#I was watching it at my grandparents' house and I just went to the yard

[sevicia]

I literally didn't even finish watching May (2002) because the fact the guy (STUPID) rejected her after being like "I love weird ;) come disgust me bbg 😛" pissed me off so bad I was like I can't do this rn I need to cool off.

[coquettepascal]

texas sweet

summary: joel is your friendly neighborhood dad of the year, so why is his driveway empty on father's day? better yet, why do you feel the need to make up for everyone elses absence?

tags: 18+, smut, handjob, desc of joel mastubrating, a "massage", neighbor!joel x f!reader, massages, general cheesiness, soft!joel, pathetic!joel, almost(?) sub!joel, reader gets blueballed (sorry), biting, joel whimpering, joel being a proud girl dad, no-outbreak, ellie and sarah exist, tommy is mentioned(!!), joel is a southern gentleman, mention of reader having parents, no desc of reader but she can fit between joel and the couch, dilf!joel (yum)

-> part. ii here!

a/n: my first joel fic ever... i would like to thank every person who has written no-outbreak!joel or pre-outbreak!joel. i freaked it.

texas sweet masterlist and my masterlist

(4.9k, not beta read.)

Moving to Texas was not the plan, or even the “blessing” your mother claimed it would be. Being the one who took over your grandparents home after they moved to a seniors facility? Fantastic! Amazing, even. Leaving your job, friends, and boyfriend, back home? Horrible. Heart wrenching and annoying. 

Austin, for the most part, was lonely. Long distance didn’t end up working between you and your boyfriend, your friends just got busier with their jobs, and it wasn’t like your parents could just drive 14 hours to see you every weekend. Co-workers were nice, but honestly who really wants to hang out with people you already spend 40 hours a week with? Maybe you were jaded, or picky, which was what your mother also claimed, or maybe your whole life was uprooted for what felt like no reason.

What you weren’t picky about, was the view from your bedroom window. You’re not a peeping tom, or a perv, but it isn’t your fault that your dilf-y next door neighbor is so easy on the eyes.

No, moving to Austin was not a blessing, but Joel Miller was.

Joel was the neighborhood guy. Need an oil change? Joel. Need your fence fixed? Joel. Block party? Joel’s yard. It’s like he doesn’t know how to say no to anybody, that southern politeness deeper than the drawl that lies in his voice. When you had first moved here he had helped you move your couch through the door, all smiles and polite nods. He barely introduced himself before he was asking if you needed any help, and he had called you “young lady,” which made you giggle. Such a giving man, but of course he was. A single father to two daughters? “No” wasn't in his vocabulary.

Sometimes, you think if your dad was as good a father as Joel Miller was, maybe you wouldn’t be fiending after him with such ferocity. Watching him with his two girls, Sarah and Ellie, was something that tugged your heartstrings no matter what. Sarah wasn’t around a lot anymore, apparently she went away to a fancy college. You had helped her pack all her stuff into Joel’s truck, but quickly went inside when you saw him getting misty eyed, you didn't want to embarrass the poor guy. Ellie is younger than Sarah and still lives at home. Honestly, you didn’t know much about her apart from the fact that she was adopted and that she’s in high school. She’s always happy to chat, but she’s also always going somewhere, which leaves Joel lonely sometimes. 

Joel seems better suited for loneliness than you are though. His brother Tommy comes around pretty often, though they seem fairly opposite. Tommy truly is sweet, has always chatted with you during block parties (even if it may be for nefarious reasons when he’s had too many drinks,) but he looks like… a fuckboy. Without fail, every time he rolls up to Joel’s house, he’s blasting some shitty new country music and wearing Pit Viper sunglasses as he carefully parks his spotless truck. Despite their differences though, they get along just as well. Your summer evenings are often interrupted by the sound of their laughs and the crisp sound of the two cracking open some cold ones. 

So why is it that when Father’s day rolls around, Joel’s driveway is empty?

You aren’t watching on purpose, you just happen to glance over that way a lot. The only action you see from his house is Ellie leaving for her friend's house sometime after noon, like usual on a Sunday. No signs of Sarah or Tommy. Part of you figured that maybe Sarah would make the lengthy drive down from her school, or maybe that Tommy would show up at some point, but nobody does. 

‘Not creepy,’ you assure yourself as you go upstairs to peer through your bedroom window to see if anyone is there. You could totally look through the kitchen window that directly faces his backyard, but you fear the day he’s looking right back at you. 

Looking outside, you see nothing. Joel’s grey-blue truck sits unmoved in the driveway, his plants are watered though so you guess he came outside at some point. The thought makes you feel a bit sad, the image of Joel and his soft eyes watering the plants, whistling to himself and trying to tell himself it doesn’t matter that nobody came. He probably really doesn’t care at all, a lot of men aren’t very sentimental or emotional about days like this, but you care.

He’s a good man, a good father, and a good neighbor. Seeing him be underappreciated on what is basically his day is ticking you off for some stupid reason. When 3pm rolls around you decide that you have to do something for Joel, it feels wrong not to. 

Which is how you end up in line for the register at Home Depot. You sat in the parking lot for 10 minutes racking your brain, trying to think of things that guys like, but came up with nothing. Joel is a contractor, so he’ll probably find some use out of a 50 dollar Home Depot gift card, but it still feels too impersonal. Joel literally fixed your toilet when a date you took home broke the handle off the tank mid-vomit. He’s too nice to just hand a stupid gift card with “Happy Father’s day” scrawled across the mini paper envelope. He deserves something thoughtful, something gentler than a gift card for (probably) his job. 

…Which is how you end up waiting in line for the register at the supermarket. You have a bouquet of flowers in your hand, with a Home Depot gift card shoved in your jacket pocket. It feels utterly ridiculous to give Joel Miller flowers, to pick out which colours you think he’d like and get the florist to wrap them up neatly with a bow, but you have a good reason. At some point in the past week you had seen a post about how a lot of men never receive flowers. It resurfaced in your head as you picked your brain again, making you wonder if Joel had ever received flowers. You know that he was married once, but that was when Sarah was little, it’d probably been 10 or even 15 years since he had any gestures like that made for him.

Not that this was for romance reasons. It was for father’s-appreciation-day reasons. Of course.

Maybe you shouldn’t be so invested in your neighbors emotions and life, but it’s too late now. You carefully pack away the flowers in the back seat of your car, snuggling the gift card into the ribbon that holds the flowers together. 

—

And if you thought that standing in line at Home Depot, or at the supermarket was bad, it’s so much worse trying to work up the courage to knock on Joel’s front door. You can’t figure out how to hold this bouquet of flowers behind your back without dropping them, so you just awkwardly knock on his door with one hand, flowers in the other. At least the gift card is managing to stay in place where you tucked it, but you wish you told the florist not to write his name in cursive.

Your repeating thoughts of “Is this weird? Am I weird?” are interrupted when he opens the door.

Joel looks… normal. He doesn’t look sad like you thought he might, if anything he looks more confused at you being there. His brown hair is tousled slightly and he’s wearing pajama pants, even though he smells fresh. Joel’s eyes meet yours and he tilts his head quietly, as if waiting for you to go on, but what do you even say? Oh shit that’s right–

“Happy father’s day,” your voice comes out shyly. You shove the flowers at him a little abruptly and he blinks in surprise, accepting them. It’s awkward for a second, the way his eyebrows shoot up as he notices the cursive lettering of his name written on the envelope.

“These’re for me, darlin’?” He asks curiously, still looking over the flowers.

A stammering of “um” and “yeah” leave your mouth pretty quickly and he smiles. You’re pretty sure he says thank you, but you just kind of stare at him awkwardly. A beat passes between the two of you as he admires the gift. “You uh– You don’t think of me as your dad, do you?” Joel asks. Oh fuck. You hadn’t thought about the fact that maybe that was what he would take away from this. All of your thoughts had been consumed by worries that he’d think you were trying to hit on him, but here he was thinking that you thought of him as a father figure. Which you didn’t. Your dad is fine, no need to replace him, at least not at this point. 

“No, no. Oh my god– Sorry,” You choke out, half laughing. It’s a quiet moment on the porch for a second, just the two of you standing there. Maybe you should explain your thought process.

“It’s just that you’re a dad and like– not to sound like a weirdo freak but nobody’s been at your house all day and it made me sad for you. Not that I pity you but,” your voice trails off as you fear you’ve made this worse. Joel seems a bit surprised at this, mouth opening slightly but then transitioning to a soft smile.

“And what if I told you that I wanted everyone t’leave me alone today?” He asks you slyly. And oh god, that is so much worse than him mistaking this gesture for flirting or pity. You never would have thought that maybe the guy who does everything for everyone probably just wants to be left the hell alone for a gift. Your heart drops in your chest, taking all the blood in your face with it. Embarrassment floods you with a force you didn’t realize possible, stuttered apologies leaving your lips as fast as you can. Joel shakes his head, laughing quietly as you sputter “sorry” repeatedly, like a broken sprinkler.

“I’m jokin’, sweetheart. I appreciate this,” he says. The crows' feet by his eyes shouldn’t be as charming as they are, but combined with that rumbling laugh and smile… he could get away with anything. He plucks the Home Depot gift card from the ribbon and huffs a laugh, like he’s impressed.

Well that’s… something? It made him smile right? Maybe feeling bad for Joel was better than feeling stupid in front of him. You step back, towards the stairs of his porch, but he shakes his head. “You were really this worried?” He asks, admiring the flowers. That makes your heart bloom in your chest, seeing how much he really liked this. Joel didn’t seem much like a flower guy, but you saw the way he kept his yard neat, with tulips in the spring and his lawn trimmed squarely. Shyly, you nod in response to his question. It feels silly to worry for him like this, you don’t know if he considers you a friend the way he is in your head.

“S’awful sweet,” he tells you. Something about his presence is so big, a balance of hospitality and intimidation all at once. Maybe it’s his big stature, broad shoulders and thick arms, a body built for work. Or his voice, the strong timbre of it, humbled in southern twang. Joel is a force of warmth, a heat that can’t be contained. His heart shines through his golden skin, forcing whoever he looks at to have a spotlight. That’s where the intimidation lies, in how he makes you feel like there’s a halo over your head, all his attention right there. 

He’s so hot you don’t even want him to look at you.

But there he is anyways, smiling as he admires the gift again, dorkily leaning in to dramatically huff the flowers. His mouth is moving but you're deafened by the sensation of a blush on your face. You thought it was just a silly little crush, because who wouldn’t find Joel attractive. He’s handsome, hard working, and just an all around traditional man. But this attraction… It's like your crush on him has given you tinnitus. His lips are moving and you aren’t registering the words. Wait shit, he’s speaking–

“Darlin’?” Joel calls. He looks at you, head tilted, and still fucking smiling. The way his eyes glimmer, the crows feet that squeeze them into a smile… Why is it so hard to hear him?

“I asked if you wanted to come in,” he repeats. 

—

You’ve never been inside Joel’s house, but you’d never thought about it either. Being in it, now, it all makes sense. Photos of his daughters are framed everywhere, their achievements plastered on the walls in shines of silver and gold. It’s hard not to imagine Joel hunched over his kitchen counter, tediously cutting pictures out to place them in frames. He was only an idea before, an idea of a man, and now he has become one wordlessly. All it took was stepping inside his house, smelling him everywhere. Life dances in the jackets that are tossed over dining room chairs, the toolbelt dumped by the shoe rack at the door. The picture of Joel you held in your mind begins to come alive, the movements in the details of his life stealing your breath. He is more than a good man, he is a great one.

And now, you have to strike up a conversation with him.

Joel grunts as he sits down on the couch beside you, placing two glasses of water down. He places his glass in front of the can of beer sitting on a coaster, distorting the label to nothing but warped blue and red. Is he hiding that he was drinking? Why is that cute? 

A pause hushes both of you as Joel gets comfortable, sitting down. He’s paused a show, but it just looks like it was whatever movie was playing on the local TV channel. 

“You must be so proud of them,” you say, eyes glazing over the pictures of Sarah and Ellie. You can tell exactly which photos were taken with a camera and which were taken with his phone. One picture of Ellie, maybe when she was 13 or 14, is from her soccer tournament. She’s smiling, holding up a ribbon for MVP, and Joel’s thumb is in the bottom corner. It’s strange to realize that Joel has basically been a father twice over, but also admirable. 

He talks for a little while, rambling about Sarah and her time up at college, and also how Ellie has been doing better in school this year. You always had a feeling Ellie was a bit feistier than Sarah was, but to hear how proud Joel is of her anyways makes your heart flutter. His love for them was so unconditional, so why weren’t they here today? You ask him, a half smile crossing his lips as he hears your question.

“Sarah called me ‘round lunchtime, one of them video calls. Had lunch with my girl and got to catch up with her. She’s so damn busy, y’know that? Always studying and,” he catches his breath, realizing he’s blabbing again. A reddish tone creeps up his neck in embarrassment.

“Point is, she called. Was nice of her, I miss her lots,” He finishes quietly.

Your eyebrow raises. He didn’t mention Ellie. Joel huffs.

“I’m 99% sure she’s over at Dina’s making me a gift, but it’s fine that she forgot. I’ve been on her ass about homework, fair’s fair.”

He looks cute when he’s begrudging, one side of his mouth sliding to the side so part of his cheek puffs over it. You nod, making a comment in response. The conversation is so smooth you forget what you’re saying as soon as you’re laughing. 

This is easier than you thought it would be. Joel’s always been friendly, obviously, but you just assumed he would be more closed off than this. Even if it’s just rambling about his daughters, or Tommy, or the jobs he’s been managing and how annoying his clients are, it’s something more. Something more than the passing glances and small conversation you’ve had before.

You talk a bit about your own life, how tough the move to Texas was, how lonely it can be. Joel doesn’t seem as receptive to this, but there’s an understanding in his eyes that you can feel. He’s a tough clam to slide your knife into, and you doubt you’ll feel his tongue today. The eager blabber he has for his family and career doesn’t extend to himself, and it seems you’ve hit a wall with him. Or maybe you’ve hit too close to home. “Sorry,” you say, feeling a little weird. 

This whole day has felt like you’re pulling against a lead Joel wasn’t even holding in the first place, like you’re always doing too much. But just like the rest of the day, he isn’t holding the rope around your neck. He’s surging forward with reassurances blooming out of his mouth, Texas sweet to the bone. 

He shakes his head, telling you that it’s fine, he gets it. A joke about being a single father, a smile directed at you, consoling. Vaporub for your congested anxieties.

“I’m sorry darlin,” Joel starts, and fuck is he sending you home? Is that your cue to leave? You did too much, he was just being nice.

“-- I didn’t even offer you water when you came in. D’you need somethin’ to drink?” He asks.

God, doesn’t he get tired of being this nice? Your neighbors warned you that he was a grump when you first moved here, dirty liars. 

“Oh, sure, uh. Water would be good, thanks,” you reply.

You’re only half paying attention to the grunt he lets out when he gets up the first time, your eyes busying themselves with the way his cotton tee stretches across the muscled planes of his back. But, after he hands you the glass of water and groans when he sinks back into the couch, you notice. 

You down the glass like you’re parched, but really your mouth just needs to be full right now. The sound of his groans are bouncing in your ear canals as your neck flushes red with each gulp of water. If he notices, he doesn’t say anything.

“Bad back?” You ask after you catch your breath. 

He hums in response, talking about how it comes with the job he has. “All that lifting in my early years…” as if he’s a thousand years old. Joel mentions that he’s been to the chiropractor a few times, thanks to Sarah’s begging and pleading.

“I don’t know, I think it’s gimmicky. They get you on the table and the guy feelin’ you up acts like he’s Christ himself,” Joel says, rolling his eyes. 

The idea of Joel, shirtless and face down, grumbling as some guy works his hands over his skin. The idea of Joel groaning in relief as someone else works those knots out, God you wish you were a chiropractor, you wish you could put your hands all over him.

Greed hardens over your mind like a shell, and the words tumble out of your mouth before you can stop them.

“I could– I could help, maybe. My dad used to have a pretty bad back and I kinda figured out how to work knots out.”

Joel’s eyes widen, looking over to you with mild interest. For the first time today, around Joel, you don’t feel like you’ve overstepped. In fact he looks interested in this offer. A beat passes between the two of you, hesitation caught in his throat it seems.

It’s probably super fucked up in his head, his younger neighbor coming over and offering to rub him down. But your mind is still greedy, coated in thoughts of his skin under your palms, and that southern rumble that’s given you dilf earworms.

He looks like he’s about to say no when you speak again.

“You don’t even have to lay down, or take your shirt off. Could just lift it up,” you offer. 

Joel still looks like he’s going to say no, the left side of his mouth raising to make up some reason. You can’t let him, not when you’ve been this ballsy. Walking out of here now would make this infinitely more awkward.

“It’s your day, Joel,” you supply him with a reason to say yes. The reason might be silly, might be a last minute add-on to his father’s day, but who cares.

Apparently not Joel, since he pulls his shirt up to his shoulders, the fabric scrunching around his broad frame.

—

You feel a little stupid, slotted behind Joel on the couch. The two of you are basically shoved up against one another, Joel wriggling to give you access to his lower back. He hasn’t said anything yet, no reassurance that this backrub is any good. You think you’re doing well, you feel the knots loosening. It might be better this way, him not making noise. The groan you heard earlier was more than enough to push you into a frenzy.

Your hands work further down, where his waist begins to pull in. Looking closer you can see where the softness of his tummy is, a fatherly badge of honor. Continuing your movements, you gently press your thumbs into the flesh there, and earn yourself Joel’s first noise.

Not a grunt, groan, complaint, or cuss. A whimper.

Your voice clashes with his, both of you talking over each other accidentally.

“Are you okay–” you ask as his voice flounders again, a “Darlin--” leaving him out of his own volition.

Pulling your hands away you begin to pull his shirt back down his back, mortified. How could you claim you were good at this and then hurt his back more? Joel’s been through enough today.

“Please don’t stop,” Joel’s voice grabs your brain again, forcing your focus.

He’s sliding his shirt up again, just by rolling his shoulders as he hunches over, waiting for you to continue. His face is in his hands, and his ears are pink. It’s the first time he’s asked you for anything tonight, you can’t refuse him. 

Placing your hands back where they were, you begin to massage again. It seems like his lower back is the main problem, with the way he’s grunting into his palms. As your hands work away the aches he begins to swear to himself. 

“Fuck,” he grunts as your thumbs dig deep, soothing a pain he hasn’t felt eased in years. 

This is good. Pride spreads in your chest, knowing he feels better. Your hands work away, and you get laser focused on untangling these massive knots in his back. Eventually you break your focus, switching to softer rubs and small scratches up and down his back.

Tearing your eyes away from his skin, you realize the throw pillow that was beside you earlier is gone. The yellow corner of the cushion peeks at you from where you saw Joel’s belly earlier, over his lap. A thick forearm is crushing it into himself there, the veins in his neck pulsing. 

Flames lick up your face, onto the tips of your ears and down your neck, heating your spine. Is he aroused right now? “Joel?” You ask quietly. 

He shakes his head, voice tight.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Just– it just feels nice,” he admits.

Your hands pause. Okay, so he’s admitted he’s hard. What do you do now? Keep rubbing his back and blueball the poor guy? On Father's day? That seems mean, and awkward. Everything about this is awkward though, so it couldn’t really get worse.

“I could… I could help it feel better,” you offer meekly.

You’re not scared of a dick. You aren’t. Your voice is quiet because it seems like he is horribly ashamed of this, probably feeling guilty.

Joel rubs a hand over his face.

“You don’t have to, you can just go,” he says, but his voice betrays him. Need is sewn in his tone, a desperation.

Part of you wonders how long it’s been since someone touched him like this as you reach around, palming the front of his jeans. The hiss he lets out tells you it’s been awhile. How wrong that is, an attractive man like Joel being forced to get his own rocks off.

Getting the button and fly of his jeans down is difficult when you can’t see, even worse when your brain is making up images of Joel masturbating. He’s so shy when he’s being touched, does he bite his sheets? Bite his other fist in the shower? Poor boy, he deserves this. 

His hips lift off the couch to help you shove his jeans and briefs down. Joel’s bare ass slides against you and he cringes. “Is it okay if you don’t look?” He asks. 

You hate that he seems so insecure, but you’re not going to push him. Nodding into his skin, you press your face to his back, resting your cheek near the blade of his shoulder. He’s heavy in your palm, warm skin with veins your fingers can trace over.

Telling him that he’s big feels redundant, you’re sure he knows that about himself. Neither of you seem very sure about what you’re doing, the shuddering breaths from his chest matching your hesitant grasp around his cock. 

“Are you okay?” You ask again.

Joel nods into his hand, asking you to please touch him. 

Admittedly, it’s a dry hand job, but Joel doesn’t seem to mind. The flick of your wrist is fluid, even if your arm is cramping from being wrapped around him. Joel lets out these little noises, grunts and whines. His hand is covering his eyes while the other one rests lightly on your forearm, like he wants to know that you’re still there.

Need is exuding from him, making his desperation take over his need to really give a shit about how submissive he might be appearing. He shudders particularly hard as you squeeze on the upstroke, voice choking.

“Shit– shit, please,” he gasps, “please can I spit in your hand?” 

It’s a little surprising, but again, you can’t refuse him. You say “yeah” into his skin, closing your eyes as you feel him spit into your hand. It’s filthy, his saliva on you as he guides your hand to jerk him off. Joel uses your palm to slick the head of his dick, teasing himself on your skin.

It’s the first time you’ve seen him be selfish all day. Part of you wants to call him a good boy, but part of you also knows this might not be normal for Joel. Hell, this isn’t normal for you either. 

Instead, you ask him if it’s good. A rasped “yes,” emanates from him between a low groan and a curse. Your head lifts from his back as he begins to shudder, his orgasm creeping closer. Listening to him is so good, you’re a mess between your legs, where your core nudges his ass.

Without a thought, you sink your teeth into the meat between his shoulder and his neck. Not enough pressure to bruise or hurt, just to let him know you’re there. There was no intention to push him over the edge, but your little bite does. A guttural groan is forced out of him as he comes into your hand, stringing sticky between your fingers. 

“Fuck– fuck I’m sorry, oh my god,” he pants, shivering. 

Your head is shaking again, reassuring him that it was okay, that he’s okay. 

“It’ll wash off,” you joke, feeling the stick of him on you. 

—

Joel does help you wash it off, once he’s done redressing. He’s clingy though, arms around your waist and chin hooked over your shoulder as you wash your hands in his kitchen sink. He’s definitely sleepy, eyes blinking slowly when you peek at him while you dry your hands.

You step close to him, your damp hands meeting his dry ones. The awkward spirit of the evening has been killed off, his shyness melted away.

“Usually I’d offer to return the favor but… I have to pick up Ellie from her friend’s house now. I’m really sorry, darlin’,” he admits.

Shaking your head, you push away the negative feeling that surfaces. How are you supposed to go back to being neighbors after that? But also, what did you really expect?

Joel leads you to the door, legs a bit shakey. A smug feeling joins the negative ones in your chest at that, but it’s not enough. 

“I really do apologize,” Joel says again, “but this just gives me an opportunity to see you again. If you’d like, obviously. I think I owe ya dinner.” 

And there he is, not holding your lead but reassuring your heart. He wants to see you again.

Your eyes meet his in the dim light of the hallway, catching those sweet eyes in your own. He looks so hopeful, so apologetic too.

“I’d like that, but you don’t owe me anything. It’s Father’s day,” you point out. 

Joel rolls his eyes. This Father’s day excuse is a little overused between the two of you now, but it’s still cute to him since you’re the one saying it. He opens the door for you, slipping his own boots on and grabbing his keys.

“Fine,” Joel says, “but when Pretty Neighbor day rolls around, you let me know.

[ahedderick]

Grapes

Grapes can come ripe anywhere from July to October around here, depending on the variety and the weather. There is a vine down at Home Farm, the last remaining one that my late father planted, that usually ripens in early September. What type are they? Well. Purple. Sorry. He didn't remember what he had planted when I asked him.

They started ripening early this year, like most other fruits, so my son brought me a bowl of them a little over a week ago. Now, however, they are really ripe. And how do I know they're at their peak sweetness? Well. Let me tell you a little story.

There were two big grape arbors at my grandparents' house, one purple and one golden-green. They were so good. My grandmother had a rule for picking them. "Watch the wasps. When the wasps are biting them to drink the juice, THEN they're sweet enough!"

Yesterday, standing in the yard picking grapes, I noticed that one had a tiny mark on the side. A wasp had 'bitten' it to get a tiny drop of sweetness. "Ah," I thought to myself, "The grapes are wasp-approved." They were. so sweet and good.

So now YOU have a memory of her, too. 1916 - 1995

(fwiw, the photo isn't retouched, she just went gray at a very early age, so she had the unusual "gray hair & young face" look.)

[loser-jpg]

Best 4th in the North

A common occurrence between the housewarden of Savanaclaw and the prefect of Ramshackle was moments spent at sunset, lying on Leonas bed. Leona would use Dee as a pillow, trapping him underneath, with him really not seeming to care as he spent the time scrolling through his phone or distracting himself with his thoughts on the occasions Leona was unsuccessful in getting him to nap with him.

Moments like these Dee would speak to Leona, not often expecting an answer, more to fill the silence, or possibly just a love of hearing his own voice.

"Oh, it's the fourth of July."

Leona glanced up to see Dee looking at his phone, eyes wide at the screen.

"...And?" Leona looked at him in confusion, what did the date mater? Last he knew there wasn't anything important today.

"Back home today's a holiday. A fairly stupid one, in my opinion, but I just happened to notice." Dee paused for a minute, staring at the ceiling as he thought. "Though I did like my families traditions."

"Hmm?" Leona hummed in a low tone, he wasn't actually interested in the topic, but he liked hearing Dee talk, and it was nicer to be somewhat invested in the conversation.

"We'd go up north to my grandparents house, cook out, play yard games, and when the sun started to set me, my sister, and my cousins would light sparklers- OH!" Dee sat up, moving fast enough to almost give Leona whiplash. "I need to tell you the story of how the table exploded!"

"...How what?" Leona was even more confused than before, especially with the excited look Dee had at remembering whatever this story was.

"How the table exploded one year! My dad set up all the sparklers on this glass table, and had the candle to light them on it too, and my uncle accidentally got some of the sparklers sitting on the table on fire so all of them were popping and the table shattered. It was actually really funny, because my cousin just grabbed the hose and sprayed all the broken glass even though the fire was already out." Dee giggled a bit, settling back down as if the fire hazard horror story he had just shared was some fond childhood memory.

"How in the world is that story supposed to be funny."

"It just is. Anyway, once it would get properly dark we would go down to town hall and sit on the steps to watch the fireworks show...It'd be nice to see fireworks here."

The last part was said almost in a whisper, as though it was a thought he intended to keep to himself rather than share with Leona.

"Whys that." Leonas words were mumbled and quiet, with him seemingly balancing the edge between sleep and consciousness.

"The sky here is a lot clearer than back home. I always thought it was so cool how many stars you could see. You really only saw that many when you went out to the north country, but here you see a ton. I figured that'd mean fireworks would look cool too."

Leona couldn't say he was fond of fireworks. Maybe there had been a time where he was, but in recent years any celebration that used them only served to remind him of troublesome memories.

When Cheka had been born the whole of Sunrise City celebrated the entire day, ending it with a gruesome amount of fireworks. Leona assumed the same happened when his brother had been born, but of course he wouldn't know. Leona doubted anyone set off fireworks to celebrate his birth.

Only a few days later Leona was woken up by an annoying amount of notifications on his phone, the fact that they were from his boyfriend being the only reason he didn't ignore them entirely. The notifications consisted of a string of messages accompanied by a single image.

Herbivore:

I FOUND BACKYARD FIREWORKS AT SAMS!!!

[insert image]

GET UR ASS OVER HERE RN

PLEASE

PLEASE

PLEASE

:DDDD

Leona half debated not responding, or at the very least saying he wasn't getting up to go all the way over to Ramshackle, but another message was sent before he could decide.

you have read receipts on i know u saw if u dont show up ill set them off in savaclaw causing who knows how many problems O-O (<- face for intimidation factor)

Leona didn't actually care if Dee did set of fireworks in Savaclaw, but he was obviously very excited, so Leona decided to indulge him.

Fuzz head:

Alright, alright. Gimme a minute.

Herbivore:

lame ass dude usin proper grammar in text

Fuzz head:

Or maybe I wont.

Herbivore:

NO WAIT SRY IM SRY PLS COME OVER ToT

Leona chuckled at the stupidity of the conversation, and then the stupidity of the contact name Dee had given him. He'd have to come up with something more ridiculous to change Dee's contact to.

By the time Leona made his way over to Ramshackle, unsurprisingly quite a bit after Dee had texted him, Dee was already setting up a small yet colorful box on the concrete away from both the building and the grass. He waved Leona over when he saw him and Leona saw more boxes a ways away.

"I got a lighter too at Sam's, somehow he always has what I want."

It was a surprisingly true statement, that shop was always stocked with things you'd never expect, seemingly just after you had thought of needing it.

Dee waved Leona back away from the box, as he leaned down to light the fuse. Leona took a handful of steps back and watched Dee race over shortly after, with the small firework lighting as soon as Dee had stepped out of the way.

It was pathetic in Leona's opinion. But Dee wore a stupid grin on his face at the sight, and the way the bursts of light illuminated his face in the dark was quite a sight.

Leona wrapped an arm around Dee's shoulder, pulling him into his side to watch the firework finish and flicker out. As Dee pulled away from Leona to set up the next firework, Grim came running out from Ramshackle.

"Mrah! Hench-human what was that noise!" Grim ran past Leona and up to Dee, grabbing onto his leg.

"It was the firework, I told you I was setting them off but you said you didn't care." Dee looked down at Grim who was seemingly on the verge of tears.

"Well stop it!"

"Hah, the furballs scared." Leona laughed at Grim as Dee leaned down to pick him up anyway.

"I am not! The great Grim is not afraid of some measly fireworks!" Grim struggled in Dee's grasp, trying to pick a fight with Leona from too far away.

Dee groaned in annoyance at the two, "Then do you want to try lighting one?" He leaned down again pointing to the fuse on the next firework. "Use a small flame to light it."

Grim hesitated before blowing a flame on it, Dee pulling him away right after to join Leona again at a safe distance. Leona watched as Grim cowered back into Dee's arms for a moment before growing accustomed to the loud cracks and the bright light.

Grim jumped out of Dee's arms as the firework died, looking over to the pile near them. Both Leona and Dee could tell that his fear had subsided and instead was replaced by awe at the small show of lights.

"Set up another one! I will light another! Haha!"

Dee laughed, but grabbed another anyway, Grim following him to light it and run out of the way. The two continued like that, sometimes even lighting two at a time, as the pile of fireworks left grew smaller and smaller.

Maybe fireworks were a nice thing after all.

[eyeofnewtblog]

This is Noni cat, and I got her 8 years ago from the shelter. They told me she was maybe six years old when I swiped my credit card for her.

She’s been a pretty active cat for at least the last 6 years; when I was living alone with just Noni as my roommate, she would jump out of my open 3 story window down to the second story window and demand food and pets, which my neighbor was happy to provide. Luckily he only had to do this once, but I was still mortified (especially since I was living in a no pets place and passing off my adoption of a cat as “my coworker is going through a divorce and asked me to watch his cat for a few weeks so that his ex didn’t cause more trouble” and all my neighbors were single older men, and I worked in a motorcycle place with 90% male coworkers so it honestly did fly under the radar…the only reason I was able to get her at all was because I did laundry/cleaning for one of my single coworkers for a week and put his number down as my landlord and he was like “yes, she can get a kitty, she’s done a really good job of keeping things clean and being responsible, I trust her.” FYI, I was also taking his dog on play dates at the doggie park down the street from me on my days off just for my own amusement, so like. He wasn’t my actual landlord but he also wasn’t lying about my ability to take care of an animal.)

Anyway, the only reason I ever ended up with Noni was because on my second date with my now husband I said I didn’t know if I wanted to buy a cat or a gun, and he and I spent 8 hours just bumming around all the pet places and gun shops that we both knew about (and meeting my aunt and grandparents because they live just up the street from one of the best pawnshops in the area, I “have some mail I need to pick up right quick, it’s just a five minute detour” and oh my goodness…you know that feeling when you see your family immediately like the person you’re dating? Yeah.)

So after husband and I move in together but before anything is official…there is a wildly out of control feral cat population in the area his apartment was in. Noni cat was fine, because she only ever hung out in the front or back yard, but the lady two houses up would put out multiple trays of food for 30+ cats. She was very sweet but also wasn’t trapping and spaying/neutering them, and we didn’t have any central ac (so doors open and fans on, we die like men, sleep with ice packs, and scrub the mud daughter nests out with dawn dish soap), so every summer, about once a week, I’d hear typical cat fighting noises, and go charging out to the living room where some random cat had Noni cornered. I stomp and shout and chase the stay cat out, Noni cuddles me for ten minutes in gratitude before the heat is too much for both of us, we move on.

Then me and husband buy a house in 2018. We move into our new suburban paradise, but alas…Noni cat is a straight up gangster cat, right out of Commerce City.

In all the years we have lived in this house, Noni cat has left a minimum of ten bunny corpses on the front lawn. Per summer.

I love her, I really do. And I recognize that cats should be indoor pets, for environmental reasons. But I legit cried when she brought a still alive baby bunny to the door (with every intention of eating it as is on the living room floor) and she accidentally dropped it and it tried to run away and instead of doing anything productive I just went inside and cried to my husband. Who laughed at me, rightfully so.

Anyway, she’s getting older now, and there’s definitely something wrong with her. She didn’t murder any baby bunnies at all this summer, got “old cat skinny and bony” and honestly refuses to go outside at all. She was always super cuddly during winter because cats like warm things, but now she wants cuddles and attention all the time.

With me starting a new job, I don’t necessarily have the money to get her fully checked out. I want to, she isn’t just a great cat, she’s the only cat my husband has ever liked; she’s wonderful and worth every penny, but fuck are we in a tight spot with his medical stuff and me having three jobs in the last 18 months. There’s no fucking ROOM on the credit cards to take care of her.

Husband found a vet that charges a lot less, but is an hour outside of town. What we save in vet bills we spend in gas to get there.

I don’t really have a point I’m leading up to, or a critical argument or analysis…my cat is dying and it fucking sucks on so many levels, because she was so instrumental in how I got where I am.

I just wanted to tell her/my story and have it be shared with random strangers who might have an interest.

[andydrysdalerogers]

Sliding Into Home ~ On The Hunt For Mike Weiss

Pairing: MLB!Frank Adler x Abigail Hernandez (OFC)

Synopsis:

After a trade from Boston to Los Angeles, first baseman Frank Adler would seem to have it all. Money, women, an amazing niece, yes Frank should have it all. Except for one thing. One thing that left after a mistake five years ago. Los Angeles should be the chance to start over. Except she is supposed to be in Boston. Not his new medical director.

* A Frank Adler AU x Major League Baseball Story**

Warning: ANGST (i can't stress this enough), second chances, cheating, S~M~U~T!!, slow burn, drug use, abandonment issues, betrayal, domestic violence (i may have missed some), flashbacks

Dividers by me

I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site, even if you give me credit. DO NOT REPOST MY FICS. Reblogs, comments, likes, and feedback ALWAYS appreciated

Previous: Since When Is Ice Cream Evil?

Sliding Into Home Master List Main Masterlist

Mary Eileen Adler has only ever known two parents: Frank and Abby.  They were her dad and mom for all intents and purposes, regardless of the time Abby left.  She understood that her real mother was Frank’s sister, but she wasn’t her mom.  

And she understood that she had a father but that he never acknowledged her so really, he wasn’t anything to her.  

So why did Uncle Mike say he was her dad? 

As her grandparents drove them to their Boston house, Mary sat quietly, not sure how to ask the questions in her head. Uncle Mike was nice but not nice to Frank or Abby.  She remembered the bruises she saw on Abby and when she asked, she was told she was in an accident.  But she knew it wasn’t the truth.  

“Nugget, are you hungry?” 

Mary snapped her head up to Frank, who looked concerned. “A little,” she whispered.  

“Do you want...” 

“I want Abuela’s food. Because it's at home.  And I want to go home.”  

The sadness in her voice nearly tears Frank in half.  His little girl is scared and hurting. “Ok Nugget.  We’ll go home.  We have a flight to Los Angeles tomorrow.”  

Mary nodded. “You won’t leave me, right?” 

Frank almost lost it right there.  He lifted the girl out of her seat and into his lap, adjusting the seatbelt so she could sit the rest of the way home there. “I’m always going to be here for you.  And I’ll make sure nothing happens to you again, ok?  I love you Mary, so much. Abby and I are go so happy you are ok and that you are back home with us.” He kissed her temple and she snuggled into him. “You’re ours Nugget and we’ll fight every day to make sure of that.”  

May fell asleep in the comfort of his arms.  They made it to Abby’s parents' house and Frank took her right to the guest room.  Tucking her in, he moved to leave the room, but a tiny hand fisted his shirt.  “Please stay with me,” she whispered.  

Frank smiled, scooting her to the middle of the bed, took off his shoes and climbed in. Mary rested her head on his chest and went back to sleep, taking Frank with her. 

 Frank sat with a coffee, watching Mary a few hours later as she played in the back yard with Johnny, Susie, Marco and Scott, Dodger chasing her around.  He sighed as he took in the sight.  “Frankie?” He looked over to his wife, who placed some sweet bread on the table next to him.  “Are you ok baby?” 

“Yeah, Cricket, I’m ok.  I’m just wondering how I’m going to break this news to Mary.  We have to give her something and she’s too smart not to just start googling everything.”  He rubbed his forehead.  “I was hoping we could have this conversation when she was older, but I guess not.”  

“I know Frankie but its better it comes from us.” Abby kissed his head. “Our baby needs to know the truth.” She looked at the group and an idea came to mind.  “How about we do this with everyone here? If it becomes too much, she can lean on Scott or Johnny or Marco or us, whatever makes her happy. She’ll know that she is loved by everyone here.”  

“Are you ok with everyone knowing our past?” 

“I am not ashamed of how everything got out of sync, Frankie. We were manipulated and that the truth.  Is that something I wanted Mary to know? No, of course not because I never wanted her to be afraid of anything but if it makes her safer, then I will do what I need to do to protect our girl.”  She cupped his cheek and he leaned into her warmth.  

“We’ll do it when you parents come back,” he said. “I want her to have all of the support she can have.” Frank leaned into Abby for a kiss. “You said our baby. Did you mean that?” 

“Mary is ours, Frankie. Of course I meant that.” 

“No I mean, will we have a baby?” 

Abby sucked in a breath. “You think you’re ready for that?” 

Frank looked at her eyes. “Maybe we wait until this all blows over but yeah, Cricket, I want a baby with you.” 

“That good. Because if you wanted a baby with someone else, I’ll murder you.”  

After a dinner of spaghetti and meatballs, the family gathered around the living room, Mary sat between Frank and Abby, chatting with Johnny.  “Mary, we wanted to talk to you about what’s been happening.”  

She fell silent as her family quieted.  She looked around and swallowed.  “Okay.”  

Abby sighed. “You know how we’ve told you that your birth mom is Frank’s sister?” Mary nodded. “Well, we also told you that we didn’t know who your biological father is, right?” She nodded again. “The last couple of months have been enlightening to us all.”  

“What does that mean?” 

Frank swallowed. “You remember that Abby was in the hospital?” 

“You said she was in accident.”  

“She was, Nugget, but not the way you were thinking.  Uncle Mike,” he swallowed, “he...uh... he...” 

“Did he hurt Abby?” 

“No.” He said firmly. “No, he didn’t touch her, but he knew where your mother was and invited her into Abby’s old house. And she hurt Abby.”  

“Why?” Mary’s eyes filled with tears.  “Why would she do that? 

“We are not really sure Mary,” Abby said softly. “But Uncle... just Mike, sweetheart, Mike and Diane have their reasons for everything.  All we know is that the police are looking for them and they and we have a lot of questions. Do you have any questions?” 

Mary looked at all of the people in her life, her family. “Are they going to take me away?” she asked just above a whisper. “Will they...” tears trickled down her face, “will they take you and Dodger away?” She looked between Abby and Frank. “You’re my mom and dad, not them.”  She began to sob.  

Frank immediately got out of his seat in front of her. “Listen to me, Mary.” He locked eyes with her. “No one is going to take you anywhere.  You are coming home with me and Abby and Scott and Dodger.  Johnny and Susie are going to hang out with us. Your abuelos are going to visit and we ae going to visit in the off season but this right here,” he looked around the room, “this is your family. You are my girl,” he wiped around her face to remove the tears. “I won’t let anyone, or anything change that.”  

Mary threw herself into his arms as everyone calmed their own soft cries. Mary understood. Her home was with Frank and Abby.  

The two people who would do anything for her.  

The morning of their flight home, Abby and Frank sat down with the lead detective on Mary’s kidnaping case, Paul Diskant.  “I’m sorry I haven’t met with you sooner,” he said, after introducing himself. “I’ve been following up with some leads coming in.”  

“Any news on finding Weiss?” Frank asked with a hard edge. 

Detective Diskant frowned. “No, it looks like he rented a car when he arrived in Boston a week ago and turned it in, but we don’t know if he’s left town or has someone else helping him.  We found the house, just as Mary described. There were no signs that he was going to hurt her in any way. We did find some photographs, surveillance of your family. It was taken by a professional, so I am assuming Mr. Weiss hired a private investigator.” 

“Fuck,” Frank mumbled. “What is the next step? We’re flying back to Los Angeles this afternoon.”  

“Private?” 

“Yeah, after what happened to Abby, I didn’t want to risk a commercial flight.” 

“I would like to send some officers to escort your family to the airport, just as a precaution.” Detective Diskant sighed. “I’m going to contact LAPD and advise the detectives on your case, Dr. Adler, what’s happened.  I’m sure, with the coverage it received in the press, they are aware of something but not everything and I want to keep them in the loop.”  

“Alright, what do you suggest for personal security?” Frank asked.  

“Frankie,” Abby started.  

“No, Abigail, we are not discussing this again. I will not allow something to happen to you or Mary or Scott for that matter.”  

“Mr. Adler, Dr. Adler, let me make this clear. My recommendation is that your family take every precaution available.  It is clear that your sister and Mr. Weiss are not of sound mind.  He is desperate to get to you Dr. Adler.  Your husband is right.”  

Abby stared at the detective for a minute before looking at her husband. “You really think he might try again?”  

“Cricket, if it wasn’t for the fact that your entire family is with our girl right now, she would be here with us. I refuse to leave any of you vulnerable again.”  

Departing from the airport, Abby’s parents hugged their daughter, granddaughter and son-in-law hard. “Call us when you get home,” Ana said, cupping her daughter’s cheek.  

“It’ll be late, Mama.”  

“I don’t care.”  She turned to Scott and Johnny. “You boys behave. “ 

“We will Mrs. Hernandez,” Johnny said before picking up Mary and carrying her into the plane.  

Abby looked around.  “Where is Susie?” 

“I think she left her bag in the car,” Scott said.  “C’mon Dodger, let’s get on.”  

Abby walked back to the SUV and stopped. She smiled as she spied on Susie and Marco, holding hands and whispering to each other, heads bent closer.  Abby quietly moved away as Marco bent down to place a soft kiss on Susie’s lips.  

Frank waited for Abby as Susie came around the side of the car.  “You girls are always late,” he mumbled. He grunted as Abby elbowed him. “What?” 

“Leave Susie out of this. She just needed a moment,” she whispered. She pulled out her phone.  

Abby: You could always find work out in California  Marco: Why would I do that  Abby: Because a certain blonde may love it  Marco: I don’t know what you are talking about  Abby: Ok fine. Just know, Frank is looking for someone to run security for the family. This could be the opportunity you’re looking for  Marco: Really?  Abby: Call him.   Marco: I’ll do it tomorrow.  Thanks sis. 

Returning to the team and relative normalcy helped the Adlers get back into normal. Frank thought it was a brilliant idea to have Marco be the head of security for the family. He moved Marco into the guest house on his property and Marco took over interviewing and hiring security to protect the family.  

Frank had a good couple of weeks, the Dodgers on a run at the moment.  Mary was thriving with camp, Abby found time to work at USC and attend to her duties with the Dodgers and Scott had found a job that allowed him to take care of Mary and work from home.  He and Abby shared an office, which Abby loved as Scott was rapidly becoming her best friend.  

Yes, everything was going great.  

Unknown: enjoy it while it last  Frank: Who is this?  Unknown: a nightmare 

NEXT

@patzammit

@texmexdarling

@slutforchrisjamalevans

@firephotogrl74

@before-we-get-started

@tinkerbelle67

@jennmurawski13-writes

@bunnyforhim

[renee-writer]

I MISS… so very many things. I miss Sunday dinners after church at my grandparents house, I miss sleeping with the windows open and a box fan humming me to sleep. I miss sunny saturdays spent lakeside watching a bobber for hours as I dreamt of catching big Bertha. I miss rough housing in the back yard with my cousins. I miss the crackle of a stereo as the needle drops on my favorite record. I miss just having to choose between three channels. I miss swinging from the rope into the river. I miss going to work with daddy when school was out. I miss school starting after Labor Day. I miss teachers actually teaching rather than implementing social agendas. I miss school bus scuffles when we both got a paddling and life went on. I miss failing report cards that meant I was gonna be grounded, whooped and have to work harder. I miss tough skin blue jeans. I miss when folks were ashamed of their sinful lifestyles. I miss common sense. I miss when people actually went to work every day of the week and were embarrassed to be lazy. I miss supper around the table every evening. I miss kids actually doing chores. I miss Wednesday night testimony services. I miss community clubhouse meetings with potluck meals. I miss clean shaven cops. I miss when we used fists to settle disputes and guns to stock our freezer. I miss building and working on my own bicycle, dirt bike etc. I miss the innocence of not knowing everything that’s going on in the world. I miss a fair justice system. I miss when it was embarrassing to be unemployed. I miss the America I grew up in.

I know I’ve left out a lot, and I also know I’m not alone. Leave a comment telling me some things you miss. Let’s see how nostalgic we are for the things of the past

Written by my son 's father-in-law, Matt Meeks.

[kibblemode]

weird fucking dream i had under a cut bc its long lol

so like me and my sister were visiting my grandparents in wisconsin but when we got to their house they werent there, even tho there were like 5 or so cars in their driveway including theirs. cal went in the house while i hung out outside taking pictures. for reference this is what my grandparents yard looks like

the version in my dream was like fucked up and evil. instead of the fence there was like an old wooden shelf with like a bunch of gross rusty chains hanging from the top, and the garage was like actively rotting (i mean its like that irl but not nearly as bad) and it was a weird gross brown instead of red. instead of a window on the 2nd story in the garage there was just a tiny door that i was filming for some reason. there was like obviously something Wrong abt it but idk what it was lol. it was really shitty and cloudy out so it was pretty dark? then its like a hard cut to me and cal in the house just kinda watching tv, i think it was probably a few hours later bc it was night at that point. we were just kinda chilling and not doing much? the only notable thing was that there was like a fuck ton of weird medication in the bathroom and the tv was up really loud, + my grandparents still werent home. i could kinda tell something was Very Very Wrong but nobody ever acknowledged it. after a while one of my uncles showed up at the house, i think he needed to borrow something? calvin was in the kitchen helping him find whatever he wanted, i turned the tv down while they were talking bc it was Loud. for whatever reason my uncle was acting like literally the opposite of how he is irl and it was like really fucking bizarre. literally acting like a character in a david lynch movie or some shit, really erratic and strange but we acted like it was normal. i was sitting on the couch near the stairs when my uncle walked into the livingroom, i just kinda looked at him and he gave me a horrified look like he was looking at a dead body or whatever. literally the second he looked at me hail britannia played so loud it woke me up and i woke up biting my lip so hard it was bleeding

[no-phrogs-in-hats]

If I Could Turn Back Time

Larissa Weems x fem!reader

A/N: Hi! I hope you've enjoyed the story so far! The final chapters should be out tomorrow!!!!

Chapter 17

“Darling?”

Larissa’s voice sounded like it was coming from a tunnel. I stood up, ignoring her words and storming out of the room with the pictures in hand. 

In the kitchen, my parents sat at the island, drinking more wine. When they heard my footsteps, their heads turned around. But not one word  was uttered before I rounded the island and slammed the pictures down.

Immediately their faces grew.

“I want answers! Now!” I shouted. I looked at my mother whose face was beet red and behind her, Larissa entered the kitchen. “Am I a product of your abilities?”

She didn’t say anything, instead, simply nodding. 

“Okay,” I said. “Thank you for your honesty. Why didn’t you ever tell me? Why did this even happen?”

“Your father wanted to tell you,” she mumbled. “But, I thought it would be for the best if you didn’t know. Just…so you didn’t see yourself as…weird or…invalid as a person. Most teenagers already have an identity crisis, I didn’t need yours to be twice as bad.” She took a deep breath before she continued, clearly struggling to answer the second question. “I wasn’t able to have children after tumors were found on my ovaries. That’s why I did it.”

“But, what about adopti–”

“It would’ve been over twenty-thousand dollars,” my mom said. “So, your father agreed to this. Your grandparents know, but everyone else in the extended family doesn't.”

“Grandma said that the pocket watch is a family heirloom,” I started. “That I come from a long line of time manipulators.”

My mother’s face was dismal–almost guilt ridden. She shook her head lightly. “It was a lie. You’re the first. She enchanted the pocket watch to help you. None of us could’ve predicted this kind of ability. It’s unheard of.”

It was a hard pill to swallow. But, knowing that it wasn’t done out of malicious intent helped me. My mother wanted me, but still, everything made sense as to why I disappointed her: I am a product of her. I am her.

“Okay,” I said quietly. “Thank you.” 

Beside my mother, my father looked exceptionally sheepish and my anger returned but I tried my best to contain it. “Is your name Ansel Gates Jr.?” I asked, and he nodded. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I was ashamed to be part of such a family,” my father rasped. “But, um…I…was an Outcast as well.”

My stomach dropped. “Was?”

“Yes. I was able to control objects–how they look, summon them from across the room and whatnot.” His words became choked and he struggled to speak. “My family found out after my brother caught me. I think I was five, maybe. After that, I was locked inside the house, homeschooled, and I barely left unless I was staying in the yard. They were ashamed of me.”

“Thursday night,” I said, “I followed a couple students to the Gates Mansion. There was a portrait hung in the office. Why didn’t I recognize you? The boy looked nothing like you.”

My father’s breath shook as he tried to speak. “That was my cousin,” he said. “The town, of course, knew there were three children, so when they went out for ceremonies–they had to, we’re descendants of Crackstone–they would take my cousin instead. I suppressed my power for so long that…I lost it.”

“Oh my god,” I mumbled. 

“When I was sixteen, I snuck out and walked into Jericho. That’s where I met your mom.” A very faint smile painted his lips, and I could tell just by him saying that one simple sentence, he loved her more than anything.

“And, when I turned eighteen,” he said, “I got my name changed and I moved out.”

Once again, I had no idea what to say. So, I stood there, nodding slowly. “Okay…Alright.” Then, I thought back to Thursday night–the bedroom. “Dad, what if I told you…that Laurel is still alive?”

The following week, I sat in a booth at the Weathervane. I held the picture of my father and his siblings in my hand, staring at Laurel. I’ve seen her before. I know it.

I thought.

And thought.

And thought.

“Order for Mary!” a barista called.

And that’s when it hit me.

“Oh my god!” It seemed so obvious. The face shape, the eye shape. The portrait showed her with blue eyes and blonde hair, but I knew for a fact that this was Marilyn.

I dashed out of the Weathervane, car keys in hand and drove as quickly as I could back to Nevermore. 

Wednesday. I need to get this to Wednesday.

All of the students were at dinner, the school grounds completely empty as I ran through them. I was so close, so close to making it to Ophelia Hall when she appeared.

“Y/N!”

Shit.

Marilyn came out of the greenhouse with a large terracotta pot that had leftover soil. She set it down and smiled at me–almost too friendly to be benign. “Why are you in such a rush?”

“Um…” How could I have not thought of an excuse? “I…um…”

Marilyn took her gloves off, finger by finger until she tossed them aside. “Late for a date with Principal Weems?” she chuckled.

“No! I–wait. What?”

“Oh, I’ve known for a while,” she grinned. “It’s alright. I won’t tell anyone. However, I don’t think you’ll be seeing her for a while.”

I looked at her, confused. “What?”

“I know you know.”

That was the last thing I heard before my vision went black with her arms around me and a rag over my nose and mouth.

[jovalencia]

hiiiiii I typed all this out then realized it should have been a journal entry but I'm just gonna post it anyway

my aunt has weeks left to live and like I said I really don’t care all that much except for how it's gonna effect my mom but this means that I'll finally get to experience what a funeral is like when nobody really liked the person that died. which is sad really. but my grandparents were two of the nicest people you would ever meet so they had like Tons of people go up and speak about them. which is how I learned that my grandma saved two of my aunt/cousins/whatever from a house fire. not the point anyway. there's a storage unit full of her stuff and my sister and I already packed all that up when she went to the nursing home and we have to go through it again and I don't know if that's a Have to or a Get to situation. when we went through my grandparents stuff they were both still alive so it'll be weird to go through somebody's stuff Knowing that they're gone and will never see it again. which I do all the damn time at estate sales but is a different. and my aunt is a hoarder so she has different connections to things than other people and I felt bad enough determining what to put in storage and what to throw/give away. I don’t know if it's gonna be easier or harder knowing she won't ever see her things again. maybe there will be some gems in there when we really look. maybe it'll be like storage wars. mostly I think it'll just be really sad like it was when we packed it all up. and I do care about her and it's awful to say but it's mostly because I pity her. she isn't some horrible person she's just kind of generally unpleasant to be around. she spent most of her life alone which I can't even imagine. but I do have the nice memories of her letting my cousins and I into her room (she lived with my grandparents her whole life as she was disabled and couldn't live on her own) to pick out a vhs to watch and how she always smiles really big when she sees me and how she actually is pretty funny and used to love to watch my cousins and I run around in the yard. maybe I can say something nice at her funeral if nobody else will.

[ysabelmystic]

Top 5 worst times you got into trouble as a kid.

Ohhhh man this is gonna be a hard one to answer because undiagnosed ADHD and Autism does not mix well with authoritarian bullshit. Plus, the stuff I got away with is generally worse, a lot funnier, and more extensive. But here's 5 things I can think of off the top of my head.

I caused several thousand dollars worth of damage because 2-year-old me decided that our rented house's white carpet needed an introduction to my mom's red nail polish- color theory hospital style. Thankfully, our landlord was my mom's best friend, and after several cleaning attempts, she decided to eat the cost. I only know about this because both of them bring it up at least twice a year.

From ages 6-9, my parents forced me to do this stupid church soccer club thing because my dad was obsessed with soccer and my brother was practically a soccer prodigy. I didn't care for it one bit. We always had to rush dinner to make it to soccer practice on time, so in my head, I figured that if we couldn't eat dinner, we couldn't make it to soccer practice. We were having spaghetti that night, and you can't have spaghetti without sauce, so after a lot of unsuccessful crying, begging, and pleading, I took the whole pot of spaghetti sauce and dumped it on the floor. I avoided soccer practice, but I also got ultra-grounded for a month. All I had in my room was a mattress. Everything else was taken away. And that's when I discovered the power of dissociative daydreaming, and I can now mentally check out of any situation at, and against, my will! (My mother has since apologized, but also I am the reason I will never have biological children lmao).

Here's a funny one. On their anniversary weekend, my parents left my brother and I with my grandparents on my dad's side. This had its pros and cons. On the one hand, they had a pool, and never supervised what we watched on TV. On the other hand, that set of grandparents wouldn't let us skip church, and they went to a different church. It didn't even have a Sunday School. I was about 9 or 10, so I was deemed old enough to pack my own suitcase. I purposefully brought along my most raggedy yard clothes, thinking that would get me out of going. Come Sunday morning, I learned that unfortunately, cargo shorts and an old t-shirt did not grant me an exemption, so I had to come up with something else. After getting my brother and I fed and dressed, my grandparents went off to attend to themselves, leaving the both of us unsupervised. Their mistake. My brother and I went out into the backyard to play catch while we waited. It was then that I had an idea. My brother was about 7, still young enough that he would do just about anything I asked him, so it took him about 5 seconds to convince him that it would be both hilarious and fun if he jumped in the pool, fully dressed in his good church clothes. My grandparents were fucking piiiiissssssssed. My brother didn't have any spare clothes so my grandma had to throw everything in the dryer while I got the "wait until your parents come home" speech and a TV ban for the rest of the day. However, when my parents found out, my dad thought it was so funny that I pretty much got away with it. Oh, and we still had to go to church. We made it to the last 30 minutes of service.

My mom's contribution: I was taught about Jackon Pollock in kindergarten and inflicted my newfound splatterpaint skills upon our white cabinets, the kitchen walls, and the hallway. There's a theme with my crimes. My artistic expression could not be stopped.

I earned my first formal exorcism because I had the audacity to ask what happened to the fish during The Flood. "They didn't need to be in the boat" Well Sharon what about water salinity? How did the fish not die from the change in water chemistry? Did Noah have wooden fish tanks? Did someone have to go to every country to get the fish and a sample of their native waters? Anyways, because I was like...8, this was a sign that I had Demons, and this required them to drag me into the hallway and spend the next 30 minutes dousing me in anointing oil and demanding that Satan leave my body. Yeet!

[lavender-sheperd]

Info dump about feeling alone n stuff

So I'll start this off by saying my mom was never really present like she should've been, she's got a few chronic illnesses and she's disabled, a lot of my childhood she was in bed, asleep, busy, or some other reason that she couldn't give me attention. I'm sure we did lots of things together but what I remember most is her not being present.

I have to brothers but for most of my life the older one has been mean and the younger one was a complete brat so I didn't have any connection to them.

When I was really little (4-5?) my mom was moving us 45 minutes away and would usually go up for a few days and come back to town for one or so. Now already that was hard for me because she was the only person I knew, no friends, no friendly neighbors, no dad. She'd leave me and my brothers with her mom who is an immigrant (doesn't speak a ton of English) and who honestly disliked us a lot. She refused to let us call out mom even if she said it was okay, she would watch us and criticize everything we did, she was very emotionally cold. It was a lot harder than it should've been for me and I kinda thought about how I missed my mom constantly. One time my mom came back for a lil bit and told me I could come with her, but my dumb lil self was being rude so she just left me. Now that's fine, but for me it was: mom is home > I can go with her!!! > Say something > mom is mad > says I can't come > drives away > without her for days

Which for a small child was really damaging

Then, later my mom said we were moving a state away and me and my brothers had to stay with her parents while she packed up the house

That meant that 8 year old me had to stay in a new state with people I barely knew

My mom would be in California for a few weeks and we'd stay in her parents house which was cold, and empty. She didn't like having the heater on so the house was cold, didn't like decorating so it kinda had the bare minimum. No toys, no books, 30 minutes of tv a day, not allowed to really play in the yard. We really didn't go anywhere like parks or anything, maybe the McDonald's play place once a week. So that left a lot of time for me to cry about how I missed my mom. My grandma was still as apathetic as ever and wouldn't let us call her. My grandpa was a bit better but they were bad parents and didn't know how to interact with kids at all. This went on for only like 2 months but it felt like an eternity for me as a kid

Next, my mom eventually stayed in my grandparents house, she's always stayed up late and slept late (like 4-7 am to 1-2 pm) so she'd stay in bed a lot of the day. My grandma watched me like a hawk so if I tried to go to my mom's room to see her my grandma would get mad at me and once again, refused to let us see her even if our mom said it was okay. That went on for a summer.

When we moved out she was still sick and stayed in bed a lot or was on her phone or working, and often she'd tell us she was going to run a quick errand and be gone for 4 or 5 hours

Think "I'm going to run these donations to the thrift store and that's all" at 3 and then at 8 when it's dark and I've kinda accepted that she probably got in a car accident she'd come home acting like that was completely normal

Me and my brothers had no way to contact her so when she was gone she was gone and we just had to wait, she'd often drop us off at our grandparents and we didn't know how long we'd stay and couldn't contact her

When we were moving again she's leave me and my brother, or just be at the house so she could fit more in the car. She'd say she'd be right back and hours would pass in an empty house with no way to contact her. I remember a time that the only thing in the house was the TV, a few chairs and a towel, and she was gone for probably 4 hours again, it was 9 pm and cold and so the only thing I could really do was push the chairs together and use the towel as a blanket.

She used to leave us at the library after school, or our grandparents, or the park (at one point our school was a 30 minute drive) and we'd just have to wait, if we could call her she probably wouldn't answer, if she answered she'd lie and say she was on her way.

One summer she'd go out with a friend every few nights at probably 9 pm, 1 am would roll around and my younger brother would refuse to go to bed until she was home so we'd call her. Never picked up. That whole summer she'd always say that she didn't realize her phone was dead, it was on do not disturb and she didn't realize, it was being weird and she didn't get the call. Every single time.

While a lot of this is pretty small, as I child I literally only knew like 4 people so it was a huge thing that I suddenly couldn't contact my only person.

Anyways that's the (maybe) whole list of reasons why I now cry when I have to be alone, why not being able to talk to people makes me so upset, why friends not responding for weeks makes me so upset, why people needing space feels like a punishment, why not being able to contact people makes me panic, why I have Mommy issues, why I have daddy issues, and probably some other stuff, attachment issues?

I don't know why it all affected me so much but it really did

[thenightmarebluntrotation]

I have a question for any systems who wanna answer (probably applies more to systems who have the ability to share memories with each other, we are osdd-1b and memory sharing comes fairly easily)

Does anyone relate to the experience of accessing another alters memories and restructuring them to reflect how you would've done things in their position or prioritise different information about the experience than they did?

It's hard to sum up without giving examples so I'll explain a few of ours to get the idea across better;

1. Tigerlily went to a yard sale when we were about eight or nine, it was at the house of these kids she used to play with who lived near our grandparents. She bought a few little ceramic figures of big cats and two lion plushies that we still have. This is the real version of events. Echo split when we were 14 and did not experience this, but when we were 16 she fell in love with G1 My Little Pony and suddenly accessed Tigerlily's memory of the yard sale at her friend's house. Because Echo has different interests, she remembered there being ponies. The kids who lived there were horse girls, their family all rode horses and Echo became convinced that the sister had owned lots of G1 ponies despite this information not being part of the real memory. She had a strong feeling of 'If I'd been there I'd have bought this instead'

2. Tigerlily went camping with some family friends when we were a kid. Years later, Ramone listened to the Green Day album Warning and she accessed Tigerlily's memory of the car ride to the campsite, and the campsite itself and she felt nostalgia related to the music even though the music had nothing to do with the original memory and Tigerlily didn't know this music existed.

3. In high school, we read To Kill A Mockingbird. Ramone really liked and related to Scout for being a tomboy and a girl who liked to play outside and get dirty. Years later as an adult, one of the Mitches heard the song 'Five O Clock World' by the Vogues on an advert for fried chicken. He accessed Ramone's memory of what she thought Scout and Jem's neighborhood looked like and inexplicably associated this music with it even though the song isn't from the era the book is set in and doesn't have any meaningful connection to it.

4. In our teens, Ramone went to a sleepover with some girls she knew from MCRmy meetups. It was in an old house that was kind of spooky but in a comforting way. They watched Sweeney Todd and the first season of BBC Sherlock and listened to music and did the kind of stuff emo teens did in 2011. In the present day, I (Dandelion) play a lot of Minecraft. There is one particular piece of music in the Nether that our brain associates with this day/house even though I wasn't there and even though we weren't familiar with that music at the time.

None of these are like huge healing moments or anything obviously, they're just weird, it's strange to suddenly feel nostalgia for something you didn't do in a way that makes no sense to the person who did do it. Has this happened to anyone else? Or if you're a singlet have you ever had a moment where you heard a song and it reminded you of a memory or a place that has nothing to do with it?

[golbrocklovely]

Out of curiosity, have you ever had like a serious paranormal experience that you legit cannot explain?

I like hearing people's ghost stories :)

sorry for the delayed response. i just had a crazy day haha

also double sorry bc dear lord above this is long

i have had a couple different paranormal experiences. but there are two major ones that have always stuck out to me. one longer story, and one shorter one lol

first story: i went to online school for 8th grade, and my parents didn't want me to go to the high school my brother had graduated from. to simplify it: my brother's high school was terrible towards him and his mental health, and i was in the same school district being bullied so my parents had had enough dealing with these shitty schools. so we had plans to move before i would start hs. all of this is important to know bc i was able to go house hunting with my parents.

we went to a couple houses, and one of the last ones we went to was this house. it was all white, had a small front yard but a big ass backyard. it didn't look too crazy or anything really.

we - my parents, me, and the realtor (bc my brother was in college) - all went inside the house and immediately i was hit with this overwhelming feeling like i'm being watched. the house itself inside was… fine. outdated for sure, but other than that it seemed okay. the house was completely empty, and you could tell that it was once a grandparents' house. time felt frozen there, like nothing had been moved since the 70s. the only piece of furniture left in the house was a portrait of the whole family (think of a sears-esque photoshoot). i'm talking the parents, their kids, and then the kids' kids. the spouses were there too. hilariously, you could tell one of the kids must have gotten divorced and remarried because the one spouse had been tapped over with the new one.

other than that, that was the only thing in the entire house. key thing to note.

but how i was feeling in the house was really intense for such an empty space. again, i felt eyes on me the whole time. i remember even saying out loud "this house feels like a horror movie house." just bc of how creepy it felt to me. not only did i feel like i was being watched, but it was also hard to breathe. right before we went up to the second floor, i told my mom what i was feeling. my mom believes in all this stuff, has told me for years she thinks i'm psychic, so she was excited to hear that i was feeling something in this house. my dad on the other hand never believed in the paranormal, so he kinda brushed off my feelings.

the moment we got to the second floor, all of the feelings i had quadrupled.

i had this pit in my stomach, like the eyes that had been staring at me were now next to me. i felt like an elephant was sitting on my chest with how hard it was to breathe. but a new sensation had started, something i never felt before or since. i felt like someone was angry at me. the best way i can describe it is you know how like when you would get yelled at by a teacher or parent, and you can just feel their anger roll off of them and onto you? you almost start to feel embarrassed or upset at yourself for acting the way you did? that's how it felt. like someone was right next to my face, screaming at me. angry at me. but i didn't know why.

i kept telling my parents in between the realtor showing us the rooms how i was feeling, but after a while, both of my parents were getting annoyed with me. my dad more so than my mom. finally, the realtor wanted to show us the attic. it had a set of pull down stairs. so the realtor opened them up and we started going into the attic.

right before we went upstairs, i felt this rush of a thought come to me. i grabbed my mom's arm and told her "mom, i think someone died here. like, recently." i don't know why i felt that way, but i did. and i felt like i was right. my mom kinda hushed me and said "angelica, i think you're just freaking yourself out too much."

we all got up into the attic, and let me paint you a picture of what the attic was like. think of a very obvious, borderline straight out of a movie, creepy attic. dark brown wood, one tiny ass pullstring light in the center, and one very small window. it had been deary all day, so it was dark.

the feeling in this room was different than everywhere else, but in a worse way. you know how your whole body clenches before a jumpscare? that's what the entire room felt like to me. something was going to happen, and i could feel it like a mack-truck. it was heavy and intense, and i felt insane since i was the only one sensing this.

again, there had been no furniture in the entire house. but all the way in the very back corner of the attic, almost tucked away so that no one could see it, was a hospice bed and a hospice machine.

we were all very confused to see that. we asked the realtor what that was about. he was reluctant to tell us, just trying ease our worries by saying the house was in a nice neighborhood and was cheaper than expected and that the people selling it would take a lower amount if it meant we would take it off their hands (something he had been saying the whole time). but finally, he told us the truth.

the two eldest people in the portrait downstairs, the parents, had lived here. the mom had died a couple years ago, but the dad still lived here alone. but, he had grown sick and had passed… not even TWO WEEKS prior to us coming to see the house. his family cleared it out almost immediately and were trying to sell it as quickly as possible. so fast, in fact, that the hospital (or whatever company that deals with hospice equipment) still hadn't even picked up everything left behind. this was why they were selling the house for so cheap or for whatever price they could get.

i remember both of my parents looking at me once they heard this like they had seen a ghost themselves. i was right. i knew someone died there bc i could feel it. i could feel the old man, still there. and all of the anger i felt towards myself now made sense. the man's spirit was still there, and he was probably pissed to see random ppl coming in and out of his house. bc that house was his. this was his home, not ours.

once i heard i was right… i ended up telling my parents i had to leave. like i couldn't be in that house a moment longer. but this is where things got worse. the jumpscare if you will.

i left the attic, and my parents and the realtor were well into the attic, so i could not see them from the bottom of the stairs. i was alone, for the first time in this house.

all of the feelings came rushing at me tenfold. i started having a panic attack and was basically hyper-ventilating. maybe it was a mix of hearing i was correct about knowing someone died, or maybe it was the fact that this whole place creeped me the fuck out and i just needed to get out of there before something actually happened. the moment i started heading for the stairs, i felt like someone was running after me. like right on my tail, hauling ass. the thing about me that you need to know is i run for nothing. so, if case you ever see me running, run faster lol

i booked it out of that house so fast. i've truly never ran faster than that in my entire life. i felt like if i turned around i would see this old man chasing after me, screaming at me to get out of his house. i reached the front door, yanked that bitch open, and the millisecond i stepped onto the porch… all of the feelings i had were gone. the anxiety disappeared and i was able to breathe again like it was nothing.

i went to the car and waited outside of it because i forgot to ask my mom if i could have the keys. it even started raining, but i did not care because there was no way in hell you could pay me to go back into that house.

my parents finally came outside, got in the car, and we followed the realtor to the next house (which fun fact, ended up being the house i currently live in still to this day). on the way there, we were all very quiet. i eventually said "there's no way i'm living there. we are not moving there." my dad agreed and said "yeah, i don't think that's the right fit for us. the foundation is cracking and i'm getting too old to fix things like that." all i said back was "whatever you gotta tell yourself. just know i'm not living there." lmao

second story: so my grandfather (my mom's dad) used to live down the street from us back in my hometown. that last ten years of his life he had cancer. every year it was a different one, and since he was so old, he needed someone to care for him. so my mom ended up telling him to move from philly into our neighborhood and he did.

when i was five, my grandfather passed away and me and mom found him. he had died at the top of the stairs in his house.

when we were selling his house, we ended up giving it to my older cousin and her husband. they lived there for a couple years. what you need to know is that we ended up having a strained relationship with them bc my cousin's husband was an asshole and abusive (but we didn't know that at the time) and they found things of my grandfather's/mother's in the house and decided instead of just asking us to take it, they trashed it instead. the only reason we found this out was bc of me coming across them throwing out old christmas decorations from my mom's childhood and when she confronted them, they told her they had trashed a lot of old shit. so… things were rocky with them.

they ended up moving out eventually and when they did, they told the ppl they sold it to "if you have any questions about the house, don't ask us. ask the ppl up the street who are our uncle and aunt."

all of this is just backstory, the real story begins with me coming downstairs and seeing my dad talking to this random guy. i had recognized him as the new guy who moved into my grandfather's house. it was him, his wife, and their golden retriever that now lived there.

i didn't hear what he and my dad were talking about, but they were talking at the front door for a while. eventually the guy left, and my dad went back to his desk in the dining room. i asked him what that was about. and he told me it was something strange but he brushed it off like it was silly or not important. eventually i got him to tell me what him and the guy talked about.

the guy came over and said to my dad that the previous owners told him that if he had any questions to ask us. the guy wanted to know if we knew who lived in the house before. my dad explained to him that his father in law had lived there, but had died a couple years prior.

the guy then asked "did he, by chance, die at the top of the stairs?"

there is NO WAY this man should have know this. my cousins didn't know. it literally was just my immediately family who knew about where my grandfather had passed in the house. so it's impossible that this guy knew or just guessed correctly.

my dad was a bit shocked about this, and said that yeah that's where he died. the guy kinda got uncomfortable and said that the only reason he wanted to know was bc his dog would sit at the top of the stairs and bark like he could see someone there. and this would happen daily. the guy then said "please don't tell my wife, bc she'll want us to move immediately" and then ended up leaving not too long after that.

my dad told me ALL OF THIS, and still didn't believe in the paranormal. and i just remember being SO FLABBERGASTED by that. like… there's no way. bc out of all the places in the house to guess where someone could have died, i wouldn't think the stairs. so there's no way he knew or was told this info beforehand.

and i will say, this story both makes me sad and kinda happy bc my grandfather loved dogs. so i imagine he was chilling in that house not only bc it was his home but also bc he liked their dog. but i don't like thinking that my grandfather is a ghost in a house that no one in his family lives in, you know. it makes me sad to think that, but at the same time…. maybe it's just a part of him that's in that house.

[ratsrunningaround]

When I was little we would go to my great grandparents house on the ranch. My Grandpa was a big fan of baseball, and they had their little TV room off to the side of the entryway, with a huge TV (I’m pretty sure they couldn’t see anything if it wasn’t absolutely massive) Bookshelf lined walls, an old picture of Josh Donaldson winning a Silver Slugger or something on the wall, grandpa’s recliner chair that sat him upright (he was so old, 88 when he passed) The jersey he kept on the wall by the TV, number out. 

I remember playing catch with him in the yard. He would’ve been 84. I was still getting used to having a body and when I overthrew the ball he would run (he always ran) for it, no matter how much I insisted I’d go get it, it was my fault. The ball never went far, I was only eight.

I remember the day I got it, it was COVID, there was still snow on the ground. I was having so much trouble sleeping, and losing my Great Grandpa had broken me. 

My Papa (My Grandma and Grandpa’s oldest son) brought it to the house. I think it was early in the morning. I don’t know what day, so many melted together. He had the jersey on a hanger and an owl statue in his, and the Donaldson picture under the other. He wasn’t wearing a toque. I gave him heck.

He said the Donaldson frame was for my dad. The owl and jersey were for me. He said Grandpa knew I loved poems. He said the owl reminded him of The Raven. He said Grandpa wanted me to have it.

The jersey was different. I was struggling at the time. I didn’t like baseball like I do now. Papa said it was for me. I asked why? Dad likes ball more than I do. Papa just shrugged, it’s for you.

Last year we went to Toronto to watch a few games. I wore my jersey. Gausman (one of the starting pitchers) complimented me on it when I met him. I got his signature on a ball Rivera rolled to me. Grandpa would’ve loved the pictures.

Last year Bautista retired from his major league career. He signed a one day contract with the Jays, so he could retire with us. His name is now on the Level of Excellence. I think my Grandpa would’ve been thrilled. I miss him.

[throatcoat]

//chapter 7// //dear laurie allen//

i am crumpled on my floor amongst the laundry heaps, and there is fruity pebbles stuck in my hair. my head aches, and the bottle is empty. i can not remember even taking a sip. all i can smell is the saltwater vomit in my nose. the tape deck has released, the speakers crackling, and i swear i can hear my name amongst the empty transmission waves. groaning, i turn on my back, and stare at my ceiling. there is a crack there, it matches the one in my childhood bedroom. i wonder if the same earth quake caused this one, too, i wonder if we are on the same fault line.

slinking out to the kitchen, i squint my eyes closed. the morning sun is blinding. the coffee in the pot is lukewarm, and the handle on my mug is broken. opening up the sliding glass door, i step out in the cold mist of the pacific west coast. between gulps of coffee and lungs filled with smoke, i am looking at mt. rainier hidden between rain clouds. this place has never felt like home, not to me anyways. home was some place different, untouched by the mold on a windowsill.

before my little sister was born, i lived in a different town, nestled closer to the mountains of canada, away from the valley. closer to the Fire-camp, it was a tiny place, no more than 100 population. it is made up of the chapel, an old tavern, a gas station with the best charleston chews, and the post office with only one post-master. the house we lived in was blue and the yard was covered in wildflowers, in daisies, there was an apricot tree right next to the maple that housed a held-up-by-twine homemade baby swing. my grandparents lived up the hill, in a 100 year old school house made of cold concrete. If you look near the clear blue lake, you can see the look-out i used to dream climbing up. Old Ruby Mine lies just a couple miles further, and now no one looks for gold in the creek anymore. my earliest memories lie here, the sweetest ones. This ghost town, it might as well be a holy land.

my grandparents used to watch me while my mom and dad went off to work. pops would make me vegetable soup made with their summer crops, i would hide in the clawfoot bathtub and sing softly to my grandmother's porcelain dolls, my cousins would hold my hand as we walked down to the gas station for an ice cold soda pop. the air always smelled like moss, the sap leaking from the pine trees, the wet soil of the lake. it smelled like daffodils and chimney smoke. it smelled a little like happiness. I'd sit in the grass, making clover chains and watching the rabbits sprint into the woods. it felt safe here. ghosts refused to step foot here.

sometimes, i wonder where it all went wrong, if there were ever warning signs of the mudslide, was there a flash flood? I realize my eyes are closed now, no longer looking at the volcanic giant in the distance. the coffee is cold as the mist and it seeps into my bones. the colder i get, maybe the more it will feel like home. there is a crane sitting in the bay, looking for fish and it reminds me of the herons that would dip into palmer lake. the night prior i spent drinking, looking for answers, and now, some how the salt waters seep into the fresh glacier lakes and i am no longer here in the sleepy sea side town.

i still have a scar on my tongue from when i almost bit right through it. i was a stubborn child, and although my mother told me not to try to walk down the cement stairs alone, i did it anyways. i wanted an apricot. i do not remember stumbling, i remember my mother yelling for my father, the first time i ever tasted blood in my mouth. she picked me up and held me close and it was the last time i ever felt remotely loved by my mom. she only seems to love me most when she is scared. even now, over twenty years later, that first time ever falling sticks to my brain, the way my mom looked. the same look she had when my dad fell off the ladder and convulsed on the ground.

we ended up moving down to the valley after that, my mom pregnant, wanting to be closer to the hospital, closer to where there were more people than just the fishermen at the bar, truckers at the gas station, and folk just passing through. we ended up in the yellow house by the highway, the one we would stay in until i was 16 years old. although it was not the chilly mountains, i would grow to love the desert just as much as the snow. often, i would give anything to be back there, now i do not think anyone would be able to name me, recognize me. maybe it could be safe again. at least it is always familiar.

the town we ended up in was the same place i had been born, right in the hospital on main street. my parents had both spent a portion of their childhoods here, too, at different moments. always within reach of one another, never in sight. they thought it would be the perfect place to also raise their two daughters, familiar. safe. it used to be, at least.

the valley was on fire the last summer i spent there. 256,108 acres in total, it was a massive wildfire turned complex, caused by lightning and just the right conditions. carlton led my town to be under evacuation orders and i watched on the side of the highway as person after person flew past in their pickup trucks. if you stepped outside, the smoke choked you. i stayed as the fire burnt through, scorching the abandoned orchard behind our house. if you kept walking up the dirt road behind the apple tree stumps, you will find a small village filled with folk in plain clothes, mennonites who claimed their own stake a century past. i wondered if they stayed, too, if their prayers worked, or if it felt like punishment, all brimstone and sulfur.

it felt fitting, that the last remnants of me existing in the place i always knew would end like this- burnt up, dried out, and abandoned. i took a deep breath and the ash in the air choked me. i walked down the highway, opposite of where all the cars were headed. following the traintracks, you will end up near an apple processing plant, a small one. it smells like wine and wet cardboard. this is where my first field trip took place, right before we walked to the library. keep walking, and you'll find empty crates stacked up, blocking the entrance to history park. i lost my first tooth there, in that park. i buried it beneath the elm tree, near the swing set.

the park was where i was headed, even without intention. the can of grape soda was sweating against my hand, slowly slipping each time i lift to take a sip. there is one person there, other than that i was alone. i sat at the wooden bench where my friends and i had carved our names once in middle school, and it was the same bench i smoked my first joint at. i always found myself here, at this bench, when i needed some place quiet to think. i sat watching the kid shooting hoops, practicing dribbles like our town was not on fire, like he had no place to go and had all the time in the world. the pool was closed, abnormally silent for a scorching july day. the only sounds were the okanogan river and the dribbling of the basketball. the birds had all left.

i lifted the can only to find i had finished it already. i took out my pocket knife and carved into the wooden table, right beside the initials we had left years prior. a crooked heart. sloppily, i carved three words. i carved my own name. sometimes, i wonder if it is still there, the heart with my name. did someone cross it out? scratch it and replace it with a better name? my cellphone began ringing out, and it is my mother on the other end, asking where i am.

i hung up, slam the phone shut, and laid my head on the warm wood. all i wanted in that moment was to sink into the earth, buried right next to my lost baby tooth.

sometimes, when i close my eyes, i am back there, in that park, under the layers of grass and mud and the indian burial ground.