#he ran the local farm with his parents but he fucking hated it

[niightfiend]

I *finally* drew my Fallout New Vegas OC before they became a ghoul :)

[catchyoulaterhotdog]

Country boy, I love you AU

What’s up, i’m back on my bullshit with this self indulgent country boy!Willie and city boy!Alex au. The new tag is country boy I love you au because I finally came up with a name. Since I don’t really write I wanted to write out some head canons for this au as I pump out more drawings. Put under the cut for anyone who doesn’t want to read all my ramblings.

Willie

Last name is Thomson, lives with his family on a big farm, has an older brother and a younger sister, plus his cousin Flynn lives with him!

Absolutely loves animals and getting up early. My boy is up crowing with the Roosters.

Can cook and bake like a god, predominantly works in the bakery in the back of his parent’s market. You have to try his homemade donuts, they’re to die for.

His parents are Renee and Allen, his sister is Fivel, his brother Matthew. Y’all already know Flynn

Absolutely loves horses!!! Had a horse boy phase, probably still in it.

His parents and trainer try to get him to do horse shows but he’d much rather go on trail rides all day

His formal trainer is Caleb Covington, who wishes he’d use his skills for much more than just running around the woods and pretending to be Merida from Brave.

Absolute best friends with Reggie and Julie, who he’s known all of his life. Reggie works as a stable keep and Julie works at the market with him.

Flynn and him are tight-knit, and tease each other about their respective crushes on some cute but definitely out of place people on the farm.

Friendly as hell but super energetic a lot of the time, can take some time to get use to him.

Carries around stim toys for him and Reggie in his bag, even sometimes puts them in saddle bags when they go out for rides.

Assigned to help out Alex, a new boy to town who just needed a job and didn’t expect this.

Alex

Lives with Carrie and Trevor Wilson, Carrie being his cousin, since coming out to his parents didn’t go so well

Trevor decides to move out to the countryside to find some new inspiration for his music and get out of the stuffy city life.

Trevor becomes friends with Ray (cough cough) and Alex is introduced to his daughter Julie

They hit it off and when Alex mentions needing a job, Julie recommends him to the Thomsons.

Shows up to his first day of work in a nice shirt plus his fanny pack, along with some nice jeans he had patched and painted with Carrie.

Willie is enamored but is like, what the hell are you wearing? As Willie stands there in beat up overalls and a very loose flannel button up. 

Alex is not amused, going through mud and hay and all this gunk to work with animals.

Low key terrified of the horses at first, the only animal he trusts is Willie’s beloved sheep dog, named Hot Dog for some reason???

Thinks Willie is hot way too energetic and kind of hates him at first.

Rants to Carrie, think Draco ranting about Harry to his dad, “You won’t believe what he made me do today!!! I almost slipped and ended up pig food! And He had the audacity to look so good in messy braids and overalls covered in filth!”

Low-key wishes he had a job in the market instead but is slowly coming around.

Does have one cow that he absolutely loves

Does absolutely 100% not have a crush on Willie shut the fuck up Carrie.

Julie

Absolute sweetheart and a half, we know this

Lives with her dad and brother in a nice house not too far from Willie’s, they grew up together and him and Flynn are her absolute best friends

Reggie she’s meant a few times but doesn’t really have a lot of time to check out the stables, he seems really nice though.

Works mostly in the bakery part with Willie, she can frost a cupcake like nobody’s business.

Absolutely adores music and she organizes a quarterly concert on the farm where anyone can sign up and help raise funds for cancer awareness (Started after her mom died)

One day a newcomer shows up and his name is Luke

She thinks he is absolutely obnoxious at first, wayyyy too flirty and wayyy too full of himself

Once he catches sight of her though he makes it his mission to go to the farmer’s market as much as possible without seeming to creepy

And maybe, maybe Julie’s starting to think he’s funny

No he’s not cute shut up Alex!!!

Reggie

Horse trainer and stable hand for the Thomsons

Willie loves going on long trail rides with him, they really get each other

Absolutely loves his job and the friends he’s made at the barn

Very common for him to stay with Willie when his parents are fighting

The first one to make friends with Alex on the farm (After Julie), they bond over a shared love of many 90s bands and he helps him come around to the horses

Thinks watching him and Willie in the beginning stages is absolutely hilarious

Takes Alex shopping for some actual appropriate clothing

Gets crushes really really easily, probably has had one on everybody on the farm at some point.

Absolutely loves Julie’s quarterly concerts and always plays the same song-Home is where my horse is

Sometimes on really busy days he’ll help out Willie and Julie in the market

Met Luke at the same concert Julie did and is now very happy to play matchmaker

He loves love!!!

Is trying to teach Luke horseback riding but it’s not going so well

May or may not be the reason the sheep dog is named Hot Dog

Luke

Lives with his friend, Nick, since he ran away from his parents. 

Has dedicated himself to music, and found out about a concert that a local farm did

There he meets Julie and Reggie and he loves them both

Makes it his mission to try and court the lovable but sassy Julie with Reggie as his wingman

Meets Alex and they bond over being into music and a little less country oriented than everyone else.

Though Alex will tell him off if he’s holding up business

Constantly gets snuck onto the farm by Reggie

First to notice the insane tension between Willie and Alex

Flynn

Lives with Willie since her parents travel a lot

Loves the farm but not as much as Willie, she’s not as big into the animals

Always performs with Julie at the concerts

Works in the market but in the produce section

Does hijack the speakers to play modern music

Meets Alex’s sister(?), she thinks Carrie is his sister at first.

Everyone thinks they hate each other but Willie, who realizes Flynn has a big crush on Carrie and tries to get her a job

Flynn will absolutely not admit her crush though 

Is very intrigued by whatever Luke and Julie have going on and teams up with Reggie to make it a thing

No one expects it but Reggie and her make a bomb ass team

They’re pretty close but they don’t hang out as often as they should

Carrie

Absolutely hates this move, even more than Alex

Goes to the farm with him a few times and almost cried when one of her dresses got ruined because a certain worker smashed into her with crates of produce

Though she couldn’t cry because the beautiful girl who smashed into her and was talking a mile a minute had absolutely enamored her.

Alex thinks it is hilarious since it’s finally reversed and she’s not teasing him about his crushes

Carrie is determined to get this girl to like her, but isn’t quite sure how. 

Finds an in when she becomes friends with Julie and Julie knows right away what’s going on between her two friends

Just a lot of oblivious gay pining

[henry-cavill-baby]

To Study (Insects) │ 1

Pairing: Clark Kent (MoS) x Original Female Character

Warnings: None 

Word Count: 3k~

Summary: Connie and Clark, two peas in a pod. She didn’t know if it was his soft blue eyes or his Mother’s sweet blueberry pie that had caught her eye, but boy howdy, was she caught. 

A/N: Nothing! Enjoy!

The best thing about living in Kansas was that nothing ever happened.

There was a mile wide sprawl of corn that was breathtaking to few; it had started out as nothing much but rows upon rows of dirt that now bore sprawls of golden richness that could truly blind any tourist with its beauty.  Most of it was picked and sold—Kansas was full of rural farmers and farmers markets, but some just stayed for show.

And the Farmers Market typically consisted of stay-at-home mothers trying to sell their overpriced sugary sweet lemon bars to any sucker who would pay seven dollars for four measly pieces.

Most of the teens at the local high school got rides home from their parents, but Connie Mayfield knew that you couldn’t pay her Father, Walter, to pick his daughter up from school. If he did, then he’d no doubt miss a rerun of Baywatch, and that simply couldn’t happen.

A tune that rivaled the airiness of a flute flew from the 14 year olds mouth on her long walk home. Connie Mayfield whistled a nonchalant melody as her uneven pace took her closer to home. 

The young girl had a lot on her mind; there was a test on Friday that was covering another form of division that looked to confusing to follow, and Alice’s birthday party was on Saturday and getting a gift for the little girl who had everything was harder than it seemed. The years of gifts consisting of dolls and bright hairbrushes were long over. Maybe she’d like a new bracelet or a set of earrings.

An irregular rock bumped against the tip of her shoe and she grinned, lobbing it off into the cornfield, a little thud echoing through the golden maze. 

It was tempting—the idea of taking the not so short shortcut through the tall stalks, if just to feel a little more free for just a moment, but the sounds of distress just up ahead had her little sneakers speeding up. She turned to the bend and grew furious at the sight of three boys throwing around her friend.

“Hey!” she bellowed, running closer before screeching to a halt in front of the teen holding up her friend by the lip of his shirt, “Leave him alone!”

Isaiah Matthews grinned with his fist still clutching the younger boy's shirt, “Oooo, is this your girlfriend, Kent?”

Clark Kent sneered up at the taller boy, fists clenching in rage. 

“Leave her alone,” he grit out, watching Isaiah sneer with confidence.

“I didn’t take you for a pussy, Kent, but I guess I was wrong.” He dropped Clark with a grin and sauntered to the near growling girl. 

“Connie, right? My dad says you Mayfield’s are trailer trash, and I can see where he gets that from.”

His eyes gave her a visible up-and-down, “No wonder only a freak would like you.” 

The words had barely left his mouth before Clark launched himself onto the back of the bully, pummeling him to the ground with hateful eyes. The two other lackeys ran, but Connie went and pulled Clark back before he did something he’d regret. The two of them fell away from the older boy, watching him with guarded eyes.

Isaiah spat at ground near their feet, “Fucking freaks.”

Connie waited until he was out of sight, turning to Clark and frowning at his disheveled appearance. “You know, I’m not always gonna be here to save you, Clark.”

He wiped away the sheen of dirt and sweat covering his upper lip, refusing to meet her eyes. “I didn’t need your help. I could’ve handled it.”

“Oh yeah, you totally had it under control,” she mocked with pursed lips.

He frowned at her sarcasm and picked up his dirtied school bag, looking down the path home. It was a quick walk to the farm, and mom had probably already started dinner, which is why it made no sense when he turned and muttered, “Can I walk you home?”

Her eyes went wide at his question, upper teeth nibbling on her pink lip, shrugging, “Sure, if you want.”

They both nodded and started a slow walk to the Mayfield’s. Connie’s fingers twitched at her side while different conversation starters nearly passed through her lips every few seconds. The urge to ask why he never fought back, why he let people call him a freak raced through her mind, but only silence hung between them. It was almost annoying that he never stood up for himself.

There was something mysterious about Clark that intrigued her 14-year-old brain; no one had ever let him live down that time he’d locked himself in a closet (and torched the doorknob till it was bright red). 

He was just the guy who kept to himself most of the time.  

And still she kept on eye on him the entire time, watching his own twitching fingers pick at the loose lining of his jeans, lip biting in a matter similar to her own, brows furrowing in thought, though they always did that. He looked cute when he was deep in thought.

Cute? I think Clark is… cute?

A deep redness flooded her cheeks and her lips pursed into a thin line, trying not to visibly speed away from the other boy, but Clark noticed everything. There was something keen about the way his mind worked; almost predatorial. 

“Are you okay?” he asked, the cute furrow in his brow deep as she faced him while willing away the redness of her juvenile cheeks. 

She nodded but didn’t meet his blue eyes. They were like oceans—I’d swim in Clark’s eyes if he’d ask—and her stomach always fluttered when he looked at her.

She expected them to fall back into silence, now halfway to the Mayfield farm, but Clark piped up, “Are you excited for the field trip tomorrow?”

A flutter of excitement rang through her veins, but she held back and simply nodded. “It’ll be a nice change from sitting inside all day.” Clark nodded along with her running words, “I heard the museum has a section on insects and their habitats, and I hope they have a butterfly display. Or—or maybe a real entomologist will be there.”

Now bugs- those were cool. Anything from crickets to butterflies to beetles, each one more interesting than the last…except arachnids. You could keep those eight-legged freaks as far away as humanly possibly.

Clark slowed their pace but kept his distance, “Is that what you wanna be when you grow up?”

She grinned and tried to slow the internal monologue of bug talk.

“I think when I grow up, I’ll leave this place behind and follow my dreams.” She said.

“And I guess those dreams do include insects of all types. They really do get a bad reputation sometimes. I think they’re just as delicate and interesting as humans.”

“Really?” Clark wrinkled in his nose, “My dad sprays the fields for bugs in the summer.” She hit his shoulder as he let out a snort, “I think I’ve squashed a few flies for mom too.”

She shook her head and couldn’t see Clark staring at her golden locks as they shined in the sun. “You’re the worst, Kent.”

The both chuckled and came to a halt in front of the Mayfield farm. It was more run down than the other houses in the area and the roof could’ve been mistaken for caving in, and she knew it looked worse on the inside. The moldy green color of the roof had seen better days, and the porch could barely hold the old rocking chair that her dad liked to sit on in the mornings. Clark would never know how the inside looked even worse.

“Do you know what you wanna be when you grow up?” She asked with a soft smile, taking no offense as Clark tried, once again, not to meet her eyes. The swoop of his brown hair was nearing the tops of his eyes, but she knew he wasn’t inclined to cut it. He didn’t buzz his hair like the other boys.

“I…” He paused, foot kicking the uneven dirt under his shoes. He bit his lip lower lip and finally, after what seemed like an eternity, met her honey eyes.

“Yes?”

He took a deep breath and lightly shrugged, “Sometimes, I feel like I don’t know who I am. I think I wanna figure that out first, ya know?”

No, she didn’t know but asking Clark to explain how he felt could feel like pulling teeth. Golden honey stared into the aquamarine sea, two sets of young lips wet and wanting, and Connie picked at her pants, nails bending with surprising force.

The door to the Mayfield hold slammed with a grotesque force, and the two teens jumped away from one another as Walter Mayfield grunted his way to them, to Clark.

“’Thought I told you to stay away from my daughter, Kent!” Walter bellowed, nearing the fourteen-year-old clear-eyed boy who showed no sign of backing down with his head held high and chest jutted out. 

“I don’t want you lookin’ at her, touchin’ her—“

Connie finally yelled, “Dad!” and stood between him and Clark, protecting her friend from the unjustified anger of her dad. She felt Clark’s fingers grip the back of her shirt and tug her closer, just as Walter stood over them with beady eyes and steam shooting from his ears.

“Get in the house, Connie.” Her dad growled, never looking away from Clark.

But she shook her head and pushed against her dad’s chest, ignoring Clark’s fingers still gripping the back of her shirt. “We weren’t doing anything, go back inside, please.”

A startled yelp left her throat as her dad’s strong fist lurched her forward by the front of her shirt, throwing her to the ground and out of Clark’s grip. The air left her lungs and the dirt felt dry under her fingertips, watching as Clark seemed to vibrate in place, glaring deadly at Walter.

“If I ever see you ‘round here again, Kent.” He spat, “I’ll make you wish you were never born. Are we clear?”

The threat hung between the adult and young teen, and Clark tightly nodded and stalked off down the dirt path, not once looking back at Connie, never seeing the tears in her eyes.

Walter stared down at his daughter with a sneer, “Get inside. I won’t say it again.”

The dried dirt caked under her nails as she scrambled to stand and bolt inside, not taking note of the woman asleep on the couch that she’d never seen before, or the beer bottles covering the kitchen counters. The stairs creaked as she fled upstairs and shut her bedroom door, clicking the latch in place. A heaviness sat in her chest as her backpack thumped to the floor.

Beaded tears fell down her thick cheeks and light cries sounded through the room.

“—I want that boy away from my son!” the mother of Peter Ross screeched from the Principal's office. “Am I the only one who understands the situation? That boy lifted a bus from a lake. A bus! What kind of monster are we allowing to walk with our children?”

The meek father of Alice pepped up, “But—But he did save them, right?”

“It doesn’t matter, Martin. I don’t feel safe with him here, and neither should any of you.”

Martha Kent hung her head and left the Principal's office, ignoring the calls from the desperate parents. There was nothing else she needed to hear from them, especially insults about her son. The door shut with a click, and her heels clipped the floor with each step.

She did her best to smile at Clark, but he’d always seen right through that. He sat up straight and looked her in the eyes, his soft voice rivaling his posture, “How did it go?”

She knew Clark had heard every word already and that lying would only make him defensive. “About as well as you’d expect, honey.” She patted his shoulder and ushered him to stand, “C’mon, let’s go home.”

The car ride was silent aside from the tapping of Clark’s blunt nails on the fabric of his jeans, and the shaking of his leg. He was such a nervous boy—her Clark—and it pained her heart to see him to try to hide how this whole thing was tearing him up inside. They normally played the radio, Clark usually flipped stations and rarely settled on just one, but silence was all they heard.

Jonathon Kent watched his wife pull up, and frowned as Clark bolted from the passenger seat and fled into the backyard. He stepped outside just as Martha shut off the car and gingerly stepped out, walking into her husband’s arms with a deep sigh. Exhaustion ran deep in her veins, and Jonathon wished he could take it away.

“That bad, huh?” He muttered into her brown locks, feeling her nod into his chest.

“Talk to him.” She begged, trying to keep the tears at bay, “I think…I think it’s time he…” They both turned to face the barn with heavy hearts, knowing this would be for the best.

Jonathon nodded and released Martha, shooting a thin-lipped smile her way as he made his way to the backyard. His heart thumped as he eyed his son, whose legs were hanging off the back of his pickup, shoulders hunched in his blue hoodie. As he got closer, he could hear the sniffles from his son.

“Clark.” His son turned and wiped away the wetness on his cheeks. “I just want to know what happened. I’m not mad, I promise.”

Jonathon sat next to his son and watched his boys lip quiver. His words came out with a thin veil of pain, “I wasn’t thinking, Dad.” A hiccup escaped his throat. “She was so scared… I just couldn’t let her die."

The water was rising too fast—it was cold and soaked the kids instantly— and Clark watched as Connie grew frantic in her efforts to open the window enough to crawl out, or maybe she was trying her best to keep the water from flooding the already half submerged bus. Cries and screams rang through the drowning bus, and Clark swam, trying his best to make it to Connie

“Connie!” He yelled, reaching forward to snag her shirt and pull her away from the stream of flowing water.

“Oh god, Clark! We’re gonna die!”  Her screams were shrill and almost hurt his ears, but the smell of her fear mixed with the smell of tears and piss coming off the other students had him looking for a way out.  

But the water was nearing the top of the bus, and all he could hear was her cries.

“Son, I thought we talked about this.” He started, patting his own thigh, “We have to keep what you can do a secret.”

“They were all going to drown, how could I have done nothing? They didn’t deserve to die.”

“Clark, I just—“ Jonathon paused, watching the sunshine across the cornfield that spanned miles upon miles. It was an array of reds that shined upon the old graying barn. 

“I just want to protect you, son. And sometimes, when people see something they don’t understand, they get scared and lash out. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if something happened to you.”

And finally, Clark asked the question that Jonathon had known would always come.

“Why am I like this, dad? Why am I so different from everyone else?”

Memories of finding their son, raising him to be the young man who sat at his side—through all the times he’d been different than the other kids, and knowing all of the hardships that were yet to come. It was almost enough to make him cry.

Almost.

Jonathon stood up from the truck and stood in front of his son, placing both hands on his small shoulders. “I’m going to show you something, son, and it may make things make a bit more sense. But no matter what—“ He pressed his palm to his sons chest and smiled,

“You are my son.”

Part 2

[morrigansmuses]

3 Golden Rules.

On Ethical disappointments. 

I was raised to be tolerant. To consider the views and opinions of others, to keep and open mind. I was a social outsider (homeschooled due to racism in the local school.) I vowed I wouldn’t ever exclude people for being different to me or having different values. I was desperate to make and keep friends. More than anything.

I was 15 in the late 1990s. Lonely as hell. I decided that I would befriend absolutely anyone who would have me. Essentially anyone who wouldn’t beat me up on sight for being foreign.

I decided that I had 3 and only 3 dealbreakers in terms of friendship.

RULE 1. They couldn’t be cruel to animals.

RULE 2. They coudn’t sexually abuse children.

RULE 3 They couldn’t be a card carrying Nazi.

If anyone in my life did any of those things I couldn’t associate with them anymore. But barring that I would try to accept them as individuals. 

Thats a pretty low bar right? I mean how could anyone fail to meet those insanely low standards?

See back then I didn’t know that shades of grey existed. I knew in theory that we were all imperfect beings, but I didn’t know what that meant yet in reality.

So I began to make friends. With normal kids. Actually probably nicer than average kids because they were sweet and sensitive enough to accept me for who I was when no one else would.

So the first hurdle I came across was that some of these people I was friends with enjoyed hunting. They would say for meat. I get that. Better than factory farming right? less cruel, less wasteful.

“You shouldn’t eat meat unless you’re willing to kill it yourself” They’d say virtuously.  

But then I saw them in action. Delighting in the act of killing in a way that I knew wasn’t healthy. Laughing at the kid goat’s head bursting in a shower of gore or the way an animal screamed upon being shot. Killing more than they needed… That’s an impulse I don’t believe humans should engender in themselves.

But it was for food. Right? So I overlooked it and silenced the voice in my heart.

One day my best friend shot a stray cat with his bb gun just for the laugh. It didn’t kill the cat or anything but the animal yelped and ran away. I was so upset and shocked that I burst into tears and it all came pouring out. Was he training himself to become a sociopath? I asked him.

He apologised. He never did anything like it again. He was very kind to animals, especially cats, ever since and doesn’t hunt them anymore for any reason.

I forgave.

That’s the first time I remember compromising a core value. It was like a tooth being pulled from my 15 year old head. 

I don’t regret it.

We’re still best friends. 

The second hurdle that started to crack my young heart was the undeniable fact that in the early 2000s almost every guy I knew in his early 20s had a girlfriend between that ages of 12 and 15. NEVER OLDER. I can’t stress this enough. They would vomit in disgust at the thought of a crone of 18 or 19. They were also VERY vocal about their desire and right to have sex with children after a few drinks. By the time I was 20 I knew I had aged out of the 20s dating pool. I wasn’t attracted to older men. 

No matter. I’m asexual and prefer platonic relationships anyway.

To this day I’ve never had a romantic relationship with a man. Because once I realised that Rule 2 wasn’t one any of them could keep, the trust was broken.

It wasn’t only men either. My closest girlfriend was a 26 year old substitute teacher who fucked one of her 15 year old students on a drunk night out once…

So they both had fun and boys that age are up for anything right? I mean. He probably still boasts about it today…

Right?

Plus… She was all I had. Like the only one I had at the time. I was so scared of losing her.

I turned a blind eye and ear. I tolerated. I didn’t have to approve of their teenage girlfriends did I? After all there were so many of them that if I cut them out of my life I’d have no friends ever again. Because the whole of society looked like them…

Thats the truth.

People in my extended family have dated 17 or 18 year old girls and encouraged them to drop out of school to have their children. People I love have done that.

I once knew a handsome, intelligent and charming man. He was dating a family member for a few months. He often defended the right of adult men to date teens. “Girls mature more quickly than boys.” He’d argue. Everyone would agree. After all hadn’t my great grandmother been 12 years old when she met my great grandfather and married him on her 16th birthday (with parental permission)? He was in his 20s. Just a boy himself surely? “We all know what children boys in their 20s are right?” Said my Mother… Whom I love very much.

Excuses were made.

Years later I discovered the the handsome, intelligent and charming man had been raping a 6 year old the entire time we’d known him. He is still wanted by the police today.

My father tells that when he was a boy of 18 back in the 70s he had kicked an older German man, a respected family friend, out of his car because the man had asked him to pull over, he had something important to tell him. When he did so, the man said that the Holocaust was a myth. An exaggeration, a Zionist hoax.

My Father was dating my mother at the time. She’s Jewish. So is his uncle, a Holocaust survivor.

He yelled at the man not to talk shit and made him walk home.

I am not my father.

The first time a Holocaust denier (a respected local businessman) voiced their opinion to me I froze. Then laughed. Surely he must be kidding... I argued briefly before realising that he’d made up his mind.

My well meaning people said I’d made a mistake. It was my job, they said, to change his mind. To educate him. Otherwise how would he learn?

I didn’t speak to him again but I still nod at him in the street because he employs a few of my friends and I wouldn’t want to make things awkward for them.

And also I don’t want him to yell at me. 

I have worked with Holocaust survivors and have survivors in my immediate family and I still nod in the street at a Holocaust Denier because we are raised to be polite aren’t we? Let’s not make a scene. 

We’re mature adults.

Aren’t we?

People are starting to turn weirder than they used to be. Politically.

My Leftist friends are in a secret facebook group... Strenuously defending China’s Uyghur genocide because Communism can do no wrong… And at the same time saying all the Israelis need to be killed for what they’ve done to the Palestinians. One suggests a biological weapon tailored to Jews.

My Centrist friends are suggesting we “Hang up democracy for a while” in order to combat global warming and welcome a global police state and stop “kicking off” about our rights all the time. “Maybe we need a jackboot up the arse” one of them says.

And the ones that aren’t on the Left?

My facebook feed these days is getting awfully full of Rothschild memes.

“We own every bank in the world and funded both sides of every war since Waterloo.” They say, next to a grinning caricature of Jacob de Rothschild. Reminiscent of a Nazi cartoon of a “Rat Jew.”

Even a hedge fund billionaire prick doesn’t deserve that, does he?

I don’t comment. What’s the point? They’ve watched all the youtube and don’t read history books on principal.

My Brother is getting into Qanon. So is my Sister in Law.

She follows the medical teachings of a man who thinks the Jews invented Chemotherapy to kill the Germans after the war. Apparently he is becoming more and more popular.

Eccentrics.

Thats all.

I’m half Jewish. Like My Brother.

One of the Survivors I know said that 3 weeks after the Nazi propaganda came into the school he attended, he was in Bergen Belsen and half his family was dead.

His neighbour was jealous because his father had 2 more cows than he did.

I hear Marine Le Pen is neck and neck with Macron to win France.

A good friend of mine said it's because by 2030 Muslims will outnumber white people in Europe. He won’t read the articles I send him. But he sure sends me a lot of YouTubes.

I ignore them because I don’t want to hate him. Maybe he ignores my articles for the same reason.

Hey 15 year old me…. You, skinny thing with the ethics, the braces and black eyeliner…

Those compromises I made were made out of love... And also fear. 

Please stop looking at me like that little girl.

“It’s true” writes my friend. They’re trying to breed us out. It’s all an elite Zionist plot.”

I close Whatsapp.

Here I go again I guess…

[bestworstcase]

Do you have headcanons or thoughts about Cassandra's parents in Bitter Snow? Like have they brushed shoulders (or butted heads) with Sir Peter/Royal Guards before? What was their relationship like with Sirin?

WELL

as it happens this is a subplot of moonless air aksdfkjfjsdk

stream of conscious rambling below the cut

prior to the blight i figure socona had that kind of… small, poor village where nothing important ever happens vibe. it’s relatively close to a major city but still off the beaten track in that it is, like, almost due east from artois, which means that if you’re headed from artois to the other two major cities in southern corona, alcorsīa or charcāthēn, you’ll miss socona by miles. and meanwhile if you head east from artois you hit… socona, and then just mountains. it’s not on any major thoroughfares.

so in terms of law enforcement they had… a handful of locals organized into a watch that, technically, reported to the king’s watch, but in practice didn’t really have anything to report. very nowheresville.

so i don’t think sholar or morana had any direct encounters with the king’s watch prior to the blight beyond like, bringing crops through the city gates in artois and the normal exchanges with guards posted there around harvest time once a year. and of course like… most folks in socona still worship zhan tiri on the dl and that is very much a “keep your head down, don’t make waves” lifestyle because you do not want the king’s watch to start paying close attention to your community. so

sirin i think of as being like 6 or 7 years older than sholar, so right in that range where they still grew up together but she also very firmly thinks of him as her baby brother. they were born/raised in socona on the family farm and i think as a young woman sirin had a lot of ambition and wanted to leave and do more with her life than farming whereas sholar was very happy in socona and very keen to raise a family of his own there; so when their parents passed he inherited the farm instead of her.

they were def very different people but i think they were always pretty close, and sirin being the more… cynical/worldly/cautious of the two always had a big protective streak where sholar was concerned and they butted heads over that a lot.

i think sirin spent a few years of her early twenties just traveling around the region which definitely. radicalized her a bit in comparison to the average person in socona. because pre-blight, like i said, socona was kind of just this out-of-the-way village that no one cared about and that brought with it a small measure of safety from corona that isn’t really the norm. and then sirin went to places like alcorsīa and charcāthēn and then also saporian communities in marne and vinovia and also just traveled around in the region and both… saw that everywhere was not like socona in terms of saporians being left more or less to their own devices, and also directly experienced discrimination herself in a way she hadn’t before and that made her go hmmm.

and i think she responded to THAT by getting a lot more invested in the syconium than she had been previously, because fuck you. she was def on the boat of like, “this sucks but we can’t change anything so we have to just hold on tight to what we have now so at least nothing will get worse” for a long time, and wanting to like.. help preserve the culture of the syconium etc. which led to her studying to join basically the priesthood

(vocabulary time: the general terminology across all three cults of the ternary is cháthar, which refers generically to anyone who associates directly with one  [or more] of the gods and translates literally to mean “magic user” so basically “witch,” or crēzhan [gendered forms: crēzan if female, crēśan if male, crēźan if nb] for cháthar who are also leaders within a temple. this one if translated literally basically means “holy/divine person” but it’s more akin in meaning to like, “reverend” in that it is an honorific.

and then each cult also has their own specific terms and what sirin is is aó alar which is roughly like… lorekeeper, storyteller. and then in the present day she is also a witch and the syconium’s leader so cháthar, crēzan, and aó alar are are titles that apply to her)

ANYWAY. she met maíne dathámar around this time. i go back and forth on whether maíne was from marne or charcāthēn but either way i think she was a musician and keen on history and they just sort of. clicked instantly. traveled together, fell in love. eventually decided to settle back down in socona in like their late twenties, tath and then cornaīn happened.

meanwhile morana was born/raised in artois and i think of her as being the daughter of fairly well-off folks who ran off to be with the poor farmer boy and…probably had a very difficult time adjusting to actually living in socona and, you know, being poor, and a farmer now. she was head over heels with sholar but also very much not prepared for the farming village life / a lot of culture shock going on. and i think sirin helped her a lot with the process of working through that? because sirin was fairly well-traveled and despite having grown up in socona spent most of her life wanting to get out of it so she had this point of connection with morana that sholar just didn’t/couldn’t have and that helped them bond and gave morana an important outlet for talking about things she missed about living in the city + getting accustomed to the quirks of rural life.

(the first time morana woke up and saw, like, deer in the garden was a whole thing)

and like sirin would’ve been happy with anyone who made sholar happy but i think she also just genuinely adored morana and very readily welcomed her into the family

tath was 5 years older than cass and cornaīn was 3 years older than her so while the kids were all pretty close cass was definitely like, the annoying tagalong of their little group / the baby constantly trying to keep up with the bigger kids.

in terms of looks i think cass takes after sholar a lot more than she does morana; similar facial structure, the greenish-grey eyes, dark hair, shorter/stockier build. morana i think of as having been a very tall, very fair-but-freckly ginger and cass just did not get any of those genes at all besides that she’s pretty pale lmao

cass’s maternal grandparents are still alive and living in artois but i don’t think they’re on speaking terms with sirin because they weren’t happy about morana leaving for socona in the first place and then as far as they’re concerned sholar went and got her killed; i think they’ve probably heard both versions of the story and are a bit skeptical of sholar *really* being innocent because they hated him when he was alive so. i also haven’t settled on names for them yet, rip.

[mwolf0epsilon]

Story about something crashing on little Sammy parents farm. Maybe the government comes and forces them out for a while to collect it?👽

Warning for disturbing imagery and dead animals!

Summary: Joey Drew Studio is snowed in, so while everyone tries to keep warm for the night they end up reminiscing about the oddest things they had ever experienced. Sammy ends up recalling a rather bizarre event from his childhood.

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[[MORE]]

"I'm sorry to impose so much Mrs. Harrison. I trust Abigail will behave, she's a little angel I assure you." Sammy fidgeted with the phone chord nervously as he listened to his elderly neighbor. "Yes, yes thank you... Oh certainly! Let her on so I can wish her a good night..."

Susie watched as the tired look on the music director's face melted away to welcome a gentler smile. She could sort of hear a child's voice on the line (his little sister that he'd mentioned a few times). It was quite endearing to see Sammy with such a calm and content expression instead of the usual grumpy scrawl that scared half the band into submission.

"Good night Abby, be good to Mrs. Harrison." The call was coming to a close. "I love you too."

Susie smiled at him and nodded, taking her turn to call home now that he was finished.

"Wally is heating up soup in the break room. The stove's thankfully working." She called after him as she dialed the number.

"Everyone camping out there?" He asked as he looked back at the voice actress.

"Everyone but Joey, that devil of a man actually has an insulated office... The rest of us are sleeping by the stove." She sighed "Thankfully Norman and Grant thought ahead and brought a few blankets to stay warm."

Clever thinking and also a necessity, as Grant's office was very drafty, and Norman's booth got cold from the pipework frosting over a bit (since the music department had been a repurposed bathroom) in cold weather. Mr. Cohen also knew the likelyhood of Joey having paid the heating bill. Slim to none.

"Great... Just what I wanted, to sleep in a stuffy room full of people and the smell of that rancid soup..." A soup he'd enjoyed at first (due to it reminding him of his father's cauliflower soup which had little bits of bacon in it), but which had lost its luster on the third week of being asked to take a few cans home. Abby hated the stuff so he'd had to eat it himself. "Don't you just love getting snowed in?"

"Only when I was a child. The snow usually meant no classes." Susie finished dialing and waited for her mother to answer.

He left her alone to go back into the break room where Wally and Norman were passing around bowls of soup. Grant greeted him with a blanket, which he graciously took. The damn studio was absolutely freezing in November. The freak snowstorm hadn't helped.

Honestly he'd loved the look of a snowy New York when he'd first moved here with his father. It had looked beautiful and new, almost magical, unlike the ranch he'd grown up in until he was 11. Looking back now, he missed the expanse of snowy fields instead of the cold streets. He also missed watching a few of the animals play in the snow.

Getting stuck in the studio made him a little nostalgic.

"Here ya go Sammy!" Wally passed him a bowl of soup, which he nearly dropped in surprise, and grinned "It ain't my ma's beef stew and it definitely lacks a spoon since we don't got that many of those to begin with, but at least it'll keep you warm from the inside!"

"I, yes at least that." He sniffed it and grimaced. Pork grease and chunky bits that definitely were less bacon and more cartilage. "You ever wonder how they made this slop?"

"I'd rather not think about it. It's like hot dogs ya know... The less you know about it, the better they are!" The janitor shrugged and went to sit on one of the chairs closer to the stove. Everyone was very much huddled close by, swaddled in shared blankets, rubbing their hands together to keep them warm, or drinking soup.

Norman nodded at the music director once he sat down to join the group. Not too long after Susie was sitting beside him, and he offered to share his blanket with her.

"So, what do we do now?" Wally asked as he looked around. The issue would be sorted in the morning but it was still only a quarter to eleven and no one was particularly keen on sleeping just yet.

"I'll tell ya what we could do!" Shawn called out from his spot, voice slightly muffled by his big red scarf. "I say we pass t'time by indulging in the ye old grand art that is story tellin'!"

"Story telling? What, like a sleepover?" Jack questioned. Sammy found it amusing that he'd swaddled himself in his blanket in a way that pressed his hair tight against his skull, to the point where it looked like a makeshift scarf and ear mitts. "Like when we were little kids?"

"Well we're all sleepin' here t'night aren't we? And ya don't need t'be wee little ankle biters t'go tellin' stories." Shawn huffed "Besides, what better way t'know yer co-workers than share some harrowin' tales? I sure got a few that'll intrigue you folks I'm sure."

"Is it about potatoes?" One of the art department workers asked, only to get a slap on the back of the head and an elbow to the ribs.

"Very funny, that muppet over there's a real comedian coddin like that..." The Irishman rolled his eyes. "Right, you folk ever hear 'bout the legend o'the banshee?"

Everyone gave him a peculiar look, which Shawn took as permission to carry on.

"The tale varies some dependin' on t'person who tells ya. But the way me ma told it to me was somethin' like this: The banshee is a sweet singin' virgin, pretty as a button, a real feek." He tapped his chin thoughtfully as he recalled his mother's words. "Sometimes she has long black hair, other times it's a bright red like fire. Always pale... But don't be thinkin' she's just some little lady, oh no. The banshee is a spirit, one that heralds death in the family. Her ghastly cries precede the death o'loved ones and fill ya with a mighty chill o'dread... And I saw one when I was just a wee lad."

"Ya saw... A ghost?" Lacie wrinkled her nose. "And ya sure it wasn't some regular girl you just saw?"

"Couldn't o'been. She was right outside the window Lacie. And me room was on the second floor..." Shawn shook his head "And I knew it had to o'been a banshee. She looked just like me cousin, who died o'the shakes a few months prior. My pa always did say she might come back as the household haunt, she wasn't ready t'leave just yet."

"So, that's it? You saw some apparitions at your window and think it was some folklore horror?" Sammy rolled his eyes.

"Yep. An' then in the morning me grandpa was dead. Dreadful song she went and had t'sing. I was just 5 too! T'damn beour coulda gone bother me brother instead... He was t'one that used to scare us wee lads with these tales o'ghosts n' ghoulies..."

Well, that wasn't a very nice story. And it likely had a reasonable explanation behind it too. Just a small child frightened by tales and likely still coming to terms with losing a cousin.

"Oh, that's nothin'!" Wally grinned. "Ghost stories aren't anythin' compared to what I found in a ditch when I was 8!"

"Oh yeah? Then enlighten us, oh scare Meister!" Shawn barked back, glaring slightly. "What coulda been worse than a banshee?"

"How about a maneater?" The janitor offered.

Shawn fell quiet and others began to whisper among each other at the claim, before Norman began to hush everyone.

"Go on then... Yous can't just say that an' not tell us."

"Oh man, it was the dang scariest thing I'd seen as a kid!" Wally grinned. "Us tykes from Brooklyn? We didn't grow up with monster stories and such. Our mas and pas told us about kidnappers and murderers instead, cuzz those are like, real dangers you know?"

He took a sip from his cooling bowl of soup, before clearing his throat.

"But you know what kids are like. They like adventure and don't really listen too much cuzz, you only believe it when you see it!" He carried on. "Me? I was with a couple a pals exploring this old ditch that had some neat stuff people used to throw in there. Busted watches, trinkets, sometimes a lost wallet with a little bit of cash in it...Well that day there wasn't just goodies."

Sammy sipped his own soup and felt Susie's arm brush up against his as she got on the edge of her seat. She was excited to hear wherever Wally's story was going.

"Local news had like, been going on about this one loon that had run off from the big house or somethin'. Some big mug who was a pervert or whatever. Adult stuff we kids didn't care for." Wally looked around as he spoke. "Only he wasn't no pervert, just really messed in the head. A cannibal. A cannibal that liked eating little tots. You know, stories like Little Johnny went pokin' around where he shouldn't and now there was no Little Johnny no more? Yeah that nearly was us."

"You found the guy in the ditch?" Sammy guessed.

"Nope! Found my neighbor, Sally, partially eaten and all kinds o' messed up." Wally replied "I figured we were in trouble so we ran like our butts were on fire and screamed the whole way back. Coppers caught the fucker and his picture on the paper still gives me nightmares. If we'd found him instead, we woulda ended up like Sally!"

Everyone looked extremely disturbed at the thought of a couple of 8 year olds finding another child's partially eaten corpse.

"Shite... No wonder yer such a mog. Brooklyn's fucked up!" Shawn winced.

"Hey!" Wally pouted.

"Also your story was misleading. You didn't actually encounter the "maneater"." Sammy pointed out. "That's not how you should advertise a tale you twit."

"Would ya rather I have found the creep that did it?"

"No, next time just don't make it sound like an actual encounter when it's an anecdote about another outcome entirely."

"Don't go bein' an ass Lawrence." Norman called out. "I thought the story was good. Messed up, but good... Granted it don't top what I experienced when I was still in the cradle."

"Oh, this ought to be good." The blond smirked. "Word of mouth?"

"My Nanna never told no lie. Yous won't find a more honest lady." Norman smirked back.

At this point everyone had finished their soup and was practically laying or leaning against one another for warmth. It helped that the story telling atmosphere had all but made everyone forget about the cold.

Norman being so tall and obscuring the stove ever so slightly, cast strange shadows on the wall.

"Now, this happened a few months after I was born. My Nanna was lookin' after me while my mama and memaw was helpin' my pops and pepaw out in the cotton fields. My brother and sister wasn't that much older either, not yet ready to go pickin', so they was in their room playin' together." He leaned back in his chair, a content smile on his face "Nanna was just preparin' lunch while I was layin' in this big ol' basket full o' pillows and blankets, just sleepin' away like babies do. She turned 'round to chop up some carrots when she had this weird feelin' all of a sudden."

Sammy put an arm around Susie as he listened. Norman was a pretty good story teller. Had this voice that just pulled you in. He could almost imagine a little chubby baby in a basket while an old lady prepared food in the kitchen.

"Nanna Polk always had a feel for when things were no good all of a sudden. She'd known when Poppop weren't doing well in the head, and she knew how to pop a shot into a big gator when it got too close to the house. She wasn't afraid o'nothin'." Norman carried on. "But she was afraid. She was afraid when the blade o'her knife caught the reflection o'this big brute pullin' my basket out the window."

Sammy winces and Susie tightened her grip on his arm. The others were quite aghast as well, at the thought of an innocent little babe getting snatched away by some stranger.

"Nanna didn't scream. She didn't wanna scare my siblings you see... Instead she tiptoed towards the backdoor, knife in hand, and kept outta sight o'the man that was tryin' to take me away." Norman hummed as he thought back on what Nanna had told him. "You know, they often tell ya 'bout southern hospitality. If yous is friendly and respectful, yous always got a friend. They don't tell yous about Louisiana ladies like my sweet Nanna tho... They is forged of iron and grief. Strong and protective o'their youngins... She knew what that man wanted from me, an' she wasn't bout to let it happen."

"What did she do?" Wally asked, bitting his knuckles as he put his legs up to his chest.

"Put the knife through his back. She pushed him so he wouldn't go an' fall on me, oh 'course, and that basket well about saved my life cuzz it was damn well padded and didn't so much as wake me when it hit the ground."

"Holy shit..."

"Now, that might sound a little extreme to yous, but I trust Nanna's judgement." Norman began once he noticed the horrified looks on his coworker's faces. "That man woulda taken me somewhere no one could'a gotten me from, an' she wasn't 'bout to lose anyone else to them creeps. Nanna was smart, and Nanna was hard workin'. She buried the bastard where he fell, an' planted a tree t'remember it too. I got to put a swing on it when it grew big enough to support the weight."

"Where were they going to take you?" Sammy finally asked, once he realized no one would do so. "The man?"

"Hm, well I don't know exactly. But she did say it was where my Poppop grew up, so I know it wasn't a good place." Norman frowned. "They did bad things to him, made him messed up in the head an' dangerous. Nanna saved me from endin' up the same way... Don't care if it wasn't the right way t'do it, them folks don't deserve no pity if they go stealin' babies from their cribs t'do god only knows what."

"Well... For what is worth, we're glad your nanna saved you Norman. You're a gem." Susie smiled which got the much larger man to chuckle.

"How's that for a story then? Anyone steppin' up to top it off?"

No one seemed to have anything that quite matched the energy of this... What should he call it? Cultist kidnapping story? It certainly sounded that the man was some underground cultist if he was taking babies to indoctrinate, or whatever...

The blond watched, saw no one step up to the challenge, and then remembered.

"Well, it may not be as bad as getting snatched away. But I do recall a rather peculiar set of events from before I moved to New York with my father." He began, the band members snorting and whispering among themselves that it was probably something stupid. He glared their way before looking at Norman who gestured for him to go on.

"Floor's all yours Sammy."

"Right." He thought back, way back when he was 10. Just a year prior to his mother's death. It was all a little foggy but the more he concentrated on what his father had told him about that night, the less his explanation made sense once correlated with his own memories. "I didn't exactly grow up in the city. Not until I was 11 that is... I actually lived in a cattle ranch for a while."

"That explains why you call us sheep." Johnny laughed.

"No, I call you sheep because your job is to follow me, you damn goat." Sammy snarled back at the interrupting organist.

"Ouch." Jack winced.

"Either way, as a child living with a father who raised cattle for a living, one can expect that I was often tasked to help with a few of the animals. Mainly cleaning the pens and, if I was particularly lucky, shearing the sheep." The sheep, he confesses, had been his favourite. They were dumb and cute. "My father usually dealt with the larger animals. When this event occured, he'd just bought a big healthy heifer. His ornery old bull had covered our best breeding cow but she'd not been having calves."

"Was she called Bessie?" Wally grinned.

"The name of the cow isn't of importance!" Sammy rolled his eyes. "It was Felicity by the way."

"My mistake."

"Either way, my father was a breeder, so his breeding female not producing offsprings was a big deal. I was a kid so I wasn't particularly interested if Felicity had issues, I just liked watching her when she had little calves. They were the cutest thing right after the baby lambs." Sammy carried on "The new heifer, Clarabelle, arrived that day and immediately the bull was put to working. My father thought That'd be the end of his problems... An easy fix. Except it wasn't..."

"She sterile?" Norman asked.

"Oh I wish that had been it. I was 10, had seen animals in plenty of states from sickness or wild animal attacks. But never had I seen a cow turned inside out, other than in a damn butcher's..." Sammy shuddered. He could still remember it... Going outside to get the eggs like his father had asked, and just finding this massive dead heifer with no skin on her body. His mother had said he'd screamed like the devil himself had been before him.

"Oh god..." Susie gagged slightly. "That couldn't have been nice..."

"It wasn't. I was freaked out and my father was furious. Clarabelle had been an expensive purchase. And she wasn't the only casualty." Sammy shook his head. "The pen was wrecked, the bull was in better state but no less dead, and poor Felicity must have run into whatever butchered them both because she had a massive wound on her hind. Every animal was spooked out of their minds and even our sheepdog wouldn't come out of the house. Peed himself when we tried coaxing him."

"Did ya find what did it?" Shawn asked.

"No, we couldn't find anything that explained it." Sammy carried on. "No tracks, no trails of blood, nothing. The pen was just ruined, like it had been splintered apart, and Clarabelle looked to have just... I don't know how to explain it. Pop? Like a balloon?"

"I figure your father wasn't too keen on going' about business after that?"

"He wanted compensation, but you can't exactly put the blame on anything if you can't even find a cause." The music director sighed "We eventually just decided to call it quits on figuring out what the hell happened and went on with our lives. But then things just got... Weird."

Strange lights at night, bizarre noises, and horrific night terrors. Sammy's father had lost his patience when he'd found their dog's remains and called the authorities.

"We were all on edge, unsure what was going on at the ranch, and losing animals every night. My father called the cops, saying someone must be playing some seriously messed up joke to terrorize us. He'd made a lot of enemies with his attitude over the years, so I wouldn't have been surprised..." He trailed of, beginning to feel goosebumps as he recalled the final night of these strange occurances. "And then one night I saw something strange out of my window. Stranger than anything else."

Everyone was eager for the conclusion, he could tell. Taking a deep breath, he recounted what he'd been a witness to.

"I wasn't sleeping well, no one was, but I just couldn't settle in bed that night. It felt too warm in my room so I got up to open a window." His 10 year old self had always struggled with the latch on his window, but not that night. That night it opened without a fuss. "I saw... A figure. Out in the fields. Cast in weird green light that I couldn't put a source to. They were tall, and I couldn't tell if it was a man or a woman, but I assumed man because there wasn't a hair on its head... I just stared, and it looked to be staring back. Next thing I know, I'm outside in my pajamas, staring up at this pitch black figure... Taller, imposing, faceless. No eyes, no nose, no mouth... And yet it felt like it was glaring hatefully at me. Frustrated, angry... It pointed at the woods and I don't... I don't know what it wanted and I was just a scared kid."

He gulped heavily as he recalled how oppressive everything had felt.

"Again I blacked out, but this time awoke inside to my mother fanning me. My dad was yelling at the cops and it was morning." Sammy frowns "Yelling at them to get that damn thing off his property, and to fuck right off since they were so useless at their damn job."

A soft amen from a member of the writer's department. Followed by a chuckle from another one.

"My throat was raw, and when I tried to ask what happened, my mom told me they'd found me outside at the edge of the woods, screaming until my voice went. Screaming about wanting out of the woods. Screaming about wanting to go home... Screaming that nothing here was good to eat and that I was going to die... I don't recall doing it, and my father said I'd probably had a nightmare of some kind. A fever dream even, since mom had been trying to cool me down for a good reason." He bit his lip "It's odd, I'd just fallen ill overnight and everything was fuzzy... I asked why the cops were here, and my father said when he'd gone to get me he'd spotted a weather balloon of some kind in the woods. The cops were there to take it away."

Everyone stared, confused and trying to figure out how these events connected. He gave them a shrug.

"I have no idea what was going on, so don't ask. I was 10, animals were dying weirdly, and I got so sick all of a sudden that I started sleep walking and hallucinating demonic figures. No one ever said anything about the weather balloon in the local paper either, so I don't even know what to think of that." He leaned against Susie "It was weird, but it stopped. Still that thing kept appearing in my nightmares for a while... It faded with time but it bothered me while it was still fresh in my mind."

"Sounds like aliens." Wally pips up.

"No such thing." Bertrum laughed at the suggestion. "Just a bunch of vandalism, fallen governament property, animal attacks, and a child's overactive imagination."

"No, I'm serious! Stuff like that happens in farms all the time! Stuff no one can explain..."

"Wally, there's tons o' things none can explain in this world already." Norman pointed out. "I'm not sure what sorta thing Sammy might o' stumbled upon as a kid... But little green men don't sound plausible."

"Oh come on, ain't it obvious? Cows gettin' killed, the strange damages? The fallen thing in the woods? The spooky figure? The one person who no one would believe being chosen to see the alien? Then the cops just swoopin' in and covering it up? Happened just the same to my uncle Paul!"

"What I saw wasn't little or green. Don't make it another one of your outlandish tall tales." Sammy grinned, enjoying how much Wally was puffing up.

"Bite your tongue! It ain't a tall tale!"

"Sure it's not."

"Boys don't fight... Because I've got one heck of a story that'll make Norman's and Sammy's feel like child's play!" Susie cut in, with a devilish grin of her own.

And so the night carried on, with more stories to be shared. All the while Sammy laughed and listened, content with the situation.

Although... He did still wonder what he'd seen out in the field. Surely it couldn't have been extraterrestrial.

Hm... Yes, surely not. Just a bad dream and some sick prank. Had to have been.

[newstanmarshblog]

The Average and Unusual Couple: Chapter One

   It was night time as Stan Marsh was talking to his best friend Kyle through Skype about able to see each other soon in person for the very first time since South Park went though a long lockdown during the events of a recent global pandemic. After on having a lot of people getting vaccinated to combat against the deadly disease, the pandemic was finally declared over by every government official around the world which means daily lives can get back to normal. Along with the news on announcing the town being one hundred percent safe from the virus, the Mayor of South Park has also announced that all schools will be back into its regular programming starting after labor day. And Stan couldn’t be more than happier to hear such news because he hated being separated from his friends and school for such a long period of time since he still has to deal with on being stuck living at Tegridy Farms.

   Stan: Ah man, dude, I’m so excited to able to see you guys again ever since before we all went through this harsh lockdown. How did your brother and parents react to the news?

   Kyle: Just as happy as you are, Stan. My parents are celebrating by having a glass of wine together, and Ike can’t wait to get his education in person again because he had a really hard time learning through online classes. How was your family’s reaction?

   Stan: My sister is pretty excited to able to date with her boyfriend again, my mom is relieved that things are back to normal and plans to meet up with my uncle Jimbo this weekend, and my dad is super pumped to get back to his plans on opening his first expansion Tegridy store at main street.

   Kyle: Your dad still isn’t over with his weed products yet, huh?

   Stan frustrated: He never shuts up about it! If it wasn’t for his successful online sales of his Tegridy products during this lockdown, we would’ve moved back to South Park by now. *sighs*

   Kyle: Sorry if my question got you upset, dude.

   Stan: It’s alright, you didn’t mean it. It has been about over two years now since my dad got obsessed with Tegridy weed, and I really don’t know when he’ll get tried of it. Usually he’ll be obsessed with something for about up to at least serval days and then moves onto the next one, but his fucking weed seems to be the one obsession that finally made him to become something like Gollum from the Lord of the Rings series.

   Kyle: Well, I’m sure that your dad will get over of the weed stuff eventually. Anyway, have you heard anything from our other friends on their reaction to the news?

   Stan: Only Kenny so far through text messaging on our phones. He wants to all of us to gather together at Stark’s Pond this Saturday and then probably eat out at Chill’s.

   Kyle: That’s sounds exciting! I’m completely free for this Saturday anyway.

   Stan: Me too. I’ll give Kenny the text that you’re in.

   Kyle: Great! *yawns* I gotta get ready for bed now.

   Stan: Same. Until then, see you on Saturday. Good night.

   Kyle: Night.

   After logging out from Skype and then giving Kenny a quick text about their plans on Saturday, Stan got onto his pajamas and heads to bed.

   Stan: So far, only half of my life is back to normal.

   As grateful as Stan was to able to see his friends and going to school in person for the first time since the lockdown began, he still doesn’t full completely happy just yet. While he’ll be continuing to struggle with living at Tegridy Farms and wishing too come back to South Park, the one other thing that he desperately wanted is to be with his old girlfriend again. For a long time now even before the pandemic started, Stan has made serval attempts to get back together with Wendy, but to no avail. Wendy has became more interested in becoming a woman activist, getting people into healthy shape, and is even dating with Bebe. Even though Stan and Wendy are still good friends with each other mainly because of their love for board games and animals, seeing his old girlfriend becoming more and more busy with her life along with learning the news that she’s now in love with Bebe was just enough for Stan to give up on winning her back. As much as Stan is really happy to see Wendy helping out a lot of people, he also seriously misses that fun side from his old girlfriend, and she seems to be no longer that type of person as often then back in their elementary school years. And still from the very moment when he learned that he can’t no longer have Wendy as his girlfriend, his heart remains to be very broken by it.

   Just thinking about on wanting to live back at South Park and being together with Wendy again was enough to break Stan into tears.

   Stan sobbing: I just want my entire life back. I want it all back.

   He continues to cry for a few moments, cheers himself up, and then gets himself some sleep.

   Meanwhile at a home in a town called Peaceful Pines, Lydia Deetz is finishing up packing up her stuff into package boxes as she and her parents are preparing to move out from their home. Her mother comes in to check up on her.

   Delia: Oh Lydia, how’s your packaging coming along?

   Lydia: It’s all set, mother. Did father heard about the news yet as he came home from his last day at work?

   Delia: He was told about it just before he left. He’s relieved that the pandemic is finally over just as much as anyone else on Earth. I’m just very happy that our long road trip to our new home will at least be safe.

   Lydia: Yeah, same. Anyway, I’m pretty exhausted from all the packing and would like to get one last peaceful night here before we move out tomorrow.

   Delia: Sure thing, sweetheart. Sleep well.

   Lydia: You too. See you in the morning.

   Just like with South Park, Peaceful Pines also went through a very long period during its lockdown. Lydia was one of the very few students that didn’t mind online teaching very often during the lockdown because despite of being bummed out on not able to learn in person and not seeing two of her friends at school, there was one thing that the pandemic couldn’t take away from her, and that was spending her quality time with a ghostly best friend name Beetlejuice. Very often everyday even before the pandemic took the world by storm, Lydia teleports herself to a very spooky place call the Netherworld where she and Beetlejuice would do a lot of fun stuff together such as playing a game of slam ball, going on crazy adventures, or even take a nice relaxing drive with their living car name Doomie. There’s also some days where she and Beetlejuice will have some simple fun things at her bedroom like watching horror movies or playing video games. 

   While Lydia was able to get through the pandemic just fine, her parents had a rougher time in comparison. During the the first few months of the pandemic, Charles was working from his home on his computer as he was real estate developer. But by the next spring, his workplace had to layoff some of its employees in order to save money, and Charles was one of those unfortunate employees. He shortly afterwards found a new job at a hardware store. Even though his new job doesn’t earn him as much money as with his old job, it was at least just barely enough to pay the house bills. Delia meanwhile once ran her own small business as a sculptor before the pandemic hit. But by shortly after Christmas, her business went into bankrupt and became unemployed. After filing for unemployment, she was receiving stimulus checks up to at least six hundred dollars every month by the federal government.

   Because of the financial struggles that the Deetz family were dealing with, a decision was made that they must find a new home where the payment bills weren’t as expansive as their current house, and nearby jobs where it’s best suited for them based off from their past experiences. Delia was browsing through the internet when she found a house up for sale in South Park Colorado where its house bills weren’t as nearly expansive as their current home. She also learned that there was a job opening at the town’s middle school for an art teacher that’ll be perfect for her, and a job opening at a nearby local real estate business that’ll be perfect for Charles. After going through the paperworks during the summer, the house was recently bought and the Deetzes have now just finished packing before their long trip ahead of them. They expect to reach their new home during Labor Day weekend just in time for Lydia to get ready for her first day at South Park middle school.

   Earlier today, the Deetzes held a goodbye party at their house for their neighbors and friends along with Beetlejuice crashing into the party in disguise as Betty Juice. For Lydia, saying goodbye to Bertha and Prudence was the hardest thing for her as they were the only friends that she ever had at her old school and she’ll definitely miss them most of all when she leaves Peaceful Pines tomorrow. Lydia’s last words to them was to keep on being themselves, be positive, and to stand tall and brave whenever Claire Brewster bullies them.

   It was now night time, and just as Lydia was getting ready for bed, Beetlejuice pops up onto the screen of her cellphone.

   Beetlejuice: Psst, Babes!

   Lydia picks up her phone.

   Lydia: Hi, Beetlejuice.

   Beetlejuice: Is the coast clear for me to pop up?

   Lydia: All clear, but promise me on not being here for too long as I need to have my last peaceful sleep here before I hit the road tomorrow morning.

   Beetlejuice: *raises his right hand* I swear across on my mother’s heart. Now, say those B words and let’s chit chat.

   Lydia: Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice!

   Beetlejuice pops up from the cellphone screen and floats around in the bedroom.

   Beetlejuice: So, Lyds, are you at all nervous on living in a new town?

   Lydia: The only thing that I’m nervous about is if I’ll ever make new friends at my new school. 

   Beetlejuice: Don’t sweat it, Babes. I’m sure that you can at least make a friend or two. And even if you don’t at all, you still got me and my lovable armpits! 

   His stinky armpits hits Lydia’s nose.

   Lydia disgusted: Ugh! Thanks for the reminder.

   Beetlejuice: *chuckles a bit* People remembering my smelly armpits, you know I love it. *does a couple armpit noise*

   Lydia: Anyway, if I ever make a new friend, then I can’t wait to show off that friend my collection of my horror films, photo works, and my studies on bugs.

   Beetlejuice: Just don’t show off the bugs that I plan on eating.

   Lydia: Whatever. And maybe we can even take a trail walk around the natural wonders that South Park has to offer. I’ve always wanted to see a wild elk since I heard they have a large elk population in Colorado, and there’s never any wild sightings of them around here.

   Beetlejuice: *laughs* I wonder why? *smells at himself*

   Lydia: Is there anything that you’re excited to see at South Park, Beetlejuice?

   Beetlejuice: Nah, but I am excited to offer them by saying this quote to sum it up…*impersonate Jack Nicholson*… Wait until they get a load of me.

   Lydia: *laughs* Oh I bet they’ll never see you coming by a mile. *yawns* It’s getting late. I better head to bed. And Beetlejuice, remember what I told you while I’m on the road.

   Beetlejuice: Yeah, yeah, yeah, I remember. I promise not to check up on you until you’re finally settled into your new home. You have my words.

   Lydia: Thanks, BJ.

   Beetlejuice: Besides, I’m over due to play a new prank on the Monster across the street and his pet mutt. Maybe I’ll get them to reenact that bear scene from The Revenant.

   Lydia: Just as long as you keep yourself busy until I say your name three times, okay?

   Beetlejuice: Will do. See ya!

   Lydia: You too.

   As Beetlejuice disappears back to the Netherworld, Lydia lays into her bed.

   Lydia: *sighs* I hope I’ll make a friend with someone that loves to have fun with life just as much as me. Or even maybe find someone that’ll love me for the way that I am.

   She closes her eyes to get as much sleep as she can before a new chapter into her life can begin.

    In the next chapter, Stan hangs out with his friends, and Lydia moves into her new home.

[k-renne]

CRACK-UP

Your mother always told you to stay away from wolves, wolves like the Logan family who always seemed to be up to no good. It was only natural as a local farmer, you had to protect your livestock. Farmers just weren’t in the company of befriending werewolves. 

TAGLIST: @thecurlycaptain, @oh-adam, @givemelifeorgiveme

At school you did your best to avoid the Logan boys, Jimmy loud and boisterous was easy to stay away from. But Clyde on the other hand, he always seemed to surprise you. Too busy worrying about one Logan you ran right into the other, dropping all of your books. Being the polite boy that he was Clyde kneeles to help you pick up your stuff, giving you an awkward smile of reassurance as you tried to recover yourself. 

“Sorry, I wasn’t looking where I was going,” You looked down. 

Clyde frowned, and you still wouldn’t look at him even now. Just once, what he would do to have you look at him. “Here,” He sighed, handing you the rest of your stuff. You quickly shuffled off, he could just hear your heart racing. If only you’d give him a chance, but no doubt your parents told you to stay away after their last incident with the Logan family. He wasn’t even involved in that scheme, your family still resented his ever since Grammy got into a few of your cattle on a full moon. Sometimes, Clyde really hated the curse. Farmgirl, don’t you know I won’t hurt you?

The day that you got handed down the family farm was the day that you made a promise to your mother to never trust a “no good Logan”. It was your only condition really, other than that you were free to run the farm how you wanted to-a gift passed down to you after your college graduation. You had dreams for your humble little family farm, so you accepted.

There was a certain routine to farming that you liked, day in and day out work with what little help you hired seasonally. It was getting to that time again when you were looking to hire a few hands, lighten the load of labor. But good help was harder to come by these days, and the prospects for this season were looking pretty grim.

“Hello ma’am I’m here about the job ad ya posted,” A voice interrupted your thoughts. You looked up to see a sheep-no a wolf, Clyde Logan. 

Your eyes widened as you looked him over, last you heard he had shipped off to Iraq. He was a lot bigger than you remembered at high school graduation, shoulders squared and strong, hair starting to grow past his ears and a bit of scruff on his face. You tried not to stare as you noticed the plastic of his left arm, a pang of sympathy hitting your heart. 

“Clyde, you know I can’t. You can’t work here.” You sighed, shaking your head. 

Your heard paper crumble as he tightened his hold around the copy of his resume. “I know your family-they don’t like us. But I wouldn’t do that to ya, and I know ya need the help. Jimmy said-” 

“Shit, don’t bring Jimmy into this now.” You interrupted Clyde. You wanted no part of his little schemes. But, Clyde was right. You did need the help, you didn’t know what you’d do if you couldn’t hire anyone this season. And the last thing you wanted was to go crawling back to your parents. You needed to figure this one out on your own. 

“We don’t do that anymore, nothin’ will happen to your animals farmgirl,” Clyde frowned. 

“Farmgirl? Is that what you Logans call me behind my back?” You accused him, narrowing your eyes. 

Clyde felt his face get hot, he didn’t mean to call you that. Not out loud at least, it was just his nickname for you and now you probably thought he was trying to tease you. “I didn’t mean that,” He said quietly. 

You huffed, why did he have to do that? Turn things around and make you feel guilty, with those big brown eyes of his. You were the little lamb and he was the wolf hiding in sheep’s clothing, luring you into a false sense of security. 

“Okay Logan, show me what you can do then. Because if my animals all want to run away from you, this definitely won’t work out.” You stood up. This way, it’d make it much easier to say no.

You put on your work boots and led Clyde through the farm, you had never really spent this much time alone with a Logan. Your guard was up, you could sense him looming behind you. A part of you wondered what he would look like transformed, you’d seen pictures of other werewolves - some more monstrous than others. It was hard for you to imagine Clyde being a werewolf, the way that he made himself so unassuming, you weren’t sure if you could tell if it wasn’t a well known secret of Boone County. 

You opened the pen to the field where you let your animals roam free, Clyde standing nervously for a moment before following behind you. “Right now I’m working on making different types of cheeses from my cows and goats, but soon I’ll need to start planting for summer crops. Oh and I also have an orchard going, but that’s a side project.” 

Clyde was impressed, you were doing a pretty good job managing things on your own. But he knew as well as you did that come the warmer months you wouldn’t be able to do everything on your own. You’d burn out fast that way. 

A wandering sheep came up to him and he crouched to its level, putting his hand out to let the sheep sniff him. The sheep let out a baa, and licked Clyde’s hand in approval. 

“Of course,” You sighed. The animals loved him. 

Before long it became clear to you that Clyde would be a natural on your farm, but if your parents found out you hired him you didn’t know what you’d do. Yet with the season right around the corner, it didn’t seem like you had any choice. 

“Alright Clyde, you’re hired.” 

“Really?” He couldn’t hide his smile, eyes lighting up. He needed a job real bad, and it had not been easy getting back into civilian life at all. Besides, he had always wanted to work on a farm. 

“Yes-just don’t look so pleased yet. I can’t have you telling people you work here, and you can’t work Tuesdays or Sundays because my parents visit and if they know I hired you I’m screwed.” 

Clyde was still smiling at you, it felt like the first time in a long time something good was happening to him. “I won’t tell on ya farmgirl.” 

Even with on arm made of plastic, Clyde could do the work of two men around the farm. He motivated you really, with how hard he worked on the farm. Sometimes it felt like he was showing off the way he rolled around barrels of hay with his sleeves rolled up, and you had a hard time trying not to watch. He was strong, really strong, his sweat soaked shirt clinging to his muscles and his hair sticking to his forehead. The way you fed him didn’t help, but what were you supposed to do when the man could eat a whole roast chicken after all the work you gave him? You couldn’t deny his appetite. 

You stared in awe as Clyde devoured your food, your cheeks going hot as he smacked his lips and licked his fingers clean. “Your food is sure good as always farmgirl,” Clyde smiled sweetly at you, before gulping down a glass of water. Droplets of water ran down the sides of his mouth, beading onto the hairs on his chin. He could hear your heart racing as you looked at him, it made him just barely smirk, if only to see you fluster more. 

“I should get back to work,” You looked away from him, avoiding his hungry gaze. 

Clyde really thought that he could do this for the rest of his life, work with you on your farm. But, he hoped that things would be a little different if he stayed here that long. He had his little fantasies back in highschool, of you noticing him and talking with him, getting to dance with you at prom. Silly ideas like that, things he knew could never happening. 

But now, you were so close to him almost every day. Right within his grasp, his sweet crush had matured into the ache of longing, the kind that kept him eager every day to see you. He knew you could do a great job together, he’d help you make the farm your own and a little bit of his too. Sharing it all, helping you realize your dreams all the while showing you a little bit of Logan fun. 

He had never felt this way about any girl before, so intensely that he’d do anything for you if you just asked. He never put a name to this feeling until one day with Mellie. 

“Clyde, who’s the girl?” Mellie asked him. 

“Girl? I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about?” 

“The girl who you’re in love with, I wasn’t sure at first, you were having a hard time after coming back but all of the sudden lately you’ve been much more yourself and something else.” Mellie explained. 

“I’m not in love,” Clyde defended, his cheeks getting pink. He wasn’t seeing any girl right now, but you came to mind. He liked being around you but it wasn’t anything that serious, was it? 

“Clyde, I’m your sister. I know. And you haven’t been very discreet about it, I see that look on your face when your “boss” call you. So spill! Who is she? I need to know the girl who stole your heart.” 

Clyde mumbled, “Farmgirl.” No use in hiding it from Mellie, she’d see right through him. 

“Hmm? I didn’t hear that, say it louder for me now.” She teased him. 

“I’m in love with farmgirl,” He growled, wood cracking as he gripped the table hard. 

Mellie’s eyes widened, now that she was not expecting. “Ya mean the girl whose parents hate us? That farmgirl?” She knew right away just who he meant. 

Clyde dropped his head, shame filling him as his hair fell over his eyes. “Yeah...that one.” He murmured. He was well and truly fucked now, it was easy for humans to fall in and out of love but for werewolves that feeling never really went away. He had to walk away and be on his own for a while, mull it all over. 

His chest hurt thinking about it, falling in love with a human was one thing - but falling in love with a human who didn’t accept what he was? It was agony. 

Something was different when Clyde came to work Monday, it made you worried about him. You knew he had gone through a lot, and though you didn’t like to be nosy with him about it you wondered if that was the thing bothering him. He was much quieter than usual too, normally he’d ask you how Sunday went, about his favorite animals that he had befriended. 

Or maybe it was a werewolf thing, you always wondered about that. You knew that he was different in some ways, but you didn’t know just how much it affected him. It might be inappropriate, but your curious mind had to ask. “Clyde, what’s it like to be a werewolf?” 

Clyde paused what he was doing, “I hope it’s okay if I ask that,” You say softly. 

He turned to look at you, his eyes uncertain as he pressed his lips together in a familiar pout. “I’m just surprised ya would ask something like that, s’all.” 

He seemed hesitant to answer your question, not sure if it would reveal too much. “Sorry if it’s too much, I just feel like you know a lot about me but if we’re working together I figured maybe I should know about you too.” You tried to justify it, rambling as you felt nervous, trying to focus back on the task at hand. 

Clyde’s gaze softened and he sighed, you sure didn’t make it any easier on him. Even with your family, he wanted to believe that you were better than them. But your future hinged on one condition that meant he couldn’t be in your life the way he wanted to, working for you was already crossing a line. 

He pushed his shovel into the dirt, “They say it’s not all that different in a lotta ways. S’hard cause this is all I know.” 

He continued to work as you nodded for him to keep sharing, “I know everything is more intense, like senses for example-I know when ya make bacon and eggs for breakfast or just a bowl of cereal. Can tell a lot about other animals too.” 

“I guess that is pretty helpful around here,” You smiled, even if you were a little flustered knowing he could tell so much about you with scent alone. 

“Yeah-and we do hunt, but mostly stick to animals that would ruin the environment if they didn’t get hunted and that only happens every full moon.” He further explains. 

“Does it hurt? When you change that is…” You ask. 

“No-well, my left arm hurts...but that’s just me. Mostly it just gets very itchy, and then it’s sweet relief.” Clyde clicks his tongue. The way you looked back at him made his heart ache, you were so captured in what he was saying, holding on to every word. 

“I’ve never seen one before, I mean a werewolf that is. Well not transformed, I mean. Just pictures.” You keep changing your words, shaking your head. Clyde grins. 

“Would it be dangerous?” You asked. 

His eyes were full of mirth, “Maybe a little, farmgirl,” He stepped closer to you, towering over you in the barn. “Might smell ya and think you’re ripe for the takin’,” His voice deepened, making you whimper. 

Clyde chuckled, “Ah I’m just teasin’, we’d never hurt ya. At least the Logans wouldn’t, but I won’t let any of the dangerous type get even near this area. Werewolves are...territorial, too.” We protect what’s ours, he wanted to say, but kept that to himself. 

“Oh well, I know you wouldn’t hurt me Clyde.” Of course he wouldn’t. You felt that in your bones. 

He felt pride at that, knowing he had come a long way with you. “Maybe one day you’ll see a werewolf.” He hummed. 

“Is there anything else I’m missing?” 

Clyde blushed, he’d probably keep the part about ruts and claiming to himself, you did not need to know about that side of him. “Nope, s’pretty much everything.” Though he couldn’t get the idea of pinning you with his hips and filling you with his cum out of his head, he had to look away before he did something obscene. 

Good, talking to him did work. Whatever was bothering him this morning seemed to be forgotten in this moment, at least you could do that much for him. 

After another day of work you and Clyde enjoyed a couple of beers on the porch, “You know, you Logan’s really aren’t so bad.” 

“That’s because there’s only one of us.”

“Oh yeah Clyde?” 

“Yup,” He smirked, taking a sip of his beer. 

“C’mon, I know you didn’t get into juvie over nothing,” You playfully hit his arm. 

It was really hard to say no to you when you looked like that, smile making your eyes sparkly, the frizz of your hair glowing in the setting sun and you smelled good too, you always did to him. Even after the days were you were drenched in sweat, the sweetness always stayed. “I swore not to say a word.” He pressed his lips into a pout, licking beer off his moustache. 

“Pleaaase,” You bumped shoulders with him, leaning close. “Like I’m gonna be talkin’ to Jimmy anytime soon.” 

Clyde sighed, you were right on that one. “We were always gettin’ into schemes like that, but that time was the first time we ever got caught-well...I got caught.” 

Clyde told you the story of his last Cauliflower plan, the biggest one yet. “But, my life of crime is over.” He said seriously.

“Hmm, s’pose it is hard to imagine you as an ex con. I’d rather have you work for me instead,” You sipped your drink. “But I do wish I could pay you more,” You added with a sigh. 

Clyde put his hand on your shoulder, “You pay me just fine farmgirl,” 

“Say uh, would you like to stay for dinner?” You offered. 

He sucked in a breath, Mellie’s words repeating in his mind you’re in love with her. “I don’t know, should probably go home and take a shower, don’t wanna be a bother.” He rubbed the back of his neck.

“Clyde! You are not a bother, besides I have two showers-we probably both need one. It won’t be anything fancy but, it’d be nice if you stayed.” 

He wanted to terribly. He’d do anything if you just asked him, “Alright, I’ll stay,” He nodded. 

Your mother always said, a way to a man’s heart was through his stomach. And you never really intended to win Clyde’s heart, but maybe you wanted to him to know just how much you appreciate him. Food was one way you could do that. 

Fresh out of the shower in a comfortable sundress, you began preparing the ingredients for dinner. You heard Clyde coming by the sound of his feet on the creaky floorboards, stopping for a moment as he stilled in his tracks. 

Come to think of it, he’d never seen you in a dress before. You looked so beautiful out of your muddied work clothes it shocked him, and that damned dress was showing off your pretty legs too-much more skin than you ever showed with your well worn jeans. 

“You alright Clyde? You can take a seat you know,” You teased him.

“Oh no, that’s not how my momma taught me.” He stood by your side at the kitchen counter. “Now you just tell me how I can help.” 

“Well I thought I said I was making you dinner,” You put your hands on your hips. 

“No you didn’t sweetheart,” Clyde smiled, teasing you. 

The way he said sweetheart almost made you gasp, “You just go and relax Clyde, I’ll be just fine on my own.” 

He shook his head, you were always so stubborn. Determined to do things on your own, but with help it would get done so much faster and you deserve to relax just as much if not more than he did. “Farmgirl when are you gonna learn that it’s better not to do it all alone?” 

That seemed to hit a nerve, you put down the knife. “I don’t know Clyde, sometimes it just seems easier to be alone.” 

Oh how he ached for you in this moment, it was no wonder you liked talking to him. He didn’t see you around town much, probably too exhausted to do much more. He understood now, you were lonely. Maybe with how well you hide it he didn’t notice, loneliness wasn’t something that was obvious until you really know a person. But he understood loneliness, he often felt it too. 

He had his family, his pack. Yet there was something missing, something that instinctually drives a werewolf. He didn’t have anyone he could call a mate, and that made him feel pangs of loneliness more often than not. But, he had to accept it just wasn’t in the cards for him. Still, he couldn’t resist comforting you. 

“I know it does, but you’re not...you’re not alone,” He reassured you. “And it’s okay to ask for help too,” He took the knife. 

Clyde left your farm that day more certain than ever, he was hopelessly in love. If only you felt the same. 

[katjacksonbooks]

So we’re back on the “What are you polyamorous triad couples up to?” train.

The answer is sex. 

Have a short, hot, mildly emotional check-in with my favorite Baker, Fire Chief and Police Chief in a town so small no one can find it on a map. 

And if you’ve interested in knowing more about how these three met and fell for each other, feel free to read the Welcome to Sea Port series, all $0.99 and in Kindle Unlimited. 

Bedtime Routine

Mary hated sleeping alone.

She hadn’t had to in years, and apparently, she’d been very spoiled by it, so much so that her normally warm and cozy bed seemed big and cold now that she was in it alone instead of pressed against Knox or Santos. Or both, on those nights where she ended up in the middle.

Even Cat-leen had deserted her, but Mary couldn’t blame her. Her cat had an entire late-night routine that as far as Mary could discern included snacking on her food, dumping a few of her toys into her water fountain, and sleeping in Knox’s favorite armchair. Her routine was the same, and she clearly didn’t care that Mary’s wasn’t.

Mary sighed and sat up in bed with a frown. She reached for her cell phone on her bedside table and dialed Knox.

“Shouldn’t you be sleep?” he asked instead of hello.

“Shouldn’t you be at home?”

He chuckled softly, and Mary’s back relaxed. She hadn’t even realized it was tense.

“Believe me, I’d much rather be home than sitting in this damn fire station alone,” he said with a yawn.

“No calls, right?” she asked, trying to keep the fear from making her voice shake.

“No calls, sweetheart. This is all just a precaution,” he said.

Mary had heard that last sentence from Knox and Santos so many times over the last month that the words were starting to grate on her, not for any other reason than that eventually, it wouldn’t be a precaution.

It was easy to keep herself together during the day. While Knox and Santos slept, Mary spent hours in their kitchen baking and coordinating food deliveries to houses around town. Now that the bakery was closed, she kept in contact with Bria and Charlie through Facetime. Mary and Bria had split up their baking duties. Bria was working on her bread recipes — including gluten-free, whole wheat, and soon enough, even some sprouted options — while Mary worked on the sweet treats. They were both very busy.

When Willie had first closed the non-essential shops, Mary was worried that her bakery would go under just when it was starting to flourish, but online orders had surged for a while. But as shipping had slowed, she’d shuttered online ordering to focus on local deliveries around Sea Port and in some neighboring local towns. It worked.

At first, Mary was concerned that she wouldn’t be able to find work for Charlie, but the entire food box delivery was Charlie’s idea. They’d all been on Facetime when Bria had said Sully was worried about her own business, and Charlie had asked if Sully still had coffee to sell, because her aunt was running low. Charlie had brokered that sale through text message and then added, “Hey Mary, my aunt wants to know if you can make her some pecan cinnamon rolls. She said she’ll give you her entire SSI check for a pan.”

They’d laughed, and then an entire informal economy had formed, with Charlie as the hub connecting people with groceries — she even managed to rope in the local dairy farm — and recruiting a bunch of bored out-of-school teenagers to collect the items for each boxand deliver them with as little contact as possible. She’d even gotten the mayor to divert some of the gloves and masks she’d been able to buy to the delivery kids once the town implemented stay-at-home orders. Mary had been mildly amused by how nosy Charlie was, but her business — and a bunch of others in the county — would probably ride out the pandemic based almost solely on the fact that Charlie was in literally everyone’s business all the time. Who knew!?

Mary hadn’t ever thought that she’d be living through a pandemic, and a few years ago, she’d have said — if asked this incredibly strange question — that if it happened, she wouldn’t want to be in a small town that no one could find on a map. But now that they were all living through a pandemic, and she was in a tiny dot of a small town, she couldn’t imagine being anywhere else.

She baked all day, and she Facetimed with her friends and family all around the country, coordinating with her great-aunts, Santos’s brothers, and Marcus to make sure that everyone had someone watching over them. And even though Mary still wasn’t talking to her mother like she used to, they’d begun texting daily just to check in, and she acted as the go-between for her parents, fielding her father’s slightly panicked calls about her mother’s wellbeing and then translating them into calm text messages to discern what her mother needed; which her father then promptly either ordered or ran out to the stores to buy and deliver to her door before she even woke up.

Life was stressful, but having something to do — actually, lots of things to do — made the day-to-day of this situation easier. That was the days; the nights were an entirely different story.

There were some great things about being in a relationship with the chief of police and the fire chief. The Sea Port crime rate was mostly bored kids breaking things, breaking into places, or painting graffiti on things, especially now when they didn’t have much to do but sit in virtual classrooms. And while lots of businesses had been hit by the youths, Mary’s bakery hadn’t, and she attributed that primarily to the fact that the entire town knew she was Santos’s girlfriend.

Blessings to the town gossip mill.

And while Knox’s expertise on building codes came in handy, Mary often thought wistfully of the privilege she had to have fucked all over the town’s small firehouse. She loved everything about Knox, but holding onto the fire pole for dear life while he fucked her into a stupor was a surprisingly comforting pre-pandemic memory. Once this was all over, she promised herself that they’d do it again but with Santos this time, and that could usually chase away the blues.

But hands down, the worst part of dating two of the town’s small cadre of first responders, and the heads of their departments at that, was that the mayor only trusted them to work the most stressful shifts. So, while Mary was baking and sourcing ingredients around the town and county, Knox and Santos were usually passed out in their bed. And just when she was winding down for the day, they were showering and putting on their uniforms to head out for the night.

Mary took the smallest comfort that Knox hadn’t had many calls at night, and since there hadn’t been a reported case in Sea Port yet — knock on wood — he was mostly on hand just in case. Santos spent most of his shifts in his car, driving around town and making sure that the bored kids weren’t out causing annoying, if understandable, chaos. Meanwhile, she spent a good portion of the night bored and alone without them, and her traitorous brain started to worry, mostly about their family members and friends who were all over the country.

And she didn’t want to worry about that; she didn’t even want to think about those scenarios. She didn’t want to wonder how they’d get to them or if they could even afford to. She didn’t want to think at night. She wanted to fuck away her anxiety and then sleep like a baby who didn’t even know the word “pandemic”, but she couldn’t.

“That silence sounds like you’re worrying,” Knox said in a light tone that she knew he was affecting to keep her calm.

“Maybe a little,” she admitted.

“Mmmhmm. Hold on.”

Mary frowned as the line went quiet for a few seconds. She stared at her lock screen — a picture of her, Santos, and Knox under her great-aunts’ pecan trees from last Christmas. That picture seemed like a century ago.

“You there?” Knox asked.

“Where would I go?” Mary snarked.

“So you’re in a good mood,” Santos breathed.

Mary smiled at the sound of his dry sarcasm and Knox’s affable chuckle. “Shut up. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Santos breathed in a warm voice. “Just so fucking bored. The middle schoolers don’t even have the decency to be yelling at each other across the street tonight.”

“Don’t say that too loud. I’m sure those little hoodlums can hear you,” Knox said.

“I’m surprised they haven’t tried to get together in the woods,” Mary mused absentmindedly.

Santos sighed, and it was the weariest thing she’d ever heard. They heard the crackle of his radio. “Poole, can you ride out to the Freeman farm?”

“Sure, boss. Am I looking for anything in particular?” Max Poole, Santos’s newly promoted lieutenant asked.

“Yeah. These damn kids. Make sure they aren’t congregating out there.”

“Shit,” Poole breathed.

“Yeah,” Santos said.

“Sorry,” Mary whispered.

Knox burst into a laugh that made Mary’s gut clench with need, not necessarily sexual, just the desire to hear that laughter all over her skin.

“You sure you want to have kids?” Santos asked.

“A whole fucking misbehaving gang of them,” Knox said through his laughter.

“Like a basketball team, or…?” Mary asked.

“Football. Soccer,” Santos corrected.

Mary rolled her eyes, but she was smiling so hard that her eyes were closed. She yawned and settled back onto their mattress. Their bed was still empty, but she burrowed under their blankets and didn’t feel so cold.

“We should get started soon, then,” Mary hummed.

“You been talking to Ms. Pearl?” Knox asked.

“Yes,” Mary said, “but Santos’s mom is apparently working on a christening dress? It’s very frilly.”

Santos muttered under his breath. Mary’s Spanish was terrible, even though she’d been working on it now that she had a little more free time, but even she knew what “dios mio” meant.

“Well, since we’re starting, let’s start,” Knox said.

“Pretty sure we need to be together for that to work,” Santos said.

Mary could just imagine him rolling his eyes and Knox rolling his eyes in return.

“Practice makes perfect,” Knox said. “What are you wearing, sweetheart?”

Mary squinted her eyes shut in excitement. “Shorts and a t-shirt,” she said, already wriggling out of the former.

“What would you be doing if we were there?” Knox asked. His voice wasn’t warm or soothing anymore, it was hot with seduction and promise. He knew exactly what he was doing when his voice sounded like that; the way it turned them on.

“What would you want me to do?” she asked. She’d already bent her legs to plant her feet on the mattress and spread her knees wide. She was stroking her pussy, her fingers lightly tracing up one lip to circle her clit and then down the other to play at her opening.

“Santos?” Knox asked.

He grunted in response. Mary wondered if he was stroking his dick through his pants or if he’d taken himself out.

“Use your words,” Knox said. His breath had quickened, and somehow, Mary knew that alone in the firehouse, he’d dispensed with the foreplay and was probably already stroking himself like Mary was.

The line was quiet for a bit as they waited for Santos. “Get your toy,” he finally said.

Mary licked her lips and pressed a finger into her pussy to the first knuckle. “Please be more specific,” she huffed.

Knox’s laughter was thin, airy. He sounded close, and that made Mary’s breaths quicken.

“I want to be inside you,” Santos breathed.

Mary pushed another finger inside herself. “God, be more specific,” she moaned.

“I don’t need to,” Santos said. The sound of his zipper was loud through their connection.

Knox grunted.

Mary smiled at the sound of them. “So I should choose?” she teased with a tinkle of laughter.

They both grunted this time, and she laughed. She tapped at her phone screen with her free hand to put their call on speaker and then practically ripped open the closest bedside table. She sighed, only finding lube and Santos’s reading glasses.

“Wrong drawer,” she mumbled. Knox and Santos were apparently too preoccupied to answer. She rolled to the other side of the bed and pulled open the drawer to find a bullet vibe. She personally would have preferred something long and thick, but beggars can’t be picky, especially not when the sound of one of her men spitting into his hand came through the phone.

“You two better not come without me,” she warned, licking the cool metal of the bullet and then settling back onto the bed.

“Did you get a vibrator?” Santos asked in a strained voice.

“Yeah, just a bullet, though.”

Santos grunted unhappily.

“Can we stay on track, please?” Knox asked.

“Oh yeah, yeah,” she said, spreading her legs again.

Mary slid her thumb across the slide to turn the vibrator on and settled the bullet over her clit. She arched her back and moaned happily. Santos grunted again, but it was Knox’s keening moan that made her nipples hard.

“Fuck,” she breathed and shoved her fingers back into her pussy.

The room filled with the hum of Mary’s vibrator, her moans, and the slightly distorted sounds of Santos and Knox’s moans as well as the gentle rasp of their hands on their own bodies. They fucked themselves together, moaning and grunting and panting, while they thought about finally being together; dreamed about what it would be like when this was all over, and they could get back to something like normal.

“I’m close,” Knox breathed.

So was Mary, but she slowed down and took the pressure of the bullet off her clit, sliding it across her lips in gentle strokes. She moved her head closer to the phone so she could hear every scrap of sound of Knox’s orgasm. She knew Santos well enough to guess that he’d probably done the same.

And Knox did not disappoint. He never did.

His heaving breaths turned to moans as the sound of his dick fucking his fist got louder and faster, more desperate. “Fuck,” he said and then groaned long and loud.

Santos was much tamer. He always was. But as soon as Knox’s groan subsided, there was a shuffle of fabric on his end of the phone and then a series of grunts.

Mary had never stopped fucking herself with her fingers, and the wet slap of her hand against her sex was as frantic as her nerves had been just a few minutes ago.

“Now you,” Santos said, having the nerve to give her orders when he could barely speak above a whisper.

Mary might have pushed back at him, but Knox didn’t give her the room.

“You heard the man,” he ground out. “Let me hear how you’re going to come on my dick as soon as I’m home.”

Not that she needed the encouragement, but she really fucking loved when Santos got demanding and Knox talked dirty to her. She didn’t even need to move the bullet back to her clit to come. She arched her back, cried out, and then when her legs were shaking, she turned the bullet vibe all the way up to the highest setting and moved it over her clit. Her orgasm transformed from a gentle shudder to a violent shake as she gushed all over her hand.

Somewhere in the middle of all that, she was certain that one, or maybe even both Knox and Santos had grunted out another small release along with her, but she was too far gone to be sure. They were mostly quiet on the phone as Mary wrung herself out, alternating between just her fingers and then the vibrator as well to let one orgasm roll into another and then another.

Her men listened in silence as she came and came, only stopping when the batteries on her vibrator began to give out.

Mary turned over in bed, her fingers still stuffed inside her clenching pussy, and her eyes drifting closed.

She yawned, and Knox laughed, “Well, we got that part down. Next on the list is actually getting in the bed together, and then this baby-making thing can get on the way.”

Mary smiled and yawned again. “Deal. I’m tired now.”

“Good,” Santos said. “Go to sleep. We’ll be there when you wake up.”

“Leave your clothes in the mudroom,” she said, a sharp shot of panic pulling her back into consciousness.

“We know, babe. Calm down,” Knox said calmly. “Go to sleep, and maybe I’ll wake you up with my tongue.”

Mary pumped her fingers in and out of her sex and began to drift again. “I’d like that,” she remembered saying as she fell soundly to sleep.

[chicago-men-blog]

[scott eastwood; male; he/him; heterosexual] LIAM JACKSON the THIRTY-SEVEN year old DEAN OF STUDENTS. they have been hired at allerton in the ADMINISTRATION. they’ve been known to be +HONEST, as well as -BLUNT. things they enjoys are CG/L & AFTERCARE, but dislike SCAT & BRUTAL/DEBILITATING BDSM. 

This here is Liam, the Dean of Students and a more unlikely university administrator you’ll never find.  Rugged, more cowboy than desk jockey, he’d rather be on his ranch in the very fitting town of Countryside just a 15 minute drive out of Chicago.  That’s where his heart is, or rather where it has been even though he keeps an apartment near campus for nights when he can’t get away.

Liam came from very hard circumstances.  He was abandoned by his wastrel parents when he was just a few weeks old.  Left in the trash and it was by grace alone that someone found the crying baby.  In Liam’s own view that may not have been so providential, because it started nearly two decades of being constantly in and out of foster homes.  He did everything he could to make them hate him, ran away whenever possible, and fled from anything that approached the notion of family like the plague.

Delinquency and an early death seemed his likely course when, at the age of 17, on a last ditch effort to reform him Liam was enrolled on a farm program in his native Texas.  The freedom of the open fields and the pleasure of an honest day’s hard work (and an honest fuck with one of the local girls most nights) brought him around to the idea of putting down some roots.

But then further opportunity knocked, a chance to enroll at Allerton.  He moved to Chicago, applied himself as best he could, and stuck around in neighboring Countryside after getting his degree in animal hubandry.  He taught adjunct at Allerton, rented out a homestead which he would later come to buy, and has been content with that kind of unshackled life for the most part ever since.

But his first year as the Dean of Students, a position he doesn’t even consider himself qualified for though others see how much the students mean to him and what a big heart the cowboy who hates wearing suits has, brings with it new opportunities and the chance for something more.  Someone more. 

[bethofbells]

When I was younger I liked things. Certain things. Stacks of books lined the shelves of my bedroom, bedecked my nightstand, poked out from under my bed. I collected useless figurines, let them crowd the giant whatnot shelf above my bed. I kept this and that for scrap books, took hundreds of photos on those shitty disposable cameras and developed and kept all of them no matter how out of focus they were, or how sometimes I couldn’t even really tell why I had snapped the photo to begin with. I clung to cheap jewelry given to me by grandparents and aunts and uncles, had a cute little overstuffed jewelry box that played a song when i opened it. Newspaper clippings of school events and community gatherings (super small town kind of stuff, there was always someone you knew to cut out) were always scattered across the fridge, some staying there for years as the paper yellowed and eventually began to crumble, a clear spot of discoloration on them where the magnet had protected them from the sunlight streaming through the kitchen window.

In college I had a Spanish language professor tell me about how he had a uhaul just for his books when he packed up and moved here from California, and that somewhere along the way the damn thing got stolen. I was horrified, my heart hurt for his loss. I wasn’t the only one, two other people sitting with us while we waited for lab to start were also wide eyed and sympathetic.... and he just... smiled and said, “Moving’s a lot easier when you don’t have a uhaul full of books to drag across the country.”

I get it now. I’ve gotten for a long time.  I hate the clutter, I hate looking at things and realizing that they mean nothing, that objects have no significance beyond what you can and will do with them at any given moment, and if they’re just sitting around collecting dust you don’t need them. That even if they are assigned monetary value, they still aren’t actually worth anything if you don’t need or use them. I’ve said “things aren’t people” to my aunt and my dad so many god damned times while trying to clean out my grandmother’s house (she died more than three years ago and still they’ve barely made a dent). I feel like I’m talking to walls, arguing with fence posts, and after a while it starts to make me question myself. Am I broken? Why don’t I care? Why don’t I love these objects as though they were the people who once had them? These aren’t family fucking heirlooms, they’re shelves and shelves and boxes and boxes of stuff my grandmother acquired at flea markets and lot auctions and garage sales (which she went scouting for every weekend for years) and probably never even glanced at them again. Hell, if you went in the basement of the house I’m talking about you would discover forty years worth of empty glass whiskey bottles my grandfather just... kept on shelves down there in case he needed them for... something. (He didn’t drink a lot, maybe one every couple months, but damn, what did he think he was gonna use them for? And now my dad won’t throw them away because “what if some of the old ones are worth money?”)

I’ve moved six times since I graduated college, each time packing up those dozens and dozens of books, getting progressively more fed the fuck up with the effort, the weight, the past I was dragging around with me. They used to be weirdly comforting to me, cozy and warm to be surrounded by when I was a teen alone in my room, desperately wondering why everyone around me was so unconcerned with anything outside of themselves, why no one wanted to know the places and things that could be known through these books. But now... I don’t need or want them (aside from a couple that were a pain in the ass to acquire because they’re out of print and weren’t really that popular when they were in print, and a few more that I genuinely enjoy rereading). I know the next time I move I’m stopping at the local non-profit thrift store (ran by the battered women’s shelter) and i’m giving them all away. The very thought feels so damn good.

I’m a minimalist at heart, which I know, it’s very hard when you’re poor, when you grew up poor, to let go of anything you might need later, but I’ve spent too much time in family member’s houses where their quality of life is drastically reduced because their stuff takes up so much god-damned room, all because “that’s worth x.xx dollars, I can’t get rid of it, someone might want to buy it” or “I know it’s broken, but i’m eventually gonna get around to fixing it, do you know how much a new one costs?” or “Sure I don’t need three of those, but what if someone else needs one?” 

In the past decade, my mother has turned her formerly normal living space into a mausoleum of things she’ll never use. The airy and bright, albeit small, house we grew up in is now dark and full of stuff. She’s filled the bedrooms that my siblings and I used up the the gills with things things things because she’s so desperately afraid of not having having having. When I moved out at 18 I always kind of thought my room would be there, naively perhaps, but it never occurred to me that she would fill three entire bedrooms up with so much stuff that you can’t even get into them anymore. My room is gone, so is my sister’s and my brother’s. Every once in a while she’ll bring me a box or a bag of things that were once mine, things I left sitting in my childhood bedroom when I moved away to college. These things have no value. I have no emotional connection to broken porcelain angels bought for fifty cents at garage sales or old dirty tennis shoes I wore the soles out of when I was in high school that now smell faintly of mildew.  I don’t want them, and still, she keeps dropping them off. I’ve told her, so many times, to just throw stuff like that away, but she cannot differentiate between things that are garbage and things someone might want to keep, like a high school diploma, or a journal from a particularly angsty summer after 7th grade. 

And even those things... don’t mean much to me. Stuff, beyond what you need to live your daily life, is just so completely pointless....

That being said, I have a closet full of clothes that I just can’t get rid of, not because I have any emotional attachment to them (I still don’t get that tbh), but because they’re cute and some were expensive and I just don’t have enough free time to get to wear them, they’re all practically brand new, a few things even still have the tag on them... and sure, logically I realize it’s because growing up (before I started working summers to buy myself things) I had like two pairs of pants at any given time, and maybe three tops, two pairs of shoes (a tennis shoe for school, and a pair of boots for the farm), that I cycled through my outfits over and over and over again and that I hated that. I hated that I had classmates who I never recalled wearing the same thing more than once, I hated that by the end of the school year my shoes were literally falling apart. And yes it’s a reaction, just like my fucking parents, and I hate that, but at least I can see it. They’re completely delusional and it’s the most frustrating thing in the world to even try and talk to them about it. They’re are drowning in their things. 

[greenishbucket]

Autumn Serenade

Ford, summer, and hockey. 1.8k, also on ao3.

For Day 1 of OMGCheckPlease! Women Week 2017

Here’s the thing: Ford loves playing hockey.

Her brothers had balked when she’d told them happily over Skype that she’d joined up for the local rec league, no real training but enough vague knowledge and passion to power through. She’s hardly expecting to be on the first line or anything, it’s just fun and exciting and a way to get to know people. Ford’s been involved in local theatre for as long as she can remember – and it’d been the first place she’d looked at when she moved into the area – but stage managing is her forte and it’s a lonely task, the gratitude and respect warming but the responsibilities endless.

Ford can let go in hockey. It’s no contact but there’s the same satisfaction in using careful moves to snatch the puck from the opposition as there is in watching the curtain fall on a perfect show. Only the satisfaction is several times a game rather than a few nights preceded by weeks of organisation and she has a whole team to burn with the satisfaction in time with her.

Her parents had been worried about injury but were easily comforted by the assurance she’d have a full face cage and enough ragtag gear to keep her safe (though she didn’t share how the league had probably had since forever the way it stank). Both her brothers played football well into their college days; her parents are no strangers to accepting their kids playing dangerous sports.

She’s under no misapprehensions about the level of acceptance in the league compared to her usual theatre crowd as her mother suggested, either. Ford knows how hockey is. Besides, theatre kids are so, so far from perfect and Ford’s been black and a lesbian her entire life; she’s not going to let some jackasses stop her from expanding her horizons, especially since she seems to have lucked out massively with her teammates. Lardo, as both her team captain and one of the founders of the league, is both one of the coolest, chillest and one of the most unflinchingly assertive people Ford has ever met.

Ford wouldn’t have let her parents stop her anyway. She’s an adult now, free from college and just about managing to live away from home by sharing her apartment with a squirrely PhD student and a midwife-in-training and carefully budgeting every penny. So what if she wants to portion some of the careful budgeting to the rec league fees, to going out for drinks with the girls after a game? It’s fun, it’s new, it’s giving her thighs to die for.

Here’s the other thing: so far she hasn’t actually played in a real game.

Ford signed up as part of the rec league after coming to watch their final two games before the long summer break. Rec league never really breaks –  or so Lardo and Farms both remind anyone who dare use the term ‘break’, five timetabling spreadsheet tabs open and four group chats pinging continuously on three laptops between them – but summer means people vacationing with family and wanting to be outside in the sun rather than holed up in a scruffy ice rink no matter how hockey-loving Ford knows the girls to be.

There are a couple of games for fun over the months and plenty of street hockey and people can practice as often as they like in twos or threes – plus Heaven knows Ford is busy enough with the local theatre summer production, she couldn’t resist – but their first real league game isn’t until the very end of September. Ford has it circled in red marker on the calendar in the kitchen and every morning she looks at it with a mix of burning hot excitement and sick trepidation.

Until now, Ford has always been a summer girl. Every year as school or college started the transition ached, the first few days spent forcing herself to look away from the windows and focus on work again instead of grabbing hold of the last stretches of real warmth, the sunlight golden and the leaves just beginning to turn brown. She always feels weird and mismatched pulling on her jeans and socks and fall sweaters again, the layers and weight a trap compared to her light summer dresses and skirts and shorts, the ease of simple flats or sandals. Ford loves summer. Everything feels possible and endless on a bright summer’s day stretching out into a warm summer’s night and it revitalises every part of her that gets worn down and exhausted in the decay of fall and the long, cold winter. Spring is a start but nothing gives to Ford like summer does.

This year Ford feels like summer has passed at half the speed it usually does, even now in mid-September the weather reflecting a September dragging its feet on leaving summer behind, and she’s impatient with it. The rush of playing what few games ran during the summer was a wonder but Ford can’t help but think what it could be like in a real game, in something that doesn’t count in the grand scheme of things but counts to her and her teammates in this rec league among rec leagues. She can’t help but see her experiences now as a pale imitation.

Ford is already half in love with hockey and now she wants to play it.

This year each browning leaf and pumpkin-themed Pintrest board and knitted scarf means moving closer to the rec league getting under way for the season. Fprd finds herself watching the transitions with anticipation rather than her usual sadness and the thought of her summer clothes being replaced by the weight of her gear, disgusting though the pads may be, doesn’t have the usual quasi-claustrophobic panic.

“Last day of summer today,” her brother says, eye on his own calendar as they try and figure out a time to meet up over FaceTime. “Always makes me think of you.”

Once when Ford was seven she’d cried inconsolably on the last day of summer even though the weather hadn’t been truly summery in weeks, confusing and worrying both her teacher and parents. It had just been the finality of it, the confirmation that all the opportunities of the summer really were passed. This morning she’d spotted the tiny note in the day’s square and felt a twinge of something, a sadness that it was over for another year and a weariness at the prospect of the aches and pains and boredom of winter, but nothing like when she was seven. Ford’s pretty sure she’d even been a lot more upset the year before, too, wearing summer clothes in protest even when it was cold enough that she was shivering all day.

“I know, I saw,” she says, “and like it sucks, my God fall is boring and winter sucks, but I’ve got my first hockey game tomorrow. Which is pretty cool.”

Her brother is silent for long enough that she looks over at the screen to make sure he hasn’t been cut off. He’s still there, face up close to the camera like he’s trying to get a better look at her.

“Who even are you?” he asks, phone so close all Ford can see is one eye.

“Quit it, your eye is freaking me out.”

“You’re freaking me out. What happened to ‘summer is all that matters, all other seasons are a capitalist cage, I want ice cream but I’m too cold, football can kiss my ass, all my theatre nerds are sick with flu’ blah blah whatever the fuck?”

“I never said any of that!”

“You know what I mean,” her brother finally pulls his phone back a little but the look he’s giving her is still alarmed. “You’re always complaining that summer is over until, like, April. It’s part of my routine.”

Ford shrugs. “I don't know. I guess the game is taking precedence over mourning summer. Fall is so depressing and winter is so cold I can’t go anywhere – I’m looking forward to having enough to do that I'm too tired to miss the sun but also, like, getting to actually hang out with people instead of just bossing them around.”

Her brother considers this then laughs. “Well, shit, if you say so. Maybe we should have tried to get you into hockey when you were younger if it was gonna make you this okay with seasons passing. Remember that time you cried all day? How old were you, twelve?”

“I was seven, you asshole.”

His voice goes high pitched and whiney, a horrible impression of seven-year-old Ford: “Summer’s gone and I don’t want to learn more math I want to go swimming and eat bugs and I hate school and–”

She hangs up on him. A minute later he texts a suitable time to meet up and good luck for the game tomorrow. Seconds later her other brother, probably prompted to do so, texts a reminder to keep her teeth intact if possible. Ford sends both of them back a heart, smiling and genuinely touched in spite of herself, then sets her phone aside to make dinner.

Outside, there’s rain lashing against the windows and the weather report last night had confirmed it was unlikely the weather would pick up again before temperatures started sliding for real. Ford listens to her phone buzzing while she cooks and knows it’s probably one of the girls getting chirped to hell and back in the group chat, checks neither of her flatmates have disturbed the gear bag she’s left by the door for tomorrow.

Spring and summer have always been Ford’s time, the pressure pleasantly on with shows to polish up and perform and the long days to fill, with fall and winter at a pace too slow and unfocused to be satisfying. Ford knows herself and she knows needs to be challenged and kept driven, anything else feels draining. Hockey is giving her direction, not to mention friends she so desperately needed in a new place, and Ford thinks she could love it for that alone.

Luckily, she doesn’t have to. The next night she gets a messy assist and even their team losing in the final minutes after a close three periods doesn’t soften any of the thrumming delight under her skin, doesn’t stop the helmet-taps she receives for getting an assist in her first game (her first game!) or the exclamation marks her family text in response to the news. Not even the cold wind that’s icy against her neck as she stands outside the rink and answers three separate emails on set production can ruin her mood. It's fall and she's still busy enough with things that excite her that she feels the pressure of it, feels the tiredness in her muscles. It's amazing.

Ford loves playing hockey.

Feeling charitable, she gets herself a pumpkin spice latte on the way home. It’s not quite her usual cold vanilla sweet cream, a flavour that’s like a mouthful of summer to her, but Ford thinks perhaps it’s something she could learn to like.

[sunflowersnows-blog]

I love my wife.

We got married about - oh, I don’t know exactly - three? Three years ago it was I believe. We had met at High Valley Farm, one of those overly large farming plots that was turned into a business for families to bring their kids to when they had nothing better else to do. You know, the ones that originally had a farm and barn on it and then the owner decided to add kiddy stuff, like corn mazes, a playground, a petting zoo, shit like that. 

I worked there as a supervisor for the petting zoo. Easy job, making sure the kids didn’t treat the animals too roughly or fall into the pins while leaning over to pet the sheep, showing them how to feed the miniature horses properly, just making sure all the kiddies were safe and everything ran smoothly. 

That’s where I met her specifically. When she first walked in through the tent flap, I had to do a double take. She wore a casual outfit of leggings and a (very cute) oversized sweater with short auburn hair. I thought she was a little young to be a mother but expected young kids to follow her in all the same. Yet, it turned out I was correct in my assumption when nothing came in behind her. It was a little odd to see adults interested in attractions meant to hold the attention of kids, but I, in my oversized, mud stained overalls and hair resembling that of a rats nest, was in no place to judge her. If a grown-ass, women wanted to pay a twenty dollar admission fee to pamper the pigs, then that was up to her. 

Teaching her the proper etiquette for handling the piglets was easy enough, (“Scoop them from underneath the bum - yes, like that - and press them against your chest so they don’t fall.”) the hard part was actually talking to her. As fun as it was to watch her swoon over pigs, I would have preferred if she didn’t remember as the socially awkward farm lady. 

It took a few moments of self assurance and deep breaths before I even attempted to start a conversation. I approached her, all intentions of being as suave as possible.

“So, you like… The pigs.” In that moment, I wished I could sink into my overalls and become one with the dirt, real smooth indeed, dumbass. Green eyes looked into mine, piglet still held to her chest. 

“Yes! I do love them so, they’re my favourite animal in fact! Oh, but I love all animals, I'm vegan for that very reason! Can’t stand the meat industry.” She responded with a shake of her head, clearly on the verge of vomiting a 12 page essay about the ethics of capitalism on me. I was more than happy to hear every word of it. 

From there on, we hit it off. I got her number (her number! A pretty girls number!) and we hung out every chance we could. I gave her discounts on her admission tickets and let her stay long after the farm closed for the day. You see, I was a family friend of the owner, Paul, a nice older gentlemen. He was rather lenient and always let me bring friends on to the lot, as long as we didn’t break anything and cleaned up after ourselves. He was a good guy. 

Often, after all the animals had been packed up and put away for the night, I would take her to the old barn. Not the new one where the animals slept, the one that was on the plot before all the attractions were built. Whether it be because Paul was creeped out by the thing or was getting too old to walk the solid kilometre from the farm house to the barn, he wouldn’t go near it. In other words, I basically had the whole thing to myself. It was in a state of disrepair from disuse, cobwebs hung in every corner of the high ceiling, light peeking through from holes in the wood and it was relatively empty save the mounds of hay. 

A little musty, sure, but I had never been happier to spend long evenings after my shift with her by my side. Having her weave field flowers into the abyss of my hair all while she talked about her day. About the lecture from her professor, about the nice cashier she encountered, about anything and everything. 

In that little run down barn is where I had my first kiss, barely getting my (heavily practiced) confession out before being smothered with kisses and giggles.

We got married shortly after and life was perfect. I didn’t think there was anything that could be called perfect in this world, but when she slotted her soft hand into mine and brushed the silver band on her finger against my palm, I knew I was wrong. Perfection existed and it was holding my hand and giggling into my shoulder.

She finished teachers college and was overjoyed about getting a position at a local highschool near her parents' house while I still worked full time at the farm. Being a teacher had been her dream for a while now and she was so excited to interact with the students and nurture them to grow into the best versions of themselves they could be.

Unfortunately, the highschool became a bit less local after we bought a complex a forty minute drive away. I worried about her transportation, but she met my concerns with confidence and pride. Soft fingers smoothed the crease inbetween my brows and reassured me through whispered words that a short drive could never dampen the joy that came with spending the rest of her life with the one she loved. If I cried a little into the nook of her shoulder while we hugged, then that was between me and God.

______________________________________________________________________

At six pm, when the last of the kids had been corralled from the farm and the stalls had all been shut down, I decided to take my little hike to the barn. I clocked out of work, making sure to give my goodbyes to my co-workers, thank them for their work and the likes. I'd hate to be rude, especially since a few had been acting dodgy, more distant than normal. Maybe a misunderstanding? I’d have to ask sometime.

Before I could head out, I was stopped by a firm hand on my shoulder. Startled, I turned back only to come face to face with my boss. I know I said he was kind, but in that moment his face looked so stricken. Somehow, the wrinkles in his face seemed deeper than normal, heavy with an unforeseen weight.

“Hun,” He started off in his heavy southern accent, slow and soft, as if trying to appease a wild animal, “Are ya… feeling well? Y’aint done nothin’ wrong, just a few people are concerned about ya’, that’s all. Say ya go to the barn an awful lot. I just don’t want ya’ to be… alone is all. Bit worried ‘bout ya’, y’know? Been acting off since…. Ya know, the accident. Irresponsible people… Ought to get off the road.” Paul finished with a light sheen of sweat on his face and a hand rubbing at the back of his neck. 

I honestly had no idea what he was talking about. Accident? Accident? Like… A work accident? Someone screw up and violate a work safety rule? I paused, running through the events of the past week, but nothing came to mind.

Before I could gather myself properly, I heard Paul rather loudly clear his throat, clearly expecting some kind of answer. His face was pinched and tight, foot tapping rapidly against the soil.

“I’m sorry.” I responded with a heavy sigh, “I didn’t mean to startle you or the other workers, I'm sorry. It’s just that, well, the barns our spot y’know? Me and hers…” I trail off and I hear Paul give a hum of acknowledgment, but instead of relaxing, he grows even more tense.

“Well, as long as ya…. As long as you’re good, coping well and what have you. See you tomorrow, don’t stay out too late.” He gave a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes and lightly patted my shoulder before walking back towards the farm house. I appreciated his concern, but I honestly can’t see what I did to warrant it. I was just visiting my wife, was that so off putting? She was waiting for me in the barn, as she often did, so what was the issue?

Oh well, I refuse to let this incident bother me. You can’t control the thoughts of others, afterall. With that mostly out of mind, I start off towards the barn. As always, she’s waiting for me when I get there. It’s hard to see in the dim light of the evening, so I take to lighting the candles I set up. 

“Love, take a look at this!” I start, opening the small bag I brought and pull out a pink candle. “It’s scented! I picked it up just before work this morning. It's sweet, like candy, so I know you’ll like it. Here, smell it!” I offer up the candle and hold it just below her nose for a moment before pulling it away to light it and set it down close by. 

She’s lying down, surrounded by straw and dirt, cushioned by a rather large blanket I brought. It was pretty chilly out at this time, after all. She’s looking a bit worse than yesterday but thats okay. She’s still gorgeous, always gorgeous. 

But these fucking flies. 

With an annoyed hiss, I try to bat them away, taking care not to outright smack my wife in the process. No matter how much I shoo and complain, they always buzz right back to crawl along her skin. At least the raccoons haven’t gotten in. 

Ignoring the annoyance, I lay down beside her. Running a hand over her hair, gently combing out tangles and dirt. When I pull my hand away, strands of hair cling to my fingers, but that’s alright. She never had very healthy hair to begin with. I hum with dissatisfaction (I ought to buy her one of those repairing shampoos) before pressing a gentle kiss to her lips. 

She’s still ice cold. Even with the blanket, she’s still cold. I run my thumb over her lips in a last ditch attempt to get her to warm up, but to no avail. At least she isn’t uncomfortable though, right? She would’ve said something if she were distraught, but she’s silent now so it must be fine. 

I sit back up with some effort and drag my backpack closer to me. 

“I brought something else too.” I hum, rummaging through my bag, “it’s the same thing as last time, of course. Oh, but it wasn’t so bad last time, was it? You handled it like a champ! So brave!” I chuckled, thinking of her strength, her resilience. 

“We’ll start in a sec I just need… I know I put them in here, I double checked and everything… Ah! There we are! I knew I wasn’t losing it, they were just hiding.” I grin, satisfied with myself before placing the scissors down beside the jar I grabbed earlier.

With that all set up, I grab my wife and gently pull up her head to rest on my lap. Brushing her bangs off her forehead, I look her in the eye. Tenderly, I brush my thumb just under her eye and grab my scissors. 

“Ah… I'm really sorry about all this, but you understand, yeah? I’m just trying to help, honey. They’ll get all damaged if I keep them here, and then I won’t get to see your pretty eyes again… I mean! I already did the other one, so might as well finish right? It'll be better this way, I can carry a piece of you everywhere it go! Don't worry, I'll be quick, okay?"

Sheepishly, I look away and then back at her. One gorgeously green eye and an empty socket stare back. If she has any objections, she isn’t voicing them, so it must be fine. It's fine. She understands, surely. 

With her silent permission, I press my thumb a little harder over the edge of her socket, just under her eye, feeling where bone ends and squishy flesh begins. I wedge my thumb in the space between the two and press upwards. It takes a bit of effort, but with gentle coaxing I push her eye up and out. I hold it gently with one hand as to not have it roll around and fall, while the other hand opens the scissors.

With a steady hand, I line up the scissors to the string of nerves connecting her eye to her skull. With a quick ‘snip’ the line is cut. Opening the jar beside my thigh, I slip her eye in the opening, watching it softly splash into the liquid inside and float about. She isn’t bleeding, but I still wipe at the socket with my sleeve anyhow, just to make sure she’s nice and clean. 

“There we are. See, that took no time at all! Now, I have them both. I won’t let them get damaged or dirty, promise!” I tuck the scissors back into the bag and the jar alongside it after securing the cap. Even though it's still mid-evening, I find myself to be rather exhausted. I gently lie my wife back down in the soil and adjust the blanket around her body, nice and cozy.

Too tired to keep myself upright, I lie beside her and nestle my face into her neck, wrapping my arms around her torso to pull her body flush against mine. She isn’t warm and she doesn’t smell like the perfume I bought her for her birthday anymore, but it's fine. It’s fine. 

After all, I love my wife.

“Goodnight, dear.” I mumble before letting the buzz of flies lull me to sleep in place of a steady heartbeat.

[awellboiledicicle]

So it’s summer in game and i’m currently dating Sebastian but we only just started ok-- so I imagine we’re in that stage were we’re figuring out where we can make jokes about shit and so on. But like, through the friendship leading up to that point Sebastian is totally aware Farmer Moe has the habit of doing two things: deadpan joking about literally everything, or being so brutally honest about things that you’re not sure they’re joking. It helps that they also deal with anxiety-- if only because they’re prone to sitting in his room, reading his graphic novels to hide from other townspeople asking them for things, and they generally only ask him about things when he gets pissed off about code and explaining it helps solve the thing. 

This is relevant to the current situation in that.. well, it’s the dead of summer. He’s sweating his ears off his head, but dedicated to his aesthetic as he is, he’s not taking off his sweatshirt. Sebastian spends most of his time in the basement or out at night/in the rain so its really only a problem in the heat. Especially given the dark jeans and socks set up he wears around the house.  So, logically, when Farmer Moe comes more or less stomping down the stairs in leather boots up to their knees, dirt all over their shins, forearms, and face, and with nary a bit of sweat in sight-- they should know how to not bake. Farmers should know how to do that, right? “Hey!” “Yo, Sebs! How’s the localized heatwave?” They know he’s melting. They have told him to wear a tanktop. They have told him to pull his hair back. Shorts exist. He doesn’t need to wear socks. He was ignoring the bemused smirk as they tromped over and flopped onto the stool in front of his second computer. He tried mightily to not look too long at their skirt pulling up their thighs. “Able to ring your socks out yet?” “Ha, ha.” He was not going to tell them he flipped his hair and there were drops flung at his monitor in the last half hour. “..not yet.” They looked at his cheeks, at the slight sheen on the keyboard on his lap and back up. “You’ve been drinking water right? Because--” “Yes.” “I don’t see a glass.”  He reached behind him and pulled up a waterbottle, shook it and put it back on the floor. “What, we start dating and you turn into my mom?” “Nope, she just deputized me to bug you about your health. She’s carving my unofficial parent badge as we speak.” They snorted before getting an air of absolute seriousness. “Nah, I just worry about you sweating to death down here, turning into a puddle. Heat stroke is a real problem, whether you’re inside or out. You don’t move around much and you forget about drinkin’ water, babe. I don’t wanna walk into town to see Harvey and see you in a bed getting an IV.” “I wouldn’t let it get that bad--” He rolled his eyes and waved a hand. “Besides, i’d text you and you’d show up with about 30 bottles of water or whatever miracle you work to not melt in this hell.” Moe tapped their fingers on his desk and continued staring at him. “Seb. Babe. Hun. Sebastian.” Oh no. “..what.” “Seb.” They leaned closer. “Name three things you’ve seen me wearing this summer and two things i have not been.” “...what does this have to do with dehydration and staying cool?” “Leading up to it.” He ran through the various outfits, though to be perfectly honest he didn’t really pay that much attention until the last few months. With the exception of them causing a semi-uproar wearing tube and halter tops and an extreme hatred of sleeves, he didn’t know what they meant. He did recall his mother being amused when they got together, citing there bright and cheerful aesthetic and, well, tan. “Bright colors? Tanktops? Shorts?” They pursed their lips. “Seb, when was the last time you saw me wear pants. Pants stop happening when the temperature rises above 50 degrees.” He was processing this, looking down at their legs again. He was appreciating that he had reason to now process but he was pretty sure this was going to lead to a ‘change clothes’ point and he didn’t like it. “You’re going to tell me to change clothes, huh.” “Bro, my guy, hun.” “You never run out of those.” “Never.” They crossed their legs and he refocused. “I’m not saying this to fuck with your aesthetic. It’s you and you vibe with it and it’s very cool. But don’t fuckin’ die for it my guy. I hate being outside midday, so i do everything early and wear light clothes and toss on a flannel while i’m working closer to noon. I work in this get up early and late. I also go through like, a shitton of water. So much water. I’m just saying if it’s drying you out so bad, wear things that don’t.” Sebastian was still processing the fact that their advice was no pants. Not because it was... yeah, but because it was kinda funny.  He chuckled and they proceeded to screw up their face, making him progress to full blown laughing. “I’m serious!” They were poking at his arm trying to get him to focus, it only egged him on. “I know! I hear you! But your advice boils down to water and no pants!” He was just getting worse. They snorted and kept poking him, he retaliated with pokes. “Hey, I can do that too--” “Oh you can poke and be thirsty, but you can’t take your pants off!” This did nothing for the laughing situation, maneuvering closer to poke at Sebastian’s side. “What a guy!” “Oh my Yoba.” He gasped and stood up so he could grab them for tickle retribution. The poke started it, he was within his rights. Also, was laughing too hard to take anything seriously. “You don’t want me to take off my clothes right now-- I smell like one of Sam’s stink bombs.” This was said, of course, maneuvering to get the edge of his sweatshirt over their head.  “That’s why you shower and drink water. And don’t reveal your weak spots.” And he was doomed. They have farm animals and work on said farm-- BO is nothing. The poor man was trying to be cute, covered their head, and was tickled relentlessly.  Ended up on the floor with no air and his sweatshirt stolen. Granted, he was right about the smell. “Ok, you know what, i think i may need that parent badge if it gets you to not wear this inside. Oh yoba.. Do you have moisture in your body?” They poked him with the toe of their boot and he responded with going after the back of their knee. Foolish, exposing weakness.  “I live. I think the liquid is Joja cola and spite aimed at my latest client, but i’m alive. Also the floor is cooler than expected.” He squinted. “Are you wearing shorts and a skirt?” “No peeking for you.” He rolled his eyes and gave them a faux pout. Another snort and the smirk returned. “Skorts exist, like sporks, to reign over other garments in their superiority. Also, the floor is always the best place to be because cold air sinks.” “Coulda lead with that.” “Yeah, but this lead to you taking your sweatshirt off.” “.........damn.”

[casually fanfics out random thoughts

[jonghyundroppedthesoap]

My Number One Fan

Chapter 26 Pairing: JongKey Word Count: 2,922 Summary: Kibum goes to the same, run-down bar every week to watch the man of his affections sing his heart out with a mere guitar for company. He wasn’t expecting the coffee, nor the beautiful personality within the singer. And he definitely wasn’t expecting to fall in love.

A/N: this chapter is awfully short, i know, but i needed to get all the necessary filler out the way before the dramatic stuff begins ;;)) next chapters gonna be a packed one i swear! oh and enjoy the 2min <3 

chapters 6-25 posted on @ourshineeshrine for now

The sun was shining brightly when Minho decided to go for a serene walk that Saturday afternoon, hands positioned lazily in his pockets as he scuffed his feet along the gravelled ground. Often, when too caught up in his thoughts or simply tired of sitting around, Minho would escape his house for just a little while and head to the local park, revelling in the soothing environment it provided him with. The large oak trees lining the green terrain swayed softly in the wind, leaves rustling and cascading down onto the blanket of grass below.

It was true that they lived in the same neighbourhood. And Minho supposed that the chances weren’t completely unlikely. However it still came as quite the shock when, as he made his way around the forged dirt track, Minho’s eyes fell upon Taemin seated on a nearby bench. The younger boy was simply staring at his shoes, occasionally kicking at the rocks beneath his feet and watching as they rolled forward before coming to an abrupt halt against the grass.

Minho smiled fondly. From his slightly elevated position, sunlight flittered in at exactly the right angle to land gracefully on Taemin’s skin, highlighting all of his beautiful features. His slighty mussed hair was swept back with the wind, and as light was further shed upon Minho’s feelings, he found himself not really caring in the slightest. Perhaps at first it had been slightly alarming that he had begun to gather feelings for his friends but now, after some careful consideration, Minho figured that he was actually rather lucky. Not only did he get to spend practically every waking moment with Taemin, but the two already knew each other in and out – there’d be no need to hide his true self in fear of judgement.

Taking one last, deep breath, Minho slowly began to make his way towards Taemin, at this closer distance suddenly being very aware of how torn his facial expression seemed to be. Minho frowned in alarm and quickened his pace. The younger boy’s gaze didn’t at all divert from their position on the ground even when Minho stood a mere two metres away, and he coughed slightly to break the silence, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly. “Taemin. Hey.”

Taemin looked up in astonishment, an obvious red hue immediately flushing against his cheeks. His shoulders had tensed unconsciously, but despite his noticeable discomfort, Taemin replied with a slightly awkward, “Hey, Minho. What’s up?”

“Nothing much.” Minho grinned brightly, taking a seat next to Taemin and crossing his legs. “Just wanted some fresh air. You?”

Albeit slightly forced, Taemin smiled back. “Me too. Just needed to think about some things I guess.”

Minho nodded. “School’s been super busy lately. Kibum and I have got our end of year exams in like, a week, and to be honest…I think I’m gonna flunk. But don’t tell Jinki I said that.”

“You’re probably gonna get a sport scholarship though so I don’t think you’ve got anything to worry about.” Taemin nudged Minho’s ribs playfully in reassurance, immediately regretting his actions as Minho’s body stiffened.

Minho opened his mouth as though he was about to say something before suddenly halting in his tracks, settling for a simple, “Taemin...”

The first year held his breath. Was this finally the moment? Was Minho finally going to confront what had happened nearly a week from now? He looked up at the older boy with hope swimming in his eyes and offered a smile. “Yeah?”

“Well um…just…thanks for being a good friend.”

As the words fell upon Taemin’s ears, his hopes were diminished like a fire during winter, simply nodding softly in response. It was stupid, really. But nonetheless, Taemin could feel his anger slowly rising at Minho’s ignorance on the matter and clenched his fists.

“Also, Taem. I was wondering if you wanted to hang out tomorrow. Just you and I? Maybe go to the movies or the arcade…I don’t know.”

Taemin remained silent and simply glared at the ground, shaking his head marginally at Minho’s audacity. First he plays with Taemin’s feelings by kissing him, but then never brings it up again and instead thinks that they can just resume their friendship like nothing ever happened. He bit his lip, fighting down the insults which threatened to spill from his mouth, and refused to meet Minho’s curious stare.

Minho frowned at Taemin’s silence. “Uh…Taemin? Everything alright buddy?”

“Y’know what, Minho? Everything isn’t alright!” Taemin fumed, standing up and pacing on the spot. “You have been practically ignoring me for the whole week, haven’t mentioned anything about last Sunday, and now you wanna hang out? Look Minho…I know you hated what happened the other day, okay? I get it! Either let’s talk about it, or you stop acting so awkward! It’s in the past…so just tell me how much you hated the kiss and let’s move o—“

“I never said I didn’t like it, you idiot!” exclaimed Minho, up on his feet and staring Taemin directly in the eyes.

Breath coming to a sudden halt, Taemin’s jaw dropped and he stared at Minho with wide eyes, not quite positive if he’d heard correctly or not.

Minho took a tentative step forward and spoke again softly. “I never said that I didn’t like it, Taem.”

And then, gently and cautiously, so unlike the times before, Minho’s lips were pressed flush against Taemin’s, lifting a hand to rest precariously against the younger boy’s cheek.

“So wait…” spoke Amber, draped over Kibum’s bed like a duvet. “You’re saying that your parents think that Jonghyun is making you gay, and now you’re grounded from going out?”

Kibum sighed and spun around aimlessly on his desk chair. “That’s literally what I just said, yes.”

“Don’t get snappy with me, Kibum. We have to work our way around this. Can’t he just come over like I am now?”

Sighing loudly, Kibum shook his head. “Technically, he could. But…If he came over it would only make things worse, ‘Ber. My father practically hates him, and Jonghyun’s really touchy anyway. To be honest, he’d probably go home more upset than if he didn’t come at all. Let’s just leave it, m’kay?”

Amber sat up and studied Kibum closely before collapsing back onto the bed. “For now. We’re gonna talk about this again later. But for now…” the tomboy snorted loudly. “Can you believe Minho rejected me, yesterday?”

Kibum choked, practically falling from his seat in surprise. “H-He what? Rejected you? You fuckin’ made a move?”

“I just asked if he wanted to chill tomorrow, calm your farm. Y’know…I could’ve sworn he liked me, but oh well.”

Utterly confused, Kibum sat in silence, the gears in his head turning at a million miles per second. His thoughts ran back to the day before, when Taemin had spoken of Minho’s strange attitude towards their kiss. Supposedly, he’d practically ignored Taemin entirely after it had happened, yet he had been the one who had asked to kiss Taemin in the first place. Kibum paused for a second, eyes widening in joyous realization that in Amber’s perspective, seemed to border insanity.

She rose an eyebrow and punched Kibum’s leg, taking satisfaction in the way her best friend yelped in pain. “Get that serial killer smug grin off your face and tell me what you’re thinking.”

“Oh my God,” Kibum muttered, laughing softly under his breath. “Oh my fucking God.”

“What?! Tell me, you dick shit!”

Kibum chuckled loudly and fell onto the bed besides Amber. “Who would’ve known, huh?”

Fists clenched, Amber grabbed Kibum’s wrists and in a fluid motion and twisted them around his back, digging her elbow harshly in between his shoulder blades. Kibum yelped in pain and attempted to escape the tom boy’s strong grasp, body flailing pathetically before falling into a slump.

“Now, are you gonna stop acting like an asshole and tell me what’s got your knickers in a knot?”

“My what in a what now?”

Amber tutted and applied more pressure. “Stop stalling and answer the god damn question, Kibum.”

Groaning loudly, Kibum stuffed his face into the duvet. “Rradgi b’sekshal Min’o ‘ikez Ta’mmn”

Amber screwed her face into a frown. “What the heck?”

“I said…” Kibum sighed, roughly tugging his wrists out of the younger girl’s grasp. “Raging bisexual Minho likes Taemin.”

Silence. Thick, drop dead silence. Amber simply stared at the polaroid pictures upon Kibum’s wall, and in concern, the latter worried that she liked Minho a lot more than he’d previously expected. He leaned forward slightly to gauge her reaction, however immediately retreated in surprise upon realising that she was laughing. “Honestly,” she giggled. “Why doesn’t that surprise me?”

“At first glance Minho seems as straight as a stick but like…the thought of him having a crush on a guy is just so natural. I literally can’t believe that my whole friendship group is fucking gay.” snorted Kibum, shaking his head at the odds.

Amber looked at Kibum. “Wait, so Taemin is gay too?”

He paused. “Well no…But he definitely has a crush on Minho though, so my statement still stands.”

Squealing uncharacteristically in both a mixture of excitement and disbelief, the tomboy grabbed a packet of Cheetos strewn on Kibum’s bed and shoved a handful in her mouth. “If they get together, and you start talking to Jonghyun again, then you guys can double date!”

Kibum hummed, a forlorn glint lingering in his chocolate eyes. “I don’t know if I should even talk to Jonghyun, to be honest… It’s just gonna make things worse.”

With a sad sigh, Amber sat up straight and addressed Kibum sympathetically. She seemed cautious, as though tip toeing around a rose bush, and bit her bottom lip. “There’s nothing wrong with liking a guy, Kibum.” she spoke softly.

Anger sparked in Kibum’s chest, and he glared harshly at his best friend. “I know that, Amber! But I’m just sick of it being so hard… Loving someone isn’t meant to be this hard.” His voice had managed to drop to a whisper within mere milliseconds, and he ignored Amber’s loud gasp of surprise.

“It wouldn’t be this bad if it wasn’t for your parents. You just said it, Kibum – you love Jonghyun! You guys have something really special, and you can’t just give up on something like that. You have to work around this, Kibum. Please. I just…I hate seeing you like this, alright?”

Kibum nodded, but it was safe to say that he wasn’t quite convinced by Amber’s words. She knew his parents pretty well, certainly. But no one knew Kibum’s parents quite like Kibum himself, and deep down, he understood that getting around them would be a lot harder than it seemed. He thought about his father, and his mother who was finally beginning to recognize that he had his own beliefs and feelings. He thought about the slap – the stinging in his cheek which psychologically, had never gone away. He didn’t want to drag Jonghyun down that hell hole. Why would Jonghyun even want to be a part of something like this when he had a perfect family back at home? Where his mother and sister joked around joyously, accepted him for who he was, and gave Jonghyun all the love he deserved. His lifestyle could never match up to that standard, and it was with this mindset that Kibum decided that yes, keeping his distance from Jonghyun certainly was better for the both of them.

Standing outside Kibum’s bedroom door, Kibum’s mother could feel her own heartbeat picking up considerably as she heard her son and his best friend speaking within the room. She should’ve just kept on walking. Gone to her bedroom like she’d originally planned on doing. And she was going to keep on walking after a few minutes, she really was. But as those eight words fell from her son’s mouth so casually and so genuinely, she found herself pausing in disbelief, not quite sure if she’d heard him correctly.

‘Loving someone isn’t meant to be this hard.’

‘You love Jonghyun!’

The woman’s breath caught in her throat, and if it wasn’t for the wall that she was currently leaning against, Kibum’s mother was certain her legs would have gave way by now. She’d had her suspicions, of course. About their relationship being something less than…pure. But an emotion as deep as love had never been on the agenda, and she found her heart slowly tearing apart at the connotations of those short phrases. Her mind went back to just the other day, where Jonghyun had helped her with her groceries. His eyes had been red, bloodshot and puffy, clear signs of crying and sleep deprivation. Had their treatment towards Kibum and Jonghyun inevitably lead to his? Two depressed boys who couldn’t even bring it within themselves to see the other because of what people around them thought?

The guilt was overbearing. Kibum’s mother knew that, along with her husband, she was a key catalyst in this behaviour and caution. Yet before she could even ponder on what this truly meant to her and her family, a sound within the room knocked the woman out of her senses and pushed her on her way, trudging towards the marginally opened hallway door with a fatigued frown lining her features.

Jonghyun stood before the bathroom mirror, staring at his slick hair in nervous anticipation. A bottle of opened dark hair dye lay on the countertop, and if Jonghyun had never done this before, he was sure that at that moment his hands would certainly be shaking. He spun around one last time to make sure that every inch of his previously blonde locks were covered before grabbing a plastic cap and slipping it over his hair. A loud exhale escaped his lips, and Jonghyun slumped onto the edge of the bathtub with clenched fists. Potential song lyrics played within in his mind on repeat, but the only thing which kept Jonghyun from writing them down was the fact that he knew Kibum wouldn’t be joining him at the bar tomorrow. Honestly, he didn’t really know why he’d decided to finally change his hair colour. It had been blonde since he’d left school, and before now, he’d never even considered changing it back to brown. But now it was done – there was no turning back.

He stood below the shower head and allowed the water to run down his face as it washed the excess dye away, thoughts drifting back to his conversation with Kibum’s mother at the supermarket just days ago. While it was indeed a nice offer, Jonghyun still racked his mind for ideas to somehow see Kibum before two weeks’ time, mind coming to a cruel halt at every turn. Whether it be too risky, too public, or just too downright impossible, it seemed that there was no way whatsoever that Jonghyun could meet up with Kibum before the latter’s parent teacher interviews.

The songwriter stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around his waist, watching in the mirror as his hair gradually dried to dark, mousy brown. Jonghyun smiled despite his prior melancholy, and could only hope with all his heart that Kibum’s parents worked on Tuesday afternoons.

Minho pulled away softly, hand still softly cradling Taemin’s cheek. A wide, ecstatic smile rested on his face and he watched Taemin’s expression carefully to gauge any sort of reaction.

It was safe to say that Taemin was in a stupor. Unblinkingly, he stared at Minho’s grinning face, not quite positive if he’d imagined that kiss or not. His heart raced at a million beats per second, and although there were no mirrors around, Taemin was fairly certain that at that moment his cheeks were glowing a dazzling red. Awkwardly, he licked his lips, diverting his gaze to instead stare at the ground. “W-What was that for?” he mumbled softly.

Chuckling melodiously, Minho shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know. I like you, and I liked that kiss the other day, so why not?”

Taemin froze, head slowly lifting to look at Minho once more. He studied Minho’s carefree smile, he’s relaxed shoulders and his twinkling eyes, feeling his own face distort into a frown as he did so. “You’re lying.” he muttered. “Stop fucking with me, Minho.”

And immediately, just like that, Minho’s carefree expression faded away, transforming into something more alike to worry and fear. “I’m not, Taemin…I swear. I like you.”

“Then why did you ignore me for the whole week, then? Last time I checked, you had a crush on Amber!”

Minho gnawed gently on his bottom lip. “I know, I was just scared, okay? Not of liking a boy because I honestly don’t give a shit about that. But… you’re my best friend, Taem. I didn’t want to ruin things between us.”

With a scoff, Taemin crossed his arms over his chest. “Well…Well how do you know you haven’t ruined things? Why’d you just assume that I like you back, huh? ‘Cause I’m going through my gay ‘phase’ right? I must be jumping at the chance to date a guy like you.” Sarcasm had begun to lace with Taemin’s tone of voice, and Minho felt his oxygen clot with anxiety.

“N-No…Taemin. Why are you getting so angry? I already told you that I didn’t mean it like that when I said ‘phase’. I just thought that maybe—“ His voice cracked, and in fear of shedding tears, snapped his mouth shut. Minho swallowed thickly. “Do you…like me at all? Even just a little?”

Taemin flushed red, immediately turning away. “No, I—“

“Taemin. Please. ” interrupted Minho firmly, raising a brow. “Do you like me?”

The first year’s hands shook, but nonetheless, he responded quietly under his breath. “M-Maybe…just a little.”

That elicited a small smile to flutter onto Minho’s face, and hesitantly, he reached forward to entwine his fingers with Taemin’s. “Then why are you being so…I don’t know…”

“Cautious? Disbelieving? Maybe because…I’ve liked you for a lot longer than you’ve liked me, and this all seems so sudden, Minho. How am I supposed to know that you’re actually serious about this? A week might pass, and next thing you know, you’ll be crushing on Sooyoung or Sulli. I,” Taemin flushed. “I really like you, okay? I just don’t want to be your little experiment.”

Minho gave Taemin’s hand a gentle squeeze, softly lifting Taemin’s chin with the other. “This is new to me, I know. But you’re my best friend above anything else, Taem. And I wouldn’t have acted on my feelings if I thought they were anything but genuine. Just trust me, okay? As your best friend, if anything.”

Taemin’s eyes searched Minho’s frantically, as though they in themselves held the truth to his words. A second past, then two, and then another. And then before Minho could even voice another syllable, Taemin dived forward, wrapping his arms around Minho’s neck and kissing him square on the mouth.

“I trust you.” he whispered after only a short moment, leaning forward once more to instead wrap the older boy in a tight, affectionate hug. Minho’s arms reciprocated the embrace immediately, tightening his arms around Taemin’s waist and resting his chin atop of his head.

He smiled brightly and breathed a sigh of relief. “So…does this mean we’re like, a couple now?”

“Nah,” droned Taemin sarcastically. “We’re friends with benefits.”

It was safe to say that Taemin took great pride in Minho’s flushed face at that comment, and found himself laughing pleasantly.

“T-Taemin!”

“No need to hold your breath, frog boy. You can just call me boyfriend for now.” winked Taemin, grabbing Minho’s hands and pecking his startled look away. “Now c’mon…Let’s go play video games at your house.”

Minho beamed, and together, they set back off down the path with their hands clasped tightly. “Wah, my boyfriend is so cool.” he commented, bumping Taemin’s side playfully.

Smiling mischievously, Taemin bumped Minho back.

“And my boyfriend...resembles a frog.”

It was safe to say Taemin ignored Minho’s complaints the rest of the way back to his house, yet despite their bickering, both boys were simply on cloud nine that afternoon, their lingering smiles never quite fading until the sun had set.

[mammawolff]

I'm going to apologize now for what might turn into a long post, as I can't remember how to do a read more on mobile. So. It's once again Bell Let's Talk day. Now I realize that maybe, last year I was in a better position mentally, financially, and healthier than I am right now. But, that's the thing about mental illness. It's a daily battle. So. Let's talk. I don't think I've ever actually told anyone my full story. I was diagnosed with clinical depression and anxiety when I was eight. This was a very poor time in my life. I was in the office of my school every day, for one reason or another. Funny thing about schools. They all claim to be against bullying, but they only notice the physical aspect. A rotund child defending herself against verbal attacks? Clearly she's the bully. Unfortunately, I grew accustomed to being anxious around figures of authority because of these childhood encounters. I'd stop trying to defend my actions to these adults who weren't listening, and instead clam up and cry. And clearly, crying means I feel guilty and therefore I'm the attacker. Yeah. My school was pretty fucky. Add onto that it's small town, uni-religious, and fairly cult-ish in their actions. My family, having just moved there with no family established, got the brunt end of a lot of attacks. Weird ass elitism at its finest. Anyways. During this time my home life was pretty shit, too. My parents divorced when I was four, and we moved to this town two days before my fifth birthday. My mum was determined to cut our father out of our lives, so we didn't actually get to see him until I was 6, almost 7. Also pretty fucky. My mum wasn't the greatest mother around. Yes, she put a roof over our heads and fed us, but she was very quick to attack us verbally & physically, and if she thought we were lying about something she'd beat us til we told her what she wanted to hear. So, my dad became somewhat of a god in my eyes. Guardian angel, shelter from the storm, something unattainable for a very long time(to 5, 6, 7 year old me. A year and a half ish is a very long time for a kid). Eventually, he was able to take us every weekend. He bounced from house to house, job to job, but he provided what little child support he could spare and he always made sure to have a house with at least two bedrooms, so we'd always have a place. I tried so often to tell him what the combination of mum & school were doing to my tiny brain and body, but I never had any idea what abuse was, as a definition. I was terrified what mum might do if she found out I tattled. She'd already kept us all away from dad for so long, how long could she do that again? So I stayed silent. When I was 8, I met with my school's guidance counsellor. I had only a handful of friends who weren't terrified of me(I grew tall and wide pretty fast), my grades were shit(even for elementary school), and I was always late. Not to mention those daily visits to the principal's office. He's the one who prompted mum to take me in, see if all this stress had caused something to fuck up in my brain. Spoiler alert; it did. So, I was put on Anti-D medication. Anti-A's didn't come into play until later. Unfortunately, my body apparently absorbed and adjusts to new medication very, very quickly. By the time I was 10 I was taking handfuls of pills morning, noon, and night, just to maintain this facade of normalcy. Unfortunately, the bullying and abuse was continuing. My grades didn't superbly improve, my school behaviour issues barely subsided. But, the pills continued. I couldn't even tell you what they were or what they did. Mum took care of all that. But, I can tell you one thing, my short term memory problems started when the drugs did. I know it's too late for me now, but man I'm still kinda pissed at past me for not speaking up. Grade five was a shift for me. Negatively. I had a highly abusive teacher, bullying was at an all-time high and three of my friends deemed me too weird/sketchy/uncool to play with any more. My dad had to move into a townhouse and out of the farmhouses he'd been occupying for years. He had to get rid of the dog(Sonia) who'd been my best friend for well over a year. Soon after, we had to get rid of Queen(cookie), a dog we'd gotten from my friend's dog's second litter. I couldn't go riding any more(we kept my dad's landlord's horses and cows on the property), and I could no longer help on the farm. My weekend salvation was at an end. About the only freedom I had left was if dad took me flying. I made him take me up for hours, some weekends. I remember bawling on my morning walks to school with my friends, because I hated my life so much. My mum made the doctor ease up my prescriptions(a good thing, honestly), but she didn't ease up the abuse. Neither did my teacher, or the bullies, and I no longer had my beloved animals to keep me sane. I mean, we had Taffy, but she was always Brad's dog. One morning there was a speeding car who I knew couldn't see us down the road. I think my friends knew exactly what I was thinking because they stopped and just hugged me until the car passed us. I was 11 and suicidal. To help me transition off the farm, dad bought me riding lessons from a local Parelli instructor. These helped. I finally had some sort of release again, and best of all I could ride throughout the week, not just the weekends. These ended too. My instructor's lease of the land eventually ran out, and an oil company came in and bought the land. I was 13 when this happened. Still being forced to take drugs, and go to a psychiatrist (who broke client confidentiality so I stopped going and mum stopped paying). When I was 12 I found Wicca, and started turning away from the Church I'd been raised and baptised into. By the time I was 15 I'd fully turned away but still went, to appease my dad. Anyways. I started riding with another instructor and when I was 15 suffered a very traumatic fall, that screwed me up mentally, and I couldn't bring myself to get back on a horse until just last year when I was 20. Amazing what happens when your hormone levels mostly balance out eh? I was still kind of suicidal throughout all of this. Nothing that I would act on, but I kept thinking, "if I were to die, it wouldn't be so bad." I moved in with my dad when I was 15. I was sick of mum's bullshit, we fought violently every day. She'd already kicked my favourite brother out of the house, my sister was almost as bad as she was(she's 9 years older than me and to this day acts like I'm still 10 years old. We've never been close). A plethora of reasons. Mostly being, I was tired of her verbal and mental attacks. The physical stuff mostly ended once I hit 5'7". Definitely didn't happen after I was 5'10". I moved in with dad, quit my prescriptions, came out to him as pagan, then promptly fell in line and went back to church(which I'd quit at mum's) in order to protect myself. He would kick me out if I so much as lit a candle. So, I practiced in secret. My gods were(and are) very understanding and very supportive. Dad's God did not want me in His church, but tolerated me. This was pretty dark time. Me moving in with dad dredged up more custody battle bullshit. But, my relationship with my mum started to get better, sort of. I'm 21 now and we're only just on good speaking terms for more than 48 hours at a time. Then I got Angel. She was pretty much perfect as a puppy. House training was kind of difficult, she proved herself a friggen genius with the turkey incident, but she was mine. She knows exactly what I want, how I'm feeling, what I'm going to ask of her. She's perfect. (Cherub's a rotten little shit but she's still just a puppy and I haven't found the right job for her just yet.) Then, four of my newfound friends died. Car accident. I know I've recounted this story many times so I'll spare the details. But this threw me into a massive identity crisis. They didn't know the real me before they died. Danae looked up to me as a role model, and she didn't know I wasn't Mormon. I was pagan. I had to tell everyone. That Christmas (time ish), I came out of the broom closet again. Only this time to everyone. My "Mormon Moms," as I called them, insisted I was still me and they still loved me. The less accepting wanted to ban me from the graveyard. I still get hassled from their families, if they see me going down. But, a certain member of the community stood up for me. I'll be grateful to him forever. My dad was confused and hurt, but so long as I kept going to church he'd let me stay. Mum still insists it's a phase. I started going back to my hometown for school (only ten minutes away), and connected with my friends again. Then my paternal grandpa died. I never got the chance to say goodbye. Not even a funeral. He visited me, and my aunt and my cousin, but that still hit me extra hard, as it wasn't even 10 days after the 1 year anniversary of the accident. I started to slip again, fast. Dad got a job out east and had left me to move the rest of our things into storage, and I moved back in with mum. This is when I discovered I get severe depression when I have to move. Yay. I discovered my car's engine will cut out once I get to 198km. There is a stretch of road between the two towns that is very long, and very straight, with a sudden swerve to the right and a very steep drop in the road into a gulley. I convinced myself if I could get to 200km before that swerve, I would let my car fly off the cliff. I watched the needle drop closer to the speedometer's limit, noting exactly when the engine cut. I tapped the brakes, and got my car under control before the turn. Cursed myself for being a chicken, then for being so stupid. Angel needed me, if no one else. Half-assed suicide attempt no. 2. School sucked, but for some odd reason my childhood bullies apologized to me and tried to make amends. I accepted and we moved on. Mostly. I guess. Throughout all of this my depression was(and has been) a heavy weight on my shoulders. A darkness at the edge of my vision. Pretty much the only thing that truly lifted that lifted that was Anna. Though I had found new friends on the internet through dA and the ridgearound(love you guys), it was never really at bay. She was really, really, REALLY the only thing that brought true sunlight into my life. The day she was born I cried tears of joy, and thought she was the most perfect creature ever. I still do. She is beautiful. Graduation year brought me Anna, a boyfriend who turned out to be creepy and manipulative and abusive, and the start of my cutting addiction. I fucked up a few months ago. Before that it had been years. More fights with mum. Robin Williams passed and I lost hope for a few months. That was not a good time. He was always a role model to me, because even as a kid I knew what battles he was going through. He made me laugh when no one else could. He showed me that even with my shitty brain, I could be successful. I could fight this. Then he killed himself. I finally moved to Ponoka. Pretended to be an adult. Got cherub. Changed jobs. Found(ed) a coven. Lost Dee, and Anna. She's alive, don't worry. But she's no longer in my life. The horses helped so, so much with my depression. I refuse(d) medication because I can manage my condition, usually. Unfortunately that job ended in part because the mental stress had brought on my depression full force, and even my boss noticed I wasn't happy. So I left and started my MT course, where I am now even broker than usual, even more stressed than usual, and even more depressed than usual. This isn't even every aspect of my depression but it's the main points. Throughout this now 11 year journey, my depression and my anxiety have been with me. They've changed and grown and forced me to change and grow as well. I often wonder how different things would have been had I not refused meds so (relatively) early on. Too late now. But, my point is, I'm still here. I'm still fighting. My survival tactics have changed. When I was 11, what stopped me so many times was "tomorrow is another day" and "what will tomorrow bring?" Now, it's just sheer stubbornness. I'm going to finish my MT, I'm going to get out of debt and I'm going to flee into the middle of the prairies with my dogs and my reptiles and get myself a horse and a plane and I will never step foot in a city again. Just watch me. It doesn't get better. That slogan has never rang true with me. It just changes. You change, and your illness changes as well. But I guess, in some ways, it does get easier. You force yourself to see in colour, to take the bad in every situation and go "at least it isn't _____." And every now and again, you look back at your eight year old self and allow her to cry, because sometimes you need to.