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total-dxmure · 3 months

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✦ INVISIBLE STRING THEORY →【ELLIE WILLIAMS】→ CHAPTER TWO

pairings: modern!marine ellie x reader

summary: the marines didn’t ruin ellie. ellie ruined ellie. after being medically discharged she feels lost. being sent to live with joel is more of a last ditch effort to save her and less of a fun reunion for the father-daughter duo. jackson is worlds different than chicago, but the fresh air and sprawling countrysides are a welcome reprieve. ellie finds herself finding comfort in more than just the change in scenery though. after losing your girlfriend due to an accident you feel as though you’ll never find love again- but that was before meeting ellie williams. the two of you figure out that you have more in common than just the fact that she and your girlfriend were both marines though. tethered by some invisible string, the two of you meeting has to be fate. who would have known that you were the golden ticket to ellie’s recovery?

warnings: eventual smut! lots of tension building and mutual pining. ellie falls first and hard. small town girl meets a frightening, strong ex marine. TW: talk of panic attacks, ptsd episodes and death. come for the ellie smut and stay for the plot and fluff. (A/N: this chapter is just plot/character building. next chapter we're getting to the good stuff)

⬶ previous chapter | next chapter ⤅

The old farm truck rocked back and forth as you made your way up the all-too familiar dirt path, heading in the direction of the greenhouses. You’d already let the hens out to graze and feed and the last thing you had to do before dropping today’s produce off was check on the nurseries.

Johnny Cash’s southern twang hummed gently over the speakers, your well worn-in cassette tape having been the first thing you reached for this morning. The sun had risen just a few hours ago, and after a few cups of much needed coffee you were ready to go.

The caffeine had done the lord's work, having cleared your brain of any anxious background noise. You could actually function when you had tasks at hand. The second you slowed down though… well, that was a different story. You were trying hard not to imagine Abby sitting beside you in the beat-to-hell red pickup, her blonde braid tossed over her shoulder as she stuck her arm out of the window. You used to joke about her being part dog, what with her loving the wind on her face so much. You missed being able to reach out and wrap a stray strand of blonde hair around your finger, only giving it a soft tug when those blue eyes of hers looked at you with a little too much heat behind them.

So instead of looking at the empty passenger seat you busied yourself with turning up the volume, country music crackling over the shot, old speakers. You all but jumped out of the car the second you put the car in park, ready to get your hands dirty and your mind preoccupied.

You couldn’t remember how many times the two of you had snuck off to the greenhouse when your mother had gotten a little too overbearing back when she still lived in the main house with you. There wasn’t a single surface in the old rickety building that abby hadn’t fucked you on or vice versa.

You walked along the rows and rows of seedlings, looking for any sign of water rot or bug infestations. Everything was perfect, every stem and leaf a vibrant green. Tomatoes, all different kinds of summer squash, and beans of every variety; you had the gift of a green thumb. Your father was more than happy to sign his company over to you right before he passed. All five acres of his property belonged to you now, and with that every bit of responsibility had been placed upon your shoulders. You used to resent the fact that you were so young and in charge of so much. Now you were thankful for the constant work. Distractions. You hated seeing your dad’s life work being summed up as a mere distraction, but it was the only thing that got you out of bed in the morning.

Everyone in the family knew that your dad had wanted a boy when your mother’s pregnancy was first announced. It was a family business, the job having been passed down to him by his own father. Still, he had been ecstatic to show you the ropes. Rather than taking up dance or art like most other little girls your age, you spent your free time elbow deep in mud. You wore the bows and fussed over getting new outfits, but overalls were your daily uniform.

You wore a pair even today, your work boots tightly fastened to ward away any unwanted pecks from overprotective mother hens. Today was bound to be monotonous, as it always was. All you had to do was repot a few strawberry plants. Maybe if you were lucky a goat would find a hole in the gate and escape. At least it would give you something to worry about that wasn’t Abby related.

You slunk over towards the sinks, pumping soap into your dirt covered palm to wash off the dirt. You rubbed your hands together to begin lathering but froze when you realized your right hand felt bare. You brushed your thumb against your middle finger only to realize that it was just as you had feared.

Your ring. It wasn’t there.

White hot dread locked your limbs as you turned your hand over, the dainty opal missing from your middle finger. You blinked, hoping that you were just seeing things. You didn’t even turn off the sinks before racing back over to the repotting table, as if the promise ring had grown legs and would escape you. Your eyes frantically searched the table, pain shooting through your knees as you dropped down on all fours, pushing dirt and leaves aside to get a better vantage point. Nothing. It wasn’t there.

“Oh god. No! No, no, no.” You all but screamed, eyes filling with tears as you pulled yourself off.

You broke out into a nervous sweat, the blood rushing from your head. This wasn’t happening. This couldn’t be happening right now.

You didn’t care if you killed the plants, you ripped the strawberries up by their stems, shaking their roots out as you searched their new pots.

Every. Single. One.

Empty.

Abby had given you that ring just before her last deployment, promising that she would be giving you the real thing once she got back. Of course, she never did. It was single handedly the most important piece of jewelry that you had ever owned, even above your grandmother’s pearls and engagement ring. How could you be so reckless? Why hadn’t you thought to leave it in the car?

“Stupid! I’m so fucking stupid!” You screamed, tossing a clay pot on the ground in a fit of anger. It shattered behind you, exploding into a thousand tiny pieces.

You spent an hour sifting through dirt and untangling roots before you finally realized that it was a lost cause. The ring was gone. You’d wrecked the entire greenhouse in your frantic search and the strawberries were just as you expected: dead.

You slammed the door shut behind you, the old window panes shaking with the force. You had barely thrown yourself into the pickup before your body was wracked with full body sobs. White knuckling the steering wheel you leaned your head forward, completely unbothered as the horn blared.

How could you lose something so precious to you? It had been the last gift that you had ever received from Abby. The last. There was no possible way to replace something that was that special to you. Her hands had touched that ring. She’d been nervous to give it to you in the first place, anxious that two years hadn’t been enough time to give you something that sentimental. It was the meaning behind it that had you clutching at your chest, your fingernails digging into your shirt as if you could rip your heart straight out from between your ribs.

She was going to replace that ring once she got back. Give you the “real deal” once she was back home and able to have a ceremony.

But there would never be a ceremony. Never another ring. Never another Abby.

Never. Never. Never.

It felt like you were losing a piece of her, and with that came the revelation- the same one that you’ve already had a thousand times- that she was really gone. There would be no do-overs; no alternate universes where the two of you could be together. The reality of your situation sat heavy in your throat, clogging your airway.

The loss of Abby had eclipsed your heart completely, and darkness was all that was left.

You stayed in the car until your eyes had practically swelled shut and there were no more tears to shed.

The car ride back to her childhood home was completely silent, the only sound being the engine of Joel’s shiny new truck. She did her best to compliment him on the new purchase, but Ellie was sure that she didn’t sound even half as enthusiastic as she had hoped she would. She didn’t feel like being an actress today. Not when he already knew how bad she was doing. Joel had taken one look at her as she got off of the plane and frowned, grabbing her bags only after giving her a bone shattering side hug.

“Well I missed ya,” He finally spoke, causing her to jump in surprise. The sound of his baritone voice soothed her nerves over though. “I’ve really missed you annoyin’ the hell outta me at all hours of the day.”

Ellie cracked a small smile at that, leaning her head into the plush leather seat. The last time she saw Joel was when she had first been transferred to the Kindred Hospital back in Chicago, which was where she had rotted away for a full week. Her eye and face healed up quickly but her back was a different story. She’d been burned badly and had all of the nasty scars to prove it. He had stayed by her bedside for the entire week and had helped her to readjust to being back home in her apartment. The nearly debilitating pain was the only thing that had distracted her from the gravity of her situation back then.

Her therapist said it was normal to disassociate for long periods of time when the body and mind are put under so much stress. Ellie still felt like Ellie back then, but it was only because she didn’t have any real grasp on reality. It was just a few days after Joel left that she finally snapped out of it. She was one of the only five that survived. She was told that landmines were the cause of so many deaths in Iraq.

“It happens all the time out there. You didn’t know. It’s not your fault.”

She didn’t want her unit to just be another statistic. They weren’t just numbers. They were people who had loved ones at home. Loved ones that they had to leave for months and months on end. She couldn’t help but shoulder all of the blame. Ellie was the one that had led them out there in the first place. It was her fault, so why hadn’t she died right along with them? She would have considered herself lucky if she had lost her life right along with them. These were the people that she saw daily. Ellie had developed deep friendships with every member of her unit. She knew the details of all of their lives- the names of their children and loved ones back at home, what they wanted to do with their lives once they were dismissed- how could she not feel like someone had ripped her soul to shreds? How could she not constantly remind herself, every second of every goddamn day, that she was the reason.

She was a ghost. A mere shell of the person that she once was and she had no one to blame but herself.

“I didn’t know you liked me being annoying so much,” Still, she turned to Joel and cracked him a small smile. It was more for his sake and less for hers though. “I’ll make sure to turn it up a notch while I’m here.”

The older man grumbled, shaking his head slightly as he kept his eyes on the country roads in front of him. “That sounds like a threat.”

Ellie could tell that he was playing with her. They were professionals when it came to teasing each other, often to the point that people thought that they were seriously bickering. The short haired female let herself settle into the normalcy of the moment. He hadn’t mentioned anything about the accident or her mental state yet, so it was easy to pretend that things were still…okay.

So that’s exactly what she did. She began to pretend. Ellie allowed herself to be transported back in time. This was just another Tuesday. She’d get back home and sweet talk Joel into cooking her an after school snack. Then she’d go up to her room and procrastinate doing her homework so that she could reread one of her comics.

“Got anything good in here?” Ellie asked before opening up the center console. “I’m not gonna find anything nasty, am I?”

Joel’s lips pursed as he tried to fight off a smile. “Don’t go rifflin’ through my shit, kiddo.”

Her eyes snagged on a familiar purple book, and for the first time in a while something yawned to life in her chest. Joy.

“What do we have here?” She pulled out the book of puns, using it to fan herself before she cracked the bad boy open.

“Ah, don’t start.” He groaned.

She didn’t take the time to wonder why he had put the well loved book in his brand new truck. Instead of allowing herself to be overcome with endearment she flipped to a random page, her lips turning up in the first genuine smile she’d had in months.

“Where can you find a tiny coke?” She asked him, turning in her seat so that she could face him, tucking one of her converse-clad feet underneath her.

“Hey! Get your dirty shoes off of my new upholstery!” Joel reached over and gave her knee a slap.

Ellie reared back, holding the book of puns tight to her chest.

“Come on, try and guess.”

He groaned, rolling his eyes as he leaned his arm against the door.

“I don’t know… tiny town.”

Her nose wrinkled, an eyebrow quirking up at his half assed answer.

“Shitty guess, but alright.” She mumbled under her breath. “Mini-soda.”

“Hilarious.” He said sarcastically, turning onto the familiar drive.

“I think I saw you smile though.”She leaned over to give his cheek a poke, but he swiftly batted her hand away.

The truck’s all-terrain tires crunched over the gravel driveway, revealing the only real home she’d ever lived in. The house and yard looked exactly the same as it had whenever she was a teenager. She sighed out a breath of relief, not knowing how much well she would have handled any sort of severe change. Ellie opened the passenger side door before Joel had a chance to put the car in park, eager to settle in after the flight. She wanted to shower, and that surprised her a bit. A welcome surprise.

Maybe things would be better for her here.

“You didn’t turn my old room into some perverted sex dungeon while I was gone, did you?” She teased as she grabbed her tan duffel bag, easily tossing it over her shoulder as she bounded up the stairs.

He laughed as a response, following close behind her so that he could unlock the front door. She didn’t know why he even bothered. He lived in the middle of nowhere, and they rarely got visitors.

“I’ve got some guitars in there that are worth a fortune.” He’d told her the last time she’d asked.

It had been one of the few times that Ellie had snuck out of the house after curfew. She’d been unable to haul herself back into her second story window once she’d gotten back home and had been forced to sleep in the beat up old hatchback that he had bought her for her sixteenth birthday. Breakfast that morning had been… tense, to say the least.

“I didn’t touch your room… but I did get a dog, so make sure not to let her out.”

She paused at that, turning to look at him with wide eyes. There had been a strict “no animals” rule back when she lived with him. She never thought she’d see the day where Joel Miller would adopt a pet, let alone a dog.

“You got a dog?” She was still in disbelief and half expected him to fucking with her.

“Buckley is a good boy. He shits on the floor sometimes and barks all hours of morning though. It’s almost like having you home.” He teased, bumping his shoulder against hers so that he could shove his key into the lock.

The deadbolt clicked open, and low and behold there was a dog. He looked like some sort of lab mix, his pink tongue hanging out of the side of his mouth as he anxiously waited for his owner’s return. Ellie was too excited to come up with a witty response to Joel’s joke. She tossed her duffle down on the couch, quickly getting down on her knees so that she could pet the dog.

“He’s not much of a guard dog, is he?” He asked, closing the door behind him.

The second that Ellie’s hand tangled into his thick black fur he flopped down, eager for love. Ellie smirked, looking at Joel over her shoulder.

“I don’t know. He looks pretty ferocious to me.”

The sudden knock on the door had Ellie’s lips downturning, eyebrows pinching in confusion. She didn’t like the idea of company right now, and the last thing she wanted was to socialize with anyone. For a second she feared that he had called a doctor or therapist to come out to the house to see her. She wasn’t sure if she could take another “come to Jesus” meeting this week, and she was barely holding it together as is. Ellie put her hands on her knees, pushing herself up to stand before she nodded at the door.

“Company?” She simply asked, crossing her arms over her chest.

Joel ignored her obvious distaste, wrenching the door open quickly before she could stop him. It sure as hell wasn’t Tommy. . . and Ellie doubted that most doctors wore overalls, even in Jackson. The sun was beginning to set on the horizon, the golden rays shone through the vast expanse of trees on the property, making it almost look like the world was on fire. The warm glow behind the beautiful stranger made her look ethereal almost, her eyes watery and cheeks flushed. At her feet was a cardboard box packed to the brim with fruits and vegetables. All at once Ellie became startlingly aware of the fact that she looked like absolute hammered shit. Her hair was a frizzy mess, her skin was paler than it had ever been before, and she was wearing an old NASA shirt and dingy sweatpants. If she noticed her disheveled appearance she didn’t show it.

The smile that she beamed in Joel’s direction didn’t quite reach her eyes, and a strange sense of understanding flickered in Ellie’s gaze as she took a few inquisitive steps forward. Ellie Williams knew what suffering was like; true suffering. Looking at her was like looking in a mirror, her well hidden misery plain as day to the auburn haired female.

“Sorry I’m so late, Mr Miller. My truck was giving me problems.” Her voice was beautiful. Melodic in a way that Ellie’s wasn’t.

Spring. . . this girl was spring incarnate.

And she was lying through her teeth.

She’d been crying. Ellie could tell. Still, Joel was already peeking his head out of the door, looking in the direction of where she had parked.

“I could take a look at it for you.” He was being dismissed with a small wave of your hand before he could even get the words fully out.

“That’s so nice of you, but I’ve got it cranking up again. It shouldn’t give me any more trouble today.” Her hair fell off of her shoulder as she leaned down to pick up the box.

Ellie moved forward without thinking, picking up the heavy box for the girl before her fingers could even grip the sides of the cardboard. “Here, let me get it.” She said, craning her neck up so that she could speak directly to the woman.

There wasn’t a single thing about you that Ellie found undesirable. In that moment she was completely certain that you were the most beautiful woman she had ever seen, even with the pain and memory that swirled behind your bright eyes. Their eyes locked, and much to Ellie’s embarrassment, she held her gaze. She watched her with the same sort of silent appreciation.

“-I think it would be good for her. What do you say?” Ellie hadn’t noticed that Joel had been talking the entire time.

The woman blinked a few times, tearing her eyes away from Ellie. “Huh? I’m sorry, do you mind repeating that?” She was nervously tucking a few strands of unruly hair behind her ear, shifting in place on the front porch.

“I was just saying that Ellie is going to be staying out here with me. I think working with you on the farm would be good for her. It would help her to get out of the house, and I know you’ve been pretty busy since it’s just you running things now.” Joel put a hand on Ellie’s shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. Supportive. Non-judgemental. He was reminding her what would be good for her mental state right now, and having something to do with her hands would certainly help to take her mind off of things.

“O-Oh!” The girl’s lips parted in shock, her eyes flickering between the two of them. “Yeah, I don’t see why not. I get a pretty early start though, so don’t feel obligated to wake up as early as I do.”

“I’ll wake up.” Ellie said quickly, nodding her head.

Her words held a tone of desperation and it had Joel’s head whipping around in her direction. He probably wasn’t expecting her to be so supportive of his last minute idea. She couldn’t be sure if it was because she genuinely wanted to get her mind off of things or if the farm girl’s looks had anything to do with her enthusiasm. Ellie couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt drawn to someone like this. Relationships were the last thing on her mind these days.

“Can you start tomorrow?” The other girl asked, shoving her hands into her front pockets.

Adorable. She was adorable. Ellie felt her breath hitch and all she could do was nod as an answer for your question.

“Alright. . . “She began to trail off, backing up a few steps on the porch. It seemed like you were in a bit of a hurry. “I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

“Tomorrow.” Ellie repeated back to her.

She leaned back, lifting the box higher up on her chest so that she could watch the woman get back into her mud stained pickup truck. She only took a step back when Joel started to close the door on her.

“So you’re actually fine with that? I didn’t think you would go for it, honestly.” Joel rubbed at his stubbled chin, flashing her a small smile of approval.

“There’s no way I want to be stuck in a house with your ass all hours of the day.” Ellie quipped, walking to the kitchen so that she could place the vegetables on the countertop.

“I think workin’ there would be good for the both of you. That poor girl has had an awful year. . . I think you’d be good for each other. She needs a friend.” Joel’s voice was somber as he followed her into the kitchen.

Ellie turned to face the older man, swallowing hard as he leaned against the doorway. He was being a bit cryptic. It seemed like he didn’t want to be the one to tell Ellie the girl’s business. Still, she was curious, and she didn’t want to be blind sided tomorrow just in case she wanted to talk about it. Ellie wasn’t usually nosey, but she had a strong urge to get to know her.

“What do you mean by that?” Ellie’s first guess was that she had to be going through some sort of divorce. Joel had mentioned the fact that she was on her own now, so coming to that conclusion was natural.

“No, nothin’ like that,” He cleared his throat before pushing off of the door frame, slowly beginning to unload the box's contents. “She lost her girlfriend and her father this year. She’s the kindest girl. . . you’d never know how much she’s sufferin’ based on how she acts.”

“Oh.” Ellie frowned, having realized that your mourning must be the reason for your sad, sad eyes. She understood how it felt to lose so many people so close together. Better than anyone, really.

“Oh.”

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meridian-park · 2 years

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Prestige Smart City Avalon Park - Upcoming Project In Sarjapur Road

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visit-new-york · 5 months

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What are the key attractions within Brooklyn Bridge Park?

Nestled along the East River with the iconic Brooklyn Bridge as its backdrop, Brooklyn Bridge Park stands as a testament to urban revitalization and green space innovation. This sprawling oasis, spanning 85 acres along the Brooklyn waterfront, offers a harmonious blend of recreational spaces, natural beauty, and stunning views of the Manhattan skyline. As visitors stroll through its well-manicured lawns and engaging attractions, they are treated to an array of experiences that make Brooklyn Bridge Park a must-visit destination. Let's delve into the key attractions that contribute to the allure of this urban gem.

Brooklyn Bridge Promenade:

The park's crowning jewel, the Brooklyn Bridge Promenade, provides an unrivaled vantage point to marvel at the majesty of the Brooklyn Bridge and the Manhattan skyline. As day turns to night, the twinkling city lights create a breathtaking panorama. The promenade offers a serene escape from the city buzz, making it a favorite spot for joggers, cyclists, and leisurely strollers alike.

Pier 1: Harbor View Lawn:

Pier 1 welcomes visitors with the expansive Harbor View Lawn, a lush green space that hosts a variety of events, from outdoor movie nights to yoga classes. The unobstructed views of the Statue of Liberty and the Manhattan skyline make it an ideal spot for picnics, relaxation, and taking in the maritime activity on the river.

Pier 2: Sports and Recreation Hub:

For the sports enthusiasts, Pier 2 is a haven of activity. Basketball and handball courts, roller skating rinks, and even a shuffleboard court cater to diverse interests. Whether you're a seasoned athlete or just looking to enjoy a friendly game, Pier 2 is the place to break a sweat with the Manhattan skyline as your backdrop.

Jane's Carousel:

Nestled in a glass pavilion at the edge of the park, Jane's Carousel is a vintage treasure that adds a touch of nostalgia to Brooklyn Bridge Park. Dating back to 1922, this meticulously restored carousel offers enchanting rides for visitors of all ages. The combination of the beautifully carved horses and the sparkling views of the East River creates a magical experience.

Pier 6: Playgrounds and Picnic Areas:

Pier 6 is a family-friendly haven featuring playgrounds designed to spark the imagination of young adventurers. Water features, climbing structures, and ample seating make this area a hotspot for families. The nearby picnic areas are perfect for a leisurely lunch, providing a chance to recharge amid the park's natural beauty.

Environmental Education Center:

For those seeking a deeper understanding of the local ecosystem, the Environmental Education Center on Pier 1 offers interactive exhibits and educational programs. Visitors can learn about the diverse plant and animal life thriving in and around the park, fostering a sense of appreciation for the environment.

Conclusion:

Brooklyn Bridge Park is a testament to the transformative power of urban planning and community engagement. Its diverse attractions cater to a wide range of interests, making it a destination that resonates with both locals and tourists. As you explore the park's various offerings, you'll find a harmonious blend of recreation, culture, and natural beauty, making Brooklyn Bridge Park a must-visit destination for anyone seeking an enriching and picturesque urban escape.

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wonderfulwonderrful · 4 months

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Grand Prix Elite Academy (2/10) +18 | professor!Toto x reader fem!futuredriver, sewiss, carlos x reader

Summary: Your life turns 360 degrees after receiving your acceptance letter for the Grand Prix Elite Academy, the most exclusive and prestigious Formula One college designed to shape the future drivers of the motorsport world. You will try to navigate your new life among the Monaco elites, survive the campus dynamics and rivalries between the university faculties, and try to win this year's cup to beat an undefeated Mercedes while trying to befriend your eclectic driver classmates, join the wild Red Bull parties, have a couple of make-outs under the racing circuit benches, lose your v-card and get over that stupid crush you have on professor Toto. Will you make it alive to graduation? Drive to Greatness! Genre: Romance, smut, and comedy. Author's note: This is a Formula One college AU fanfiction set in an elite academy in Monaco, where the F1 Teams are Faculties, their Team Principals are professors, the FIA is the college board, and all the grid drivers are your classmates. You are accepted under a scholarship program that supports young, talented girls, having lots to catch on to after years of putting your racing dreams on hold and becoming the new girl in class, which is always challenging, especially when all of you share one campus. Masterlist: all chapters here

Chapter 2: Gone with the Wolff

The sun starts to ascent over Monaco's luxurious skyline in the early hours of the day, casting a golden glow over the buildings.

As you go through the security checkpoint at the campus gates, you feel an intoxicating mix of nerves and excitement brewing in you. Besides feeling like an alien, being the only one there arriving on foot as you watch the endless line of expensive sports cars and SUVs with chauffeurs drive past you and the parking gate.

Today marks the beginning of your journey at the Grand Prix Elite Academy, a heaven where speed and ambition merge.

—You got clearance, miss Y/LN —the muscular security man tells you; stepping out of the security booth, he has a cold and formal attitude and way of speaking. —They need you at the Student Affairs offices. It's on the first floor in the main building —he points towards the large facility down the entrance road. —You need to wear this at all times, no excuses, till your new ID and student badge are ready —he instructs you, handing you a metallic purple "visitor" access badge.

—Oh, thank you.

Stepping for the first time onto the campus grounds, you can't help but feel in awe by the magnificence surrounding you as you pay attention to all the details.

The buildings' architecture combines Monaco's classical style blend with modern facades full of massive glass walls facing the different gardens.

There are many lanes for pedestrians, bicycles, and electric scooters. Beautiful palm trees, flowers, and acres of perfectly maintained green grass complete the view.

The campus is full of energy and student life. People read and work on their computers and tablets in the different sitting areas, which are filled with picnic tables and expensive outdoor furniture. Others lie on the grass, chat in groups, or walk fast to somewhere. People get in and out of the buildings, and many line up in the Starbucks inside campus.

—Y/N! Carlos calls your name from a step on the main building's ample stairs, sitting beside Esteban. Judging by all the students sitting on them, the stairs look like a popular gathering spot.

You start walking on their way while Carlos rushes down to welcome you with a hug, his prince-charming hair flowing in the wind as he reaches you. You two became good friends after spending the Homecoming Gala dancing your asses off and partying with the rest of the group.

—Are you an early bird, too? —you ask him as you bury your face in his shoulder. He smells sweet and floral.

—Not really! Mattia scheduled our faculty meeting in the auditorium at 7 a.m. That Italian is insane! I swear he is constantly testing our sanity, so if you pick "Motor Vehicle Engineering" as a subject, expect those kinds of tricks from him.

That explains why almost everyone on campus right now is wearing red. —How did it go? They didn't ask for my assistance, so I guess I can cross Ferrari off my list —you ask.

—The usual "Winning can't wait! Blah blah, we need to defeat Mercedes, blah blah, I'm not accepting B grades, no exceptions blah blah" sabes? Well, you don't, actually; you are new, haha —he answers, a bit bored.

You laugh at his faux Italian accent as he makes his best Mattia impression. —Very Mario Bros of you. —You joke with him while admiring his expensive-looking Ferrari uniform, a crisp red blazer perfectly tailored to accentuate his fit silhouette, with Ferrari's insignia delicately embroidered on the breast pocket.

Complementing his blazer is a classic white shirt crafted from the finest cotton. Carlos' trousers, also tailored from a deep grey fabric, are paired with Italian leather brogue shoes.

"Gosh, he is so handsome!" You think.

—Still no news, cierto? —he asks you, glancing you down. He notices you are wearing the grey faculty-less, GPEA rookie uniform, as most newbies are.

—No! —you pout. —Have you heard something? The red uniform sure looks beautiful.

—I could ask around; maybe Sebastian can give us info; he is in Student Affairs this year!

—Oh, great! I will ask him myself. I'm about to meet him there. I have to pick up my badge, sign lots of stuff, and get my dorm access.

—This is my number —Carlos bumps his phone with yours. —Text me when you learn who your roommate is! I will give you the receipts and tea.

—Oh! Thanks! Let's hope for the best!

As you make your way inside the main building to the administration floor, you admire the elegant blend of class and innovation.

The hallways hum with the chatter of fellow students, their gossip muffled by the occasional roar of a passing racing car on the nearby track, where free practices occur. That sound makes your blood rush.

Once you arrive at your destination, you knock on the glass doors, which is a bit dumb because they can see you before you step in.

The staff points you to a cubicle, where you find Sebastian Vettel sleeping in his office chair under an Aston Martin jacket. The room's air conditioning makes it feel like a freezer.

You pinch him on the ribs, teasing and waking him, making Seb jump, you little shit!

—Oh, you made it here! Hi! —his kind smile greets you.

—Hi, lazy ass! Ow, did I wake you? —you joke.

—Where is your sorority? We sisters must stand together. Seb gets on his feet and goes to find your badge inside a giant blue plastic container with tons of those. —I also need to take your biometrics, but you must read and sign these first. It's for the use of personal data, etc.

—Sure —you answer as he prints the papers and hands them to you.

—Take your time—he drops himself back on the chair and slides near you.—Did Lewis give you rookies the campus tour yet?

You deny shaking your head.

—Oh! That man! —Seb rubs his forehead, exasperated. —I love him, but he drives me crazy sometimes —Vettel picks up his radio and tries to reach him. —For sure, Carl is still at the gym instead of doing his job! I desperately need to hire him an assistant, he almost forgot his mom's birthday the other day. Thank God I bought her the present in advance! —Seb pushes the signal button once more, waiting for Lewis to pick it up, and he turns to whisper to you. —I heard the new trainer is fucking hot —Vettel raises his eyebrows up and down suggestively several times while grinning.

A couple of beeps come before he starts speaking. —You are still at the gym, aren't you?

Lewis's distorted voice comes through the radio. —Yes, I told you I'm trying this new workout for you, remember? Longer, more lifting required, less cardio. Our hardcore sessions are working wonderfully, my love. Didn't you tell me you love my muscles as much as you love my coc…

—Woa, woa, Y/N is here; she is listening! —Seb quickly interrupts him, and you start to laugh.

—Sorry about that —Seb tells you, a bit red.

—No worries! I feel a little jealous, tho. I wish I had someone; you guys seem very in love.

—You will soon! This place is full of hot and horny people and too many parties and alcohol. Oh! In my good ol' slut days, I used to hook up a lot and be given blowjobs under the benches at the racing circuit.

—I'm still here! —Lewis interrupts, quite amused.

—Lewis, please hurry! This place is enormous, and I have no idea where anything is! I need to pee! Where are the bathrooms?! —you talk to him on the radio before Seb takes your fingerprints.

Your orientation activities begin half an hour later.

Lewis shows up and gathers you rookies in the main lobby, where the collection of trophies and awards of the Academy are displayed in a fancy museum way, as he welcomes you and tells you about the campus and the glorious history of this institution.

You are not surprised to see only ten new students beside you. This place's tuition is so fucking expensive, and it's a niche business.

Soon, you discover that only some people want to become racing drivers; the rest want to be part of the motorsports world and teams. The GPEA curriculum is so vast that it covers everything from team management, aerodynamics, engineering, sports marketing, finances, and more.

Lewis takes you all on tour, on foot, where you dazzle at the display of facilities, from the incredibly modern library, full of study stations, desks, and immersive display computers, to the massive sports center, the place where future champions are getting in shape, it looks like the Olympics inside there; it's a state of the art huge physical training center with the newest and most tech pieces of equipment as well as an extensive swimming pool and a complete wellness center with an upscale spa, massages and sauna included.

Almost all classrooms have ocean views, luxurious and comfy seating, ample desks, and smart boards; everything looks pristine, trendy, and bright.

But the lab! Oh! The lab! It's a wet dream! It's full of the highest-tech simulators, which are to die for. It's the most immersive and authentic experience you've ever seen.

The cafeteria has become your second favorite place. It's the most fabulous room, full of culinary experiences and areas. It's enormous, with high-end restaurants, many to-go options, and several bars serving vegetarian food and healthy snacks.

There is even a juice therapy concept zone that looks interesting!

The nap pods, comfy puffs, slides, lounge areas, and lots of art installations make it an eclectic and chic place.

You also visit the race circuit, garages, and the Mechanics building, where you feel at home. This hallowed ground is where legends are born.

You stand amidst the sleek machines, their vibrant colors and flawless designs are testaments to the craftsmanship and skill that define the racing world.

In that moment, you sense a deep connection forming, a kinship with the machines that would become your companions on this exhilarating journey.

You wish Lewis would let you spend more time there, but he takes you to the dorm buildings, which are basically 5-star hotels.

Your "shared rooms" are bigger than your house. You would describe them as luxurious apartments for two.

The dorm buildings are next to "the social hub," a compound of several establishments (bars, restaurants, and a social club, obviously) located near the marina and harbor. Yatch culture is big there, too!

As Lewis wraps his speech once back in the main lobby, Horner reaches him, whispering something to his ear, patting his shoulder, and then walking towards you.

Your hands shake slightly as he politely lets you know Red Bull is not the faculty for you.

A bit bummed out, you take the elevator up to the last floor, where the main lecture hall is. It's the largest one, and it is reserved for subjects that students of different years and careers share.

It's your first class of the day, and you are in awe of the panoramic view that greets you as you step in. To your left is a sweeping vista of the sprawling race track at a distance, impeccably maintained and stretching toward the horizon. You observe it through the floor-to-ceiling clear crystal panel windows.

As you settle into your first lecture on "Electrical Engineering," conversations flow effortlessly, fueling your collective enthusiasm and igniting friendships as Professor Otmar delivers an exciting class.

Almost by the end of the class, your phone buzzes on your desk as you write memos on your iPad; Leandra texts you to meet them at the "Turn 17 Lounge" in the marina after classes.

Soon, you find yourself surrounded by laughter and the clinking of glasses inside the vibrant, contemporary lounge. It's packed since most students finished their schedules, and it's the first day back.

You sit in the pricey furniture beside your new friends near the chic bar area while enjoying the panoramic waterfront views.

The place's ambiance is lively and energetic. A trendy playlist sounds in the background as you are handed a menu with a range of innovative and Instagram-worthy cocktails and appetizers.

You look at them, shocked at the prices and amused at the pompous names, and resign yourself to ordering just a Coke with ice or a Coke on the rocks, according to the carte.

You find out the lounge hosts themed events, live music nights, and interactive experiences to cater to the preferences and desires of the student crowds.

—What up, babe?! —Leandra greets you. She is wearing her faculty activewear. Her gym shirt is crafted from breathable red fabric, showcasing sleek black accents, while the Scuderia Ferrari emblem is proudly displayed on her chest. Her gym shorts are designed for optimal movement and feature a mix of black and red detailing. —I don't feel my legs, not in the sense I would like!

You laugh at her comment.

—Pippa Gasly, Y/N —She introduces you two. A cute blue-eyed French girl waves her hand at you sitting across the coffee table; she is Yuki's girlfriend; you witnessed them devouring each other at the Gala. —The new coach is so fucking hot; the rumors are true, I stretched way too sluty for him during his training, and he stared me down. Should I give him a private tour of the dock area? —Leandra gossips you two.

—The dockyard has a very secluded lighthouse. It's the perfect spot to discreetly fuck or hook up with someone if you don't want the entire campus to find out —Pippa explains.

—I heard it was under the benches —you add.

—Not anymore. Security parol those now. Thank you, Lando!

—I'm proud of my legacy! —he and Max join you.

—I fucked a very loud girl in there and got caught by security —he admits to you, shrugging his shoulders. —Massi made me publicly apologize in the commencement speech that year. Can you believe it?! Far worse things have happened, and he didn't even bathe an eye then! But he made an example out of me. But, in the end, he knew he needed my parents' money and donations, so he stayed in his lane.

—Where the fuck is Charles?! —Max addresses Leandra, looking a bit concerned. —He is not answering my DMs.

—Still with his grandpa, he will arrive soon; all his things arrived at our dorm today.

—Talking about that, I have a roommate! —you notify the group, and all eyes set on you.

—WHO?! —everyone asks at the same time.

—It's a girl, thank God, her name is Naya Lauda.

Their eyebrows go to the roof. Lando's face is a poem.

You look at them, feeling now concerned. —What?! You guys, WHAT?!

—This is about to get awkward —Lando speaks while sipping his beer. —She is a persona non grata.

—Don't mention it to Lewis —Pippa advices you.

You look at Leandra with a "please explain!" face. —Naya is best friends with Nico Rosberg; he is the mean girl of this school, a total douch, and also Lewis' ex; those two were THE thing back in the day, the most popular and prodigy couple on campus, but in reality, they were highly toxic and harmful to each other —many nods come in response as she explains.

—All this before Lewis came to his senses! —Pippa adds.

—He changed a lot for the better once he started dating lovely Sebastian and split from those two —Leandra resumes explaining. —Naya took Nico's side on the divorce, annihilating his friendship with Lewis in the process.

Lando then interrupts to give you more input. —To Toto's displeasure, the whole thing fractured Mercedes' unstoppable all-star team! The three of them used to be inseparable and insufferable.

—Yeah, they only talked to each other and pushed away anyone who tried to get close or be friendly with them. Including old friends —Max joins the explanation.

—Talking of which… —Pippa adds.

—Oh yeah, I forgot about the Toto thing —Lando mentions.

—Naya is also Toto's protege; she is exceptionally talented, intelligent, and top of the class… —Max says.

—And fucking hot —Leandra admits.

—And..? —you instantly ask, sensing there is more.

The group exchanges a couple of looks.

—There was a rumor. Leandra brushes your arm. —But it's just a rumor; nothing has ever been proven.

—That Naya was the reason why the Wolffs split. Those two have a weird dynamic, to be honest —Pippa finishes. —She is a bit possessive of him, and seeing them by their side on and off campus is usual.

—They go everywhere together —Leandra bluntly corrects.

—Also, Max has been in love with Naya since childhood. He used to gift her bouquets after every karting race, always cheer for her at the benches, and even let her win while driving against each other, which in Max's language is a "Will you marry me?" —Lando declares, and Max huffs. —Don't pretend you don't!

—Fine! YES! I did, but that was in the past.

Oh boy.

After taking a relaxing bath and washing away all the nerves and stress of your first day, you get comfortable on the cozy sofa in your dorm's living room. On your way there, you grab a bag of chips and place your laptop on your legs. You are wearing the GPEA oversized T-shirt, tiny shorts, and your hair wrapped in a towel, thinking you are there alone.

—Filling up your schedule? Choosing your core classes? —you hear a velvet voice behind you, making you jump a little.

—Yes, any suggestions or tips? —Naya gets closer to peek at your screen. She is a gazelle, a very sexy and gorgeous girl who exudes confidence and grace in her every movement.

Her magnetic gray eyes capture, and her great posture commands attention effortlessly, while her impeccable style embodies sensuality and elegance, provoking an unforgettable impression on anyone who crosses her path.

You get why she got Toto's attention; you feel like a troll beside her. Until now, Naya seems kind and polite but not very social or talkative.

—"Aerodynamics I," "Thermodynamics I," and "Materials Science" are perfect for your entry-level. "Mechanics II" is quite advanced, are you sure? —Naya tells you, and you nod. —Your optional elective classes, "Data Science" and "Strategy and Leadership," are both hard to get into, especially Torger's!

—Wish me the best, then! —you say as you hit the submit button.

—How on earth did you get accepted into Toto's class?! —Sebs looks impressed as you two finish breakfast at the cafeteria while he reads your assigned schedule, giving it the heads up!

You feel slightly cocky and proud of the accomplishment.

Then Seb glances at his smartwatch. —Better be leaving, Y/N! You don't want to be a second late for it. Toto is extremely picky; he got Lance expelled from the subject for being two minutes late once. Forget about missing class or not delivering a report!

—Oh shit! —your eyes go wide as you grab your things and rush there.

You walk inside the luxurious lecture hall on time and out of breath; for sure, your hair looks like shit now.

For obvious reasons, you tried your best to put on a decent-looking outfit and even makeup, which you aren't a fan of, lol girl, as he will notice you, let's say you aren't the most stereotypically called "girlie girl," lacking the mom's touch and being raised among mechanics, not to mention that all beauty products are damn expensive.

This hall is entirely different from the one at the top of the building. It is smaller and intimate but way fancier, with opulence and functionality blending seamlessly.

The hall boasts plush, leather-upholstered seats with individual desks, offering maximum comfort to each student.

The walls are modern and sleek, and large screens display live feeds of races and analyses with cutting-edge audiovisual equipment and an advanced sound system that provides an immersive learning experience.

The spacious layout ensures an unobstructed view of the front podium, where Professor Toto is about to impart his class. He looks crazy hot in that white fitted rolled-up sleeve shirt and tight beige pants, which he is wearing while adjusting his earset microphone.

Toto starts his class by presenting a rather complex and compelling study case, grabbing the attention of the small group in just a couple of minutes.

—You must solve the problem, minimize the impact, and land the new course of action —he explains, walking around the room. —In real life, you would only have a couple of minutes to discuss with the entire team and command the driver to follow the needed change in strategy. There's no safety net. How would you solve it? Let's start with you, Mr. Rosberg.

You all give different input until a proper answer is formed, and then Toto moves to theory.

You try your best to concentrate and absorb the knowledge he is sharing and not get lost on his attractive backside, that back, those shoulders, and veins.

While you pick up your things as the class is dismissed, you catch his gaze set on you.

—Miss, Y/N —fuck, your name sounds hot in his mouth. —You are so tempting —your mind goes to another place while he bends in front of your seat, forearms on the wood surface, his muscular arms flexed, leaning closer to you over the desk. —You had the most impressive start! You can be an exciting addition to our faculty, but I need you to answer some questions first. Could you join me at the campus bistro on Thursday?

—Oh, y-yes —you barely answer.

—Good, see you there at 7 p.m —he smiles at you and exits.

WHAT?!!

Since your arrival at the Grand Prix Elite Academy, the excitement of the first days had begun to dull into the routine of classes, homework, and training sessions.

As you step in, the bistro buzzes with chatter and laughter, and the scent of freshly prepared meals fills the air. Amidst the chaos, you spot Toto sitting alone at a table.

He is wearing a navy blue blazer that perfectly hugs his lean frame and a crisp white shirt neatly tucked into matching slacks.

He gets on his feet to greet you as you reach the table and waits for you to sit; he is a total gentleman. He orders two glasses of sparkling water as he hands you the menu.

—Let's start with some appetizers, shall we? —he suggests, smiling. —There's a delicious caprese salad, and the fish cakes are to die for.

You inspect the menu, scanning the unfamiliar dishes listed. Most of them are exotic delicacies, some requiring ingredients sourced only from the farthest reaches of the globe. But that's part of the charm of attending such an exclusive institution: the exposure to cultures and experiences vastly different from yours.

—Caprese salad sounds perfect —you decide, handing the menu back to Toto. He nods approvingly and waves down a passing waiter.

—Two caprese salads, please —he instructs. —And bring us some bread, too. Oh, and a bottle of that Pinot Grigio, would you?

You study Toto closely as you wait for your food. He is commanding, yet his mannerisms hint at a softer side. When he speaks, his timbre is soothing, and his choice of words is deliberate.

He has something magnetic, a quality that draws people in, regardless of how guarded he initially appears. You listen to him intensely as he shares anecdotes about his racing career and the highs and lows he has encountered along the way.

His contagious laugh echoes in the dimly lit restaurant. It's almost disarming, making you forget the nervous tension that had built up inside you.

He glances at you occasionally, his eyes dancing with mischief. You can sometimes sense his interest, a silent invitation to reveal more about yourself.

Yet, you remain cautious, guarding your vulnerability under layers of carefully chosen words. In return, Toto offers tantalizing tidbits about his life and motivations.

—So, Y/N, tell me about yourself —Toto asks gently as the waiter places your dishes on the table. A fragrant medley of tomatoes, basil, and fresh mozzarella floats upwards, causing your stomach to rumble audibly.

Toto smiles knowingly, motioning for you to dig in. The juicy tomatoes burst with sweetness, harmoniously mingling with the creamy cheese. Each rich mouthful sends shivers down your spine like the flavors are awakening sensations long buried beneath your consciousness.

—Where did your love for racing originate? —Toto starts between bites.

—Well, it started when I was barely four years old. My father watches Grand Prix races religiously, and eventually, I joined him. We'd sit together on the couch, our hearts pounding in sync and in awe, as the drivers navigated tight bends and straights; that's when I fell in love with the sport, the thrill of watching them push their limits, the suspense of waiting for the checkered flag to wave.

—Sweet —Toto responds. —It's incredible how the love for racing can manifest itself in someone so young —He pauses, reaching for your glasses of wine and offering you a sip. You gladly accept, relishing the crisp taste of the pinot grigio as it slides smoothly down your throat. You could feel the warmth spreading through your body, melting away the nerves.

—Do you have a favorite driver? —Toto asks, swirling the contents of his glass thoughtfully.

—My favorite driver is Senna. I admire his raw talent and aggressive driving style. His determination to win is inspiring and captivating.

Toto raises an eyebrow, clearly intrigued by your answer. —Ah, Senna, quite a classic —he echoes, giving a knowing nod. —He's certainly an interesting character; he's got the guts and skill to make a lasting impression. His smooth driving style and natural grace make him stand out in a generation of aggressive competitors. You're a traditionalist, aren't you? You appreciate the artistry and elegance of the sport.

—Yes —you admit.

—Senna embodies the essence of racing, displaying a combination of raw talent and refined technique. He was an extraordinary driver —you add.

—A true gentleman on and off the track —Toto concludes.

Your conversation flows effortlessly, weaving in and out of topics ranging from the intricacies of car engineering to the nuances of team dynamics. Toto's insights and expertise are fascinating and provide valuable perspectives.

As you listen attentively, you notice the subtle change in Toto's demeanor; his posture becomes more relaxed. Yet, you can't shake off the feeling that Toto is deliberately testing you.

—So, Y/N, why suddendly quit? —he leans closer, truly curious. —Why stop such a promising career so suddenly?

—My mom's sickness and, after her passing, a lot of debt. I'm here on a scholarship. I'm not wealthy.

—I see. And were there no other options for you to be able to continue?

—Well, I don't know. I felt lost for a while; depressed is the word, so yeah, I stopped racing.

—I see. How has your experience at the Academy been thus far? —Toto switches topics; a twinkle in his eye suggests that he already knows the answer to his question.

—I must say, things here are pretty competitive —you admit, after a brief pause. —Everyone seems driven by ambition, constantly seeking to prove themselves. It's an environment that demands excellence.

Toto nods. —Indeed, the Academy is known for fostering a culture of competitiveness and exceptionalism.

—I feel overwhelmed by the pressure to perform and excel. It feels like everyone around me is doing everything possible to reach the top —you add, with a hint of concern creeping into your voice.

Toto leans back in his chair, placing his hands behind his head. You can't help peeking at his biceps. —Well, that's precisely the nature of this place, Y/N. The environment is designed to challenge you in a way you don't think possible. After all, the ultimate goal here is to nurture champions. To achieve that, we need to create a breeding ground for fierce competition. It's crucial to foster resilience and adaptability in our students.

—I feel privileged to be here —you add honestly and smilingly.

Toto pauses to take a sip of his wine. —We all want you to succeed, but you must realize it takes a village to raise a champion.

—Yes, I agree —you reply, shifting in your seat. Despite Toto's reputation as a tough-as-nails professor, he exudes a calm demeanor.

—So, have you considered your goals for this term? —he asks you.

—I've been thinking about improving my handling of high-speed situations and refining my understanding of aerodynamics. I'd also like to enhance my ability to work effectively under pressure.

Toto's eyes widened. —Those are ambitious goals. We have some excellent resources at the Academy to help you achieve these objectives. I highly recommend you check out the advanced simulations. Not only does it teach you how to handle extreme speed, but it also gives you a safe space to experiment with your techniques.

—Thank you! Your advice means a lot to me.

—No problem, he replies. —Don't hesitate to ask if you ever need assistance. I believe in your potential, and I'm confident you'll achieve great things here at the Academy, but not with Mercedes; our faculty requires a different mindset to accept you.

—A different mindset?

—Yes, you don't have the mindset we are looking for. You gave up your dream too quickly. Quitting is not a trait at Mercedes; we believe there is always another option or way to achieve a goal. You appear to be drawn to a more traditional approach, and we are trying to innovate and push forward the sport. You struggle with pressure, and this is an environment full of it. Your starting point is behind the other rookies for the hiatus you experienced. If you don't perform well, there is also the high risk of losing your scholarship, and our investment in you goes nowhere —Toto answers, shifting his attitude from the charming "I'm your friend" facade to the version of him everyone told you about.

He was paying attention to your every word, wasn't he?

—You have a bright future ahead of you. I will be thrilled to witness your progress, Toto says, draining the last drops of wine from his glass and gently setting it down on the table. —Don't get me wrong; I wish you the best —he adds, feeling the conversation is over and preparing to leave.

Of course, this meeting was pure business; what were you expecting? Not to be judged and scrutinized? To make a friend?

—Losing a parent is not easy —you add, getting on your nerves at the lack of empathy.

—It's also not an excuse. In this career, you will face many adversities and problems. You are not the first or last driver to lose a family member. You are still spineless and lack emotional intelligence.

—You don't know me.

—You aren't that difficult to read. Just a simple and honest conversation like this is getting under your skin. I'm hardly ever wrong.

—I have proven wrong your kind before.

—My kind?

—Judgmental and entitled rich men with big opinions.

—Holy shit! You didn't call Toto THAT! —Leandra almost spits her orange juice the following morning as you two settle down on the grass beside Carlos. You lean on his shoulder while he gives you soft pats on your back, comforting you. —Bitch, you play no games, huh?

You shrug, a bit sad. That introduction with Toto went sour.

—Sharl is here! —Carlos says, looking to your left.

You see Leclerc jogging towards you.

Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed the chapter; let me know! Merry Christmas, Wolffies!

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hometoursandotherstuff · 6 months

Text

If you love gardening and bringing the outdoors in, this home is amazing. Look at the greenhouse! And, if you love horses, it's an equestrian facility, too! Built in 1979 in Marietta, Georgia, it has 5bds, 7ba, $5.950M.

The house itself is modern rustic. Lots of stone and wood, but some different touches like the ceiling and mezzanine.

Banquet sized dining area w/a large built-in sideboard & bar.

Check out the kitchen- there's a fireplace with a balcony above.

Have you ever seen anything like this? There are so many different guest houses and spaces with kitchens.

Here's a big game room with a garage door. Plus a kitchenette.

Patio and pool at the back of the house.

Chicken coop.

The horse facility.

Check out the green house.

Isn't this fabulous?

The grounds are stunning.

All sorts of little outbuildings and botanical garden park-like property.

Can you imagine owning this?

Outdoor kitchen.

And, look at the chapel on the grounds.

The back of the chapel has a roof top deck.

Looks like Bocce Ball.

8.59 acres of gorgeous property.

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/3550-Knight-Rd-Marietta-GA-30066/14245939_zpid/

#botanical garden property #estates & mansions #houses #house tours #midnight dreamer #dream house #home tour

188 notes · View notes

libraford · 10 months

Text

While I'm bitching.

I dont mean to make this a bitching blog, but with them leaving on monday I have time to reconfigure my brain about all of it.

We live in a suburb that butts up to a nature preserve. So we see all kinds of wildlife from coyotes to deer. Most of the wildlife pics from my photo blog are from a nearby park.

There are mice in the garage.

It's a garage. It's an unsealed part of the house that's safe from predators and snow. It's going to get mice.

She wants to live on a farm some day. But she sees a mouse in the garage and suddenly has to rearrange the entire space because the way 'we' store things is attracting rodents. But not the way she just leaves piles and piles of cardboard from chewy or her amazon purchases (seriously a $300 inversion table that she used once and used her partner's credit card to get).

And I dont have much choice in how i store my stuff because the day we moved in they had already decided there was no room for my craft storage (its ugly, basically.) And it all got shoved in the garage.

Where the mice are.

So she sees a mouse and spends the whole day freaking out and moving our stuff around because we're slobs who dont know how to organize our stuff.

And now we cant find anything.

About a year ago, she got on an exercise kick and demanded that I clear my stuff from the garage so they could have an exercise room for themselves. Me and pock are still sharing a small nook that serves as our craft room, and the is no space to really spread out. But she gets an exercise room.

She never exercises. She has a back injury that makes it difficult for her to sit up for long periods of time.

Like... I tried to clear the garage, but I got 4 bins in before I ran out of room in the craft room, and now there's no way for me to access the things in there, either.

So sorry she didnt get her exercise room. We have a porch. We have a living room where you can move the couch. You can go to the park. You have a rec center membership. Sorry you didnt get a poorly ventilated exercise room full of mice.

If I can do yoga three times a week in this house, you can figure it out.

Later, I overhear her talking to her mom on the phone about why she wants to move to North Carolina and she says it's because theres no nature here. Its barren. Nothing will grow in ohio because of the chemicals they use on the farms. Theres no wildlife.

I'm assuming the mice dont count. But our town literally calls itself 'the city of parks.' Theres over 5000 acres of green spaces including a waterfowl preserve and more than one refuge. My boss at parks and rec is a conservationist. My job is to water all the fucking trees we planted last year.

Youd see all kinds of nature if you'd get outside the house, but you never fucking leave.

Which is kind of a minor point in the scheme of things. But it really pisses me off like 'oh poor me I'm a fucking liar.'

I'm so lazy, I wont repurpose an entire room for her benefit while shoving all my shit in a 5×10 space. I'm so awful.

#the tiger is destroying the cage #yes yes the tiger is out

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dansnaturepictures · 1 year

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12/03/2023-Acres Down in the New Forest and home

Photos I took today in this set: 1-4 and 7. Pine clad and yellow gorse adorned views on the lovely circular walk at Acres Down. 5. A nice few mossy rose galls to see on a bush at Acres Down. 6. A mesmerising Woodlark to see, our main aim of the walk. It was an honour to see one float through the air above us then see it and another enrich the heathland floor as they shuffled around. This is my first sighting of this species this year, a species I’ve got to know more and been extremely lucky to see more over the last few years especially in the New Forest, and it makes it three lark species seen in a year for the first time ever for me including all three of them in the space of a month with the Skylarks and Shore larks I’ve seen this year so far which I’m very pleased with. 8. New Forest Ponies beside gorse. 9. One of the golden garden daffodils in the delicious morning sunlight. 10. The new flowers in the front garden.

I was also over the moon to see singing gorgeously and flitting about in the thick bushes by the Acres Down car park a bird I’ve only recorded seeing for the third time ever today the last of those being here nine years ago, an exquisite Firecrest I was lucky that a couple of people had found and got us onto on arrival. A bird I was hoping to see again soon and I am thrilled I did, these two quintessential New Forest species as year ticks caps off a top long weekend of birds and more for me taking my year list to 153. A Treecreeper near the Firecrest, Marsh Tit, Meadow Pipit, Mistle Thrush and Chaffinch were other Acres Down highlights today. Seeing Blackbird and Robin as we ate lunch at Vereley Hill’s car park, Green Woodpecker yet again lately in the eastern meadows of Lakeside seen from the car on the way back and precious glimpses of Starling, Goldfinch and Collared Dove on the balcony and viburnum out the back stood out today too. We had a good chat to some fellow walkers at Acres Down, it’s been a good weekend for social interactions.

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coldresolve · 5 months

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Moneymakers, pt.xli // The Dealer

Previous / AO3 / Wattpad / Masterlist / Next

He runs every other morning. It’s the only time he actually turns off the notifications on his phone. Day and night, weekdays and weekends, holiday or not, people contact him, and he lets them – but that hour is his alone.

Seven and a half miles, starting from his apartment complex, a little route he has perfected over the years, carefully tailored to his own liking. It disbands from the concrete monotony of the city to wind through the walking trails and hills of a nearby dog park, nothing more than a dozen or so acres of deciduous woods surrounded by a chain link fence. There’s a small creek there, at roughly the four mile mark, and while he recognizes how foolish it is, he considers that creek his own little secret. He pretends to be the only person on earth who has seen it.

The visits are always brief, especially now that the seasons have turned. Keeping your pulse up is what saves you from hypothermia when it’s just you and your jogging clothes against the frigid mist. You’ll catch your death if you stop moving. Every runner knows that. No, he just notes how it’s doing in passing glances, as if checking in with an old friend. He notes whether the banks have fallen during summer droughts, or in winter, if the morning is cold enough for ice to have formed as thin sheets over the stiller parts of its bends. He needs to move. The creek needs to stay. They part ways. That’s how it goes.

He's so used to this route, so familiar with his body’s reaction to it, that he can predict when he has worked up enough of a sweat for it to start dripping. It usually happens right as he leaves the dog park, on those first hundred yards back on tarmac, when his heavy footfalls dislodge the black dirt from his running shoes. Every few minutes from then on, he has to wipe at his eyes with the long sleeve of his shirt. Tastes the salt on his upper lip. Feels the way the crisp wind rapidly cools down the damp parts of his clothes. On mornings like this, it’s a welcome reprieve from his usual habit of overanalysis. Keeping your body occupied is a form of meditation all on its own.

The cold is starting to bite when he reaches his apartment complex. He lets his momentum carry him the last few yards along the short walking path to the rear entryway, panting as he chips himself in, takes a deep breath, and rushes the stairs two at a time despite the ache in his thighs – he considers these four flights the final stretch of the run. Feels the satisfied reprieve when he finally reaches the platform of his own front door.

Keys jiggling in front of him, body buzzing, he unlocks it.

Melon starts yelling at him immediately. Like always, it makes him smile; the way she paces back and forth, head on a swivel, mouth wide open, eyes desperately searching for his attention. She aggressively rubs her face against his hands as he’s untying his shoes, and he has to relent and do it one-handed, just so he can scratch behind her ears with the other. “You’re such a brat,” he coos. Her orange fur sticks to the sweat on his fingers, and he rubs it off in his shirt.

Beyond the entryway, from the windowsill in the living room, Zorro watches, bright green eyes in a black void, seemingly unbothered. Lazarus gives him a respectful nod. It just feels appropriate.

There are tricks to avoiding that post-workout soreness. Half of it lies in cooling down as slowly as possible; the other half lies in a good stretching routine. He stands for the quadriceps and the calves, squats low for the hamstring stretch, lies flat on his back for the glutes, the muscles in his lower back, his sides. Five seconds on the inhale, five seconds of holding, seven seconds on the exhale, five seconds of holding. Six cycles for each exercise. Steadily, his heartrate returns to normal, and his extremities warm up to the ambient temperature of the room. The sweat dries on his skin, leaving faint trails of salt. Melon watches him curiously for the first few minutes, then gets bored and leaves for his bedroom.

Lazarus is still lying there on the thin rug by his front door, one leg crossed over the other, pulling at the muscles on the side of his thigh, when his thoughts begin to drift again. They’ve gone in circles over the last few days, always returning to the same man. Always the same bewilderment, the same burning questions.

He was the acquaintance of another client. It usually spreads like that, via word of mouth. Hushed questions, do you know anyone… And in the northern part of town, among the rejected, people tend to know.

He was homeless then, had been for a good few months, he said. Fresh off mandatory probation through a halfway home, following a fight that he supposedly didn’t start, although Lazarus still has his doubts about that. His whole life was stuffed into a backpack. Rips in a bomber jacket that looked to have been expensive at some point. Always bruised or cut up somehow. He talked about getting kicked out of shelters, about turned-down job applications, and fights he got into with his then-girlfriend. Talked about killing his dad, in a tone seeping with more contempt than the usual crass humor. He’d built up a decent dependence, fought tooth and nail to ward off the brunt of withdrawals. All his money went to pills.

To Lazarus.

Truth be told, Renee fit the mold of an outcast so well, Lazarus didn’t pay much mind to him at first. You see it all the time. People get sucked into the jaws of the machine, chewed up and spit out the other side, where they’re expected to seamlessly reintegrate into the very society that left them in the cold to begin with, often with no support network, no plan of action, no real prospects. They’re set up for failure so often, Lazarus sometimes wonders if the powers-that-be do it intentionally. He wouldn’t be surprised. All the faces on that wall start to blend together after a while.

It wasn’t until about two months in that something changed. Renee was sitting in the passenger seat of Lazarus’ car, picking at the product through a zip-lock bag as Lazarus counted the bills, and he got quiet. You don’t have to have known the guy for very long to realize how uncharacteristic that quietness was. Lazarus pressed on intuition, and Renee admitted he was considering going cold turkey. Said he finally realized he had zero control of his intake.

Ask Natalie to watch you.

Renee let out a bitter laugh. Nah, that’s been dead for a while. She hates my guts now.

Well, there’s gotta be someone else you can—

There’s really not. And he swallowed, looking away. Managed to compose a somewhat stoic demeanor. I’ll squat somewhere, lock myself in a bathroom or something. It’s just gonna suck for a while, that’s it.

Twenty-five years old.

Lazarus pushes himself off the floor, relishing in the familiar fatigue in his body as he makes his way to the kitchenette. Washes his hands thoroughly. As he fishes a small pot out of one of the low cabinets, Melon predictably returns, slows to a halt in the middle of the hallway, and sits down, paws kneading the rug. Wide yellow eyes watch the pot curiously, ears perched in his direction.

“You’re not getting anything,” Lazarus tells her with a low chuckle. “Fat fuck.”

He scoops half a cup of rolled oats and pours cold water on eye measurement. Spices it up with cinnamon and cardamom and nutmeg, a pinch of salt flakes from the jar on the counter. Lights up the stovetop, and stirs as he waits for it to warm up.

Did he make a mistake when he invited Renee back to his place? Most definitely. But the thought of just allowing the man curl up alone on the gross tiles of some public bathroom for a week straight left a sour taste in Lazarus’ mouth. Not to mention that benzos are up there among the worst things you can withdraw from, save for maybe alcohol or opioids. Renee didn’t know it – he still doesn’t – but he would’ve cracked on his own.

Shoes off.

Renee stepped on the heels of his worn down sneakers, one after the other. He eyed Melon awkwardly as she rubbed against his leg. Cats usually don’t like me, he muttered.

Lazarus smiled. You’re in luck, then. Melon is a terrible judge of character.

He had Renee shower almost immediately, while the guy still had the wherewithal to do so. Started hunkering down, preparing for the ride. Every blanket Lazarus owned, he laid on the armrest of the couch; he placed a thermos flask and packets of tea ready on the counter next to the kettle. Saline crackers, plenty of water in the fridge. That evening, when he cooked up tikka masala for them both, he went a little heavy on the salt in Renee’s portion.

Lazarus remembers sitting across from him, setting sun pouring in from the window. It made his eyes look almost golden. Renee was already getting noticeably restless then, chatting up and down the wall about every small thing that crossed his mind. The conversation was mostly one-sided, but neither of them really seemed to mind. Nineteen hours clean. The calm before the storm.

Do you have a girlfriend?

Nope.

Why not? Not to be weird, but you’re pretty good-looking, y’know.

Chuckling, Lazarus shook his head. I’m gay.

Fork hovering over his plate, Renee looked up then, through the strands of damp dark hair falling over his eyes, and the corner of his mouth tugged up. Lazarus was half preparing for a snide remark, but that’s not what Renee was going for. Do you have a problem with bi guys?

Lazarus snorted. Why would I?

Renee went back to stabbing at his food. Some guys get grossed out if they know you’ve touched a pussy. Scooping up a mouthful, he caught Lazarus’ gaze again, shrugging a shoulder as he chewed.

Yeah, that’s just stupid.

Lazarus eats his oatmeal by that same table, although he has since moved it to a spot farther back in the apartment, where the sun doesn’t blind his guests in summer. He turns on his phone again, and isn’t surprised to see a dozen missed calls and a handful of texts. One call is from a new supplier he’s heard positive things about – someone who, like him, stays as far removed from fent as humanly possible. The rest are all from the same client, Delilah. Forties, thin brown hair, gorgeous blue eyes. Something about an ongoing divorce, a custody dispute that isn’t going in her favor. She got hooked on opioids following a knee surgery, and, unlike the majority of his clients, hasn’t learned to stop making last-minute deals.

He threads his fingers to stretch his arms high above his head. An hour and a half won’t kill her, he decides, in fact it might serve as a wake-up call. Someone is always desperate, and Lazarus, too, has his own life to manage. Sighing, he lets his arms fall, and sends her a text for a time and place.

Her affirmative response comes less than five seconds later.

In the windowsill, Zorro has found a more comfortable position to sleep in. One that evidently involves sticking his hind leg out over the ledge, while his head rests on his front paws. Unbothered by the tumultuous mess of the world he lives in.

Lazarus leaves the empty bowl in the sink next to the pot before he makes his way to the bathroom, where he finally rids himself of the jogging clothes, stepping into the shower. It takes a moment before the water is comfortably warm, and Lazarus’s first shiver at being naked is replaced by satisfaction, as the dried sweat is washed from his skin.

Despite a reported sleepless night, the second day was alright, all things considered. Renee was feverish and spent the majority of the day huddled on the couch, buried in blankets. Left every so often to puke in the bathroom, but his trips slowly decreased in frequency when he had nothing left to expulse. His hands shook a little too much to hold a game controller, so he spent his time watching TV, or briefly sleeping whenever his restlessness gave him the opportunity.

But that night was rough on the both of them. Lazarus stayed up, listened to ramblings that slowly but surely lost any semblance of thought or coherence, interspersed with long stretches of silence. Some hours, he could see the flickering pain clearly in Renee’s features, the constant shifting against physical discomfort that rarely seemed to ease. He tried to pace a few times, and at first, Lazarus tried to help him, lent his shoulder for support. As the night went on, though, even walking seemed to do more harm than good. Not that Renee was ever clear-headed enough to recognize that he shouldn’t try. Lazarus’ attempts to keep him on the couch were met with hostility more than once, but despite his size, he was weak enough from fever for Lazarus to hold him down if he needed to. Renee would forget why they were fighting after a while, he would calm down. If Lazarus was lucky, the man would pass out from exhaustion for a quarter or two, which let him tend to his own physical needs – taking a piss, drinking some water, getting something to eat. Lazarus was not lucky often.

On the third day, he went on an errand run, just thirty odd minutes to pick up a delivery and buy some basic necessities. Renee had been asleep for about an hour then, and Lazarus thought he’d be able to get away with it. That was his fuck-up. He should’ve known better.

He came home to find the coffee table overturned, tissue papers and shards of glass strewn about the floor of the living room, along with crumbs of stearin from the candles that cracked in the fall. Zorro and Melon both hid wide-eyed behind the TV stand. The mirror in the bathroom was cracked, like a cobweb blooming from its center. From there, a trail of blood zigzagged its way across the hallway, into his dimly lit bedroom.

In the far corner, he found Renee curled up behind the nightstand, almost pressing himself against the walls. That a man of his size could take up so little space was a mystery in and of itself. Pale as a sheet, eyes shut tight, trembling violently. A cut spanned the skin over one knuckle, not bad enough to warrant medical attention, but it must’ve nicked a small blood vessel, because it looked like Renee’s entire hand was drenched in red.

Lazarus crouched down at a safe distance. Kept his voice as low and gentle as he could. What’s going on, bud?

No change, at first. Just the constant trembling, hands clenched tight around his shins, quick, ragged breaths. There’s something wrong with my shadow, he managed to stammer out eventually, barely intelligible through clattering teeth. And he hit a closed fist against the wall next to him, and again, before Lazarus had rushed forward to grab hold of his wrist so he couldn’t hurt himself further.

And Renee tried to fight again. Tried to pry himself out of Lazarus’ grip, tried to gain enough leverage to kick him away. But when he finally realized Lazarus wasn’t budging, he broke down completely. Sobbing inconsolably, hoarse cries of anguish. His whole body was shaking with it, unbearably warm against Lazarus’ own. Hands no longer pushing away, but clawing at his arms and clothes, as if desperate for stability.

It's still only time Lazarus has ever seen him cry.

They talked about it afterwards. Anything after the second night, right up until he woke up on the fourth day, only left fragments behind, bits and pieces Renee struggled to string together. Despite the part of him that still feels like these moments are better left forgotten, Lazarus did his best to fill him in. It’s not like he doesn’t know the important part that clarity plays in closure.

Shadow…?

I think that’s what you said, yeah.

That’s… some Peter Pan shit. Man, I was out of it, huh?

Yeah.

Two weeks later, Renee met up with him for ten grams of coke. Lazarus is relatively sure he just used the drugs as an excuse to get close enough to try to initiate sex.

A wiser man would’ve declined both.

Wiping fog off the mirror he replaced, Lazarus spends the better part of ten minutes on skincare. Exfoliator, shaving, serum, eye cream, moisturizer. He runs a little bit of wax through still-damp hair, just to get that slight edge to how it looks. The steam still lingering in the bathroom keeps him warm, but he feels his hairs rise as he crosses the hallway to his bedroom for a fresh set of clothes.

A wiser man would’ve kept it to a one-time hook-up. A wiser man would’ve distanced himself each time Renee showed up bruised again, each time his mood flashed black-and-white for months on end, each time he brazenly failed to learn from experience. A wiser man would’ve heeded the constant stream of red flags.

But something about Renee is compelling. Not just his over-the-top confidence, his spontaneity, his odd charm. Renee is a contradiction. A sociable loner. He’s self-aware and oblivious, simultaneously. Optimistic and cynical, blunt and secretive, easygoing and abrasive, every high and every low.

And it feels good to be in his eye.

Until it doesn’t.

The light though the curtains put the bruised half of his face in shadow. He sat naked on the edge of the bed, fingers hooked in the belt loops of Lazarus’ jeans, pulling him closer by the hips. His eyes were dark, insistent. You can do anything to me. Anything you want.

It’s awful again, in some vague way Lazarus can’t fully grasp, much less explain in a way that wouldn’t draw ire or diminish agency. Renee broke the mirror on the third day. Delirious, barely able to string a sentence together. Of all the other things he could’ve broken, he snapped at the sight of his own reflection.

And it hurts to think of this devotion as another way for Renee to tear away at his own personhood, but giving your heart to someone else isn’t love if you only do it to rid yourself of it.

Sometimes it feels like you’re not fully there, Lazarus said quietly. It’s the closest thing he got to the truth in that motel room. Like you’re so caught up in an idea that you lose yourself for a while. It feels like a breach of your trust to indulge it. You’re getting bad again.

And Renee, who never shies from conflict, was silent for a while, before he changed the subject entirely.

If someone is determined to run their life into the ground, there’s really not a whole lot you can do as a bystander. Lazarus knows that better than anyone, but it still keeps him up at night sometimes. Still bears on his conscience, that helpless uncertainty, the gnawing feeling that he’s missing something vital. A piece of the puzzle that, once found, would make the whole picture clearer. A crack in the walls of the labyrinth, a feasible way out he could point towards.

He drinks a full glass of water by the sink, and then fills up another. Sits down by a laptop, dispassionately scrolling through his social media, the latest happenings on forums and blogs he follows. Checks the local news, but apart from a fatal crash a few towns over, and some parade arrangements gone awry, nothing piques his interest. It's not until he checks a nationwide news site that the name comes up again. All the major sites have sort of unanimously decided to start each headline the same.

DeWitt Case.

Lazarus stops scrolling. Just sits there and looks at the name, chin resting on his hand. He’s known about it for a while, obviously, just like everyone else. He’s seen the memes, the quotes people have pulled from the videos. He’s heard of the theories, lackluster armchair investigations, speculation and rumors. Entire forums dedicated. Headlines of Clearnet hosts desperately scrubbing the footage from their sites to appease advertisers, and how it still manages to circulate. Weeding out anything on the internet would’ve been an uphill battle even if it wasn’t such a publicly discussed topic. Some people are obsessed with it.

Renee brought it up too, didn’t he? Just before he…

Lazarus clicks on the headline. He has barely oriented himself with the article’s layout before a newsletter pop-up blocks the screen, closely followed by a banner ad scrolling along the bottom of the browser window. Letting out a disgruntled sound, he closes both.

More than a week has passed since the last broadcast or communication, leading many to worry that…

There’s really no new information. Nothing Lazarus hasn’t picked up in passing or from skimming headlines through the weeks. They don’t seem closer to catching the host – at least the FBI keeps info about the investigation close at hand. And DeWitt’s condition, from what they’ve been able to discern from the streams, is on a steady decline. Lazarus doesn’t even want to consider how it ends for the poor guy. What an awful way to go.

Is that what caused the panic attack? Does Renee identify with DeWitt? Does he view DeWitt’s situation as somehow analogous to his own? Why? What on earth could the two have in common?

Lazarus is leaning back in his chair, fingers absentmindedly tapping over linoleum, when a thought crosses through his mind. He snorts, shakes his head. And the smile fades, slowly.

What if DeWitt isn’t the one Renee identifies with?

Lazarus hesitates. Opens a new tab, and his hands hover above the keyboard, undecided. It feels somewhat foolish to follow this trail of thought, but now that it’s there, he knows it won’t leave him. Not unless he’s sure it’s a dead end.

dewitt case “host” what do we know

He finds a forum – one of many – where users have attempted to collectively profile the perpetrator. Amid a myriad of links to news articles and transcripts of the streams themselves, Lazarus finds a list. And it starts out inconspicuous enough. The information is sparse, the descriptions removed, almost clinical.

Male, anywhere from twenty to late thirties. Estimated height, 6’1”, estimated weight, 180-205 pounds, lean build. Brown eyes, light skin. Western accent, whereas DeWitt speaks with Midland/Northern.

It’s when he reads about the guy’s behavior that a sense of unease begins to dawn, almost unnoticeable at first, like a subtle change in the temperature of the room.

He swears frequently and makes quips which are often mocking, dehumanizing, or demeaning. Highly impulsive, and at times reckless. Sometimes disregards not only the safety of DeWitt, but his own as well (see the transcript of 10/11). Control-seeking sadist. Has sudden violent outbursts, sometimes with no direct provocation. Not overtly grandiose, but he displays arrogance at the very least.

Body language wise, the host uses exaggerated gestures, and has a lax, “confident” posture and gait. Very energetic, often restless. Like many have already pointed out, in a majority of streams, he exhibits an increased breathing rate, dilated pupils, excitability, rapid mood swings, and other signs of stimulant use.

A shiver runs down Lazarus’ spine at the last descriptor. Not that he’s oblivious to how common amphetamine users are, but a picture is forming in his mind, piece by piece. From the implicit, the tendency. Something uncanny, filtered through nauseating dread.

Something familiar.

He sits silent for a while, gaze drifting out the window, where the rush hour is in full swing. His living room overlooks an intersection, about half a block away, where cars line up at least hundred yards in each direction, disappearing behind the neighboring building. He watches as the closest light turns from red to green, to red, to green, to red.

conrad dewitt kidnapped from

Cleveland, Ohio.

Lazarus swallows. Green to red to green. He can barely get his fingers to type out the words. Each letter appears slowly on the screen, one after the other. Two words on the sting.

dewitt livestream

The sites he finds, buried under mounds of headlines, are questionable at best. Some make the promise but require payment, some are obvious scams harping on morbid curiosity. It takes him a while to find the real thing, linked in a comment deep in a forum thread. A nearly empty-looking site that seems to have been created for the purpose. There are six thumbnails in a three-by-two grid, all marked with the same white triangle. He’s so sure it’ll be another fake when he clicks it, it shocks him a little when a video player appears.

Lazarus grits his teeth, cursor lingering over the inevitable.

He hits play.

Previous / Masterlist / Next

#writing #moneymakers #lazarus #renee

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probablyasocialecologist · 7 months

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Israel’s purported greenness is not without a material basis. In their trips to the Naqab, von der Leyen and Curtis would have seen, as I did on my pilgrimage to ‘Ibdis, an impressive number of farms and man-made forests, often in stark contrast to their surroundings. From thirty thousand hectares of irrigated land in 1948, the country now waters nearly two hundred thousand hectares. Yet for all the physical and rhetorical space these plantations and parks occupy, their domestic impact is slight: agriculture represents just over one percent of the nation’s GDP and less than 2 percent of its exports, making for a considerable trade deficit in food and agricultural products, according to a recent U.S. Department of Commerce report. This relatively small output has come at an exorbitant environmental cost: in the 1970s, Israel was devoting more than 75 percent of its freshwater to agriculture and in 2000 was still using almost 60 percent. After the three main reservoirs utilized by Israel dropped below critical levels, the Knesset launched an inquiry in 2001 scrutinizing this disproportionate allocation of water and decades-old subsidies to farmers. Though Israel had been plagued by three years of drought, the committee found the origin of the crisis was “not brought about only by climactic changes” but rather was “primarily manmade.” Their writeup cited an earlier report by State Comptroller Miriam Ben-Porath, which blamed “agricultural crops, that not only fail to contribute to the national economy, but cause it significant economic damage, in addition to the damage caused by the over-pumping from the reservoirs.” However, the committee concluded that no significant cuts to the industry should be made, as “agriculture has a Zionist-strategic-political value, which goes beyond its economic contribution.” Keeping the desert in bloom is worth the extravagant cost. Of course, Israel has never had to bear the real brunt of its own expenditure. The committee’s inquiry elided the vast architecture of water theft on which the agriculture industry relies. An estimated 40 percent of Israel’s water supply is derived from the West Bank, where Israel directly controls 85 percent of the water and separates 95 percent of Palestinians from their historic water sources. In addition to using Palestinian water to supply the roughly seven hundred thousand Israeli settlers living illegally in the Occupied West Bank, Israel has been diverting water from the Occupied Territories for decades. Much of it goes to Israel’s agricultural projects in the Naqab, including the territory where ‘Ibdis now lies under roughly 130 acres of irrigated almond trees.

#israel #palestine #settler colonialism #trees #water

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cas-backwards-tie · 6 months

Text

Chapter One: Hesitations Downfallen

Thomas Hewitt x Reader

The Family Name

Summary: Stuck in traffic in an overheated car with your fellow camp counselors, you're left with a decision that could buy you more time to chill before the kids arrive at camp, or that'll lead to a major scolding from the Head Counselor.

Words: 2.6k

Warnings: Cursing, Impulsive Behavior, Peer Pressure, Racism (if you squint), Assault,

A/N: This is something that's... so random for me, personally, to write. I think it's because I'd been following the beta'ing of TCM game and then watching as it released. So we can thank Delirious for this! Considering this is also out of my usual element, I think it'd be fun to experiment with and write something a little more gruesome, unruly, and dark.

It felt like it went on forever, the endless highway turning into road as you lean your head against the window. “I don’t know why they chose to go this way when there’s a fucking downed bridge! If they just followed the map they’d see it’s much quicker if we hopped off and got back on at the Two-Ninety Junction.”

Eyes shifting to the two yellow buses leading your caravan down to Pedernales State Park, you let your attention flicker back out your window onto the grassy plains that seem to stretch on into the distance. Trees sporadically line the walls of fence that edge the highway, roofs of houses now having lessened in number now that you've passed Austin. The plush green and cream-colored grass swaying in the wind is relaxing juxtaposed to the stagnant piled-up highway that’s been directly in front of the car for the past forty minutes.

“Guess someone didn’t read the papers this morning-“ Connie says, “or they were just too lazy to reroute the trip.” The comment elicits a laugh from the group of friends and colleagues you’d been pushed to travel with. As one of the returning counselors this summer at Camp Cherry Springs, there’d been an initiative to get to know the new recruits that had the pleasure of joining you and the more experienced counselors— Connie, Sonny, Leland, Julie, and Ana—in the cars while the ones who’d taken the short straws wound up joining the kids on the buses for the three-hour drive.

With a jerky stop-and-go, cars begin moving ever so slowly. "There's an opening, Lee!" Julie exclaims with a little bounce in her seat as she points out a dodgy game of cutting people off to get to the nearest exit on the highway. Sonny groans in his seat, sitting back against the sticky warm fabric of the car. He fans himself with one hand as you've all been trapped in the car without air conditioning for the past twenty minutes. The engine had started to compensate when it'd begun to overheat.

"Let's just get on with it! If we can get off, find a bathroom, and maybe get something to drink before getting back on the road and still beating them to camp, then I'm in," Sonny concedes. Ana looks between you and Sonny in the backseat, questioning whether she should encourage Julie and Leland's impulsive behavior or stay with the caravan, as directed by the Head Counselor: AKA the Boss.

"Mm, if Sonny's in then I gotta say go for it! What about you?" Ana turns her attention to you for a moment before eyeing Connie in the back. "Connie?"

"Hit the pedal, Lee!" Connie encourages. With the exit just feet away, Leland turns on his turn signal, giving scarce warning before turning the wheel and cutting across three lanes of traffic to get off the highway. The line at the light is still fairly long, but not nearly as horrifying as the seemingly neverending stall of traffic on the highway. Soon enough the street light turns green and you're able to cut a right turn and head down Julie's supposed shortcut.

With a fifteen-minute ride down a local highway, you wind up eventually taking a left, and then a right, and now the town's shops and homes start to turn into barns and acres of farmland. You don't mind, however, the cows, horses, and occasional sheep are a nice welcome compared to the previous mechanic purgatory everyone seemed to be suffering in considering the air-conditioning had stalled. Now, however, the air is back on, though it's not needed. The sun has passed its peak, windows are down, and cool air is freely flowing through the windows of the car, creating a vacuum of pleasant and exhilarating wind.

The thump of the bass of the music playing on the classic hits channel is something you could easily find yourself bopping to, glad your friends had taken that chance. Hand out the window, you watch as it dances in the wind, making shapes with your fingers and letting the wind drift around it. Sipping on the slushie you got back at the Quik-Trip you'd stopped at a few miles back, you let yourself hum in delight at the cool sugary sweet taste. Ana passes over the corn chips and you pop a few into your mouth, crunching away, a blissful contrast of sweet and salty coating your tongue.

No longer antsy and intent on getting to camp as quickly as humanly possible, you can easily see on the clock that you're well ahead of schedule. Once again you've found yourself admiring the scenery, farmland occasionally now interspersed with factories and a ghost town or two. While not uncommon in this area, you find it intriguing to imagine what the towns must've once been like. Surely, someone at some point built the place and was intent to live there. So what was their story? Distracted and lost in thought, you hardly tune in when Sonny speaks up. It's only when Leland repeats what the former must've said that you realize it's more pertinent than you'd thought.

"Bathroom? Good luck finding one out here, bud!" Leland laughs, shaking his head. "Just go in the cup and chuck it out the window."

"I've... actually gotta go too," you speak up hesitantly. Leland's current attitude toward Sonny isn't the nicest, and while you know that Sonny's the odd one out, you can't help but feel compassion for him. The man releases a quiet groan, fingers tapping against the side of the driver's door as he thinks.

"Well, if you see anywhere we can actually stop, then say somethin'!"

Though you'd needed to pee about ten minutes ago, the urge increases, and you all are running out of stops. "Good Barbecue Ahead!" Ana reads a sign as you pass it on a side road. Though some of the places you've been passing have become more sparse and give an eerie sense of de trop. "Maybe they'll have a bathroom there?" She proposes.

"Good idea," Connie compliments, hands resting on the back of your guys' seat. "Plus we could grab another couple snacks if need be."

Focused on the bouncing of your leg, you try to keep calm. You hadn't thought things through before getting a big slushie at the convenience station back there. Luckily, your friends had your back.

As trees pass and the grassy plains start to look a little more habitable, more wildlife emerging, you know you're getting close. "There it is! Pull over, Leland," Julie commands. Knowing Leland, he'd joke, drive past, and then turn around only to go in. Or make Sonny just go in the cup if you hadn't needed to go. A cruel joke, boys being boys, they'd argue.

As the car comes to a stop, Leland decides he'll top off the gas. Sonny races for the bathroom. Ana debates staying in the car while Connie decides to see what barbecue they have. Of course, you follow after Sonny.

Quick Soda. The name of the service station. Underneath the red Coca-Cola-resembling sign lies another one in darker red reading: We Slaughter BARBECUE. The presentation is nice. Pushing the slated swing doors open, you see a bar to your right while a counter lies on your left. Connie inspects whatever's inside the counter's display case, while Ana seemingly decided to join and look at the little gift shop trinkets. "Can I help you?" A sweet and drawn-out voice causes your attention to drift over to the far right where an older lady stands behind a cashier's stand. You hadn't noticed it at first.

"Oh! Hello- Hi- Yes. Do... you guys have a bathroom by chance, Miss?" You ask. While she'd caught you off-guard, you still want to be polite. Even if the need to pee is becoming increasingly more urgent.

"Same as I told that boy. It's 'round back. Got signs on 'em. One for the men, one for the women... 's open." With an unaffected face, she seems ready to end the conversation before sticking her hand out a little for your attention just as you'd turned. "Tell yer frien' to slow down, why don'tcha?" She chuckles.

"Will do, Ma'am. Thank you," you retort, offering a playful smile and nod before heading back outside and around the back.

While the front may have been trim and proper, the further back you go, the less unruly the grass gets. The outhouse looks fine enough, even if it's a little shabby. Luckily, it's only this once. Well... until you get to camp. But it isn't anything unfazing. Country life is different, after all! There's a long white fence out back behind everything, some boards broken, though overall a nice picture of the country as farmland spans on for miles behind it. A few trees scatter the edge of the property, some wildflowers poking out of bushes and the tall grass.

In the outhouse, it doesn't take long for you to... take care of business. Fortunately, there was toilet paper, even if it was one-ply and not the best, you made do. After all, you're sure the shopkeepers are doing what they can and so far their business strikes you as impressive for what you'd seen of the town so far on the way here. That being, there wasn't much of one, really. Though people out here are probably used to a longer commute, you figure. Upon exiting the outhouse you hear a whimpering that catches your attention, worry emerging.

Interest piqued, you walk over to the source of the noises coming from a spot directly behind the wooden building by the fence. After a moment of pulling the tall grass back, you find your lips parting as a silent cry lingers in your throat.

--------

Like an angel surrounded by white and pink, the color of all things lovely, there's an innate femininity in the way she holds herself. Perhaps it was the jewelry adorning her earlobes, neck, and fingers, or the way her face was painted that day... yet ultimately it was a sight to behold there in the flesh. A swish of her long locks over her shoulders to gracefully tumble down her back, her eyes set upon him.

Lips parting in surprise and shock at the unexpected sight, astonishment is the only word that comes to mind. It's the one that made her hesitate momentarily as she took in his soft-looking curly locks and the intense set of eyes drawing her to the giant before her.

Only a matter of a yard and a half stood between them, yet it didn't take long for reality to set back in. With determined, purposeful long strides, he attempts to close the distance before she even thinks to run. The woman whips her head back toward whatever she'd been looking at before meeting his eye once more.

Putting her hands up in a silent command, she makes a pushing movement twice, a telltale sign for him to 'stop' or 'wait'. He knows that much. Repeating her earlier movement of gauging something in the grass beside her, beautiful light eyes find dark ones again. The man hadn't slowed down from her perception, yet he'd been taken aback for a split-second, causing him to second-guess his familial orders. Finger raised to her lips, she commands him again. It flicks downward till she's pointing at the shielded spot. Whatever lie in the grass, it's not visible to him from the few feet still lingering between them. Her vision shifts again, yet once they meet his, it's over.

Another surprise, a fortuitous omen, perhaps, if one believed in such things. An unforeseen exchange, something he never would have predicted upon waking this morning; a smile graces her lips. Teeth peek out from behind her rosy lips as her hands curl up in front of her, beckoning him over with a tacit motion. Upon first glance, he could admit to himself that his reaction was not one he anticipated, personally. Though the signs and motions elicit a curiosity that one cannot deny has its clutch on humanity. Especially those that are sheltered from much of life's offerings. It doesn't even feel like a decision; at least, not a conscious one, at that. Thomas slows his pace down to a quiet, normal approach. While the woman may not know that her implicit request was unnecessary, being there no current reason to speak, he follows suit, nonetheless.

"Look!" She quietly calls, voice traveling the short distance between them now as he bends her knees slightly, vision returning to that patch of grass once more. "Look."

While it may annoy him to no end that whatever it is certainly has more intrigue than him, the excitement that fills him in anticipation is exhilarating. There's a fear too, no doubt, a worry that she will make a break and run for it once he finally gets close enough. However, the kind regard has left him feeling a multitude of emotions he can't begin to comprehend, nor analyze at this moment in time.

As the giant of a man slowly gets within reaching distance, she points out the object of her focus in hopes of sharing a fond memory with someone. None of her friends had come in search of her, and while the saying of 'stranger danger' is by no means simply a children's tale, she's found there tend to be many more friends than foes in the world. "Look at how cute," she whispers, the smile never leaving her lips as she shifts her vision between the giant and the sight. Within the tall green grass sat behind the rest stop's main building there the woman had heard a quiet 'chittering' upon exiting the outhouse. Being one of a curious nature, she found that in a divet where the grass has clearly been passed over many times, there was an open bundle of kindling, soft fur, twigs, and grass all twined together. That, though, had not been the cause of her smile. Inside, a nest of baby bunnies were wiggling and squirming about as a way of seeking each other and their warmth out.

Hands on her knees, the woman finally looks back at him, this time with a concerned look in her eyes. "Do you think their mom abandoned them?" Thomas' eyes finally detach from the adorable sight before them. He wants to tell her that 'No. It's unlikely,' yet he can't bring himself to. She shakes her head, a smile reappearing on her face once more as her attention returns to the sight before them. "What am I saying? Of course not. She's probably out getting food for them or something. They're fine." Watching the woman straighten her posture, he does the same, however, he still overwhelms her stature by easily over a foot and a half if not more.

A little daunted by his stature, she continues to smile through the uncomfortability of being so close to a stranger, a man, at that. "Right?" She asks, attempting to break the silence between them as he still hasn't said anything. He hadn't even commented on how cute the baby bunnies were! Their fluffy little bodies and tiny ears still pressed to the napes of their necks, eyes not yet opened. Watching him slowly nod his head, eyes having never left hers once they'd both come to a stand, she's finally relieved that she's not talking to a wall. Just as she searches his eyes and goes to say goodbye, he quickly brings his intertwined hands down upon her head. There's a feeling of falling, and then... blackness.

~~~~~~~~

forever taglist: @ohdamnadam , @safarigirlsp , @jynzandtonic , @moonlightsolo

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josephjoestarhateblog · 1 year

Text

“you’ve never looked as beautiful as you do right now.”

day 2 of 14 days of fluff

Pairing: JotaroxReader

Summary: friends to lovers (confession), the college years perhaps?, star gazing with your best friend and he gives you his jacket because you’re cold, lightly inspired by me driving around the other night to see the green comet

No content warnings, it’s just really long because I got carried away and I totally don’t have a crush on jotaro

prompt list here

As the car stops in the small dirt parking area at the mouth of the trail, you clutch the map to your chest and excitedly look over at your best friend in the driver’s seat. His hat and hair slightly obstruct your view of his eyes but his face is calm. You unbuckle your seatbelt and fling the door open, hopping right out and laughing lightly as your shoes kick up dust.

Your arms cross in front of your torso, and you shiver as you wait for Jotaro to exit the vehicle, “C’mon! It’s cooooold out here, I wanna get walking!!”

“Hang on, will you?” His gruff voice returns as he steps out from the car, a thick blanket tucked under his arm, “And I told you it would be cold. Someone just doesn’t listen when I tell them to dress warm.”

With your arms still crossed you heave a dramatized sigh, tossing your head back but you’re caught off guard by just how clear the sky is, “Woah, you can see everything and we’re not even at the clearing. “

“Then imagine what we’ll see when we get to the clearing,” he cocks an eyebrow as he meets you by the passenger side.

You nod, unfolding the paper map and taking a few steps towards the trail head. You look over your shoulder to make sure he’s following, and he is.

A little gust from a cold breeze sends a shiver down your spine and you visibly shake before you compose yourself, causing Jotaro to shake his head at you.

“You never listen, do you Y/N?” He cocks half a smile at you and pulls his jacket closer around his body as he walks past you onto the dirt path.

“That’s not fair!” You fire back, catching up to him and trying match his pace. His long legs move a little faster than yours, so it is a bit of a challenge. “You can just wear what you always wear and be fine, I did bundle up for tonight and it’s still not enough.”

Jotaro glances over at you as the two of you continue through the woods, “A sweater and jeans is bundling up, eh?”

You nod, glancing down at the map that is more of a security blanket at this point. It was a short five minute walk on a straight trail and you’d be there, but it was a comfort nonetheless.

The two of you walk in silence for a bit, you keep catching yourself staring straight up and the clear night sky peaking through the trees. While it is cold, moving your muscles has helped substantially, but you’re still chillier than you would like to be. Every so often you look over at Jotaro, and eventually you notice his gaze has shifted from straight down the trail to meet yours.

“The wind is going to pick up in the clearing,” Jotaro starts, stopping to stand on the trail and turn his body towards you. He lifts the blanket his been carrying and gestures to it, “I brought this to sit on, now I feel I should have brought another to keep you warm.”

You shake your head and smile up at him then drop your eyes to the blanket before locking eyes with him again, “I can assure you I’ll be fine, Jotaro. Maybe you’re the one who’s cold, with how you keep harping on it”

“I’d hardly saying I’m harping,” he almost scoffs at you with a shrug, “Your shivering is just annoying.”

“Annoying?” You laugh, shaking your head and starting to walk past him. “Just come on, we’re almost there.”

And finally the two of you step out of the woods and into an open field, Jotaro a step or two behind you. The hay has long since been cut and baled, so you can see for acres and acres. The sky is a wide open expanse of little dotted stars, the nearly full moon almost directly overhead.

“Just. Wow.” Is all you can utter as you crane your neck back to look up at the stars. The wind begins to pick up as you take a few more steps forward, causing your body to tense but you barely pay it any mind.

Jotaro stands behind you, and you can hear the slight grin in his voice, “Never seen stars before, Y/N?”

You whip around, grinning at his teasing, “Never like this before! We can see the whole sky. It’s like a big dome, I could stare at it forever…” Your voice is serene as it trails off and you turn your eyes back to the stars.

After hearing some rustling, you notice Jotaro spread out the beach blanket on the grass. Once it is all smoothed out you notice him smiling up at the moon and you take a few steps towards him, holding your arms by your chest to try to stay warm in the blustering wind.

“This was a good idea, right?” You raise an eyebrow, “it’s almost magical.”

You are absolutely enamored by the night sky, though you keep stealing glances at your best friend to find him already looking at you. One of the times you catch him staring he clears his throat then gestures to the blanket. You nod and sit down, patting the spot next to you which he swiftly sinks into.

His body offers some protection from the wind but you still catch yourself shivering and you can tell he notices. You try to push through, pointing up at the sky, “You see that line of three stars? That’s Orion’s Belt.”

“Mhm,” he follows your pointing, tilting his head far back enough that his hat almost slides off his head but one of his hands flies up at lightning speed to secure it, this pulls a giggle out of you.

The two of you sit in a comfortable silence as you get lost in the sky. The still night is peaceful and being with someone you care about, who makes you feel so safe, is the best feeling in the world. You get lost in thoughts of how much you like Jotaro, how good of a friend he is to have driven you out to see the stars on a week night. Yeah he teases you, yes he’s a little rough around the edges, but you two have a sort of understanding. As your thoughts keep twirling in your mind you jump in surprise as you are enveloped in warmth.

“Jotaro?” You twist your head to the side to see him wordlessly slipping his big jacket over your shoulders.

“I told you, your shivering was annoying me.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. I’m soooo annoying, huh?”You laugh, tossing your head back and then falling over to the side so you’re leaning against him. You blink up at him with a soft smile as you wrap his jacket tightly around yourself, “Thank you, Jotaro”

He responds with a small grunt and a nod, as both your gazes return to the sky. Without another word you notice him slip an arm around your shoulders and not to your surprise when you look over at him he’s already looking at you with softer eyes than you’ve seen in awhile.

You let out a little teasing laugh and bite your lip before speaking, “You keep staring at me! Do I look good in your jacket, or something?”

Without hesitation Jotaro responds, “You’ve never looked as beautiful as you do right now.”

You are taken aback, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks and your stomach begin to swirl. Flustered beyond belief you don’t break his gaze and manage to choke out, “O-oh yeah?”

“Mhm,” he nods, tightening his arm around you, “You in my jacket, with the moon in your hair. I like it.”

You look away, feeling warmth spread through your body you muster up the courage to look him dead in the eyes, “Well I like you.”

Your boldness gets a chuckle out of him, he squeezes you in a side hug, “I know, Y/N.”

“You know?” You scoff, blinking in disbelief, “How did you know? I don’t think I even knew before I said it.”

Jotaro leans his face in towards yours, placing his free hand under your chin to make sure you see eye to eye, “Because I like you, too.”

Overwhelmed with butterflies you screw your eyes closed before letting out a nervous laugh and meeting his gaze again, swallowing hard before speaking softly, “That’s crazy. Maybe you should like, take me out sometime, or something.”

He laughs, dropping his hand from your chin to pull you into a full embrace, “Yeah, perhaps I should.”

“I’d like that,” you say into his chest. He’s hugged you before, but never like this. You allow yourself to relax into his arms, shielded from the cold.

You sit in his arms for a few moments you wished would never end, before straightening your back to sit up again. The two of you adjust on the blanket and return to star gazing.

“Look,” He jostles your arm and points up to the left of the moon, “Y/N, did you see it?”

You nod, you almost hadn’t. It was such a quick blip against the black sky but you had caught it. A shooting star. You grin, “Make a wish.”

He chuckles, “I think I got my wish tonight, don’t want to push my luck.”

#jotaro kujo #jotaro x reader #jotaro fluff #jjba fluff #jotaro kujo fluff #reader insert #I am so sorry it’s so long #jojo’s bizarre adventure #jjba #jjba fanfic

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