten his cell number last night, and he replies with a thumbs up emoji, promising Archie is a slow-mover but they’re on their way.

She puts her phone on her towel, while Kevin sheds down to his swim trunks and pulls on an open, cuffed button up and Veronica starts lathering herself with tanning oil. Betty kicks off her sneakers and tucks her knees under her chin, peeking up at the sky from under the brim of her baseball cap.

She watches the trees rustle with an unseen breeze.

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She’s still sitting there, staring at nothing, when she hears a voice over her shoulder. “Hey there, Gilligan,” Jughead says, plopping into the sand beside her.

He’s dressed the same as usual, with dark pants and drooping suspenders, but this time he’s rolled his jeans up to the ankle and is only wearing a white undershirt. He’s still donning the beanie and he’s barefoot.

“You found us,” Betty greets, momentarily distracted by the surprising amount of definition in his arms.

“Wasn’t hard,” he scoffs. “Could spot that thing a mile away.”

They both turn and look at the big beach umbrella behind them. Archie and Kevin are making introductions under it and Veronica looks pleased to see him. Betty gives Jughead another once over, feeling a bit disappointed as a thought occurs to her. “You’re not dressed to swim.”

He rubs behind his neck in what she’s learning is a tell-tale nervous tick. “I’m not much of a swimmer, honestly. I’ve got a pair of trunks in Archie’s backpack, but…mostly I planned to read or write, if I’m lucky.” He pulls a dog-eared paperback and a moleskin journal from his back pockets and gives them a little shake.

She stretches her arms over her bare, tanned legs, sizing him up. “Have you ever swum in a river? It’s not like the ocean. The water is cool and calm and you just float along.”

“I can’t say that I have. Sounds almost nice,” he admits.

“It is. There’s nothing like it. It’s…well, I’m not the writer here, so I’m not quite sure how to describe it. But, peaceful.”

“Well, you make a hard case to argue, Betty Cooper.” She pretends to look offended, and he grins. “I’ve got an image as an aloof miscreant to uphold, but I’ll think about it.”

“You’ll want to once you realize how hot it’s supposed to be today.” She says it lightly, but Jughead’s eyes are lingering on her legs and she feels the heat of the day already. She quickly pulls the cooler over to them. “I brought drinks and water and snacks, also. And sandwiches for lunch.”

“And dinner, and desert, and The Last Supper, by the looks of it,” Jughead says admirably, peering into the snack bag next to it.

“Everyone always makes fun of me, but they all manage to eat whatever I bring anyway,” Betty huffs, halfway between a laugh and indignancy.

“I’m not making fun of you,” Jughead replies seriously. “I think it…I’m basically always hungry. So between my Homo neanderthalensis companion and me, you definitely don’t have to worry about the food getting eaten. On my honor, I swear to thee,” he adds wryly.

“Big words from a guy wearing a wool hat at the beach,” Betty jests, and he snorts, his fingers tracing the edge of his beanie. She reaches over and picks at one of his loose suspenders. “Like, did you confuse Hawaii 5-0 as Hawaii 50 and think it was about old men at the beach?”

“Ouch,” he whistles. “You know, I like my suspenders.”

She does too, but she won’t give him the satisfaction, so she just shrugs coyly.

He shakes his head at her, giving a good show of looking affronted. “So I take it my sacred vessel is in the hands of Joaquin today?”

“Yes, even though I told him I wanted him here,” Kevin says tersely from behind them.

“He wanted the hours, Kev, don’t blame me,” Betty replies, sweeping a look over at him. He’s stretched out on his stomach underneath Ronnie’s giant umbrella and looking downright petulant. He starts to reply, but something catches his eye beyond Betty’s shoulder and he seems to lose the train of thought.

“Oh my god, it’s Queen of the River Styx,” he drawls instead.

Veronica looks over, sighs, and then raises a hand in the air in greeting. “Hi Cheryl!” She calls across the water. Cheryl hesitates, then responds with a half-wave of her hand that is probably the same gesture she uses in a dismissal.

“God, she is so extra. I mean, I love it, but so extra,” Kevin mutters, and this time Betty actually agrees; Cheryl Blossom is floating downriver on a large, bright pink flamingo-shaped raft, wearing oversized sunglasses and a cherry red bikini.

It’s outdoing herself, even for Cheryl.

“I’m gonna go say hi,” Betty announces, mostly because she’s been aching to get into the water but didn’t want to rudely be the first one to leave the beach encampment without good reason.

She peels out of her cutoffs and shirt, tossing her hat onto the sand. Jughead is watching her, but when she catches his eye, he mutters a “have fun” and hastily turns his attention onto his book.

She dives into the water, enjoys a moment of the cool quiet beneath the surface, and then bobs upwards. She always loves that first meeting of the river and the sun. Betty starts swimming towards Cheryl’s raft, where the redhead in question is currently rubbing sunscreen into her pale, glossy skin.

“Hello there,” Cheryl says, not looking up. She deposits the tube of sunscreen into a cup-holder on the flamingo’s wing and trades it out for a bottle of water with a straw in it. She takes a sip, and then uses one finger to push her sunglasses up onto her forehead, finally glancing over.

“I didn’t know you’d be here today, Cheryl,” Betty says, treading water in front of the raft. She grabs hold of it, and it sweeps both of them slowly downriver.

“Came with the fam, don’t forget to come say hi,” she replies coolly. Betty and Cheryl’s dynamic had once been fraught with high school hierarchies, but years of therapy and mood-stabilizers have done wonders for their relationship. Betty is grateful for the shift, considering she’s now related by marriage to her and sees her quite a bit more than she ever expected, still after she and Veronica broke up.

Cheryl even once admitted that, since the split, Betty is the only other person besides her therapist that she talks to about her bipolar disorder—as Jason always tries to fix her and Polly couldn’t be trusted to keep it from him—and ever since then, the two women have grown closer. As close as one can get to Cheryl Blossom, that is; they still have plenty of off-days.

“So, who’s the tall drink of orange juice talking to my ex?” Cheryl asks, in an incredibly poor attempt at sounding casual. Across the water, though now farther away, it’s clear that Archie and Veronica are laid strewn on towels and talking closely.

“Cheryl, you can’t do this again,” Betty warns. “It’s been over a year.”

The redhead sighs heavily, palming her hands along the cool water as she adjusts against her raft. “Oh, spare me the lecture, Olivia Newton-John. I know. I’m not going to interfere, I just want to make sure he’s up to standard.”

“You both mutually agreed breaking up was the right thing to do,” Betty reminds her, because there’s something longing in Cheryl’s expression that worries her. “You know it was. The timing just wasn’t right.”

“Yes, but I always thought, after—well, it doesn’t matter. So who is he? She certainly has developed a type, at least.” She flips her long red hair over her shoulder.

Betty folds her arms on the edge of Cheryl’s pink flamingo raft. “His name is Archie. He and his friend were on a road trip, but their truck broke down in the parking lot of Pop’s. Veronica was covering one of her mom’s shifts, and, well.”

Cheryl sighs and flicks an invisible shred of dust off her bathing suit. “So he’s not sticking around long?”

“Should take me a few weeks to fix it all up, but no. They’ll be gone,” Betty says, digging her chin into her crossed arms.

“Veronica isn’t like us,” Cheryl says, after a long moment of inspecting Betty. Her voice is uncharacteristically tender. “She’s not as picky.”

“Are you serious? Veronica is the pickiest person I’ve ever met, Cheryl, you should know that better than anyone.”

“I don’t mean it like that,” Cheryl sighs impatiently. “With shoes and jewelry and dresses, yes, she is, of course. But she gets back on the horse right away. She’s fearless. She sees something she wants, and she goes for it, because she knows she’ll always land on her feet. I always loved that about her. Me…I don’t do anything I can’t control, can’t predict. And neither do you, Betty dear. That’s where we’re alike.”

“I’m not like that,” Betty says quietly, knowing it’s a lie. She’s good Betty Cooper, she who does everything for everyone, but Cheryl has a point. The sun shines brightly on the water and her eyes find Jughead on the beach, his nose in a book.

“Please. Let’s not insult either of our intelligences,” Cheryl insists sharply. “You had a boy down on one knee for you and you practically ran away screaming. So riddle me this, Rapunzel: why wouldn’t you let down your hair for sweet Trevor Brown?”

But Betty can’t answer that. She still doesn’t know how to put it into words, still can’t even begin to form the thought without the feverish flutterings of a panic attack. She presses her lips together, and Cheryl just leans back against the flamingo’s neck, pushing her sunglasses back down over her nose.

“I thought so. I’m not paying my therapist all that money every week for nothing, Cleopatra of denial. Now, give me a nudge. I want to float away my troubles.”

Betty complies, giving the flamingo raft a shove downstream. Cheryl waves her away, tipping her chin up to the sun, and then the current sweeps her lightly down the river. Betty dips her head under water once more, and starts swimming in the opposite direction, her limbs feeling strong and toned as she heads upstream. She finds Polly, Jason, and the kids on a beach not far up, and cuts their way.

She tans herself on the private Blossom beach for a little while, trying very hard not to think about Cheryl’s words, and has a bit of light conversation with her sister and brother-in-law. It turns out that Polly has, indeed, brought her own high SPF sunscreen. The kids are busy with squirt guns, and she indulges them in a bit of warfare before reentering the river.

As she returns to the original stretch of sand, where Kevin is texting, Jughead is still reading, and Archie and Veronica are now splashing each other playfully in the water, Betty is bathed in sunshine and sparkling green water and feels simultaneously so at ease—and so alone.

She desperately wants to blame Cheryl Blossom for planting the seed, but truthfully, she’s lived with this thought for some time now. It’s duplicitous; swimming amongst the reeds and trees along the riverbanks is freeing, anonymous—but humbling, and isolating. She feels so small amongst the pines.

She kicks back towards the shore, past Archie and Veronica, and steps out of the water. Jughead’s head rises slowly from his book, and for a fleeting moment she wonders if he might be looking at her in a way that speaks to the heat in her own belly at the sight of his toned arms.

“Do you guys want to go swimming with me? The water’s really nice,” she asks, glancing between the two of them.

Kevin’s eyes don’t leave his phone. “Maybe in a bit,” he says vaguely, which is Kevin for there’s-something-much-more-interesting-happening-on-Instagram.

She turns to Jughead. “What about you?” His Adam’s apple bobs and he makes a noncommittal sound. She really doesn’t want to go back into the water alone, but she doesn’t want to stay here on the beach either. “Please, Juggie?”

The nickname just slips out, and she’s far too sure she doesn’t know him well enough for it, but it seems to do the trick; he scrunches up his face and then sighs, getting to his feet. He rustles around in a blue backpack near the cooler, says he’s going to go change behind the trees, and disappears.

Kevin finally glances up, but doesn’t say anything. While she waits, Betty decides her wet hair feels too tight on her head, so she pulls out her ponytail and shakes it free.

Jughead returns a few minutes later, wearing nothing but a black pair of trunks and his hat. His clothes are bunched up in his hands, and he dumps them by his book. And then, after a moment of deliberation, pushes the wool beanie off his head as well. It falls onto the sand beside the rest of his things with an unassuming plop.

He stares at it, and then looks over at her. “Okay,” he says, in an indecipherable voice.

She forces her brain to play catch up, because the sight of his bare chest momentarily caused her to forget herself. She swallows. He has broad shoulders, a narrow waist, and once again, a surprising amount of lithe definition. Even Kevin is eying him with something like impressed approval.

“Right,” she says, turning on her heel and making her way back towards the river’s edge. She dives under the water and surfaces quickly, pushing her hair back over her head. “Come on!”

She swims out further, but Jughead’s toes line at the sand’s end. “You can swim, right?” Betty asks, because Jughead is behaving strangely enough for her question it.

“Yes, I can swim,” he says flatly, but he hasn’t moved. “How deep does this go? I mean, how deep is the river?”

She cocks her head at him, treading water. “In the middle it’s probably 15 feet, but we can stick to the shallows, if you want.”

In a moment of decision, Jughead splashes into the water and dips his head under. He pops up a second later, flipping his hair back with a force that sends droplets flying. “I’ve just got a thing about not being able to see the bottom or touch down,” he says quietly, swimming towards her. “I know it’s ripe for metaphorical investigation, but spare me.”

“We won’t go too far out,” Betty promises, and for a moment, they’re just treading water, staring at one another. Jughead allows himself to sink slightly so that just his nose and eyes are above the surface. She can’t read his expression, but she feels warm and is unsure what’s the sun and what are her own nerves.

“Well, I’m here,” Jughead says finally. “But I’m not sure I see my way through the hype. What am I supposed to be doing in order to access catharsis?”

She laughs, and shifts onto her back, limbs spread out around her as if she were making a snow angel. “You just float, Juggie. Let the water take you where you want.”

Betty kicks, frog-like, and swims in a circle around him. He watches for a moment with something like amusement, and then mimics her, allowing himself to float on his back.

“Wow,” he deadpans. “So this is nirvana.”

She laughs and splashes water at him. “Shut up.”

Ducking under the surface to avoid his retaliatory splash, she swims further out, though is sure to remain close enough to the shallows that he won’t get nervous. He follows, and they both consent to the current guiding them downstream.

Lazily, she cuts her arms over her head in a half-hearted backstroke, but mostly lets the river’s flow to do its ancient work. After what feels like an hour but is more likely ten minutes, she looks over, and Jughead is grinning at her, his normally downturned lips quirking upwards. 

She’s overcome with a simple thought: he’s hot. And then, slightly more poetically: she likes it when he wears handsomeness around the softness of his eyes. With a face that looks like it’s carried tension for years, relaxation looks especially good on him. 

“Well, alright. This is nice, Ophelia,” he says.

“Leave it to you to make a morbid reference on a beautiful day,” Betty sighs, closing her eyes to the sun.

“I mean it, though,” Jughead says, softer. “This is actually kind of…nice. You’re right, it’s not like the ocean.”

“You’ve been missing out, Jughead Jones,” she replies, eyes still shut, but waiting for him to crack a cynical joke or drop some obscenely large vocabulary, or any of his usual responses.

But he doesn’t say a word.

.

.

.

Finally feeling her fingers and toes beginning to prune, Betty accepts that it’s probably time to pull herself out of the water for a bit, though she has no desire to. She feels so at ease, half-swimming, half-floating in peace with just Jughead by her side, but his stomach gives a loud gurgle and she breaks the silence with a giggle. “Hungry?”

“Always—but, particularly now, yes,” Jughead replies honestly.

“Lets head back, then,” Betty says, performing a half-curl in the water, her legs momentarily the only thing above the surface. She submerges herself fully, allowing a respite of underwater tranquility, and then returns for air.

They both turn and swim up against the stream, and when they reach the shore, everyone has returned to their stations. Kevin’s hair looks wet, so Betty assumes he finally went into the water, and Archie is strumming an acoustic guitar while Veronica suns herself.

Archie looks up as they approach. “Were you swimming, Jug?”

“No, I tripped and fell in,” Jughead replies, pokerfaced. “Yeah, I went swimming.”

“It’s my fault,” Betty intercedes, dropping to her knees and digging around in the cooler for a chilled lemonade. “I practically begged him.”

Archie’s eyebrows briefly knot into a peculiar expression, but he doesn’t seem to dwell on it because Betty has procured sandwiches in each hand.

“Who wants lunch?” Betty asks, only to be met by an affirming chorus of yeses. “We’ve got turkey or chicken salad.” People announce their decisions and Betty starts dolling out the sandwiches.

“I take back anything I’ve ever said, ever,” Kevin says gratefully through a mouthful of chicken salad. “Thank you for thinking to bring food, Betty.” Everyone agrees, and she feels a flush of warm appreciation.

After everyone polishes off their lunch, Archie resumes care of his acoustic guitar and launches into a soft rendition of the Girl From North Country. Jughead mutters in her ear that it wasn’t until two years ago that singer-songwriter Archie Andrews even knew who Bob Dylan was, and she fails to suppress her giggles.

The sun is now high overhead, her skin feels kissed golden, and her eyes fall to his lips as they pull from her ear.

Kevin has placed Betty’s baseball cap over his face while he lies on his back, Veronica is curled towards Archie, watching him play, and Betty and Jughead both lean back on one elbow, the length of their bodies warmed to the sky and facing one another. She watches a stray droplet run down his jaw.

“Remember me to one who lives there,” Archie crones in a gentle, pleasing voice. “She once was a true love of mine.”

Betty tucks a damp, tousled strand of hair behind her ear. Jughead’s eyes follow the movement.

.

.

.

.

.

.

[austinpanda]

Dad Letter/Bangor Bound Ch. 3

1 September, 2019

Dear Dad--

My last day of work was Friday! Here’s a nice feeling: throughout the afternoon, various supervisors and managers would instant message me to say goodbye and wish me luck. One begins to wonder if the collective weight of all those wishes for good luck might actually have the strength to produce some! It’s taking a minute to figure out how I feel about leaving Progressive. For the moment, I’m stuck in that phase where I feel like Ed Tom from the end of No Country for Old Men, there in the eat-in kitchen, with my eggs and my tomato slices, thinking, “Jesus, what do I do now?”

I’ve come up with the brilliant idea of calling my job-quitting an “early retirement.” It occurred to me that saying, “I took early retirement so I could move to Maine,” sounds better than “I quit my job and moved here, jobless,” to prospective landlords and employers. Then, of course, I’ll find a job anyway, and look even more like a real grownup. Plus, I have found something positive about being 50, other than it being an easy number to remember.

I worked my full shift on Friday, and by the time it was over, everyone who was going to say goodbye had done so; I walked out to my car alone. Then, I swear, I tripped humorously stepping off a curb in the parking lot, and had to pinwheel my arms to right myself, which would have looked hilarious, because I was holding a big paper bag with a balloon tied to it in one hand. So it was okay that I was by myself. I drove home, traffic was so-so, and several people did rude things to me in traffic, because they’re assholes, and they don’t care. Zach, fearful of my potentially large emotions, ordered some great Chinese for dinner, and even decorated the apartment a bit, with blue streamers, like it was my birthday. It is so nice having someone who does shit like that! Congratulate me at home for surviving my last day of work.

Today, Sunday, September 1, begins the 30-day countdown to move. Now I probably won’t start really busting my ass until Tuesday, since Monday is Labor Day, but basically the shit starts now. My immediate goals:

Kitty goes to the vet, for annual tune-up, and drugs to put his ass to sleep for 3 days while we drive him from Austin to fucking Pluto. I’m afraid this is going to traumatize the shit out of him, and I’d like to minimize that any way I can.

Car goes to shop for oil change and replacement of burned-out right taillight.

Find a place to live in Bangor that doesn’t look like the site of a recent multiple homicide.

Arrange for the moving truck and the car carrier thingy.

Learn how to secure my car to the car carrier thingy properly, in such a way as to give me working brake lights and turn signals back there for the whole three-day drive.

Pack all my shit

Turn off all services here. Electricity, internet, etc.

Give new address to every entity I interact with.

Pay dudes to load the truck. I wouldn’t allow Zach to do all of it, and I also wouldn’t allow him to all that I couldn’t move myself, because that’s too close to being the same thing. I’m not an invalid or anything, but it’s 101 degrees here, we live on the third floor, my feet and ankles don’t work properly, and I’m not loading my own truck when I can part with some much-needed cash to get a few skinny college kids to do it for me.

Drive to Bangor over three (blissful, incident-free) days. Kitty has a blast, and is disappointed when the trip is over.

Unload truck, hopefully, into our new apartment, not a storage space.

Find a new job.

Begin anew, emerged from my provincial southern chrysalis as a big yankee butterfly, ready to shovel snow, and talk like the Pepridge Farm people talk.

Also on Tuesday, I’m going to begin the process by which I remove some money from my retirement savings. I have a couple of questions for those folks at Fidelity who handle my 401k, like: What if I need more money later? And, what if I take out more than I need to? Can I put it back in there, please? But basically I want me and Zach to have about $20k on hand to pay for all of this. We’ve saved about $11k. I want to take the rest from my retirement savings and have it handy in case something large and unpleasant happens. Whatever money is left, after the move, gets used to cover bills until Zach and I are both employed again. Plus, we need to buy coats and boots and shit; we need cold weather clothes. Once we’re at that point, I’ll take any remaining retirement savings and put it back into my IRA.

In the meantime, I don’t know if I’m going to be unemployed for two months, or six, or twelve, but I’m not too worried about it. I think there’s usually work for someone who’s familiar with computers, types 100 words per minute, and buys donuts to share with the office, whether it’s on a college campus, a car insurance call center, or tire supply company. And I’ve never been one to let his job determine his self-worth. I just want enough money to keep the lights and the internet going, so I can bootleg movies and share pictures of hummingbirds.

So yesterday, I did something designed to make my next 60 days more enjoyable. I used to start watching one scary movie every day in October, till I realized I have way too many scary movies, so now I start on the first day of September, which is...now. I spent a good portion of yesterday putting every scary movie I own onto our TV computer so I can watch them on the living room TV over the next two months. I only regret that I won’t be able to continue watching them while we’re driving to Bangor, but perhaps the hotel TV will have something scary! The movie I always like to watch first is Night of the Demon, from 1957, starring Dana Andrews. Not sure why. Then the second “scary” movie I watch is The Uninvited, from 1944, starring Ray Milland. Also not sure why.

And these movies aren’t really scary, of course. I don’t watch them to be scared. I watch them because it seems I have a passion for vintage films about honkies in supernatural peril. In fact, the thing I like most about The Uninvited is the movie’s sweetness! Martin Scorsese did a list of his favorite 11 Scary Movies and that’s where I got Night of the Demon and The Uninvited both. They’re two of his favorites. My personal favorite is probably the original The Thing From Another World with Kenneth Tobey and Margaret Sheridan. I love when they try to melt the ice around the UFO and accidentally blow it up instead. Good stuff.

Love to you both! I’ll give you the next chapter in my continuing saga next week. And thanks for those YouTube videos you’ve been sending! They’re awesome! :)

[laughingpinecone]

Yuletide treat for @paranoidharoldfinch!

Denise Bryson, Audrey Horne, 1881 words, mid-canon gen vignette, talking about Dale Cooper because what else do people even DO amirite

The foreign agent stopped in her tracks, biting the perfect red of her lipstick. Her eyes darted through the corridor - she knew she was being watched, but the wooden walls of the Great Northern grew like a forest all around her, silent and impenetrable. As she took a few tentative steps toward the stairs, she felt the sting of a stranger's gaze grow closer, bolder, until finally she could hear a muffled clicking of heels from inside the wall. A secret passage! She led her spy around until the planimetry of the place told her that she was in the clear and hid in waiting behind a column. One minute passed before she heard the same heels as before, not muffled now, growing closer, and she jumped out to tackle her stalker - tumbling in the middle of the hotel's dinner-slash-dancing hall with an armful of startled teenager.

Audrey couldn't say what she was expecting to achieve with that stakeout, or rather, she was trying not to think about it too hard, but being caught in her target's firm grip and suddenly thrust under the spotlight of the hall’s attention was most assuredly not part of the plan. But being a pureblood Horne, her next move was set, ingrained in the deep, oiled mechanisms of three generations of incessant social manoeuvring: she guided the agent's arm on her shoulder, put on a customary, distant smile and danced with her to the notes of Trudy's piano. The hall relaxed. Catherine Martell's echo from the previous week’s accident ghosted on her toes. Doesn't she always. Bitch.

“Come on, darling”, Agent Bryson laughed, her voice as soft as her posture now that she'd recognized her assailant as the crown princess of this place. “What's with the territorial hunt? I'm pushing prime cougar age, but you? You're a baby leopard, a caracal, the prettiest fennec…”

If the world hadn't noticed, Audrey was just done telling to herself that she did not want to think about this too hard. But no, of course, she had to ask, with a spark of dogged curiosity in her eyes that must come in bundle with the badge. She also stepped on her foot. Which was a most foreseeable outcome, after about a minute of waiting for Audrey's lead about as much as Audrey was waiting for hers, but it wouldn't have happened with Agent Cooper, or in a movie, or both, which proved beyond all reasonable doubt that the situation here could not compare (it would not have happened to Agent Bryson and Agent Cooper, either, but that movie got cancelled).

Audrey tilted her head.

“Remind me - who is doing the honors?”

Someone here had to switch role - or at least step off her foot.

With a noncommittal shrug, Denise tapped the point of Audrey's nose in a spell-binding stay here for one moment, be right back. She made her way to the piano, where trusted old Trudy was mashing keys to the tune of “Fly me to the moon”, whispered a few words in her ear and slipped a banknote under the sheet music. By the time her dance partner had blinked a few times and fully formulated the thought that bossing and bribing the hotel's employees was in fact, excuse her, her own goddamn job, the tune had changed and - one, two, cha-cha-cha - Denise was sashaying back solo and inviting Audrey to very well do the same, so much for leads, follows and all the trappings of partner dance.

“With that inconvenience out of the way… remind me, what were you doing looking through holes in the wall?”

Her whisper carried the tension of a climactic showdown: the foreign spy, having laid her web of intrigues all across town (or at least the hotel, or at least room 315), confronts the only young operative smart enough to have figured out her game. Agent Bryson was beautiful with her head cocked like that, reaching out to speak to her in the middle of a spot turn. Her laid-back smile and well-practised assertiveness graced her with a radiance under the Great Northern’s chandeliers that was just her own. The bar had been raised and Audrey would have to step up to the challenge.

“I want to become a special agent!” Side step.

“How's that for charming! Well well, girl, first thing is, you've got to be special!” Turn to the left.

“I am!” What, she didn't notice? In some circles, it would be enforceable as a capital offense.

“And that's the spirit!”

Upon further consideration, this sounded disconcertingly like an encouragement.

The bar had, indeed, been raised so high that Audrey had to wonder if that woman, with her drawled laughter that seemed to contain only the purest wonder for humanity in all its infinite contrasts, ever even noticed they were rivals. If she had, she would also have to have developed the thickest skin and an admirable poker face, which was, Audrey supposed, par for the course.

When Denise followed up with the obvious question and inquired about the reasons why she wanted to be a special agent, Audrey knew that she couldn't give up her secret, that residual, fermented dream of a tall, dark and handsome stranger whisking her away from that oppressive trap of a town. It was her hope, and hers alone, for a little while still - just yesterday she thought she could give it up, when she saw Agent Bryson and Agent Cooper effortlessly relating to each other as professionals and peers, cocooned away in an adult world that suddenly felt airtight and out of reach. It was why she kissed him on her way out: it's what you do with dreams, you stand on tiptoes and kiss them goodbye. But the taste of his soft lips under hers wasn't leaving, so for now she did what a girl had to do, juggling heartbreak and a rapidly crumbling life along with vague plans for a future filled with glamour, Martinis and high-stake chases.

This was nobody's business but her own. The other force that pushed her forward, on the other hand… that one could be shared. Its steely, bitter taste would be on everyone's lips soon enough, anyway.

“I want to beat my nemesis.” Keep a secret for the next week or so, will you? But the woman felt reliable, and with her drug-busting business over she would be out of town before anyone, especially her father, had the time to blink. “Expose him, right his wrongs and drive far away from here in a fast black car.”

“Sounds... legitimate.”

The song's end was followed by a short applause from three elderly guests, who then requested a good old waltz like they played back in the day. “Geezers. Do you think one of them will ever manage to talk about waltz without humming the first bars of The Blue Danube?”

Denise shrugged, lost in thought. Had Audrey struck a chord? Where did she run away from in a fast car? The words I can't believe you were ever my age were coming up easy on her tongue, but the deja vu would give her vertigo. So they moved to a table, got two cokes, and when Denise spoke again, the topic was college, and big cities, bright, fast and alluring, and nemeses, which are a thing that happens to the best of us. Then beauty marks, and what the Chinese had to say about them - near the eyebrow, as far as Denise could remember, meant wealth, intelligence, creativity and strained relationships with family members, which sounded about right. And then Dale Cooper, whom Denise remembered from several years back as the awkward, green, weird agent who saved her life with a submachine gun and grenades, the exact number of which was lost to the mists of time. When she met him again the other day, she concluded, she was charmed to attest that hey, one out of three still applied.

Here's one for vertigo: in the distant past she evoked, her special agent was already ahead of her now. The distance between them grew fixed points, each one as unreachable as the previous: no matter how fast she tried to play catch up, she would remain the Achilles to a distant tortoise. And this is why she would rather have math stay the hell away from her life.

The other half of her family legacy eventually caught up with her. It wasn't intended - sounding like Sylvia never was. Marking her territory, propping herself up with the weight of her connections (because clearly, the anecdote she was telling would have suffered from failing to mention that her friend's husband was a rich neuropsychologist with several papers to his name) only ever managed to make her mother sound crass, sad and worst of all transparent, and yet. Her she was, listening to her own voice add to an altogether pleasant conversation that - in case Denise hadn't noticed - she, too, had free access to Dale Cooper's room.

The older woman grinned, like she'd been waiting for that particular penny to drop.

“You too, eh?”

“Too?” Audrey bit her lip. Where was their newfound truce going?

“Baby, let's play a game. It's called Who in this room did not develop a soul-rending crush on Dale Cooper and the rules are very simple, you look around and tell me who in this room did not develop a soul-rending crush on Dale Cooper…”

Admittedly, that got a chuckle out of her. She must have had this coming - she did, after all, see her go up to the man himself and kiss him in a fit of frustration, and waiting for Audrey to bring up the topic herself before roasting her was a nice gesture. Maybe even respectful. Like Cooper was.

“That married woman there looks happy with her husband…”

“And that has stopped anyone since when? She took a photo of him the other day, for keepsake once they check out of here.”

This warranted an indignant gasp: “Agent Bryson!”

“Speaking of pictures of our golden boy, look, that girl in the corner with the expensive camera plans to sell hers. A thriving business, I'm sure. But she is gonna keep the best one for herself.”

“What about the man carrying an oar?”

“You can tell by the way he cuddles his coffee. You know he didn't do it before coming here.”

“Don't tell me that the waltz geezers…”

“...are reminded of the movie stars of yesteryear. Hard as it may be to believe, all that hair wax was fashionable at some point in human history.”

“It can't be the woman painting a deer either, she has just ordered her third slice of cherry pie…”

“...and the boy with a crutch just has those stars in his eyes. You know the ones.”

Yes, yes she did. They went on to point at Trudy, at Louie over in the corridor, at each other, at the very furniture of the hall. Denise's laughter was genuine - Audrey found out that so was hers. From the very beginning, her love for her special agent had been secluded and pure, blossoming in a bubble shared just by the two of them, inebriating, ultimately suffocating. This was a breach. The world was seeping in. Audrey could breathe.

[foursproutwealth-blog]

Musk Admits "Mistake" After Report Suppliers Flood Tesla With "Flawed or Damaged" Parts

New Post has been published on http://foursprout.com/wealth/musk-admits-mistake-after-report-suppliers-flood-tesla-with-flawed-or-damaged-parts/

Musk Admits "Mistake" After Report Suppliers Flood Tesla With "Flawed or Damaged" Parts

In addition to being plagued by intensifying criticism of the company, it looks as though two other sets of “cut corners” are coming back to bite the company, leaving it dealing with an above average amount of defective parts and causing self proclaimed fans of the company to refer to their certified pre owned program as a “scam”. 

On Friday afternoon, CNBC released an scathing report detailing that a large portion of parts supplied to Tesla to manufacture vehicles with has been substandard or defective. The article stated:

Tesla is struggling to manage and fix a significant volume of flawed or damaged parts from its suppliers, sending some to local machine shops for rework, according to several current and former Tesla engineers. The company said it also makes adjustments to the design of some parts after receiving them from suppliers.

It continues: 

All automakers have to deal with some amount of defective or damaged parts, both from their own factories and from suppliers. But, as previously reported, current and former employees say that Tesla experiences a higher rate of defects than industry norms. A significant number of flawed parts, and parts in need of design changes, also come from Tesla’s suppliers, they said.

The reason for the large number of defective parts? Spending less time to vet suppliers, according to company employees. 

Current and former employees from the company’s Fremont, Calif. and Sparks, Nevada factories blame Tesla for spending less time to vet suppliers than is typical in auto manufacturing. These people said the company failed to comprehensively test “variance specs” with some vendors before embarking on Model 3 production.

Ultimately, it’s Tesla lack of experience and scramble to get a car to market that is leading to the pile up in defects, which will end up crushing the company’s “quality control” reputation, as the following episode suggests:

Auto manufacturing expert Steve Finch, a former GM plant manager with about 40 years of industry experience, said automakers typically deal with some flawed parts from suppliers. Finch said that mass-market car companies normally will take a year or more to vet a prospective supplier. This is to ensure the supplier’s factory follows ISO quality management standards and other processes that are on par with the automaker’s own.

Former and current employees said Tesla took less time before signing on new suppliers. Tesla employees tasked with vetting suppliers were also not always experienced with ISO quality management standards, said these people.

The company predictably came out and said that this would not impact Model 3 production, but it’s another brick in the wall of nasty headlines for the company that, so far over the last month, has dealt with Model 3 production delays, a public feud with the NTSB and growing pressure on the company and its CEO to generate cash.

Elon Musk also responded, and just hours after he assured investors overnight in a Tweet that the company would be cash flow positive for Q3 and Q4, the build up of negative press prompted the Tesla CEO to address the negative CNBC report, with a rare tweet in which he admitted he had made a mistake:

Yes, excessive automation at Tesla was a mistake. To be precise, my mistake. Humans are underrated.

Yes, excessive automation at Tesla was a mistake. To be precise, my mistake. Humans are underrated.

— Elon Musk (@elonmusk) April 13, 2018

  Not only that – but Tesla is starting to give other indications that it is stretched very thin – and that this leads to cutting certified pre-owned vehicle corners. Yesterday, Electrek wrote an article detailing ugly new changes to the company’s certified preowned checklist procedures, including the company no longer taking care of cosmetic details, which the article refers to as “refurbishing”:

Now the company has updated its policy and some new cars coming on Tesla’s list of used vehicles have this ‘Not Refurbished’ warning that reads:

“This car has passed a 70-point mechanical inspection and will be cleaned before delivery. If you would like any additional work that is not covered under your warranty, we can help arrange service after delivery for an added cost.”

Tesla salespeople have been telling buyers that the automaker is still making sure that the vehicles are up to their standards for the warranty, but they are not fixing cosmetic issues anymore.

These changes come a time where the company is about to receive a massive inflow of vehicle inventory from three-year leases that started in 2015:

Tesla has changed its ‘certified pre-owned’ (used) vehicle policy this week to stop “refurbishing” its used cars just ahead of them receiving a big influx of vehicles as more 3-year leases are ending. The automaker had launched the program 3 years ago and it has been tuning it over the last two years.

Previously, certified preowned Tesla vehicles not only underwent a inspection to check the mechanics and operation of the vehicle, but they also underwent a cosmetic clean up. The cosmetic cleanup always seemed like an absolute necessity, especially given the fact that Tesla buyers are actually unable to view pictures of the certified preowned vehicles that they’re purchasing:

The cars with this new warning still don’t have real pictures of the actual vehicle, but instead only renderings of the vehicle’s configuration.

Tesla told Electrek that they are soon going to make it easier to request real pictures of listed vehicles.

The change comes as Tesla is getting more and more used vehicles, especially after 3-year leases from 2015 when Tesla started ramping up production significantly and also making strides with its leasing program.

On top of that, the company is still selling these vehicles at premium prices, which the Elecktrek article hilariously calls “value retention”:

With the increased inventory and the lack of “refurbishing”, a decrease in price would be expected, but Tesla used vehicles have historically been very good at value retention.

And it wouldn’t be a Tesla story without the company contradicting itself and salespeople saying whatever they need to – despite these policy changes – to move vehicles out the door, as the Electrek author experienced himself:

Even though I couldn’t see real pictures of the car because there were only renderings online, a salesperson pushed me to order it anyway by telling me that they were going to fix any significant cosmetic imperfections as part of the refurbishing process.

It made a lot of sense to me so I confirmed the order, which at the time I was told can’t be canceled but if I refuse delivery, they will find me another car.

Now, if they only fix mechanical issues and not cosmetic ones, that becomes a problem.

The notion that one of the worlds “most innovative technology companies“ can’t show you a photo of a car you’re buying before you buy it is insanity, even to the degree that some Tesla supporters are starting to take exception with the process, as detailed in a March 12 post by user on the Tesla Motors Club forum. This user who describes himself as someone who “loves Tesla”, unleashed a firestorm of criticism towards the company and its certified preowned program when he took possession of his Tesla, stating:

Next day, in the sunlight, I had a better look at the car. and thats when I realized just how bad the car’s condition is. 

Issues: – Headliner in TERRIBLE condition, Truly disgusting – Steering wheel leather has what appears to be permanent damage. Maybe its just  – Blemish / paint chip on the front of the hood – Leather seats have dark streaks of what looks like oil / grease stains – Dirt and gravel pretty much everywhere. – The rear trunk center storage compartment (requires lifting the trunk floor) has dirt and gravel, some weird clothing item, and most revoltingly a dental hygiene tool (an interdental floss — is it used?? I hate to even consider the thought)  – Headliner is peeling and coming off in a couple of areas – Center console has 2 deep gouges in it. 

Other issues: – BT audio connectivity SUCKS ( i have had to do a soft reset a total of 9 times now in 5 weeks).  – Wheels need alignment. The autopilot blue steering wheel looks funny at an 11 o’clock position when driving in a straight line. 

In addition, he posted photos of how dirty the vehicle was and some of the cosmetic issues.

He ended his rant saying he’ll never do business with Tesla again and calling the car a “dirt pile”:

I don’t know what to think about the whole thing. But I will definitely never buy CPO from Tesla again, and quite frankly I am questioning whether I should ever buy another Tesla at all.  For $70K I would have bought a very nice beamer, and would have received excellent customer service from a very reputable auto maker. 

I paid $70K for a car that, and lets all be honest with each other here, is severely lacking on the inside. But, we are all ok with it because it drives amazing, and we all buy into the company and its mission as a whole. For me though, this touchy feely crap only goes a certain distance. Once I started getting treated like dirt, and spent my commutes alongside a lot of dirt, reality set in that I’ve been conned. 

I would still love to be able to get my money back and give this dirt pile back.

You can read the entire horror story here. 

Even the Electrek article, despite trying to put a rosier tone on it, also ultimately wind up being critical of the company’s program:

Tesla says that they will have pictures on request, but that sounds like a hassle to me. I get that they want buyers to reach out to them and create a connection with them, but people like to browse online for used cars and they want to see the real thing and not just renderings.

It sounds like Tesla wants to have a higher turnover for used cars just as higher volumes are expected to come in the next months and years.

This is an interesting surprise, given that Electrek is usually a source for all things bullish when it comes to Tesla.

This all comes on the back of news out this morning that Tesla “withdrawing” voluntarily from the recent NTSB investigation may not have been accurate, and rather, the company may have been removed from the investigation by the NTSB, a far cry from what the company has stated:

Late Wednesday, the electric-car maker released a statement implying it had withdrawn from the investigation on its own accord, while still providing technical assistance to government investigators.

“Tesla withdrew from the party agreement with the NTSB because it requires that we not release information about Autopilot to the public, a requirement which we believe fundamentally affects public safety negatively,” the company said. “We believe in transparency, so an agreement that prevents public release of information for over a year is unacceptable.”

However, an official with knowledge of the investigation speaking with Bloomberg News on the condition of anonymity contradicted Tesla’s original claims, saying it was the NTSB which removed Tesla from the investigation. The source said Tesla’s removal was conveyed to CEO Elon Musk in a “tense” conversation, and that a formal announcement is expected later Thursday.

So much of what has held up Tesla up as an investment and as a company that can do business is the continued assumption that they make a superior product and that the company story of eventually being able to turn profitable remains intact. The consequences of a broader narrative changing could be catastrophic. With regard to the CPO program changes, the first comment after the Elecktrek article sums it up:

Buying “new” cars sight unseen / no test drive is not a problem (I’ve done it 3 times). But, used Non-Refurbished No Pictures? No guarantees? At a premium? They’re out of their mind. As a super Elon / Tesla fanboy – first time I have been disappointed.

Given that it appears that the sell side has given up on the company of late and that production problems were “worse than [Elon Musk] thought”, as he stated yesterday, is it possible that a much larger sentiment shift could be in the wind for Elon Musk and Tesla?

[stoneheartedblog-blog]

82

I took the morning off yesterday to fix the car and get a couple things done that needed daylight before the storm. Thankfully the car was a cheap solution and we’ll slot in the oil change for next pay. I’ll be amping up my game on the car maintenance. It’s my responsibility and not having a reliable car is pretty disconcerting. This shouldn’t be something she has to worry about at all.

I was a little apprehensive climbing a ladder to fix the drain-spout and take down the Xmas lights, but it had to be done. While my ankle seems to be mostly okay, my knee is faltering a bit. My trainer strapped it at the gym last night, but it’s still feels loose and clunky.

Anyway.. ready for the rainstorm this weekend.

The afternoon at work was a needless waste of my time. I had to attend a meeting that had very little to do with me and there was conflict among some of the attendees. It got quite uncomfortable.

I did have an interesting conversation with one of my staff about generational differences. He was in a chatting state and was all over the place, but the it was good to get an understanding of how he sees the world. 

One of his observations was about the impossibility of boredom in this age. He actually said “kids today”. He’s right and I’d been thinking about the stoic art of doing nothing and being present. On purpose. Today, doing nothing means wasting time on addictive technology. Doing nothing doesn’t mean thinking or being creative. Doing nothing mean wasting time.

He’s a dad and an empathetic person. I love his passion for things. Even though he wasn’t focused today, he can be at times really tuned in. If only I could bottle some of that energy up. I see some of that same in our son, but he’s a little more introverted and expresses his passions differently. A well-considered outlook on life pays dividends. I wish I spent more of my younger years being more deliberative about my life goals. I took a backseat role too often.

It’s not too late to change that though. And that’s part of the journey I’m on. This is bigger than my marriage (that relationship is paramount), but tuning in to other people and to my own ambitions to actually get shit done is what will make my life have value. My wife said to me last week(?) that my obituary would read all about the things I intended to do and not the things I did and the impact I had on others. She’s bang on and that resonates with me.

I don’t want to waste any more time. I will do the things I say are important. I will tune in and engage with people. But when I’m doing nothing, it will be with mindful purpose. 

That was the mindset I was in when I got home yesterday.

She was not in a great frame of mind and she said as much. As I mentioned yesterday, she’s not really at her best. After me being home for a month and disrupting her routine, our relationship up-and-downs, the major life-change of quitting smoking, the chronic pain, and the deepening of what is likely full-on seasonal affective disorder. The glacial progress on our money woes doesn’t help either. It’s all adding up to her feeling a bit lost and unfocused. She’s struggling with daily housework and a looming crafting deadline. That’s the wolf at the door and she’s on it. When we talked about it, she admitted she was struggling. I asked her if we needed to rejig responsibilities. She said she didn’t know.

She has a good friend that she talks to everyday and that grounds her a bit. She’s got a plan and I’m sure that any funk she’s in, she’ll crawl out of. It’s a process. I still worry about her though. It’s a short path to depression.

Her ability to project manage is outstanding and it plays well into her competitive nature. The irony is not lost on me that I’m the certified PM who is terrible at the practice. She’s a natural and going deep on a deadline strengthens her. So if the crafting project galvanizes her and she builds strength around that, who am  I to argue?

The thing I have to keep in mind is that I can’t go to ‘handling mode’ like she’s made of glass. I can’t let her go adrift either. Oh, and I can’t keep being a dick.

The princess doesn’t need to be rescued; she can do that shit herself. She just needs to know you’ve got her back when shit gets real.

I cranked up some chicken-fried-rice for supper and we went to do a couple Pokemon raids before I went to the gym. We didn’t really have the gas to do the original plan-- we might this evening.

After the gym, I was pretty zonked. I think I had a little CNS fatigue hitting me and had a few zone out moments. By the time I got out of the tub, there wasn’t much left of the evening. We had our usual-- popcorn and BBT. I think she ended up staying up later than she intended.

I don’t expect her to be in a better mindset this evening. It’s a dark damp day and she’ll be housebound. Pokemon and some couchy sexy-times might be just the ticket for both of us-- get some of the good vibes going and put a shit-kicking into the negative stuff.

[thefredizone]

all of them? ;)

Look,,,, why do any of you take me seriously i hate you thanks xxxx this is gonna be the last well formatted section i hope u know that.  @lgbtposts here u mcfuckin go

200: My crush’s name is: probs amy but im trying for that to not be the case rn199: I was born in: Blackburn, 1999.198: I am really: fuckin cool197: My cellphone company is: EE196: My eye color is: blue195: My shoe size is: I mostly wear sixes but im actually between a 4 and a 5.5194: My ring size is: i dont fuckin know i dont even know my bra size193: My height is: see above192: I am allergic to: pollen191: My 1st car was: nonexistent190: My 1st job was: in a shop189: Last book you read: fuckin hell thats a throwback and a half. Probs The Rest Of Us Just Live Here188: My bed is: warm187: My pet: dogs186: My best friend: either Katie or Beef xx185: My favorite shampoo is: not a shampoo but Snow Fairy184: Xbox or ps3: PS4183: Piggy banks are: lame182: In my pockets: washed paper and probably a lighter181: On my calendar: who the fuck has a calendar180: Marriage is: for lame-os and i want to be a lame-o one day179: Spongebob can: go away178: My mom: is boring177: The last three songs I bought were?: probs this good robots album who pays for music. 176: Last YouTube video watched: Phils new one175: How many cousins do you have? None that i know of, my mam has loads with kids so i call them cousins but theyre some other convoluted thing174: Do you have any siblings? aye173: Are your parents divorced? aye172: Are you taller than your mom? aye171: Do you play an instrument? aye170: What did you do yesterday? fuck all, pretedned to write an essay mostly. played some overwatch[ I Believe In ]169: Love at first sight: aye168: Luck:aye167: Fate:aye166: Yourself:nah165: Aliens: i want to believe164: Heaven: aye163: Hell: of course,, thts my life ha ha ha162: God: nah161: Horoscopes: sure 160: Soul mates: totally159: Ghosts: why not158: Gay Marriage: Comme une lesbienne, je suis partial. 157: War: what is it good for156: Orbs: why not, idk what this means tho155: Magic: nah[ This or That ]154: Hugs or Kisses: kisses153: Drunk or High: either or, never together. rn probs high152: Phone or Online: online151: Red heads or Black haired: Cherry Red like party mcfuckin poison i love them150: Blondes or Brunettes: probs brunette149: Hot or cold: hot148: Summer or winter: summer147: Autumn or Spring: autumn146: Chocolate or vanilla: vanilla145: Night or Day: night144: Oranges or Apples: apples143: Curly or Straight hair: straight142: McDonalds or Burger King: Mcdonalds141: White Chocolate or Milk Chocolate: White140: Mac or PC: PC139: Flip flops or high heels: Heels138: Ugly and rich OR sweet and poor: Ugly and rich fo sure137: Coke or Pepsi: pespi136: Hillary or Obama: obama135: Burried or cremated: set me the fuck on fire134: Singing or Dancing: singing133: Coach or Chanel: what the fuck are those132: Kat McPhee or Taylor Hicks: idk131: Small town or Big city: city130: Wal-Mart or Target: targe129: Ben Stiller or Adam Sandler: neither128: Manicure or Pedicure: get away from me,, leave my nails alone127: East Coast or West Coast: east126: Your Birthday or Christmas:christmas125: Chocolate or Flowers: flowers,, but living ones. plants. 124: Disney or Six Flags: disney123: Yankees or Red Sox: neither[ Here’s What I Think About ]122: War: use your words121: George Bush: go away120: Gay Marriage: gay119: The presidential election: fuck off118: Abortion: dont want one dont mcfuckin get one117: MySpace: dead116: Reality TV: boring115: Parents: eh114: Back stabbers: bye113: Ebay: amazons shitty cousin112: Facebook: boring but i use111: Work: kill me110: My Neighbors: named their kid the same as me fuck off shouting her name109: Gas Prices: idk i dont pay attention stop using crude oil108: Designer Clothes: i cant afford that shit107: College: cool106: Sports: not cool 105: My family: eh104: The future: *screaming at the void*

[ Last time I ]103: Hugged someone: Rosies mam on tuesday lmao102: Last time you ate: popcorn rn101: Saw someone I haven’t seen in awhile: uh idk maybe morgan when i last saw them at lloyds?100: Cried in front of someone: probs katie during my Major Breakdown of february99: Went to a movie theater: fuckin civil war i dont go to the cinema98: Took a vacation: florida, 201497: Swam in a pool: summer 201696: Changed a diaper:never95: Got my nails done: pre-mothers wedding94: Went to a wedding:mothers wedding93: Broke a bone: never92: Got a peircing: septum in november91: Broke the law: i smoked weed a couple of weeks back90: Texted: rn[ MISC ]89: Who makes you laugh the most: beef88: Something I will really miss when I leave home is: my bed and or dogs87: The last movie I saw: ¾ of the green mile86: The thing that I’m looking forward to the most: leavers85: The thing im not looking forward to: c2 on wednesday84: People call me: kyra83: The most difficult thing to do is: live82: I have gotten a speeding ticket: nah81: My zodiac sign is: aquarius80: The first person i talked to today was: Amy79: First time you had a crush: i was like, 878: The one person who i can’t hide things from: beef77: Last time someone said something you were thinking: beef rn76: Right now I am talking to: ally, morgan, amy.75: What are you going to do when you grow up: be a skience74: I have/will get a job: in science73: Tomorrow: never comes72: Today: sleep71: Next Summer: screaming70: Next Weekend: get10 smashed for leavers ayyyyy69: I have these pets: 2 dog ,, revel n jack jack 68: The worst sound in the world: poorly tuned violin being played very poorly67: The person that makes me cry the most is: amy r i p 66: People that make you happy: hannah hart, beef, keg65: Last time I cried: last night64: My friends are: fuckin lovely63: My computer is: shitty62: My School: sux61: My Car: doesnt exist60: I lose all respect for people who: are bigots59: The movie I cried at was: pride58: Your hair color is:blonde ( 4 now)57: TV shows you watch: watching through friends and yoi rn. just started futurama, putting off watching greys56: Favorite web site: dont got one55: Your dream vacation: flo rida to new york gay road trip54: The worst pain I was ever in was: brace pain 53: How do you like your steak cooked: medium rare52: My room is: grey, green and a mess51: My favorite celebrity is: hannah hart  (ilhsm)50: Where would you like to be: somewhere sunny49: Do you want children: aye48: Ever been in love: probs idk anymore i think so47: Who’s your best friend: Beef or Keg46: More guy friends or girl friends: girls45: One thing that makes you feel great is: Validation44: One person that you wish you could see right now: beef probs she could do with a hug43: Do you have a 5 year plan: bitch i dont even have a 5 minute plan42: Have you made a list of things to do before you die: nah41: Have you pre-named your children: nah. but i like Atlas40: Last person I got mad at: myself lol39: I would like to move to: canadia38: I wish I was a professional: science[ My Favorites ]37: Candy: skittles36: Vehicle: cool motorbikes35: President: obmam34: State visited: florida33: Cellphone provider: EE32: Athlete: a what now31: Actor: chris pratt30: Actress: uh probs scarjo dont come for me i love her voice in her ok29: Singer: Miley cyrus atm28: Band: mcr27: Clothing store: fuckin love asda me26: Grocery store: fuckin love aldi25: TV show: atm yoi24: Movie: Her23: Website: idk22: Animal: Tapir21: Theme park: Busch gardens or however the fcku you spell it20: Holiday: xmas19: Sport to watch: rugby18: Sport to play: a who now17: Magazine: i secretly love vogue16: Book: either wicdiv or killjoys15: Day of the week: saturday14: Beach: south shields13: Concert attended: fiatc,, i touched his butt12: Thing to cook: pasta11: Food: pasta10: Restaurant: deanos9: Radio station: kerrang8: Yankee candle scent: vanilla7: Perfume: theres an Alexander Mcqueen one that was designed to smell like sex but i love it anyway6: Flower: orchid5: Color: pink4: Talk show host: gotta say ellen for the lesbians3: Comedian: fight me i like jimmy car2: Dog breed: i love all doggos1: Did you answer all these truthfully? idk i think so

[fesahaawit]

Thoughts on Owning a Lexus After 9 Months

Ever wondered what type of cars us financial bloggers drive? If so, you’re in for a treat today :)

My man MP from MustachianPost.com just collected data from over 20 different bloggers on what they’re riding these days, and why, and was kind enough to let us debut it on Rockstar Finance yesterday. Check it out when you get a chance!

The Cars of Personal Finance Bloggers

Some of the bloggers featured are Joshua Becker from Becoming Minimalist, Brandon from Mad Fientist, Justin from Root of Good, Jesse from YNAB (his car was my favorite surprise, especially considering he founded a budgeting company! ;)), the Financial Samurai, Mr 1500 Days, Paula from Afford Anything, The Frugalwoods, Physician on Fire, and Jason Fieber from Free At 33 – formerly Dividend Mantra.

You may be surprised what frugal people rock ;)

And if you haven’t been reading this blog for more than 9 months, you may be surprised what I drive too. In a nutshell, I went from this:

(1993 “Frankencaddy” – 90,000 miles, fully paid off, side hustle king!)

To this:

[2008 Lexus RX-350, 80,000 miles, car loan]

All in a span of a couple of weeks and totally unplanned, haha… I wrote about the whole thing in depth here (Bye Bye Frankencaddy, Hello Car Payments!), but the short version is that I needed a bigger, more reliable, car as I was taking over responsibility of driving my little nuggets around every day, and out of all the cars we looked at this was the only one that *excited me* enough to want to spend any money. I don’t really care about labels or how fancy/expensive things are, but stuff I consume DOES need to make me happy. And as long as I can afford it, it’s fair game.

The beauty of personal finance, eh?

Anyways, it came down to picking up a used minivan or a used luxury car (both around the same price, interestingly enough) and, well, for once I splurged and picked up the fancier one. I did wish I had more time to search for a cheaper and privately owned model vs snatching it from Carmax, but outside of that I’ve surprisingly had little regrets. In fact, I’m actually MORE in love with it than the day I took it home!

It’s been about 9 months now since owning it, so today I thought I’d share my thoughts so far. While hopefully not losing any more of you in the process :)

(The day I blogged about this purchase broke the record for the most unsubscribes ever here! HAH!)

We’ll start with the items that shocked me the most…

#1. A luxury car feels damn good to be in!

I know everyone (including myself) likes to say “a car is just a car and it gets me from point a to point b”, but the truth of the matter is that some just feel nicer to be in! You may not need or want a luxurious ride, but they’re definitely not all made the same. And never again will I assume people are buying them simply for “status.” I know many are, but there’s something to be said about the quality too. I’m just hoping I haven’t screwed myself from ever owning a hoopty again, haha…

#2. I’ve got more swagger than usual.

I don’t know if this will shock you as much as it did me, but I actually feel more confident riding around in this thing. I don’t know why that is, and I know I probably shouldn’t, but in all honestly I do. I just feel GOOD driving it around town, and even more so when I step into it for the first time of the day! Now granted, I also felt pretty pimp’ish rolling out in my Caddy too, but there’s a nuanced difference in the type of swaggership going on here, haha… How do you put a cost on that when factoring stuff in? ;)

#3. My charitable giving has skyrocketed

Tell me the truth: if you see a fancy car rolling up to a street corner and a homeless man is there asking for money and the driver turns a blinds eye, what’s the first thought that goes through your mind? Be honest! Mine? “What an a-hole!” “You can afford that car but can’t afford to dish out a few dollars? Come on now….”  Haha… Now what if this same car that rolled up was a beater? ;)

Obviously there are a TON of factors as to why someone does or doesn’t give out money, and I’m clearly in no position to judge, but for me personally, I just find it MUCH harder to *not* give when I’m sitting in a car that’s not at all a necessity. And if I had to guess, I’d say my charitable given has at least tripled since buying this car. Whether on the street corners or in life in general. Who would have guessed that??

In fact, this same period of ownership has also seen me finally get our philanthropy project up and running too after all these years!! Which has already helped give out over $5,000! Now perhaps it’s purely coincidental, but then again who knows… All I do know is that I’ve become much more charitable since picking up this ride and it’s nice.

#4. Expensive $hit still breaks :)

Going down to the not-so-shocking list, no matter what car you drive – old, new, expensive, cheap, fancy, boring – all cars require maintenance. Now some are more quality made and will last longer than others, but at the end of the day no car stays alive without some good ol’ TLC.  And not surprisingly, TLC costs a lot more on luxury cars vs standard ones.

I’ve already had to do oil changes, regular scheduled maintenance, and lately all new tires due to some bare threads I knew about when first picking it up, as well as a nice tire popping when some asshat left razor blades in the middle of the road, ugh. All things that come with the territory of car ownership, but all things that cost more typically with a luxury car than not. This area I don’t like so much ;)

(Also – as VIP as they treat you at the Lexus dealerships, and they def. treat you well!, it’s definitely not worth the mark up as I found trying to experience it for the first time… yikes)

#5. Expensive $hit has too many fancy buttons!

If I gave you a dollar for how many times my dang tire pressure light comes on, you’d have $15 already. I’m all for smart technology and keeping me in the loop, but my goodness does it seem a bit too much at times. Anytime the temperature changes drastically that tire gauge goes bananas over here… It even goes off when my *spare* tire needs air! Haha…

I miss the days where I just chalked it up to the car “being old” and carrying about my business ;) Though that’s probably not the smartest route to take either, and leads us to the next thought…

#6. I’m taking MUCH better care of this car than any others.

I’ve only owned one newish car before – a new-to-me Toyota Highlander back in the day, with chrome rims and all! – but even then I only did the bare minimum and was stressed any dang time new car repairs needed to be done. Which actually tells you something good right there – if you can’t afford the repairs, you can’t afford the car!!

But in this more-mature phase of mine, over 8 years since owning that car, I’m quick to act like an adult now and actually face the music anytime something needs attention. I still cringe every time and don’t enjoy it, but these days the precious cargo I drive around are much more important than the cash. So I suck it up and get stuff taken care of in a more timely manner. I’ve also since learned that I require a mechanic who I can ask a billion and one dumb questions too and not get laughed at! ;) I hate not knowing if I’m getting ripped off or not!

#7. Lots of you reading this right now also have a Lexus RX :)

The last thing I’ve learned was that, despite oodles of people hating me for this and leaving my site,  many others shared that they HAVE THE EXACT SAME CAR!! Which is fantastic! And I appreciate all of you who reached out to tell me so during the apocalypse too. (Though more of you emailed me on the side vs publicly stating it ;))

I started a tally so I could share the total numbers, but it seems I lost it all and could only find one of the messages I saved which coincidentally also came from a $$ blogger! Per Grant from Millennial Money:

“I have a 2007 and I love it. Best car ever. I bought mine off someones lease and it only has 61,200 miles on it. I live in the city and only drive like 1,200 miles a year, so I plan on driving it for at least the next 20+ years! One of my life goes is to never get rid of that car”

BOOM! So frugal or not, it always feels good knowing you’re not alone, haha…

And that’s where we stand at least now with the Lexus experience :) Will I regret it later and come back singing a different tune? Perhaps. But so far so good, and I look forward to seeing how many miles I can rack up on this thing before it runs into the ground…

I’m going for 218,000 so I can bet out the attendees of Camp Mustache! (Nice find, Gwen!)

What car you rollin’ in these days?

********* PS: Here’s that list of bloggers’ cars again if I haven’t scared you away yet: What 21 financial bloggers drive. They’re def. more in line with what you could expect, haha…

Thoughts on Owning a Lexus After 9 Months posted first on http://ift.tt/2lnwIdQ

[heliosfinance]

Thoughts on Owning a Lexus After 9 Months

Ever wondered what type of cars us financial bloggers drive? If so, you’re in for a treat today :)

My man MP from MustachianPost.com just collected data from over 20 different bloggers on what they’re riding these days, and why, and was kind enough to let us debut it on Rockstar Finance yesterday. Check it out when you get a chance!

The Cars of Personal Finance Bloggers

Some of the bloggers featured are Joshua Becker from Becoming Minimalist, Brandon from Mad Fientist, Justin from Root of Good, Jesse from YNAB (his car was my favorite surprise, especially considering he founded a budgeting company! ;)), the Financial Samurai, Mr 1500 Days, Paula from Afford Anything, The Frugalwoods, Physician on Fire, and Jason Fieber from Free At 33 – formerly Dividend Mantra.

You may be surprised what frugal people rock ;)

And if you haven’t been reading this blog for more than 9 months, you may be surprised what I drive too. In a nutshell, I went from this:

(1993 “Frankencaddy” – 90,000 miles, fully paid off, side hustle king!)

To this:

[2008 Lexus RX-350, 80,000 miles, car loan]

All in a span of a couple of weeks and totally unplanned, haha… I wrote about the whole thing in depth here (Bye Bye Frankencaddy, Hello Car Payments!), but the short version is that I needed a bigger, more reliable, car as I was taking over responsibility of driving my little nuggets around every day, and out of all the cars we looked at this was the only one that *excited me* enough to want to spend any money. I don’t really care about labels or how fancy/expensive things are, but stuff I consume DOES need to make me happy. And as long as I can afford it, it’s fair game.

The beauty of personal finance, eh?

Anyways, it came down to picking up a used minivan or a used luxury car (both around the same price, interestingly enough) and, well, for once I splurged and picked up the fancier one. I did wish I had more time to search for a cheaper and privately owned model vs snatching it from Carmax, but outside of that I’ve surprisingly had little regrets. In fact, I’m actually MORE in love with it than the day I took it home!

It’s been about 9 months now since owning it, so today I thought I’d share my thoughts so far. While hopefully not losing any more of you in the process :)

(The day I blogged about this purchase broke the record for the most unsubscribes ever here! HAH!)

We’ll start with the items that shocked me the most…

#1. A luxury car feels damn good to be in!

I know everyone (including myself) likes to say “a car is just a car and it gets me from point a to point b”, but the truth of the matter is that some just feel nicer to be in! You may not need or want a luxurious ride, but they’re definitely not all made the same. And never again will I assume people are buying them simply for “status.” I know many are, but there’s something to be said about the quality too. I’m just hoping I haven’t screwed myself from ever owning a hoopty again, haha…

#2. I’ve got more swagger than usual.

I don’t know if this will shock you as much as it did me, but I actually feel more confident riding around in this thing. I don’t know why that is, and I know I probably shouldn’t, but in all honestly I do. I just feel GOOD driving it around town, and even more so when I step into it for the first time of the day! Now granted, I also felt pretty pimp’ish rolling out in my Caddy too, but there’s a nuanced difference in the type of swaggership going on here, haha… How do you put a cost on that when factoring stuff in? ;)

#3. My charitable giving has skyrocketed

Tell me the truth: if you see a fancy car rolling up to a street corner and a homeless man is there asking for money and the driver turns a blinds eye, what’s the first thought that goes through your mind? Be honest! Mine? “What an a-hole!” “You can afford that car but can’t afford to dish out a few dollars? Come on now….”  Haha… Now what if this same car that rolled up was a beater? ;)

Obviously there are a TON of factors as to why someone does or doesn’t give out money, and I’m clearly in no position to judge, but for me personally, I just find it MUCH harder to *not* give when I’m sitting in a car that’s not at all a necessity. And if I had to guess, I’d say my charitable given has at least tripled since buying this car. Whether on the street corners or in life in general. Who would have guessed that??

In fact, this same period of ownership has also seen me finally get our philanthropy project up and running too after all these years!! Which has already helped give out over $5,000! Now perhaps it’s purely coincidental, but then again who knows… All I do know is that I’ve become much more charitable since picking up this ride and it’s nice.

#4. Expensive $hit still breaks :)

Going down to the not-so-shocking list, no matter what car you drive – old, new, expensive, cheap, fancy, boring – all cars require maintenance. Now some are more quality made and will last longer than others, but at the end of the day no car stays alive without some good ol’ TLC.  And not surprisingly, TLC costs a lot more on luxury cars vs standard ones.

I’ve already had to do oil changes, regular scheduled maintenance, and lately all new tires due to some bare threads I knew about when first picking it up, as well as a nice tire popping when some asshat left razor blades in the middle of the road, ugh. All things that come with the territory of car ownership, but all things that cost more typically with a luxury car than not. This area I don’t like so much ;)

(Also – as VIP as they treat you at the Lexus dealerships, and they def. treat you well!, it’s definitely not worth the mark up as I found trying to experience it for the first time… yikes)

#5. Expensive $hit has too many fancy buttons!

If I gave you a dollar for how many times my dang tire pressure light comes on, you’d have $15 already. I’m all for smart technology and keeping me in the loop, but my goodness does it seem a bit too much at times. Anytime the temperature changes drastically that tire gauge goes bananas over here… It even goes off when my *spare* tire needs air! Haha…

I miss the days where I just chalked it up to the car “being old” and carrying about my business ;) Though that’s probably not the smartest route to take either, and leads us to the next thought…

#6. I’m taking MUCH better care of this car than any others.

I’ve only owned one newish car before – a new-to-me Toyota Highlander back in the day, with chrome rims and all! – but even then I only did the bare minimum and was stressed any dang time new car repairs needed to be done. Which actually tells you something good right there – if you can’t afford the repairs, you can’t afford the car!!

But in this more-mature phase of mine, over 8 years since owning that car, I’m quick to act like an adult now and actually face the music anytime something needs attention. I still cringe every time and don’t enjoy it, but these days the precious cargo I drive around are much more important than the cash. So I suck it up and get stuff taken care of in a more timely manner. I’ve also since learned that I require a mechanic who I can ask a billion and one dumb questions too and not get laughed at! ;) I hate not knowing if I’m getting ripped off or not!

#7. Lots of you reading this right now also have a Lexus RX :)

The last thing I’ve learned was that, despite oodles of people hating me for this and leaving my site,  many others shared that they HAVE THE EXACT SAME CAR!! Which is fantastic! And I appreciate all of you who reached out to tell me so during the apocalypse too. (Though more of you emailed me on the side vs publicly stating it ;))

I started a tally so I could share the total numbers, but it seems I lost it all and could only find one of the messages I saved which coincidentally also came from a $$ blogger! Per Grant from Millennial Money:

“I have a 2007 and I love it. Best car ever. I bought mine off someones lease and it only has 61,200 miles on it. I live in the city and only drive like 1,200 miles a year, so I plan on driving it for at least the next 20+ years! One of my life goes is to never get rid of that car”

BOOM! So frugal or not, it always feels good knowing you’re not alone, haha…

And that’s where we stand at least now with the Lexus experience :) Will I regret it later and come back singing a different tune? Perhaps. But so far so good, and I look forward to seeing how many miles I can rack up on this thing before it runs into the ground…

I’m going for 218,000 so I can bet out the attendees of Camp Mustache! (Nice find, Gwen!)

What car you rollin’ in these days?

********* PS: Here’s that list of bloggers’ cars again if I haven’t scared you away yet: What 21 financial bloggers drive. They’re def. more in line with what you could expect, haha…

Thoughts on Owning a Lexus After 9 Months published first on http://ift.tt/2ljLF4B