#awesome-opossum-after-hours

[sloelimbs]

He is living, he’s decided, in his very worst fucking nightmare. Not only that, he’s been a cowardly asshole about it. Just fucking walked out, got on his bike, drove down highways until he hit the river and pulled over to scream into the night. On an abstract level he understands that this, what’s happening right now, is a knee jerk reaction. He just needs… time. To think about it. To think about… things. A long time ago he’d looked around a table full of friends and told them that there was no shame in running, and normally he stays true to that philosophy but now that he’s sitting still on a bench overlooking the water and chain smoking his way through a pack of Lucky Strikes… he just feels like a coward.

The thing is, okay, the thing is: Eddie Munson does not think that he will be a good father. It has nothing to do with anything else, really, honest. It’s just that, well, what with his pop in jail still and like, the fact that he wasn’t such a great pop when he wasn’t in jail… he never learned. He feels like he never learned. But Chrissy is pregnant, and she is excited, and if she can overcome her fear of ending up like her mother then he can nut the fuck up. He can put his big boy boxers on and go home and kiss his fiancé and show the fucking— the fucking appropriate response, right? He can totally do that. Except he doesn’t, because every time he thinks about it he feels kind of sick and swoopy in his gut, and probably that’s not a great way to ride home. He doesn’t want to crash and abandon the baby before it’s even here.

Eddie isn’t sure how long he sits there but eventually someone taps him on the shoulder and sits down beside him, and when he tears his eyes away from the waves before him that sick swoopy feeling comes back, because Chrissy doesn’t look mad or upset. She looks kind of worried.

“That didn’t go the way I thought it would.” All these years later she’s still the most beautiful and gentle thing he’s ever seen. “We can talk about options, if you w—.”

“What? No.” Because options means abortions and yeah sure he’s all for them (genuinely! He doesn’t have a womb, what would he care?) but… looking at Chrissy, and how she’s shredding at her bottom lip… that’s not what she wants, is it? “No. No, Chrissy, I’m— I’m sorry too, ‘kay?” She gives him a soft, measured look and holds her hand out for him, squeezes her fingers between his and kisses across his knuckles.

“You’re gonna be a great dad, Eddie.” He follows her gaze over their shoulders to his truck and the figure leaning against it. He’d know that silhouette anywhere. “You learned from the best, right?”

“Right.” And yeah. Yeah, he did. And he does feel better when he follows her back to the truck. He feels better when Uncle Wayne shakes his hand and congratulates him.

Yeah. He learned from the best, alright.

[mentallyshattered]

This is part 4 of the "What if Yuu didn't want to go back?" Series!

(I, the author of this work, do not consent to this work being crossposted/translated without my knowledge or used to train an AI, ever.)

Masterlist

My bed is soft. Very soft. I don't want to leave, but I have to.

"C'mon, Yuu! We're gonna be late! Myaah, wake up! We have class!" Okay, he has a point. Being late to class on the first day would be horrible, both for our reputation and Vil's.

Mustering all my willpower, I drag myself out of the warmth and onto the cold floor. Oh, slippers! That's much better.

...Hold on.

"Grim, when did I change into my pajamas?"

"You didn't. Vil used magic to swap what you were wearing with those. He said he didn't want to wake you up." Grim beams. "I managed that trick, too! Look at me, mya-ha!"

Sure enough, Grim is wearing a white, collared button-down, a black-and-white striped tie, a purple vest that matches his magestone, and a dark grey jacket to top it all off. Worn below the collar of the button-down is the collar with his magestone, and there's a violet string-looking thing with a red stripe down the middle tied around his left front leg, held in place with a golden emblem that's carved to look like Pomefiore's crest. He has no pants, but that's pretty much what I expected.

"Your uniform's in the dresser, Grim's familiar."

"Come on, Mandible. You know his name."

...Korrak sounds exhausted! Is he not used to this kind of sleep schedule? I wouldn't be surprised. Mandible did mention that he has pilot parents, after all.

Oh, right. My uniform. Sure enough, it's in the top drawer of my nightstand, neatly folded. Looks like it has all the same parts as Grim's, plus pants, shoes, and socks. There's boxers in there, too. Better go change. Didn't I hear a sophomore mention walk-in closets at the entrance ceremony?

Yep, there's a door over by the foot of my bed. That must be the closet, which is soon revealed to be walk-in. Hey, there's a light! And a full-length mirror!

...This is probably a changing room. Oh, well. Figuring out where and how everything goes on is a walk in the park, and there's a shoe rack on my left. The only pair that seems appropriate for a regular school day are the loafers, so that's what I put on.

"Myaah, you look awesome!"

"Thanks, Grim! You wear it better, though."

"No way! We're familiars, so we both look equally awesome!"

Aww. "I'll let you have this one, Grim."

"Hey, Yuu and Grim. I've got your schedules over here. Says you're in class B. We aren't, unfortunately." Korrak frowns once he's done speaking, but I don't realize why until he pokes Mandible. "Hey, wake up. We have class too, you know."

Grim goes and gets the schedule from Korrak, and carries it back to me. Upon examination, I learn class does not start for another hour.

"Korrak, do you know why we're up this early?"

He sighs, unsuccessful thus far in his attempts to wake the exhausted opossum on his bed. "Breakfast and skincare routine. Both are mandatory in Pomefiore, and this wake-up time is recommended by our housewarden." Yeah, that explains it.

Mandible wakes at the mention of food. "Breakfast? Where?"

Korrak's face is what you'd expect from a sitcom mom. "The dorm dining room. Today it's fruit, I think."

Mandible's tiredness vanishes from his face instantaneously when Korrak says the word "fruit." Mine does the same.

I grab Grim. "C'mon, breakfast!" He does not complain.

Soon after stuffing our faces with way too much watermelon, Vil stops us in the hall.

"You fell asleep before I could give you this. All yours. Use it now. And Grim should be brushed every morning before you dress him." Vil hands me a small cardboard box that feels magically reinforced. He does not let go until I'm firmly holding it, probably because it's far heavier than it looks once he does.

"He dressed himself. Is there a cat brush in here?"

Vil nods. "There most certainly is." With that, he's gone. I set off to the room I fell asleep in last night.

There's a lot of people in here, but it still isn't hard to find an empty seat. I remove Grim's little uniform (as much as I don't want to) and begin brushing him. The process only takes a few minutes, and I use the opportunity to chat with Korrak, who's in the seat to my right.

"So, what class are you in? Grim and I are in class A."

"Me and Mandible are in class B. I hope it goes well."

The kid on my left speaks up. He has beautiful, fluffy, lavender hair and the second-prettiest blue eyes I've ever seen, in my biased-toward-Grim opinion.

"Hey, me too! What're you named?"

"Uh, Korrak. And this is Mandible. What's your name?"

I sit and return the cat brush to its spot in the box before reading the instructions for the skincare products. A few of them are for Grim, so I pull those out first- while continuing to eavesdrop, of course.

" 'S Epel! I like that there 'possum- 'Mandible', eh?"

I smile. The instructions are easier to follow than I thought they'd be, and the blooming friendship makes excellent background noise.

[luckyshotwrites]

WAIT, will Alex know about the monsters that tried to eat Lyn? Man. I just.

Look, I have this thing constantly in my head whoever I think of your characters relations.

Monsters eat people, yes, but they also could be friends? Maybe. But it’s a whole lot more complicated cuz they see humans as food and nothing more and I Get. It.

But MAN, the thing about a monster seeing humans beyond food and more like friends (dunno if Drake has that deep of a bond with humans IDK) It just HITS ME WHERE IT SOMEHOW HITS, it’s just, them being actually friends hits me hard.

And one of the main reasons I want Xander to see Lyn more than food, like, dude, you could be FRIENDS.

But from Lyn side, I can see why it’s scary. But the money is so tempting I also get why she stays. I can also see why she wouldn’t desire a relationship more than coworkers with Xander and the rest.

The danger is there after all. Hell, she could’ve been disappeared by the kitsune if Xander wasn’t there and god knows what that fox intentions were.

Peep, you got me cryin'. I'm glad you really enjoy it that much to have it stylin' in your head like that.

Next chapter is releasing in the next hour or two. Not saying you get all the answers there...there's a bit more of a wait for some things, still. Not every monster sees humans as food, it depends more on the monsters themselves as well as their type. And, whether they get to the point of friendship is a mystery to everyone but me at the moment! I cannot say whether things will end up good or bad for any of them. However, I am still glad that you are excited about it! <3

Also, yeah, regarding that, I AM doing a second person story involving Mara. So you could actually read what Lynette would have went through if Alexander did not decide to be persistent and save her as yourself. (As well as at some point I'll put out her journal like I originally planned).

You'll have to keep reading and see for the future stuff though, my friend! I hope I can keep impressing you! AND YOU BETTER HAVE AN AWESOME OPOSSUM DAY!

[emachinescat]

A Year in (Book) Review: My 2024 Reading Journey 📚

#48 - The Hazel Wood by Melissa Albert

Fantasy / The Hazel Wood #1 / 368 pages / published in 2018 / Finished Jun. 9

One Sentence Review: The dark fairy tale world of The Hazel Wood is as compelling as it is mysterious and terrifying, and the whole book is a series of secrets inside secrets, mysteries unfolding like the pages of a book, and twists and terror that follow me even though I've read this book multiple times before - the characters are captivating, the world engrossing, and the storytelling breathtaking.

Favorite Quotes

"Ahh, for the leaves and shit! Apple picking, man. Hayrides. Pumpkin carving. Scarecrows. Wax vampire teeth, dude!"

*

"I liked formulas. I liked narrative arcs I could predict. I liked that my dad still kissed my mom when he got home, on the lips, like in a sitcom. I liked doing stuff the same way every day and reading stories I could take apart into pieces and never really being surprised by anything. I was anxious, I guess. I liked structure."

*

"Books want to be read, and by the right people."

*

"I looked at Finch, the solid boyness of him, and I knew I couldn't let him go all the way with me. Not into the black hole of the Hazel Wood. At some point in the past thirty-six hours, he'd joined the tiniest, saddest clique of people, of which Ella had previously been the only member: people I, Alice Crewe, couldn't bear to see die. Hell is caring about other people."

*

"Once upon a time there was a girl who changed her fate..."

My rating: 5/5

A Few More Thoughts (Spoilers)

This was my third time reading this book, and even knowing the story and its big twists by heart, it still captivated me completely. Somehow I end up loving it more every time I read it. It's dark and mysterious and deliciously magical, and the prose itself is just gorgeous.

When I first read the book, I was actually surprised by the reveal that Alice is actually Alice-Three-Times. It's such a great twist (even if you do see it coming!).

I always love that despite everything, Finch decides to stay in the fairy tale world - another way, Albert defies the traditional fairy tale happily ever afters.

This book has strong themes of family, and especially found and chosen family. The darkness that pervades both the Hinterlands and the fairy tales speaks to the idea that not all stories have happy endings, and this is even truer in real life. Albert's fairy tales echo the senseless violence and chaotic unpredictability that often define reality - most fairy tales offer an escape from reality, but not these.

[exocynraku]

(btw i’m on book 2 of AVOS so no spoilers pls) I spent a few hours coming up with new ideas for Shadowclan, since i feel like they’re kind of just “evil thunderclan with pine trees” and i wanna know what you’re opinion on my ideas are! I know it’s a lot to read, sorry. 

-Shadowclan is hardy and volatile. They do well with changes and aren't very strict about the warrior code. Because of that, Shadowclan is seen as weak-willed by the other clans. They are quick-witted and clever and are usually the first clan to come up with a solution for a clan-wide problem. They have thick skin and aren't very sensitive. Shadowclan is very independent, and the other clans see that as a reason not to trust them.

-Pine sap is harmful for most cats, but Shadowclan cats have adapted short, coarse fur similar to that of a badger, which makes pine sap easy to clean off without having to use their tongues. Having coarse fur also helps when hunting snakes, since they can't bite through it. Kits are taught from a young age to rub their fur on rocks to get the pine sap off before they use their tongue.

-Shadowclan warriors are set up into two different roles, much like Windclan's moor runners and tunnelers. The two roles are sunpelt and moonpelt warriors. Sunpelt warriors are hunt during the day, whereas moonpelt warriors hunt at night. Sunpelts and moonpelts were named after the two warriors that founded these roles, Sunfeather and Moonwhisker. They were sisters during the change of territories that both felt like Shadowclan wasn't reaching its full potential and that they were lagging behind the other clans. They also felt that the way Shadowclan had been hunting wasn't very successful, so they split the clan into two groups: sunpelts and moonpelts, The senior warrior of each faction decides what a cat will be, usually based on their pelt color.

-Rivalry between sunpelts and moonpelts: Sunpelts, try to be more like other clans and want Shadowclan to be more "normal." They have lighter fur colors, which helps them blend in with the daylight environment. Their den is on the left side of camp, where the sun hits more.

Moonpelts feel the most connected with Shadowclan since they embrace its differences and enjoy its independence from the other clans. They have darker fur colors to blend in with the forest at night, and their den is on the right side of the camp, where the moon's light shines more.

-Shadowclan hunts a variety of prey found mostly in their territory and is some of the only prey they can hunt consistently. Snakes, lizards, salamanders, woodpeckers, red squirrels, opossums, and bats. Snakes, lizards, and squirrels are hunted by sunpelt warriors, whereas woodpeckers, bats, salamanders, and opossums are hunted by moonpelt warriors. All Shadowclan hunters

climb trees and have the quietest paws of any clan cat, able to stalk their prey without making a sound.

-Views of other clans: A common belief held by Shadowclan cats is that the other clans are too soft, since the other clans have territory with never-ending prey. They've never had empty fresh-kill piles or their food hibernating during leaf-bare. It's usually in response to other clans judging them for their unusual behaviors.

OH BOY!!!! these are super awesome!!!!! the pine sap thing is rlly interesting, evolution/adaption to things is always so cool it me. also the sunpelt/moonpelt thing ??? WOW!!!! thats super creative!!!! very very very cool ideas!

[pallasperilous]

Boneless Wings

 {AO3 version}

So, blah blah blah, it’s their standard-issue disaster: pack of dumbass witches (always with the dumbass witches. Where do they find the time for this shit? Somebody get these women signed up for a Peloton subscription or a macramé class or a vibrator of the month club, seriously, whatever it takes—), ancient curse, Castiel being the actual angel of stepping in it, nobody cares. 

The point is, two hundred and forty-one hours of binge-worthy drama later, Dean and Cas are living in a semi-detached just a short thirty-minute commute to somewhere equally lame, Castiel has two literal-ass wings, and yes, Susan, they kiss now. 

The neighbors are weirdly cool with it. 

For those of you perving along at home, Dean could absolutely provide a list of the hundred or so ways that having a boyfriend* with giant fucking actual wings is super hot and/or awesome.

This is not that list.

(*you can just shut right the fuck up , Sam, because it’s either this or Dean will start saying lover. And nobody needs that. Nobody wants that.)

1.  Bird mites. Holy shit. 

 2.  Sharing a bathroom. The shower curtain rod, and consequently the security deposit, are early casualties. The medicine cabinet follows swiftly behind. Shower hijinks are not even an option.

 3.  Dean comes home one day from a gig and there is a giant plastic green turtle in the backyard. A closer inspection reveals that the turtle is actually a mule for about half a truck bed of industrial dust ‘n grit. It is, in fact, a kiddie sandbox. Dean points out that they do not, in fact, have a small child (FINGERS CROSSED), so...?

Cas then earnestly shows him an entire playlist of exotic birdy dust bath videos on Youtube. 

Dean then earnestly shows him the garden hose. 

4.  The down just gets, like...everywhere. EVERYWHERE. How many times have Sam and Dean practically sold their kidneys for a single angel feather for some dumb spell to solve some pointless Occult McProblem? And now Dean is picking them out of his damn teeth every morning. (No, gross, not because of... Jesus, no, that is not a thing.)

On the upside of this one, Dean finally has an excuse to buy a Dyson, which he’s secretly always thought looked awesome. It is. 

 5.  When Dean is scraping out the umpteenth canister of fluff he jokingly suggests they use some of it to supplement the tragically flaccid down comforter currently shaming their bed, and Castiel pitches an existential fucking sulk. Dean wants to experience happiness again, so he does not point out that it get ass-bitingly cold here this time of year, and decent bedding is not exactly inexpensive, and the Dyson kind of maxed them out on household purchases.

But whatever.

 6.  Castiel is indulging in what Dean thinks of as a sky pout when he flies right into a head-on with li’l Timmy NextDoor’s new Christmas surveillance drone. It dings the shit out of one of Cas’s left primary feathers (the scientific term is “those big motherfuckers”), which apparently hurts like a bitch. Cas is grounded for a few weeks after that and is cutely pathetic about it and at first Dean is absolutely down to kiss it better. By the end, Dean is almost ready to strangle Cas with his own necktie, but he has learned a lot of surprisingly interesting stuff about ancient Mesopotamia, like that it was super horny.

 7.  After the snow melts, Dean starts finding shit on the front step with the morning paper. It’s not even a good newspaper; Cas signed them up for the local fish-wrapper (or maybe it was Sam, before he fled for the hills— he occasionally breaks out in a  “support local journalism” rash). The crossword puzzle is insulting, but the paper does at least syndicate Carolyn Hax, whom Dean secretly suspects of being an absolute wildcat in the sack, so he grudgingly expends the calories to bring it in every morning. 

Anyway, at first the stuff he discovers crapping up the welcome mat is just shiny bits of trash — couple granola wrappers, some MGD pull-tabs, a few field-stripped twisty-ties. Probably just windblown, and he tosses it in the garbage can. 

Then a couple weeks in, things start getting...grisly? It escalates real slowly, from a variety platter of mouse bits to squirrel à la power line and then half of a dry-aged raccoon and an opossum that has recently graduated from playing dead to professional dead-being. The neighborhood crows obviously love that their front step is now a roadkill café; Dean has to bat increasing numbers of them away with the kitchen broom in order to relocate their horrible snack to the edge of the nearest storm drain.

Then one morning there are like twenty crows and they’re in just the cutest little football huddle-up around what turns out to be a human fucking finger with a retro-fun mood ring still on the knuckle (it’s feeling: Sad) and Dean fully loses his shit. 

Cas hears him freaking out and comes whomping out of the garage ready to, whatever, flap somebody to death maybe, but as soon as he establishes that Dean doesn’t need anything more than a fresh pair of boxers, he de-poofs a bit and assesses the whole human finger/crows situation in his usual infuriatingly unrushed way. The crows had mostly bounced up to the cable line over the house, safely out of brooming range, but one by one they start to drop down and hippity-hop back towards the world’s tiniest crime scene.

If Dean were five percent less freaked he’d be tempted to go inside and find out how much of a dent he can make in a six-pack before Castiel finally dings and spits out his results, but he isn’t, so he just stands there in silence clutching the broom like it’s a shotgun.

Eventually Cas says “hm,” and then he looks at the crows and makes some noises that sound like a spoon caught in a garbage disposal, and the crows make some scrawps and chuks back, and then one of them delicately noodges the tip of dead finger with its beak and then hippity hops back a foot or two, bows, and then they all fly away over the shitty little beige duplex across the street like they’re running ten minutes late to an important bird appointment.

Castiel stands up (Dean reflexively backs up into the doorway, as this involves Cas bomfing out his wings a bit for ballast and Dean has caught a blow to the nuts on more than one occasion), dusts off his goddamn slacks, pulls a plastic evidence baggie out of thin goddamn air or maybe his socks, and casually bags the finger like they’re doing a standard FBI wheeze. “So what,” Dean says, as Cas diligently zips the baggie, “the fuck?”

“Oh,” Cas says, blinking in surprise that Dean is still there and interested, “they think I’m their god.”

Dean kind of stares back at him, the six feet of dude and like sixteen feet of bird, and thinks sure, okay, but his face must still be stuck on “Tippi Hedren attic scene” because Cas puts a reassuring hand on Dean’s shoulder and adds “Don’t worry. I’ve told them I don’t require further offerings, and I reassured them that you’re my consort and were simply jealous of other potential mates.”

It takes Dean two weeks to come up with a response to that, but by then it’s become evident that no bird is ever going to shit on the Impala again, so he decides to just chalk it up in the win column and move on.

You know. The family business.

8.  No matter how tightly he folds them, Cas can’t fit his wings through the definitely-not-up-to-code doorway of the wood-paneled family rec room in the basement, so Dean claims it as his man cave and dubs it the “No Fly Zone.” 

Castiel doesn’t find this funny, but Dean really only uses it to fold laundry. 

 9.  Transpo is an obvious issue. Cas can almost stuff himself into the Impala if he sort of reverse-cowgirls the back seat, but then the wingtips smoosh up against the windshield and Dean’s visibility is approximately zip. And, sure, Cas could fly himself anywhere they really needed to go, he’s basically a Chevy Of The Air, but sometimes it’s raining, and the seraph Castiel — Shield of God, Heavenly Soldier of the Lord, multidimensional wavelength of celestial intent, will smell like a wet fucking chicken for days afterward. Febreze does not help.

Dean spends a few nauseating weeks contemplating the purchase of — and here he learns that the human gag reflex can be conditioned, but never truly eradicated — a convertible. Once Cas brings up the possibility of a minivan or perhaps a station wagon (he’s taken to studying family motor vehicles with all the intensity of a birder with a life list) and Dean makes him sleep on the couch.

Dean gets his own living room rotation after he shows Cas a Craigslist posting for a very reasonably priced horse trailer. Castiel points out that it’s used and Dean notes that neither of them is exactly mint in original packaging either. Castiel points out that he’s not a horse, and after a few necessary but admittedly unoriginal jokes, Dean pulls up a website with an exhaustive photographic tutorial on how to convert a horse trailer “for the safe and sanitary transport of ostriches, emus, and/or cassowaries.” Cas points out that he’s not an ostrich, emu, and/or cassowary, and Dean counters that he clearly isn’t, because an emu would probably show a little more gratitude, and that’s how Dean learns that the couch has a broken spring under the left cushion. The transpo issue remains unresolved.

 10.  Dean keeps a pair of shop-grade safety goggles by his side of the bed. It’s not the sexiest look, but it turns out feathers are stabby as hell when encountered at a particular angle. Cas can do the healy thing, of course, but they learn the hard way that cornea perforation is not really a mood enhancer. On the bright side, Castiel accidentally corrects Dean’s incipient presbyopia, which means Dean doesn’t have to hold the newspaper at arm’s length anymore when he’s idly speculating what Carolyn Hax looks like below the neck. The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away.

 11.  You’d think that, when you’re coming down from a time-limited but incurable curse that makes you feel like every cell of your body has its own cute little individual headcold — because you missed a hex bag due to the fact that you were preparing your legal response to Sam turning up to the hunt wearing a goddamn hair scrunchy, as if he were fresh off the set of a very special episode of Clarissa Explains It All — anyway, you’d think that being wrapped in the warm embrace of an angel’s wings would be nice. 

But you would be wrong, because apparently your boyfriend has been out communing with the bees again, and those feathers pick up ragweed pollen like it’s their goddamn job, and guess what else angels can’t cure? Dean will take Motherfucking Seasonal Allergies for 600, Alex. 

12a.  One of the neighbors has that homesteading hippie brain disease that drives an otherwise normal-seeming person to brew their own beer and raise a bunch of chickens despite living within five hundred yards of a fully functioning Hy-Vee. There’s a week where one of the wee little velociraptors seems to be processing some kind of trauma because it starts yelling at dawn and keeps going until well past the hour that swearing is allowed on network TV. 

When Dean finally hammers on the front door the next afternoon the neighbor apologizes with some extremely nasty home-brew (HIPPIES) and some absolutely devastating weed (HIPPIES!) and explains that “Ginger is going through a rough molt” and then he kind of nods his head towards Dean’s side of the fence where Cas is futzing around in the squash plants and stage whispers (this is a direct quote) “You know how they get.”

Dean is about to rip the dude a new one for comparing his immortal space-kaiju lover to a fucking Australorp yard pullet when Castiel pops his head up over the white pickets and breezily contributes “Bad molt, yes, those are terrible, Dean can tell you all about how insufferable I am those weeks,” and sometimes Dean just doesn’t know why he even tries.

 12b.  The less said about angel molt, the better. 

Seriously, the freakin’ eyes-on-his-hands naked mole rat dude from, whatsit, Pan’s Labyrinth of Subtitles, would run screaming from this shit. 

 13.  There’s a 4th of July BBQ Potluck Block Party and Dean’s inability to stand idly by while good meat is abused ( shut up Sam ) means he winds up manning the grill and dismissing the pretenders to set some strictly inedible things on fire. Cas hangs out next to him and uses his flappers to kinda whupf the smoke away from Dean’s eyes now and then, which rules. It’s actually a pretty chill event until Sharon and Don From Number 4267, The Green House With The White Trim, turn up with a giant Pyrex full of naked, still-marinating teriyaki wings. 

Sharon And Don look down at their wings and then up at Castiel and then down at the wings and then up at Castiel and they are clearly teetering on the edge of a Midwestern politeness failure-based nervous breakdown. But then Cas, smooth as a margarine commercial, gently takes the dish from Sharon’s frozen hands, examines the contents for a silent moment, and says “it’s alright. They weren’t personal friends.”

He gets an extra burger for that one.

 14.  Cas keeps absent-mindedly trying to groom Dean — who, in case it still needs to be said at this point, possesses zero-point-zero feathers of his own — so he goes after Dean’s hair, instead. Dean has to stop him after his second hour of trying to straighten out a cowlick. “I don’t understand how you can steer properly with this deformity,” Cas says, as if it’s a genuine miracle that Dean isn’t constantly careening over ottomans like Dick Van Dyke. He’s even more horrified by Dean’s (frankly minimal) use of hair gel. “Jesus, Cas, it’s not like I’m drinking it,” he says, but then one time they have an epic make-out session shortly after Dean performs his masculine beauty rituals and there’s some smearage of various types of Product (tm) on the flappy areas. 

And, sonuvabitch, for the next six hours Cas is spirographing around the house like he has a heavenly inner ear infection, and he only stops veering into the doorframes after Dean wipes down every. Single. Feather. With mineral oil and about eighteen clean shop cloths. Dean switches to something called hair wax, which costs thirty zillion times more per ounce and makes him smell vaguely like church, but is a lot less gloppy. The things we do for love.

 15.  Seating inside the house is a bit of a conundrum, too. Cas can kind of flop his wings out to the sides if he sits in the middle of the couch, but then Dean’s stuck on the recliner, which is basically in the next county. Bar stools are disastrously tippy, Dean’s lower back and hips have not endured mumble-mumble years of hunting just to be subjected to a damn beanbag chair, and, after a brief flurry of optimistic excitement, Dean determines that they’d have to take the front door off to get a massage chair in. He finds a swing online that if, he can get the hardware properly installed in the crossbeam, is rated for up to 500 pounds, so he texts Cas the URL so he can check out the specs. After half an hour he writes back —

CASTIEL: Dean

CASTIEL: I believe this swing is intended for sexual congress.

DEAN: ...

CASTIEL: I can infer from the ellipsis that you have spent several minutes attempting to draft a response.

DEAN: ...

CASTIEL: Dean

DEAN: it’s multipurpose

  16 . On the plus side, though, big-ass wings make for a pretty good drying rack. He can get every sock in the house laid out on those suckers in a single round and, one episode of Dr. Sexy later, they’re perfectly dry and toasty warm, without any of the pair-busting casualties Dean has learned to expect from the apparently socknivorous dryer in the basement. 

Dean assumes it’s just the product of good air circulation and body heat until he realizes that he hasn’t had to toss a pair for being too worn out in...maybe six months? So he asks Cas “Are your wings... healing the socks” and after an entire Abbott and Costello routine centering around heal versus heel, Dean determines that the answer is: yes, his boyfriend’s wings are channeling the almighty power of Heaven to magically repair the socks Dean buys at Target in twelve-pack bags. On sale.

This is actually kind of sexy, if Dean is being perfectly honest, so, you know what? It doesn’t belong on this list.

 16.  So nobody really freaks out or bursts into tears or calls the news or the FBI or anything when Cas goes out in public with him, which Dean is secretly a little disappointed about, because come on. (Maybe giant wings just reads as a gay thing? Was there an episode of Will and Grace about this that Dean missed back when he was ass deep in wendigos or something?)

But no. Dudes tend to just glance at them across the Home Depot parking lot, throw them the Mutual Dude Acknowledgement Nod, and say some shit like “Comic-con,” or “nice anime” in a knowing tone. Then they go back to rolling their carts full of gaskets or hammers or whatever back to their mom’s station wagon. 

Little girls tend to go googly-eyed — Castiel seems to fall into the same category as a Disney princess, despite the stubble and the drabcore wardrobe, and Dean can’t count the number of times some mom has approached Dean at the grocery store (like he’s Castiel’s manager?? Which, okay...yeah, actually) and asked if they do birthday parties. The money would actually be pretty tempting if Dean weren’t five thousand percent sure that Cas would get them both arrested by launching into an anatomy lesson about duck sex or how God is a loser who favors relaxed fit jeans and Wild Turkey.

The worst is white ladies of a Certain Age, and it always seems to happen in the pudding aisle, for some reason. They either go cross-eyed with horniness and become indiscriminately handsy (Dean can’t blame them for the impulse, but also back off, Karen), or ask Cas for prayers for their cat’s chronic asshole problems (which Castiel WILL take seriously). 

Worst of all is when some hippie spinster clocks them. This woman inevitably reaches right for the feathers and asks in a willowy voice if they’d ever consider turning some of them into dreamcatchers to sell at her studio, which is literally always named The Faerie’s Glen. Then Cas gets confused about why, exactly, a sixty year-old WASP in a peasant skirt would need to call on the infant-protection powers of an Ojibwe spider goddess, while Dean just wants to bite the lady’s fingers off. 

Either way, it’s always a bad scene, and many fully loaded grocery carts have been lost to the fallout.

17.  For some metaphysical reason Dean is too dumb to suss out but also too smart to question, lugging a pair of Cessna-sized flappers around this mortal dimension actually seems to tucker Cas out. He doesn’t need to zonk out every night, but he semi-regularly throws in the towel and actually crawls in with Dean for the duration. 

This would be swell in theory, but the guy absolutely cannot settle the fuck down in less than three (3) human hours, which is the exact amount of sleep Dean requires to maintain his famously sunny demeanor. It’s not just ye olde tossing and turning — Dean can handle that, sharing a bed with Sam is like sleeping next to a kangaroo with restless leg syndrome — no, it’s a nonstop parade of little flippy-flappies and shiffle-shuffles and spontaneous outbursts of preening. 

So Dean makes him a Baby Sleep Sack. 

This is something Dean knows about due solely to one super dumb hunt involving a banishing sigil that had to be drawn in — he still feels like this had to be a misprint — human breastmilk, and that was obviously not happening. But the monster of the week wasn’t going to banish itself, so they wound up at the nearest Walmart, at 4am, picking up what turned about to be an unnecessarily generous supply of baby formula, along with a fresh box of shotgun shells because God bless America*. It doesn’t work, although “lots of stabbing” turns out to be a solid fallback plan, but the point is that while Sam was debating between Digestion Support or Neurological Development, Dean acquired an unprecedented familiarity with some of the products currently available to the sleep-deprived parent. So Dean finds some DIY Baby Sleep Sack knockoff patterns online and determines he can replicate and scale up the concept with some beach towels and duct tape, and the next morning he presents the lumpy but totally functional prototype to Castiel. 

Initially Cas thinks it’s a sex thing (reasonable, it probably is), but once they clear up that misunderstanding, he’s obviously a little peeved by the concept of being swaddled as if he were a gassy baby instead of a deathless sky monster in a sexy dude-shaped can. But Dean must be giving off some serious man on the edge vibes because Cas grudgingly agrees to let Dean tape him up the next time he’s feeling dozy. 

It’s real awkward and takes forever to get Cas bundled up right, and then he’s just kind of lying there on top of the sheets, like an enormous, grumpy baked potato. 

“I could easily break out of these restraints,” he says in a pissy tone after Dean has crawled in and turned off the light, and Dean rolls over to tell him “no shit”, but then he has to stop himself because the guy is already asleep.

Eventually they upgrade to a version made out of some of those trendy weighted blanket things, a few yards of parachute silk, and a whole lot of velcro. The dude looks so damn peaceful that Dean is honestly a little jealous.

*he doesn’t, actually. 

 18.  There’s a sunny afternoon that isn’t the usual Kansas is trying to murder you level of humid so Dean rolls the Impala out into the street for a wash. Cas helps him out a bit initially, although tragically not in a way that involves removing any unnecessary articles of clothing, but Deans sends him to grab a new tub of wax from the shed and he never comes back. After half an hour Dean needs a beer break and goes looking for him, expecting to find Cas lost in thought over whether Turtle Wax is made of actual turtles, or is made to put on actual turtles. Instead he finds Cas crouched on the shimmering pavement at the back of the driveway, sun beating down on him like it has a personal vendetta, and he’s got both wings stretched out real low above the ground. Dean kind of flips out because it’s the type of pose that just screams “stabbed in gut by angel blade” or “migraine from Hell, literally.”

Then Cas looks up, which pulls his wings up a smidge too, which in turn reveals that fully half a dozen neighborhood cats are lounging in the shady patch beneath his wings, spread out on the concrete like blobs of furry peanut butter. No, it’s actually eight cats. There are eight cats.

“Ling-Ling was feeling a little overheated,” Cas says, as if this explains everything. 

And, you know what, at this point, it does.

 19.  Dean has faith that eventually Sam or Cas or the third demon from the left in the second row will turn up a solution for the whole business. Castiel will get to tuck those bad boys back into the secret wing-closet dimension and he won’t have to worry about getting stuck in stairwells anymore, or being reported to the FAA (again). Then they can finally pack up the house, plaster over the more egregious spots of drywall damage, and go back to killing things outside of the tri-county area. The whole thing has been a pretty embarrassing interlude for a couple of dudes who’ve kicked Satan’s ass multiple times — Sam is probably telling other hunters that they’ve been deep undercover to take out a nest of suburban vampires, or a pack of ghouls with mortgages, instead of vacuuming angel down out of the AC unit and considering a Costco membership. 

And sure, there have been some...serious pluses to the situation (see: the other list), but, in his weaker moments, Dean has to admit that he’s kind of going to miss some of the goofy, irritating shit, too — like finding a six-inch feather in the veggie crisper (how? why?), or watching Cas fwap his wings out just in time to accidentally clothesline a jogger, or even the strangely compelling, sorta cheesy smell that starts to float around the house if Cas goes a little too long between hosedowns. 

He has actually grown fond of this shit. Which is 100% the least sexy thing on earth, it’s some genuinely, seriously pathetic goo goo crap, and that’s why nobody will ever hear a fucking word about it. People will ask “so what’s it like, with the wings” and Dean will waggle his eyebrows suggestively and review the highlight reel over an inadvisable amount of rail whiskey. His secret’s safe with, well. Him.

 20.  Seriously though, the bird mites. 

Gross.

[thesillygoosecompany]

✨😭

I’m Crying sparkles I guess lol

@void-snakat @awesome-opossum-after-hours

tag game!

Your last emojis are your gender

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@erikaskblog @fymo-blogs

[warriorbeeofthesea]

Tag meme

Rules: Answer 21 questions then tag 21 people

Thanks to @sharkmartini and @andakillerqueen for the tags!

Nickname: Most people call me my full name (Melissa) but my darling wife calls me Bee sometimes (and, uh, the discord kids have started calling me Aunt Fiona)

Zodiac: Scorpio

Height: 5'5"

Last Movie I Saw: oh my god, I had to look this up because it's been too long (I used to study film and left to my own devices I'd go to the theater at least once a week.) We mostly binge TV at home, so it looks like the last movie I saw was Crimes of Grindelwald, which I did not care for.

Last Thing I Googled: Opossum venom resistance

Favourite Musician: Rasputina

Song Stuck in My Head: Party in the USA

Other blogs: none, unless you count my LJ that hasn't been updated in a decade

Followers: 20

Following: 56

Amount of sleep: I've been so sleep deprived that apparently last night I managed to sleep a full 7 hours! This is mega rare.

Lucky numbers: a lot of my OCD episodes center around numbers, which is kind of a more fun obsession than imagining my loved ones dying horribly, so I don't mind it. While I'm not in it, though, I really couldn't tell you which numbers are important.

Dream Job: the job I have, of course! Won't go into detail, but it involves social justice, math, coding, being my weird self, collaborating with brilliant people, creativity, problem solving, and having people both challenge me and recognize my awesomeness. My advice: don't seek a specific title, seek qualities of a job that make you happy.

What I’m Wearing: jeans, a button up shirt I borrowed from my wife (gloriously beautiful print with tiny silver stars), sneakers I bought at a conference in Vegas when my chosen shoes destroyed my feet, and a blue raincoat that I love.

Favourite Food: there's this really specific thing I like from a breakfast place near me that caught on fire and closed, so I can't have it: a fruit omelet. I seriously have dreams about this. Second though is sushi.

Languages: English, obvs, and really bad French (I was going to minor in it in college until I switched to film)

Can I play an instrument: yes.... Can I play anything well? Not really. My most proficient instrument (when I actually practice) is the piano. I've been playing since I was 5, and I recently rescued my childhood piano from storage (giant 80s Clavinova) and moved it into my condo. I've also dabbled in guitar, flute, ukelele, viola, and spent a LONG time singing in choirs.

Favourite Song: changes all the time, but right now it's probably Up the Wolves by the Mountain Goats

Random Fact: I have a weird learning disability that I didn't find out about until I was done with school, but it explains a lot of my school troubles. It's called dysgraphia, and on the surface it means I have trouble doing things with my hands like writing and drawing and tying shoes (made tying my uniform tie in school difficult), but under the surface it's also this complicated thing with short term memory and organizing my thoughts, and sometimes I have panic attacks when I write, even via typing.

Describe yourself in aesthetic things: I'm not even sure! Red Rothys, my blue raincoat, nerdy art in vintage styles, retro futurism, robots, tulips, black and white photography, saturated colors, movement, taking pictures of people when they're talking or in motion but still having it come out flattering, golden skies after rain, crunchy leaves, enamel pins, and this unicorn my kid gave me for my birthday one year:

Tags: I'm sure you've already been tagged, but! @vkelleyart @maedhrosrussandol @kirito-potter @thatonepotatochild and anyone else who wants to <3

[hollygopossumlovesj2]

Come Back Down, Part 18

(Picture found from Google search. I take no credit for this pic.)

Word Count: 4,218

Warnings: Cussing and illness; I’m gonna call this a solid~Teen and up audience. The next chapter will move more quickly than this one but there are clues in this one for the next one. So... yeah.

Summary: Jensen and Y/N travel to Texas to spend the holiday with the Ackles. The parent’s are blissfully unaware of the trouble following Y/N.

A/N: Hey guys, I’m not dead like you probably thought I was. I’m just another anxious opossum that likes to write when I can. I’m not sure any of you would still like to read this but I kind of have to finish it for myself. Anyhow, I hope there’s still someone out there that wants to read this crap.

Come Back Down Master List

Hollygopossum’s Master List

Come Back Down Part 18

 After I had driven down from Vancouver to pick up Y/N, it had been a fairly quiet trip. I had borrowed Jared’s transport plane to avoid possible large crowds of people rushing home for the holidays for the rest of the trip. It was honestly the best for both of us. What, with her habit of telling people exactly what she thought and avoiding being flooded for pictures and signatures, it was a good plan. Not that I minded that she didn’t hesitate to speak her mind or the fans attention most of the time, it’s just that I was in a hurry to get home.

 The trip was perfect, except for the bit of indigestion the coffee I’d consumed earlier had created. I’d just taken to cramming down chalky tums every five minutes. If I alternated that with some Ativan and the occasional Pepto, who could blame me around the holidays?

 I couldn’t believe that it was nearly Thanksgiving already. It had actually aligned with the time frame of our visit if I added a few days onto the end of our trip. It had been a no brainer to stay and it sent Mom over the moon.

 The rental car had been ready as promised when we landed at the airport, a little inconspicuous black Lexus because I didn’t like to attract attention. I just wanted to get to my parent’s house and have a traditional, laidback holiday with them. Plus, I was excited about spending it with Y/N for the first time since we… well, you know.

 Yes, everything had been going fine up until that point, until I crouched down to slide into the low seat of the rental car. (By low, I mean how do people not get road rash on their ass driving these pretentious fucking roller skates?!) There was a blinding, sharp pain that caught me completely off guard and made me drop harder into the seat than I’d intended.

 The impact pushed an involuntary grunt out of my lungs as I dropped heavily into the seat. Undoubtedly, I had earned her full focus and concern that I’d been trying to avoid. However, I didn’t get to see her face because I was doubled over so hard that my forehead was on the steering wheel. I felt the weight of her hand sliding smooth circles intended to comfort even though she could have no idea what was wrong.

 “Jensen? Can I do something for you? Do I need to-.” I must’ve looked like a wreck as I felt the flop sweat beading up at my temples and the top of my lips. In an effort to keep her from panicking, I wiped the inner part of the sleeve covering my forearm as inconspicuously as possible. Despite my covert efforts, she sounded like she was on her way to being well and truly panicked. And that was just unacceptable.

 “M’okay. Jus’ a stomach cramp. I think I pulled a muscle in the last stunt I did.” It was a lie, but I knew she was already stressed about leaving her home and her animals. I had asked a few of the local PD to keep an eye on the place, and Mike was solidly keeping things under control. However, if you had a stalker, there’s no way you wouldn’t be stressed out, too.

 Besides, selfishly, I couldn’t afford any setbacks and I wouldn’t let something as trivial as a stomach ache get in the way of my plans.

 Unfortunately, the truth was, I’ve been feeling a little nauseated on and off for the better part of the week. I just didn’t take it seriously because my anxiety kicked up bouts of nausea all the time. Now, this pain was new and I grit my teeth together as it resonated for a couple of minutes before backing off to a dull ache.

 There was such a big contrast between having the sharp pain cramping my stomach and the red, hot poker stabbing into my side that seemed to change with every passing moment.

 I sat up slowly, taking even breaths and making a conscious effort to unlock my jaw before I put the car into reverse to back out without even turning to look at her. “Sorry. I’m fine. Must’ve just twisted funny.”

 I could feel her eyes watching me carefully, taking in all of the situation before she responded with an entirely unconvinced, “Okay.”

 ^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^

 “Well, honey, would you look at this? Our son is home for the first time this year!” Despite the sarcastic jab, Mom beamed at us when we walked through the door before I found myself in her rib crushing embrace. By now the pain had mostly eased off to only when I moved a certain way.

 The house smelled of cinnamon candles just like I knew it would, a sharp feeling of nostalgia making my eyes wet. My mom loved Christmas and kept some decorations up year round. Candles that were red and green in color could be found scattered artfully around the house, and mostly on the mantle in the living room. It wasn’t anything tacky like multicolored string lights and candy canes, but the nativity stayed on display right next to the fire place.

 I’d often wondered if it was entirely appropriate to put Mary and Baby Jesus next to an open fire. Or it could be that I’d spent way too much time on the show. Maybe I was the only one in the family that continually associated fire with hell and demons.

 “And you, don’t you hang back behind him like some blushing maid. We all know better, sweetie.” Y/N’s mock offense was funny before she too was wrapped in mom’s embrace.

 Even though I know Y/N had never asked her to, Mom had always taken it upon herself to watch out for her after her parents had died. Y/N’s mom had been her best friend so the sentiment wasn’t unfounded. She always got an invitation for every family gathering, even third cousin christenings. Most Christmas mornings, I would find her down on the couch in her pajamas practically wrapped around a fresh cup of coffee. She was always here, except for the years with that assbag boyfriend that had kept her away from us.

 “And he made you carry your own bags? Jensen Ross Ackles, I know I taught you better!” She grabbed the bags that Y/N had insisted on hobbling inside herself and gave me a stern look with her hands on her hips. I immediately felt like I was 5 years old again. “I swear.”

 “But, momma, she…” I felt obligated to voice the truth, but she wasn’t hearing any of it and I got distracted by Y/N’s gleeful laugh at my misfortunes.

 “Best you just do as your told son.” My father patted my shoulder before brushing past to hug Y/N and I wondered who the favorite child really was. I couldn’t help being a little pouty, even though I’d never ever voice it. I hadn’t seen them in months and yet here they were showering her with attention.

 “Oh, baby, you pull that bottom lip back in.” Mom grabbed my lip and tugged like she’d done a million times when I was growing up. “No one likes a pouter. Why don’t you take your things and get settled in. Dinner’ll be ready in about an hour. Your daddy is making bbq ribs.”

 I trudged up the stairs with all four bags while Y/N hobbled up the steps one at a time. She was still having trouble with that leg and recently she’d stopped wearing her brace at all. I often wondered if something else was going on but hadn’t the balls to ask just yet.

 I dropped the bags on my bed and surveyed the room. My old double sized bed sat in the middle of what could only be described as a shrine. All of my sports trophies were scattered on shelves with certificates of achievement and a few mementos from my younger years. There were some framed pictures sprinkled in that I recognized too.

 “Hey,” she leaned into my side, taking in the room right along with me for the first time since my parents had moved. “Sorry I got you in trouble.”

 I looked down to see her sheepish expression, flush still present on her cheeks and felt all the tension leave in one breath. I wrapped my arm over her shoulders to pull her closer and kissed the top of her head. “Don’t worry about it. They just haven’t seen you in a while.”

 “Yeah, I guess.”

 “I don’t think I can sleep in here.”

 “What, that awkward 90s poster getting to you? Because, I gotta be honest, I probably won’t be able to either because I won’t be able to stop mentally making fun of you.”

 “Hey, it was my first poster! I was excited!”

 “Those frosted tips, wow. You looked like a Zack from Saved by the Bell wanna be.”

 “Hey,” I pointed a finger at her, “You can’t talk shit about Zack, he was the epitome of cool back then.”

 “Uh huh. Whatever you say, darlin.” I looked down and could see the teasing smile on her face and relaxed again.

 “You’re terrible.”

 She turned in my arms and stood on the tips of her toes to kiss my lips. “Yes and you love me.” As she rested back onto her heels she winced. I couldn’t resist pulling her closer to me by her hips.

 “You gonna tell me what’s going on with you?”

 “Nothing’s going on with me. I’m fine.” She smiled again and I knew it was a lie because her eyes were trained on my old Dallas Cowboys bedspread. “Hey, do you think your parents would mind if I showered the plane germs off?”

 “Yes, they have a strict non-cleanliness policy. You can only shower once a week.” I deadpanned and loved her answering eye brow lift. “Of course they won’t mind. Go ahead. Knowing mom, she’s already got fresh towels and those little guest soaps on the counter.”

 “Awesome.” She reluctantly let go of me and grabbed a bag before disappearing down the hall. I waited for the telltale click of the bathroom door before I sat down on my bed with a heavy sigh.

 She hadn’t even given me the first hard time after the disagreement in her barn. She hadn’t even wasted any time before she asked Mike to stay and look after things. For that, I was grateful, because it made the arrangements that I had to make easier when I didn’t feel like I was dragging her along for the ride.

 I was extremely happy to have her here, surrounded by people I trusted implicitly. She was always happy to see my parents. I knew nothing bad would happen to her while we were here.

 ^*^*^*^*^*^*^

 Before I knew it, we had finished dinner, of which I had eaten carefully because my stomach still hadn’t calmed down since the incident when I got into the rental. If I sat mostly still, the nausea and dull ache were tolerable.

 “It’s good to have Y/N back here.” My father commented quietly from his seat at the old oak heirloom dining room table. We were having a cup of coffee while Mom and Y/N washed dishes and put away left overs. The next time when my Mom cooked, it would be Dad’s responsibility, but tonight Dad had grilled out for everyone. I’d always admired my parents balanced relationship. It wasn’t always that way in Texas.

 “Yeah, it really is.” I had to admit that I was enjoying having her back here with me. I’d always enjoyed the way my family and Y/N had interacted in the past, and this visit was no different. Mom and Dad knew things were different between us, but had yet to comment or treat her differently.

 For instance, at the dinner table, my Mom had taken to filling up Y/N’s plate with food rather than letting her dish out her own because she knew that Y/N wouldn’t eat much if she didn’t. It was a throw back to when her parents had died and my parents had done everything they could think of to help.

 The cleanup was always a point of contention between my mother and Y/N. Mom would insist she have a seat and that she would handle it. It was usually said in an intimidating enough tone that even I would’ve backed down immediately. But not Y/N.

 There was a scandalized, “Donna!” heard from Y/N over the hum of the dishwasher and the sink running, followed by loud giggles.

 “Well, that sounds suspicious.” My father remarked, throwing an analyzing gaze in their direction.

 I held in a laugh as my stomach felt too tight, but smiled. “Yes it does.”

 “Maybe we should check on how things are going…” I knew he wasn’t concerned; it was more like he didn’t want to miss out on the fun. I stood up as normally as I could manage, but it seemed that my father’s parental scrutiny picked up that there was a problem immediately. “You okay, son?”

 “Yeah. I’m just cramped and sore from traveling in that little toy Jared calls a plane.” I put my acting skills to use and smiled like everything was fine. He too scrutinized me with the same care that Y/N had done in the car.

 He’d eventually nodded, “Okay, well let’s go and stop whatever fool thing they’ll want to get us involved in. Remember the time your Mom and Y/N wrangled us into wine tasting a few Thanksgivings ago?”

 “How could I forget? Mom and Y/N got borderline smashed and disappeared.”

 “Yeah, they were feeding the palate cleansing crackers to the ducks at the pond.” He was shaking his head fondly, “And it wasn’t borderline anything, they were smashed. They kept getting samples of the Rosé from different staff.”

 I gave him an exaggerated look of worry, “We better get in there. I’m not carrying either one of their butts back to the car this year.”

 ^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^

 That night, with Y/N sleeping peacefully snuggled up on my shoulder, a stabbing pain jerked me from a deep sleep. This time, it didn’t let up and I felt lightening sharp pain spark in my stomach and saliva flooded my mouth as I tried to orientate myself.

 Oh, parents house.

 I was going to throw up.

 I tried to be as quiet and careful as possible as I slid out of the bed and made an unsteady beeline for the hall bathroom. It was down to the second when I slammed down on my knees and involuntarily lost my dad’s ribs in his incredible, family heirloom, special BBQ sauce. I was just thankful that I hadn’t bit it in the hall way and puked all over myself like a 5-year-old.

 I heaved until nothing was left, and then dry heaved some more. By the time I was done, I was light headed and covered in sweat with a fine shakiness set up in my bones. My stomach felt like it was flipped inside out and my throat was raw. I rested my aching head on the cold toilet lid after I flushed, trying to catch my breath and for the room to stop spinning. I waited for the pain in my gut to stop pounding like a damn beacon.

 God, the cold toilet seat felt good. I seriously considered just camping out. I mean, if the toilet was nice and cold, it stood to reason that the floor that was beckoning me would also be. It was so incredibly tempting because I had just barfed up my entire stomach contents and I felt exhausted. But, that would signal that something was wrong and there was no need to panic over a stomach bug or food poisoning.

 It was possible the grilled chicken sandwich I’d snuck from set had gone bad. (To be fair, we didn’t really have to sneak anything from set. The crew loved us to the point of getting away with murder.) It only took a few hours for food poisoning to kick in. I’d have to call Jared to check on him since he’d eaten the same kind of sandwich. What else could it be?

 I took a moment to brush my teeth and collect myself before I crept back into the room. I then swapped out my boxers and left my t shirt off. By then, the sweat was cooling on my skin that caused goosebumps to pop up. The slight shiver I’d developed didn’t make my stomach feel any better, but even then it was better than being overly hot like before.

 She was undisturbed and peaceful, and I was loathing to disrupt her. She had enough on her plate that didn’t involve me being sick. So, I laid there counting her eye lashes until I finally fell asleep.

 ^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^

 The next morning, I woke up before Y/N and took a quick shower, hoping to look better than I felt. The nausea was still there, but I hadn’t thrown up since last night. No, what was really concerning was the pale faced guy with rosy cheeks that had stared back from the mirror. That, and the pain in my abdomen that had kicked it up a notch.

 “Hey.” She greeted me with a smile when I entered the bedroom to hand her a cup of coffee, defiled just the way she liked it.

 “Hey, sweetheart, did you sleep okay?” I held my most disarming smile long enough for her to take the coffee so that I could curl up next to her and rest my forehead against her neck.

 “Yeah, I did. Did you?”

 Nothing sounded like she was suspicious and there was no reason to make her worry. “I did.”

 It was quiet for a moment while she sipped at her coffee and hummed in approval. I tucked in closer, throwing my leg over hers and wrapping an arm carefully around her waist. It felt fucking fantastic snuggled up next to her. For the first time I questioned coming home. If we’d stayed in Wyoming it would’ve been easy to convince her to stay in bed for most of the day. Without a confirmed illness my parents would drag us out to be social.

 She had downed at least half of the warm, aromatic brew before she hummed a bit more emphatically. “Mmmm, your parents make the best coffee. Do you think I can weasel the brand out of them?”

 “Dad grows and roasts his own coffee beans, but I bet you could talk him out of a bag. Maybe one could make its way into your stocking. You’ll have to talk to Santa about that one.” The pain and tightness was fading a little and I found I could finally take a deep breath as she laughed.

 “So, what’s on the agenda today, love?” She slid her arm over my shoulder to rub my back in slow, calming movements. “You’re awfully warm… are you okay?”

 “Love, huh? I like it.” I let the warmth the pet name brought me settle in my chest before I attempted to move like a bomb would go off in my belly if I didn’t go a certain way. I shifted to sit on the edge of the bed, struggling and hoping she couldn’t tell. “I’m fine, just did a few errands for Mom. You know how she can be.”

 “Yeah, I guess.”

 She was definitely suspicious, but I wasn’t gonna give her a chance to examine her theories in any sort of detail. “I’m gonna head downstairs to see if they need anything else. I’ll see you when you get that cute ass out of bed.”

 I was up and out of there before she could say a word, but I nearly ruined the perfect getaway by losing my balance. Luckily the wall had been there to catch my clumsy ass and I just bruised my elbow. Who does that, I mean, really?

 When I found my mother, she was wiping down the counters. She was obsessed with keeping the kitchen spotless. I’d been able to distract her long enough to ask if there was anything I could do to help.

 So, that’s how I ended up pulling ten boxes of Christmas crap out of the attic and a couple more from the garage. It was ridiculous how much my mother loved Christmas. It is an all year type of celebration. She leaves as much out as Mackenzie would allow before becoming personally offended. I believe her favorite phrase when she was 16, was to the effect of us being a bunch of rednecks. To which Mom replied, “Maybe I am a redneck and proud of it! Now get your behind over here and help your brother string the popcorn and cranberries.” Oh, man had she been grumpy and unpleasant to work with.

  My childhood was always filled with fantastic, traditional Christmases, and they really hadn’t stopped when I became an adult. She always had a way of making everything about Christmas magical right down to the personalized stockings on the mantle, to notes in said stockings that told us her hopes for our lives and how proud she was of us.

 Once I was done hauling some of the boxes in, I had worked myself back into sweating profusely and the abdomen below my belly button was starting to feel like a hot poker was stabbing me over and over in rhythmic pulses.

 Then, it was my mother’s turn to fawn and question my health. ‘Are you feeling okay?’

 “M’fine.” I grumbled as I grabbed a lemon-lime Gatorade from the fridge before I attempted to stand up straight like the proud Texan I am. All it did was make her give me that look. The look that said I better spill or she’ll have my precious nuts in a vice.

 “I’ve known you best your whole life, son. Since you were in the womb of my belly,” I had to cringe here because, gross. “I know when something’s wrong Jensen Ross. You had better fess up or I’ll…”

 Apparently not feeling well made me a tad bit suicidal, “You’ll what, show her my old, embarrassing pictures? Nice try, but she’s seen them all!” I couldn’t help smiling in triumph.

 “That may be true, but I am still your mother and I have my ways.” Her hands were reaching out to touch my forehead and if she made contact the charade would be over instantly.

 I backed a step away, “Everything is fine, momma.”

 We were in the stare down of my life and she was pulling out the tearful eyes and deeply concerned face only reserved for manipulation.

 Surprisingly, she was the one to cave first, “what are you doing with Y/N? You were just filing for divorce a month ago. Don’t you think this might be moving fast?”

 This. This I could answer with all the honesty I had left. “Momma, we’ve been moving towards this since her parents died that Summer. I think I… Mom, she’s my favorite person. She always knows what to do when I fall apart. She’s been filling in the holes to my marriage for years.”

 “Are you telling me you-?!” I could tell she had taken that whole statement the wrong way, but it was better to keep her distracted from the obvious. I wanted for Y/N, Mom and Dad to have the best holiday. A visit to the ER for a stomach virus? That was just stupid and I didn’t want to be viewed as a pathogenic mess on the holidays.

 “No, I’m talking the best friend part that Danneel was supposed to be. The part that puts me first and that I put her first. The part that doesn’t run away when I get a bad cold or have a metaphorical bump in the road. She’s the one I should’ve seen before. And, before you go jumping on that, I thought I loved her, Mom. I, fuck… I didn’t plan on getting a divorce and you know the last person I would’ve wanted to disappoint would be you. We never cheated, Mom.” Ugh, the fever I didn’t realize I had was making my eyes water like a pushed button.

 “Oh, honey, I didn’t mean to make you upset.” The thought of my mother actually believing that I might’ve cheated was seared in my brain and left me caught off guard. So, when she leaned in for a hug, I didn’t resist and the impact of a firm hug from my mother cued up the best acting I’d done. Ever.

 I held in the grunt of pain created by just the small bit of pressure applied to my abdomen. With my face tucked against her neck, she couldn’t see me go red in the face.

 “You are a little warm, baby. Keep an eye on that, okay?” She patted my back in what would normally be a comfort but sent shock waves through my entire body. Like my nerves were too sensitive and on freakin fire.

 “I will, Mom.”

Tagging Forever’s: (I know I haven’t written in a while. So, if you would like for me to take you off the list just let me know.) @perpetualabsurdity, @maileann, @daydreamingintheimpala, @gecko9596, @gemini75eeyore, @jotink78, @dancingalone21, @winchesterprincessbride, @sandlee44, @exploratiionist, @arryn-nyx, @littledarlinhavefaithinme, @tiffanycaruso, @boredoutofmymindstuff, @feelmyroarrrr, @raeganr99, @ruprecht0420, @anokhi07, @letsgetyourdeanon, @sis-tafics, @jensen-gal, @theoneandonlysaucymo, @27bmm, @callmesatansprincess, @hbenth, @atc74, @ryansgirl5509, @mysteriouslyme82, @notnaturalanahi, @keepcalmandcarryondean, @sea040561, @just-another-busy-fangirl, @spn67-sister, @uniquewerewolfsuit, @ria132love, @mrswhozeewhatsis, @pretty-fortune, @butiaintgonnaloveem, @justanotherdeangirl, @weasleywinchester, @easelweasel, @akshi8278, @tas898, @mandymoiselle1970, @pansexualmeteorite, @wheresthekillswitch

Tagging CBD Only: @melissaj616, @katrena7, @deansdirtyduchess, @anticipate1003, @jellersquad, @jalove-wecallhimdean, @shamelesslydean

[thesillygoosecompany]

THANK YOUUU FOR DA TAG :DDD

tagged by: @itsgirldinneryouwouldntknowitsgirldinneryouwouldntknow

Last song: Daisies by Black Gryph0n and baasik (I have been listening to this on repeat…)

favourite colour: blue

last book: last finished book was book of bill. One I’m on now is about quantum physics or some crap lol

Last movie: Hot fuzz (Edgar wright is so good)

Last TV show: rewatching Hazbin hotel(daisys got me obsessed again) most recent one I haven’t watched before is probs toh

sweet/spicy/savoury: sweet easssyy

relationship status: single Pringle, never gonna mingle lol

Last thing I googled: Ghost bustin essentials

Current obsession: Hazbin hotel again (what have you done to me Black Gryph0n)

looking forward to: DA SPOOKIEST DAY OF DA SPOOKIEST MONTH BABYYYYYYY

tagging: my OG Mutal @children-of-moss @void-snakat (chu seem cool :D) @awesome-opossum-after-hours (writes cool fics :D)

ten people i'd like to get to know better

tagged by: @megkuna thanks <333

last song: the phantom of the opera

favorite color: muted green

last book: uhhhhhh oh man i really need to start reading books

last movie: phantom of the opera which i watched with a friend

last tv show: the original star trek which i also watched with a friend

sweet/spicy/savory: sweet, i love sugar too much

relationship status: single and not looking, i'd rather just have more friends

last thing i googled: "how to know if skincare routine is too harsh" my pimples hurt in a Different way now :(

current obsession: probably still mob psycho 100 but it's not what it used to be. yay depression

looking forward to: when my family finally moves into the new house

tagging: @scarecloud69 @disorganised-thoughtss @daneonrainbow @lawful-goof @officialkarinuzumaki @leo-probably @vychodocech @umkayonninay @mocha-blossom @spageddy29 no pressure though <3

[lisaroquin]

yeah, I’m a redneck, but leave the kids alone no matter your opinion

I suppose this all falls under the disconnect, absolute ignorance, and what most out in the sticks would just shake their heads or roll thier eyes with various levels of disbelief and/or disgust at 'city stupid'

Like the post I've seen several times on my dash about calf nose tags, or the post that has gone around several times at OMGWTFBBQ!!! Pigs are big?

THere was a post "I'll unfriend you if you post a dead deer and your six year old kid" and the hilariously stupid on that of "I don't kill anything for my food, I buy it at the grocery store like a civilized person"

"Civilized" in that case is extremely disconnected. Dude the meat you buy at the grocery store did not just magically appear. Yeah something was killed for it, even if you want to pretend otherwise and didn't do it yourself, something was killed for it. And a hell of a lot more of that animal was probably wasted than the deer some kid was proud as hell of bringing down. (Now trophy hunters after a set of antlers make me fucking see red, but that is not the majority--though the pricing of hunting permits certainly seem to cater to those fuckers. Nor do I have much use for 'fish-in-a-barrel hunting where wildlife ranches sell 'hunting packages' with animals trained to show up in certain spots because food is always left out there)

Hunting season is actually a necessary part of wildlife management--it is also limited, the amount of hunting permits can vary from year to year, and the type of permit (doe or buck for deer season since that is what is coming up and had the comment of stupidity about being 'civilized')  

Wildlife management is about maintaining healthy wild populations. Overpopulation? Means starvation for a deer population because too many deer, not enough to eat, that crosses over to damaged and destroyed crops--which if there's enough of that, your civilized food--particularly cereals or grain based of any type go up in cost. Farmers financial issues can result from that--and guess what civilized folks, that impacts you. Because family farms are a hell of a lot better for the environment than corporate--corporate farms do not give a fuck. The ones making the money are in a city somewhere and do not care about the runoff of anything be it animal waste or chemicals into the water table. (and on a side note--the massive issues of growth hormone and antibiotics in meat supplies come down from fda type mandates on 'safe food standards' same with so much of hte chemicals now used in crop production--pushed by corps, forced on farmers that originally were clueless on how the long term issues would go. family farms keep their animals healthy because their family *depends* on it. and pay a hell of a lot more attention to the impact of things on the land because *their family lives there* and will be effected first.)

Over population also means disease.  Some which very easily hops species to farm animals, and there goes your 'civilized food' at the grocery store, possibly contamniated, recalls. etc etc etc.

And the diseases can wipe out wild populations in an area, can cause some major problems that spread just--well like we had bluetongue go through the deer around here about 3yrs ago. Lot of dead deer around, just dropping dead with cyanotic lips and tongues and then you have the issues brought by carcasses rotting especially along the rivers, which I live near. Populations devastated by disease have years, possibly decades coming back from that and rebalancing the areas ecosystem.

Wildlife management --which includes hunting for some animals--actually keeps the population healthy and prevents the spread of diseases, starvation of the wildlife etc.

But that (eventual, always a few, majority I see ar emore like 10-14 of kids w/ deer but sometimes the littler one gets a really lucky shot) little kid you're howling about pictured with that dead deer--do you know what that little kid actually did? That little kid was up by four at the latest, to go out, and walking through terrain that is not a stroll in park. November--cold, wet, 4am. While there my not be snow, temps esp in early morning are not higher than 20s F (which, for those of you measuring temps differently 32 is freezing). Wait in dew and cold, rain or snow easily possiblilities as well, and quite possibly come home with jack shit, hours of patience and down right cold and shitty-ick-to miserable if it's rainy/snowy for nothing. A permit doesn't mean you get a deer, just means you have a *chance* at getting a deer.

So that six, seven eight year old--who has by the point they go out hunting had hours upon hours of gun safety, like as not been put through hunting and gun safety classes--spends hours of at least semi challenging endurance (which the civilized commenter going to the grocery store probably couldn't stand and would be appalled at). Has had numerous types of wildlife sign, plants, etc pointed out (if they haven't already learned htem) has spent *HOURS* huddled up with parent/grandparent/aunt/uncle and a sibling or cousin or two pending how big the hunting party is and how scattered they are where they're hunting, even if they're sitting up in a deer blind, that's generally fucking cold and windy and not a lot of room so only two or three likely in it (because yup women and girls hunt too, this is not toxic masculinity. Hell I know some women who'll leave the husband at home with the kids and go on a girls hunting trip. hubby more city and doesn't hunt in the particular case I'm thinking of) *gasp* the horrors, hours of quiet conversation, passing down of knowledge.

So the kid gets a deer and is over the fucking moon because actually got one. Picture necessary. Just like any other activity the kid is in (little league/softball/soccer/dance/band/choir/midget football wtf ever)

You know what happens then? The kid gets a lesson in field dressing most likely. Possibly a lesson in butchering--pending if the parents/grandparents do it themselves or they take it to a meat locker to do.

That little kid you'e so horrified over, just provided a fuck of a lot of meat for their family for the winter--and that meat will not be wasted. Unlike the civilized meat at the grocery store which is garbage when it gets past it's packaged expiration date. (and for those of you that don't know--Bambi tastes fucking awesome. Lot like beef only a bit stronger and richer, for the most general comparison) That kid just possibly fed their family for the next two fucking months. That kid has put in some long miserable hours to get that deer, because you don't just walk out and boom come home with a big deer (that *can* happen but realistically it's several days of freezing your ass off, hoping and praying like hell you actually get something. I'm not arguing sport or not--but it is work, with some real fucking physical effort and physical endurance as well as, usually, hours upon hours of patience put in to get a deer)

And if the family is really lucky and the household brings down their limit--which means they have more than their freezer can hold--it's gifted. There's papers got to fill out --yep you have to have your hunting license and have paperwork to legally have deer in your freezer. Has to be accounted for in case of poaching investigation ever cropping up (hey that gives someone a minimum wage data entry job with gov bennies so whatever even if is rather redundant and aggravating for the common folk.) so fill out your gifting paper and give it along with some meat to extended family/neighbors etc.

Several foodbanks accept deer. And give the meat to people who are at the fucking foodbank because they can't afford to eat.

That little kid grinning so proudly with their deer--deserves to be proud. And in the process of getting that deer have gotten a hell of a lot of lessons in everything from gun safety, nature, possibly wildlife diseases (hopefully not, because that would mean there are visible signs of disease on the deer, and meat then unsafe to eat.) has put more time, effort and discomfort into that than a 'civilized' person at the grocery store will ever grasp--even in the learning of gun safety and so on to be able to go, long before there's thought of that child going hunting. That little kid just learned a hell of a lot more of what it takes to feed their family or strangers if that meat is donated, what it feels like to really accomplish something worthwhile. That little kid has spent more time out in nature than the 'civilized' person deriding them and their family likely has--even if one counts a manicured public park as nature.

That little kid has learned a  hell of a lot bringing down that deer, even getting to the point it was deemed they could go hunting. (no one takes a completely untaught and unmindful child hunting). That little kid, is a kid who knows how to listen, who knows how to follow instruction and learn, is a kid who has more respect for and knowledge of wildlife and nature than some airhead model prancing around naked for PETA. Is a kid who has spent hours upon hours time with parent/older family member, probably listening to stories of parent/aunts/uncles childhood, grandparents childhood. Like as not with a few lessons thrown in unthinkingly like finding deer tracks/trails, possibly (probably) spotting other tracks--beaver, raccoon, badger, opossum, dog/coyote/wolf, and around here mountain lion. Seeing plenty of other animals and birds besides the deer they're looking for--around here fucking massive populations of wild turkey, plus hawks, eagles, vast assortment of smaller birds, geese and ducks migrating etc.

Y'all so up in arms at all this flailing and wringing hands....

Why don't you take a hunting safety course? You don't have to hunt to take the course, but more and more (if not almost all) places require it for child hunters these days. See what that kid has actually learned before they go near hunting.

Look up deer diseases. Look up the issues with localized overpopulation of wildlife. Look up sharedeer.org.

Hunting is not for everyone, that's fine. (Fuck no, while I'll gladly accept some venison even pay for processing of part of a deer, my ass is not going out and freezing for hours for maybe nothing. Joint deterioration I have is not about to let me even if I wanted to)

But y'all love to go on about 'don't like, scroll on, don't be an asshole' practice what you preach.

Yeah. Scroll on, quietly delete, whatever. Just shut up about it. You don't have to be an asshole--especially about a kid that is quite possibly better educated on several 'uncivilized' subjects like wildlife,gun safety, butchering and meat processing than you'll ever be. A kid that actually *put a fuck of a lot of effort and discomfort* in accomplishing something that will feed their family and/or others, with meat that sure as hell isn't going to be wasted like meat at the supermarket might be (and pro-tip, folks who take their *child* hunting aren't big macho dickheads looking for a trophy, they're looking for fucking *food* and quite probably have scrimped and saved back a dollar here five there for the chance at getting that food becuase hunting permits are not fucking cheap and those looking for food are not rich.) That kid so proud of their deer-- honestly worked for that deer with the amount of effort and discomfort and time put into getting it. Has learned a hell of a lot in the process of getting that deer, and just had the time of their life with parent/grandparent/older relative of some sort in the process of it as well as a good deal of conversation with parent/grandparent/older relative.

Y'all, go watch Lion King again maybe? Maybe that will help you grasp a bit of circle of life.... think what you want, scroll past, unfriend/unfollow wtf, but *don't fucking be an asshole and post shit at the kid.*  That kid deserves to be proud, and so do their parents.

[uncrasimaticbore]

The Princess Comes to Earth

The Princess Comes to Earth

This is it! Star thought as she walked towards the throne room, flanked on either side by guards. It was her 14th birthday, and as per tradition, today was the day she would receive the family’s wand, a very powerful artifact. As she entered the room, the guards on either side of the aisle stood to attention her guards followed her, stopping at the bottom of the steps before the thrones of the king and queen. Star slowly walked up the steps toward her parents who were both standing in front of their thrones and smiling reassuringly toward her. Once she reached the top, her mother spoke. “Star Butterfly, do you promise to keep the wand safe from those who would use it for personal gain, as well as yourself.”

“I do,” Star replied.

“Then I, Moon Butterfly, Queen of Mewni, relinquish the wand into your care.” The queen handed her the wand and a bright light enveloped it as it changed, which didn’t phase Star at all, as she knew this would happen. After the light faded, her mother’s wand was gone, and in its place was Star’s. It was a light purple rod, topped with a sphere of the same color, though blue in the middle with wings on either side, and in the very center was a star shaped crystal. Fitting. Star thought. She turned around and held the wand high above her head and the guards all knelt before her. Her parents stood beside her and her mother spoke. “All hail, Star Butterfly. Future Queen of-”

Suddenly the doors burst opened, and a group of monsters entered the room.“Not so fast, Princess!” a voice said as a small bird-like creature emerged from the crowd, wearing a green cloak and a skull on his head almost like a crown.

    “Ludo! How did you get in here?” Queen Butterfly asked.

    “I have my ways,” Ludo smirked and turned to his forces. “NOW BRING ME THAT WAND!”

    Queen Butterfly jumped in front of her family and dropped into a fighting stance, almost reflexively reaching to grab her wand from her belt, only to find it wasn’t there. She was almost trampled until she gave a hard uppercut to the first monster, causing the others to fall down like dominoes. She turned to her husband and daughter, “Go, I’ll hold them off.”

    “Mom?”

    The king grabbed his daughter’s arm. “We need to leave.”     “But-”

    “There’s no time.” The king pulled his daughter’s arm as they fled. Star, still looking back, saw her mother flash a reassuring smile before she was dog piled by monsters.

    They kept running until they reached the king’s study and barricaded the door.

    “You’re mother should be back in about five minutes, but just in case, we need to get you out of here, at least temporarily,” the king said. He started grabbing things from his desk and threw them into a bag handed it to Star.

    “Take these.”

    “What are they?” She reached into the bag, pulled one of the objects out and examined it. It was a  small card with a picture of her on it and said in a strange language, Echo Creek Academy.

    “You’re mother and I were going to send you to a safer dimension so you could practice your magic in peace. We’ve already made all the proper arrangements and were going to send you tomorrow, but the attack expedited matters. You should have a map of the town, your school ID, and the address of where you’ll be staying. I’ve already met the family, the Diaz's  and they’re quite nice.” He grabbed his dimensional scissors cut open a portal that was a bright blue.

    “Now hurry!”

Star was about to step into the portal and looked back at her father for what could possibly be the last time. “Goodbye, dad.”

“Goodbye, Star.”

“Goodbye, Mewni.” Star sighed as she stepped through the portal.

When she was through she was outside of a large building. There was a sign in front that read, in the same language as the card, “Echo Creek Academy: Home of the Awesome Opossums” with a statue of a strange creature next to it.

“This appears to be the right place.” Star sighed and walked in.

She started wandering aimlessly around the hallways until she came across a short balding man with glasses and went up to him. “Pardon me sir, but I was wondering if you could point me in the direction of the headmaster’s office?”

The man laughed. “ That would be me, and it’s actually principal. Principal Skeeves. You must be our new exchange student. Comet, was it?”

“Star, actually.”

“Oh, sorry, I get names confused sometimes. We weren’t expecting you until tomorrow, but it’s fine. Are your parents with you, by any chance?”

“No, something came up. That’s why I came early like I did.”

“It’s okay, things happen when you're royalty. Well, Star, follow me to my office and I’ll help you get situated.”

As they walked towards the office, the bell rang and students started filling the halls. One, in a red hoodie, started spray painting something on the side of a wall.

“Marco Diaz! Come with me to my office immediately!”

Diaz?!  That meant… Star thought.

The boy let out a moan in protest. “Ffffffffffine.” He turns around and Star can see his face. He clearly hadn't shaven in a while, and had a bandage on the right side of his face. His hair was all sticking up in the front. Then Star sees his eyes. They were like pools of dark chocolate, and just as bitter, with eyeliner around them. Star didn't particularly like chocolate, especially dark, but there was something odd about this boy.

Marco turned around, caught in the act, yet again, and saw what looked like an angel. She had long soft looking blonde hair that went down to her knees, and a dress like one princesses wore. She had hearts on her cheeks for some reason, and a headband with bows in it. Then Marco saw her eyes. Bright baby blue, and just as innocent. Marco hated innocence, and princesses, and angels, and blue, for that matter, he was more into red, but there was something off about this girl.

    As they walked the all too familiar route, the girl turned to him and held out her hand.

    “I’m Star Butterfly. I’m the new exchange student.”

    Exchange student?! That meant....

    Marco scoffed. “What kind of name is that?”

    “A royal one. What kind of name is Diaz?”

    “A common one.” So she is a princess. Marco thought.

    Oh thank goodness. Star thought.

They reached the principal’s office and went inside.

“Well,” Skeeves began, “This is actually pretty convenient, I was going to have our best student show you around but, unfortunately, Mr. Greeson is home sick with food poisoning.” He glared at Marco. “So it looks like Mr. Diaz here is going to have to show you around instead.”

“What?! I did not agree to this!” Marco retorted.

“Well, once you're done you can go home, seeing as how you're now suspended for vandalism.”

“Ugh! Fine! Let's go, Your Worshipfulness.”

“It’s ’Your Highness’, thank you very much.” the princess replied as they walked out.

“And right there's the gym, where my favorite class is.” Marco said as the tour went on.

“You have a whole class period dedicated to physical activity? That's… interesting.”

“What? Are you afraid you’ll break a nail?”

“Quite the contrary, I just thought that it would make more sense for people to do so on there own time.”

    “Well, some do, some don't. I always try to get plenty of exercise, myself.” Marco said as he flexed and Star rolled her eyes and smirked.

“Is that so?”

Suddenly there was a flash of light and a strange giant moth creature appeared and let out a deafening shriek.

“Stand back, princess.” Marco said, dropping into a fighting stance ready to whoop some rear, but the creature simply flew away.

“What was that?”

“What? Are you telling me that your daily workout regiment doesn’t involve fighting monsters?” Star asked.

“But how did you…?”

“I don’t think you would understand.”

“Tell me.”

“Well, you see, I’m a magical princess from another dimension.”

“Right… And that brings us to the end of our tour. I’m going to go home now and take a nice long cold shower.” Marco turned around and took off running

Star yelled. “Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. Diaz!” Some people are just so rude. She opened the bag and dug through to find the map of the town with the school and the Diaz residence circled on it. “I suppose it’s time to start walking.” And so, Star Butterfly began her journey to her new home.

Marco, instead of going home, knowing he still had a few hours until he had to, decided to hit the mall for a bit to meet up with some friends in the food court. All he had to do to find them was follow the trail of dropped french fries and disgusted girls. When he reached the end, he saw them and walked over to them. “Alfonzo! Ferguson! What’s up?”

One of them, a slightly overweight ginger looked up and smirked. “What took you so long?”

“Sorry, Ferg, I had to play tour guide due to poor old Oskar getting sick.”

“Don’t worry about it. So, you’re suspended tomorrow just like we planned, right?”

“Yeah, but I don’t think my parents will let me leave the house. Remember when we tried this last time?”

“Fair enough, I can always get someone else to do it if you’re too chicken.”

“It’s not just that, Ferg, the person I had to tour around was the new exchange student.”

“So?”

“You know my parents, they always take these kids in, so that means she’ll be settling in tomorrow. And, you’re probably going to think I’m crazy, but, she’s apparently some magic alien princess or something who fights monsters daily.”

“Y’know, you could just say you didn’t want to do it.”

“You know what, we came this far. Let’s do it tonight.” Marco looked at his watch. “Ah shoot, I gotta go. If I’m late again my parents will literally kill me.”

Ferguson handed him a small device. “This should have all you need, let’s plan for around nine?”

“Godspeed, Marco.” the other boy at the table said.

“Thanks Alfonzo.” Marco said as he ran off.

It was almost sunset when Star reached the house that matched the address on her map. It was two stories, but seemed a little small to Star. She got a feeling that she was being watched and looked around. Seeing nothing, she double checked the address, not wanting an awkward encounter, and knocked on the door. It opened with a tall burly man on the other side who looked skeptically at Star. “You know, Halloween isn’t for another couple months.”

“I’m Star Butterfly, the exchange student. Is this the Diaz residence, by any chance?”

The man smiled brightly. “Why, yes it is. Come in, come in. Make yourself at home.”

He ran over to the stairs. “Angie!” Mr. Diaz yelled. “The princess is here!”

“Already? I’ll prepare her room while you stall.” a voice yelled back.

Star made her way over to the living room and sat down on a green couch as Mr. Diaz entered and held out his hand. “Pleasure to finally meet you, Star. We weren’t planning on you arriving so soon. How are you parents?”

“They’re fine. Something came up so they couldn’t be here.”

“That’s a shame, they’re very nice people. So, you’re in our son’s class, right? He’s a little rough around the edges, but he’s a good kid. You’d be a good influence on him.”

“I don’t believe I’ve met him yet.” That doesn’t sound like the Diaz I met.

“Really? Well, he should be home soon. I hope you two become great friends.” Nevermind.

A woman came down the stairs and smiled at Star. “Hi Star. I’m Mrs. Diaz, your room’s already been prepared, but if you’d like, you can wait until Marco gets home and we can get you introduced.”

“That would be lovely, Mrs. Diaz.”

“Great!” Mrs. Diaz said as the door opened. “I think that’s him right now.” The Diaz’s went to the door to greet their son.

“Hey, mom and dad.”

“We have a little surprise for you.” Mr Diaz said.

    Marco smirked. “Really? Whatever could it be?”

    Mrs. Diaz beamed. “Well, you know how we always take in foreign exchange students.”

    Marco frowned. “You didn’t.”

    “We sure did! Come here Star.” Star got up and walked towards them. “Star, this is our son Marco. Marco, this is Star Butterfly. She’s a-

“Magical princess from another dimension,” Marco interrupted.  “Yeah, I know. I had to show her around school today.”

“Well, I’m glad you two have already met, then you can show her her room.”

Marco started up the stairs. “Let’s go, your highness.”

“Aw, you remembered. How sweet.” Star smirked as she followed Marco up the stairs.

Outside, hiding in a tree, a humanoid frog creature watched what had transpired. He chuckled to himself and pulled out a pair of dimensional scissors. He cut open a portal and stepped through to enter his master’s throne room, his throne facing away from him. He saluted his master and croaked before giving his report. “Ludo, master, I've tracked down Star Butterfly. They've hidden her in the Earth dimension. Unguarded.”

“Excellent. I knew they couldn’t hide that brat from me forever.” Ludo turned around, sitting on top of several pillows, due to not being big enough to sit in his father’s old throne. “Soon the wand shall be mine. And then, the universe. And then… Actually, I think the universe will be plenty.” He then began laughing maniacally.

“And here’s your room.” Marco said as he opened the door to the Star’s room. It was very small and had several large pieces of luggage inside and a bed.

“I think I can work with this.” Star said. She began looking through one of the suitcases and dug out a giant book and flipped through it and stopped on a page. “Here we are. SPARKLE GLITTER BOMB EXPAND!” Suddenly, the wood on the walls turned to stone and what looked like a castle tower grew out of the side of the house.

“Okay, I’m going to let you get situated. I’ll be in my room for the next couple hours. Please, if you value your life, knock.”

When Marco got to his room, he closed the door tightly, turned on his laptop, and plugged in the device Ferguson gave him. It was just about nine. Alright. Let’s do this.

After unpacking all of her things and organizing them, Star looked at the time. It was almost one in the morning. Thank goodness I don’t need to go in. She realized she was hungry and decided to go get a snack, thinking the Diaz’s wouldn’t mind. As she walked past Marco’s room, she noticed a faint glow coming from inside and heard strange noises she believed to be Marco. She knocked on the door and waited for a few seconds. She slowly opened the door and crept in. She could here him muttering while he was almost hunched over a computer, wearing headphones, and she could barely see what was on it, but as she got closer until she was right behind him, she realized what it was and quietly gasped. On the bottom of the screen, in the middle was what looked like some kind of wizard in some weird dungeon. Away from the wizard were two elves and a dwarf all swarming around a giant monster. The characters had names above the, the elves being named Lbow-Greese and Jayco, and the dwarf was Ferg-the-win. As soon as the monster died, she could hear three voices come from the headphones as Marco leaned back and accidentally elbowed her.

“YAH- Wait a minute guys.” Marco said as he took of his headphones and turned around. When he saw Star, his eyes went wide with fear, then he gave her a death glare. “Don’t tell anyone. Got it?”     Star simply laughed. “What, that the school’s biggest bad boy is actually a nerd?”

Marco’s face went red and he ran out of the room.

Star grabbed his headset and put it on. “Hello, this is Star, Marco’s new roommate. He just left. I’m going to collect his loot for him and I will be out of here shortly.”

“He’ll probably be at the convenience store down the street, north. You should go talk to him.” a girl said over the headset.

“Thank you. How do you know this?”

“Oh, I know a lot of things about Marco. The name’s Jackie, by the way.”

“Well, thank you, Jackie.” Star got the loot, logged Marco out, turned off his computer, and headed north.

Star reached a small building and, seeing Marco standing out front, approached him. Marco sighed. “Here to make fun of me?”

“Quite the contrary, actually, I’m just worried about you and so is your girlfriend.”

“Who?”

“Jackie, I thought you two were.”

“Naw, she’s just obsessed with me, and though I’m flattered, I don’t really feel the same way. She knows, and is a vital member of my guild, so I keep her around.” Star found that a relief... for some reason. Why?

“Look, I’m sorry about spying on you. I won’t tell anyone about your little secret. Promise. I just can’t leave you like this.”

“Ok, I was actually going to come back in a few minutes anyways. Thanks for… coming.” Marco stopped as he saw something behind Star. It looked like some sort of dark portal from which several monsters emerged, led by a small bird like creature with some weird skull crown.

“Ludo! How did you find me?” Star asked the creature.

“Oh, come on, Princess, we’ve already been through this. I have my ways.” Ludo turned to his henchmen. “You know the drill, boys, get me that wand.

Marco instinctively pushed Star behind him and dropped into a fighting stance. “Stand back, princess.”

“Thank you, but I can take care of myself.” Star said, standing beside Marco, getting into a fighting stance herself. This is not the same girl I met this morning. Marco thought

“I thought you said she was unguarded!” Ludo asked what looked like a giant frog.

“I did not know he was protection.” the frog replied.

The monsters all charged. Marco and Star looked at each other and Star could have sworn she saw Marco give her an actual smile, not a smirk. They looked at the oncoming monsters and took them on.

    After an intense battle, thanks to Marco’s boxing skills and Star’s magic, the monsters and narwhals were strewn about the parking lot. Star walked up to Ludo, who was somehow unscathed by the fight and smirked at him, tossing her wand in her hands. “Did you really think that would work?”

Ludo sighed, “It almost did.” He pulled out a pair of dimensional scissors to open a portal and called out to his cronies, “Come on boys, let’s go home.” All of the monsters got up and started walking towards the portal. “This is what happens when you don’t work out!” Ludo complained. “You’re muscles turn to jelly!” The last to enter before Ludo was the giant frog who was still hallucinating, thanks to one of Star’s spells. Ludo then entered the portal, poking his head out. “I’ll get you next time Star Butterfly! Mark my words, I will have my reven-” Ludo was cut off due to the portal closing around his throat, but he eventually squeezed his head through to the other side.

“That was awesome!” Marco shouted and went up and hugged Star. “I was awesome! You were...” Marco stopped himself and backed away, blushing. “You were okay, I guess.”

Star smiled at him. “We do make a fairly formidable team. I suppose I wouldn’t mind having you around.”

Marco smiled back. “Let’s go home then. I make some mean nachos.”

“I’ve never had those before. I suppose it’s time to try some earth cuisine.”

The two laughed and headed home.

[kinschi]

AAHHH that's so prettyy!!! I love seing traditional art pieces of the dtiys! And this look so good 😍

FINALLY found my black colored pencil so I could finish @kinschi 's dtinys challenge!! this was so much fun, I'm actually really proud of how it turned out!

(I posted this on my art account on insta too! I don't use it much but it's "awesome_opossum_doodles"💛✌️)

[awkwardlyamusing-blog]

Dog Gone Problems: 18-month-old Goldendoodle doesn't respect its 14-year-old owner | Momaha.com

New Post has been published on http://doggietrainingclasses.com/dog-gone-problems-18-month-old-goldendoodle-doesnt-respect-its-14-year-old-owner-momaha-com/

Dog Gone Problems: 18-month-old Goldendoodle doesn't respect its 14-year-old owner | Momaha.com

Dog Gone Problems is a weekly advice column by David Codr, a dog behaviorist in Omaha. David answers dog behavior questions sent in by our readers. You can reach him at dogbehaviorquestions@gmail.com.

I have an 18-month-old Goldendoodle who is a very kind and loving dog. My family’s intent is for him to work as a therapy dog. The problem is I am a 14-year-old small girl who this dog doesn’t respect at all. I feel like I have tried everything. My family has hired behaviorists and trainers. I walk him 30 minutes a day — morning and night — and I train him for 10 minutes after each one of those walks. No matter what I do, he doesn’t respect me. However, he respects the rest of my family. All my dad has to do is walk in the room and he will drop whatever he has. It’s the same with my brothers, who are 11- and 16-years-old.

The next issue is that he has possession aggression. He is very fast. He grabs everything and does not let it go (at least for me). For example, he loves socks and will swallow them. Because of this he has had to get two surgeries and has had multiple visits to the vet to induce vomiting. We have buckets with lids and locks, but he can also open doors. When he gets something to chew on and I try to take it away, he growls — a lot. Then when I try to open his jaw, he bites me.

I need help. How can I make him respect me? Is it my fault or the dog’s? 

Wow. It sounds like you have quite a few issues going on. From what you wrote, it appears you are doing some good work already. Maybe we just need to add a little fine tuning. I can share a few tips.

Let’s break your letter down into individual sections so you can focus on one thing at a time.

First, respect for dogs can be confusing. Some of the factors may be related to your age and stature. Size matters to dogs. That said, one of my former apprentices has gone on to become a dog behaviorist and she is just over 5 feet tall. So it’s something you can get past.

While the walks are great, they may not be enough. Your average dog needs an hour of exercise every day, but some dogs may need even more. From what you wrote, I’d guess your dog falls into that category. This video on creative ways to exercise dogs can help you supplement your walks with some easy indoor exercise options.

I’d look for some ways to build in compliance before your dog gets what he wants in your day-to-day life. Petting with a purpose is a wonderful way to help your dog learn to respect you as a leader and help him practice asking for things instead of telling you what to do.

Do you enforce rules with your dog? Dogs often see those who enforce rules as the leader. Enforcing rules gives you an opportunity to demonstrate your leadership in small, subtle ways multiple times a day.

I’d suggest you also start developing a strong leave it command with your dog. Once established, you can pull out high-value items and leave them on the floor when you can supervise and give the dog the leave it command. The more you repeat this, the less the dog will try to take things you want them to leave alone.

Lastly, this video includes a really easy and sneaky way to condition your dog to come to you — even when you don’t call him to come over.

Remember, training and behavior are separate. While training is awesome, I’d suggest you work more on these structural changes and behavior exercises to help your dog learn that listening and respecting you cause good things to happen.

Good luck and remember — everything you do trains your dog. Only sometimes you mean it.

Close

Despite being a senior cat at 10 years old, Baby is full of energy and mischief. Here, she dangles from a bannister in her house in Gretna.

Karen Windle, copy editor

We’re Bruce and Ernie (left). We love sneaking raw bacon off the kitchen counter, lounging around the house naked, er, without our collars and making friends with deer. (The deer *love* to play tag, but for some reason we’re always “it.”) 

Katy Glover, online editor

Buster can put a smile on your face like no one else, including those of neighbors who spot him dragging me along on a walk or run. Unfortunately, this high-energy guy recently has been sidelined by the doggie version of a torn ACL and subsequent knee surgery. He could use a little boost, so I’m nominating him for the OWH Pet Parade.

Julie Anderson, news reporter

At left is Clyde. He’s a dog. He’s 2 ½. He’s deaf. At right is Pieces. He’s a cat. He’s 13. He can hear. They would like very much for you to pick them!

Brad Davis, business editor

If you’re an avid reader of the World-Herald, maybe you’ve heard of Cooper. Features reporter Chris Peters has written about raising Cooper. Here he is on the custom pallet bed his mom built for him.

Chris Peters, features reporter

At left is Daisy. Her best friend is a reindeer, who comes to visit a few weeks each year. She complains a lot to the non-magical beings she lives with, for obvious reasons. At right is Diaz. He’s a handsome  boy who doesn’t care about that. He loves walks and belly rubs, all people, most dogs, one cat, and zero racoons and opossums. 

Rich Mills, copy editor

At the Ducey Farm in Dundee, we have the blackshirt gals who guard the back yard (Mary Stewart and Victoria Holt), and the chickens who help me garden (Brooklyn and Penny). They produce eggs and inspire pillows for the cutest and most fashionable dogs in the world (Phoebe, Gigi and cousin Tyson), who love to bark at the feral cats (Bunny and Butterscotch) who live outside and have matching tails!

Marjie Ducey, reporter

Gator likes eating snackies, expertly posing for pictures, getting floof everywhere and borking (not barking) at neighbor dogs.

Cory Gilinsky, features (and Sarah Jarecki, civilian)

Gracie the border collie and Beau the red heeler like long walks and frequent car rides, especially to drive-thrus that give treats. 

Deb Shanahan, metro desk editor, and Kent Sievers, photographer

Isabel doesn’t enjoy her humans (especially the little ones) a lot, but sometimes likes a good chin scratch. Mostly she enjoys being left alone to sit on top of the piano and watch the birds outside.

Kevin Coffey, music critic

Izzy is 6 months old. She likes to chase her tail (and often catches it), climb up couches (and people), and bother Zake. Zake is 15 years old and unsure of Izzy. After all, Izzy has the high ground.

Zach Tegler, copy desk

Jameson may be named after whiskey, but this five-year-old gal is all sweetness. At first skittish after being rescued from a farm in Oklahoma, now her favorite hobby is stealing hearts — and covers.​

Laurel Foster, online

We say Juni found us after my wife was diagnosed with advanced breast cancer. This little Havaton brings our family joy, love and snuggles every day.​

Jeff Robb, news reporter/data geek

Laika is, hands down, the happiest dog at the dog park. She is named after the heroic Russian cosmonaut dog, one of the first animals in space. Ciara loves to pray. When she joins our family in prayer, she sounds like Scooby Doo. She is fiercely loyal and protective.

Susan Szalewski, copy editor and news reporter

Lolo was adopted seven years ago in Louisiana. She’s a mutt, and we think she’s part nutria, otherwise known as a swamp rat.

Hunter Paniagua, digital sports coordinator

Minerva is a very hard worker. Two-year-old “Minnie” likes to spend her time cleaning, inspecting boxes and bird watching. (And looking adorable.)

Brandon Olson, digital content hub editor

Molly, a rat-terrier Chihuahua from NHS, loved everyone she met. She was an excellent high jumper and cuddler and gave us joy for 17 years. She died in April.

Betsie Freeman, features reporter

Nellie is a 10-year-old tabby cat who is more like 5 years old at heart. She enjoys sleeping in fresh, warm laundry, eating, chasing lasers and listening to stories with best friend, 4-year-old Sam.​

Ashlee Coffey, Momaha.com editor

This is Oliver. He has three legs and a bullet permanently lodged in him. (We didn’t put it there). He pretends like he’s surly and tough but deep down he’s very snuggly.

Roseann Moring, political reporter

Eighteen-year-old cat

Loves tuna, SBH and

A fireside nap

Sarah Baker Hansen, features, and Matthew Hansen, columnist

I’m Sasha. I was a stray in Oklahoma (where my ear was somehow torn) before a shelter rescued me & treated my heartworm. I just tested negative for heartworm, yay! I really like to play dead & get belly rubs!

Alia Conley, news reporter

Slugger, owned by the original Pet Parade Petitor in Chief and saved by Big Red Rescue in Omaha, chases his tail faster to his right than to his left. He ate a hole in the blinds to watch his owner come and go.

Steven Elonich, online editor

Toby is a 4-year-old Rhodesian Ridgeback mix with a big personality. Given the protective tendencies of his breed, he’s very serious about watching over his property — and his owners. Until he isn’t.

Dave Elsesser, features editor, and RyAnne Elsesser

Toothpick loves biting bare legs, gazing longingly at birds outside and dipping his paw into bags of Spicy Nacho Doritos so he can lick off the Doritos dust (which his owners know is gross and bad but are powerless to stop). ​

Erin Duffy, news reporter

Boston Terriers, Willow, 8, and Dexter, 6, have a closet full of costumes, sweaters, scarves and even some pajamas. They only sit this nicely for photos because there are LOTS of treats involved – but really – they are crazy little puppies!

Tammy Yttri, copy desk chief

Nine years ago, we found Zed roaming the earth (it was a ruff life). He’s a good boy. He likes his toy lobster, pepperonis (which we call pupperonis) and keeping up with his fans at Zedwin.org. 

Graham Archer, digital editor

Hi, my name is Zeus, I an eight-year-old American Eskimo looking to get back in the game. They say I am fixed, but I think my only problem is you aren’t in my life. I love long walks and treats. I want someone to chase squirrels with.  Won’t you paw right?

Chris Machian, photographer

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