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uas-fics · 5 years ago

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Title: Beer and Expectations

Rating: T

Summary: Stan’s birthday party is ruined so he goes behind the library to sulk

Ships: Stenny

Content warning: Underage drinking

Other: For @stenny-week prompts birthday and addiction

Read on one Ao3

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Ever since he turned ten, Stan didn't like his birthday. Something always went wrong, and eight years after the first catastrophe, nothing had changed a bit.

His dad showed up, high as normal, and shoved a crudely wrapped box into his hands. In front of all his friends, Stan opened the box to find it empty save for a crumpled plastic wrapper.

With the dumbfounded expression that long ago became his norm, his dad demanded to know who ate Stan's gift and proceeded to blame every person there and several who weren't before Stan could usher him to the guest room and out of everyone's line of sight.

When he returned, faces of pity or mocking amusement locked on to him.

Most of the pity came from his friends, the people he'd actually invited to the party. The mocking amusement came from everyone else. He wasn't sure how the football team got wind of his party, but when they did, nothing he could say would stop them from showing up--and bring their romantic partners with them.

His embarrassment lasted until he waved goodbye to the last guest and well into the night.

Which was why he sat in the back corner behind the library, curled up into himself with tears in his eyes. He didn't try to blink them away or hide them. The light on that side of the building burnt out a while ago. No one could see him.

"Hey."

Stan looked up as a can rolled across the snow and hit his shoe.

Kenny held up a box in one hand and an open beer can in the other as he walked over.

"If I share, can I join you?" He asked, already taking a seat. He held his can to his mouth and spat his chewing tobacco into it before rolling it away. Some brown sloshed onto the snow. Stan wrinkled his nose in disgust. Kenny paid it no mind.

He settled the large box between them. The box had been torn open. Not along the perforated edged, but randomly at the top as if someone stabbed a knife into it then started ripping.

Stan took the can by his shoe and settled in it into the snow by his side before reaching for one that wasn't shaken up.

"Happy birthday, but," Kenny started, cracking open a beer can, "that party of yours..."

"It sucked." Stan wiped his eyes on the heel of his hand.

"I was going to say it had a good cake, but I guess that works too." Kenny took a drink, and they lapsed into silence.

Stan glanced at Kenny, who leaned back against the brick wall, the yellow glow of the streetlamp on that side of the building bathing him.

He'd acknowledged for years he had a crush on Kenny, but he wasn't sure if Kenny knew about it or not. Stan had confessed once, but he couldn't say if it was in real life or a dream.

They had been drinking at Kenny's house. His parents were out, Karen at a friend's, and Kevin was the one who got them the bottle in the first place before leaving with his girlfriend.

All Stan remembered was pinning Kenny down while wrestling over the remote, becoming flustered, kissing him on the neck, and admitting his feelings right then and there.

He blinked and the next thing he knew he was back in his room with a headache.

If he did confess and it wasn't a dream, Kenny didn't say anything about it, so he couldn't be sure.

Kenny took a long drink, tilting his head back. His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed. He didn't even hide the can's label.

No one cared if Kenny was drinking behind the library. He wasn't on any sports teams or in any extracurricular school activities, unlike Stan. If Stan got caught drinking beer at eleven at night, his coach would chew his ass out and he'd be benched for a couple of games. His scholarship chances couldn't risk that.

Kenny took another drink. Without turning his head, he said, "You're staring, Staniel."

Stan chuckled but didn't look away.

"How does it feel?" He asked without thinking. "How does it feel knowing no one cares what you do?"

Kenny started. He turned towards Stan with a frown.

"Did you really just ask me how it feels to have no one care about me?"

"What? No, I mean," Stan waved his hand at him, "no one cares that you're out here drinking when your underage."

"I'm not underage in Japan," Kenny pointed out. "Remember, I am a Japanese princess."

"You weren't of age when we started drinking together two years ago," Stan countered with a snort.

"Are you calling me an alcoholic?" Kenny laughed, gently punching Stan's arm.

"Takes one to know one." Stan raised his beer. "Now stop dodging the question."

Kenny looked down at his can and sighed. "It's nice to be invisible sometimes, but, it sucks, too. No one cares because they don't expect much from me more than a stupid hick to begin with."

"That's because they don't know you. Remember the score you got on the SATs? One point away from a full-ride scholarship."

Stan remembered how the high school counselor stared at Kenny when he told her what score he got with a shrug. He'd always done so-so on the practice tests, but when the actual test came around, he aced it. Stan was sure the counselor still thought Kenny must have cheated somehow. He didn't, of course. Kenny could excel if he applied himself.

"They don't know me, but they know my dad." Kenny screwed his beer down into the snow.

Stan flinched, taking his attention back to his can.

The embarrassment that his own dad brought him surged back to life. His ears burned hot.

"Dude, I'm scared."

"Scared? Of what, Stan?"

"Of being my dad." Stan squeezed his knees to his chest. "What if I turn out like him? We might joke about being alcoholics, but, we still have got together nearly every week since we were sixteen to drink and bitch." Stan didn't mention he'd been sneaking booze from his dad for longer than that, though he didn't know why. Kenny had done the same. He wouldn't judge.

"’Tegrity Farms might have cost him his marriage, but he'd still rolling in the dough. Your dad is successful." Kenny stretched out, hands slipping in his pockets. "My dad knocked up a teenager when he was in his late twenties and hasn't held a study job for more than a year."

He nestled down into his fluffy coat hood. "I'm scared I'll end up like him. Do something stupid and irresponsible and ruin two peoples' lives because I did something impulsive."

"You're not stupid enough to go down on a girl without protection," Stan offered. "And you're not really that irresponsible either."

Kenny gave him a half-smile. "Does it matter? It only takes one time, and, boom, I end up being just like my dad, and his dad, and his dad. A poor man in a shitty house with a wife that hates me because I took her future from her and saddled us with a kid we can't take care of."

In the light from the streetlamp, tears glinted in his eyes. He blinked them away, but they didn't stop. With a groan, he rubbed his eyes on his jacket. Even with the tears mostly gone, the whites of his eyes still remained pink.

[Img description: the above scene of Stan and Kenny sitting side by side at a corner in the snow with a box between them]

"Better than a rich man in a big house with a whole family that hates you." Stan scooted the beer box aside before sitting next to Kenny. "My dad has no one. He just kept fucking everything up thinking it would make him happy and everyone else would rise above his mistakes and forgive him. I don't think he ever considered that he could lose Mom or me or Shelley like he did."

Kenny wrapped an arm around his shoulders.

"Let's just agree both our dads suck dick." Kenny laughed.

"Ah, yeah, dude," Stan agreed. He reached back around for his beer as Kenny stared at him. Something behind his eyes made his skin prickle, but not uncomfortably.

Kenny leaned over, setting a hand on his shoulder, close to the curve of his neck.

"You know," He breathed, the scent of beer and wintergreen on his breath, "it would be pretty hard to have a wife that hates you, if you don't have a wife at all."

"What are you...?"

Before Stan could finish, Kenny slipped his hand up to his cheek and leaned in. Both their lips were chapped from the cold air, but Stan didn't complain. It was nice. No expectations, no assumptions, just one of his closest friends kissing him.

Kenny jerked back suddenly, his face red from more than the chill in the air.

"Oh, God, I'm sorry. I didn't even think." He shook his head. "Fuck, dude, I'm really sorr--"

Stan grabbed his thick jacket and pulled him back into another kiss.

"Don't be," He panted, feeling better than he had all day. "I needed that. I, uh, I like you, dude. More than just a friend so, don't be sorry."

Kenny smiled wryly. "What? No Shakespearean monologue this time? This is one of your weaker confessions."

"One of them?" Stan wrinkled his brow. "I've confessed before? So it wasn't a dream?"

"You confess your love for me all the time, man. It's how I judge when you're at your limit since you get all clingy and kissy and shit before you puke and pass out."

Stan blushed. At least Kenny hadn’t had to turn him down thousands of times every time Stan confessed for the ‘first’ time.

I..." He glanced at the box beside them. "I think we should stop this. The, you know, all this."

"What?" Kenny blinked. "But we've been drinking for two years. Are you getting sober on me, Staniel?"

"Maybe we should? Get sober, I mean." Stan shrugged, "Your SAT scores will get you into any college you want. There are college scouts at almost every game anymore." He tightened his grasp on his jacket. "Maybe we can outdo our dads. Prove everyone wrong by being successful and happy."

"You know that'll be hard, right? Both college and getting sober?" Kenny coughed a laugh. "What are you even really suggesting? We work together towards a common goal as boyfriends?"

He laughed again, but there was an extra edge to it. A nervousness about the answer that Stan was happy to quell.

"Yeah. Exactly that." He nodded, jokingly batted his eyelashes at him. "Please, Kenny, for me? It is my birthday today."

Kenny craned his head down the street towards the electronic sign at the gas station.

"Actually, your birthday ended about five minutes ago," Kenny stated matter of factly then offered a crooked smile, "but I guess this could be a late present if you don't mind."

Stan couldn't help the smile that spread across his face.

"I don't mind at all."

#stenny #stenny week #stan marsh #kenny mccormick #one-shot

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hakuoki-dreams · 5 years ago

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OKAY MY DEAR I HAVE A CHALLENGE AND NEED SOME THOUGHTS. I’m toying with some modern au ideas and wanted your opinion - what do you think the boys would be doing work-wise or major wise (if they’re in college) nowadays? I don’t even care who you do, whatever your feeling. I have a handful of my own thoughts but would love to hear yours! Thank you!!

@do-it-for-keef Hey gorgeous! 😘

Oh I mull over this subject a lot!! How do you always read my mind? Here are a handful that I’ve thought about, although this isn’t a complete list:

Heisuke - Realistically he’s around college-age, but I don’t know if he’d be the type to really want a degree. I could totally see this guy as a fireman because:

Master Forerunner

Won’t hesitate to sprint into burning buildings to rescue people and pets

In his route he has a lot of doubts about what’s right and wrong, who’s on the correct side of a conflict, which beliefs he should choose to fight for etc.

But he has zero misgivings when it comes to saving people from pure danger

‘Fire is always bad’ -Heisuke, probably

Would also make a great police officer:

He tries to diffuse tense situations by talking things out first whenever possible, an important quality in a good cop

But once things start to escalate he will take motherfuckers down

Kicking ass and taking names

Literally will take their names back at the station, best arrest record in the precinct

Saito - mathematics/physics teacher

He deals in absolutes, so I feel like a math-heavy field would really click with him

He’s very eloquent and knows how to explain complicated concepts in an understandable way

Also I’m pretty sure he already enjoys mentally calculating the exact angle at which to swing his sword to end a man’s life

Has a long fuse and is surprisingly good at controlling a room full of teenagers. Maintains order on the daily even though he’s not the most physically intimidating guy

Because his students know if they get too rowdy Saito’s angry voice will strike the fear of God into their quaking hearts

His smarts and icy good looks have all the girls and half the boys crushing on him

Starts finding secret love notes to Saito-senpai in his desk all the time, is a little shook

'This is completely inappropriate’

Shinpachi - I used to see him as a physical therapist/personal trainer type, because he’s good at motivating people and loves working out, but I don’t know if that would fulfill his more thoughtful side. So now I’m leaning toward camp counselor:

It’s not a lifelong career choice but look I just want to see Shin covered in adorable rambunctious children is that too much to ask?

He’s high-energy and has the emotional and physical stamina required for the job

Will lead activities like a champ: hiking, swimming, dodge ball, all of it

He grew up in a big family so he’s good with kids

Will mentor the shit out of them

Can motivate even the shyest ones, very inclusive with everyone

He’s a really good listener and will sit his kids down and talk with them one-on-one if he sees they’re struggling with something. He helps them see their problems in a much more black-and-white way.

Catches some of his guys sneaking girls and beer into their cabin and gives them an A+ lecture on safe sex and drinking responsibly

All the female counselors and campers think he’s a dreamboat

Sanan - Biomedical/pharmaceutical researcher:

He totally has the smarts to be a doctor, but his bedside manner is a bit awkward…

Prefers to know that he’s helping people from afar

He’s also got the focus and dedication to get through all those years of grad school

He’ll work super hard to attain his dream of running his own laboratory by 35. Wants to be in control of the direction of his research, has a very clear vision of what his life’s work should be

Published in all the major industry journals, total whiz kid

Can write the hell out of a grant proposal

Model workaholic. Last one to leave the lab at night, first one in in the morning

Personal life haha what’s that

Sanosuke - I think we’ve talked about this before but therapist/social worker:

He’s super easy to talk to and hella charismatic

Excellent at reading people’s inner thoughts and intentions. Good judge of character, but also patient and open-minded with his clients

Has a lot of compassion for the weak, the downtrodden, etc. and a deep-seated desire to help others

Takes a lot of genuine interest in his clients’ problems. Writes great session notes

He had to give up on marriage counseling though because the ladies would take one look at his face and ask for a divorce

Looks sexy in reading glasses

‘And how does that make you feel’ it makes me feel super fucking horny okay Sano??

Souma - business management intern

This baby is still in high school, but he has big dreams for his future, so he’s spending the summer working a highly competitive internship

Is always ten minutes early

Will go pick up coffee orders with the determination of a man leaving for war

Endlessly motivated to do a good job every day. Performs even the smallest tasks with a focus and concentration that is honestly kind of terrifying

’It’s For The Good Of The Company’ -Souma’s fight speech that he gives himself while crying in the mirror after spending 4 hours stapling papers together

Better employee than half the people on payroll

By Souma’s second week his manager had already decided that he was getting a firm job offer after graduation

About it for now! Might add some more later. I wish I could say I knew what the hell to do with Hijikata, but he’s a hard nut to crack 🤔

#hakuouki headcanons #toudou heisuke #saito hajime #nagakura shinpachi #sanan keisuke #souma kazue #harada sanosuke #hakuoki-dreams #hakuouki au

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babaleshy · 6 years ago

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Time for me to rant. If anybody is morbidly curious about what it’s like to live with Trump supporter parents where one parent basically projects himself onto Trump, you can click the thingie. But the context of how this is different from other times I’ve bitched about my folks on my old account is we’re not starving for once. We actually have some money and are trying to get some shit together so we can take care of the urgent needs such as fucking house repairs and shit.

So... We live on a farm. I won’t say where, but right over the hill is a goddamn oil pad. My parents aren’t rich or anything from the oil rights, but I am reluctantly admitting that we are finally getting some money in to where we could repair our tub so we don’t have to risk blisters from pulling a DIY string to turn on the cold water through a ventilation duct because the faucet is fucked. We also got the train to our tub fixed so that way when we shower, we’re not standing in filthy-ass water that can’t drain properly no matter what we shove down the drain to fix it with. We had to replace the entire drainage system for both bathrooms. Yes. Both bathrooms. The second one is just a toilet and a sink but that sink had the same clog problem due to YEARS of rust build-up because there’s so much goddamn iron in our well water, which my dad states is “actually water coming in from a flooded mineshaft,” and at this point, it would not surprise me if he was right for once.

We also finally got new working vehicles we don’t have to keep taking in for repairs we can’t afford in hopes we can make it to the grocery store or in hopes my mom and my husband can make it to work. Still 2 vehicles, but they are much newer than what we had before (I’m not car-smart, so I couldn’t tell you what years they are or whatever).

My mom also finally paid off all of the credit card debt we were drowning in. This includes both of mine we were forced to use and max out and never make payments on because we couldn't afford to eat several times. That’s about $3k in the hole if you include late fees and interest on TWO credit cards under MY NAME. Because we didn’t have money on us so we could fucking eat.

We are hoping that soon we can get all of our teeth fixed. My husband and I have wisdom teeth in dire need of removal. All of his are rotten, one of mine is rotten but all four are crowding my teeth, all four of us have cavities in our teeth we’re doing our best to keep from getting worse. So the next logical step is teeth. I’m trying to apply for Medicaid but now apparently you’re required to do that over the phone, now and I need a day during the week where my husband has off so I can get some help with this phone call (long story, I just have trouble with phone calls). We also really hope we can find a dentist and oral surgeon NOT IN THIS AREA. A BIG REASON WHY HALF MY TEETH ARE FUCKED IS BECAUSE OF PURPOSEFULLY BOTCHED JOBS BY AN ASSHOLE DENTIST SO YOU’D KEEP GOING IN AND HAVING YOUR FILLINGS RE-DONE.

But hey! We’re doing financially better, now. Especially since my mom plans to give me birthday money this year, and my parents don’t seem to have a problem with paying (if necessary) to help me get tested for dyslexia.

With all of this good news, you’d think my dad would be just tickled, right?

Nope.

He bitches about spending money. He has a mole hill of money he sees as a mountain and he wants to sit on it and never spend it. He bitches anytime spending has to take place. At all. He parrots any and all things Trump promotes and shit. My dad wants to be Trump. My dad is racist, thinks Mexicans are invading America to take our jobs and rape our women and murder Americans (same with any non-white refugee from anywhere), he thinks the military doesn’t get enough support of any sort, with his excuse being “we need to make sure we can show the world we can destroy it at any time we want to so the rest of the world respects us.” Btw, he equates fear with respect. There is no debating him. I’ve tried.

My dad says if he is somehow convinced his xtian god isn’t real, then what’s the point in being a good person? He’d start killing everybody just because there would be no god to judge him. THIS IS THE SIGN OF A MENTALLY UNHEALTHY, UNSTABLE, UNSAFE INDIVIDUAL. Luckily, my dad is actually all talk 99.9% of the time. My dad is lazy, and even states that his ideal life is to sit in an apartment without ever having to move, and he’d have servants at his beck and call. He actually tried several times to convince my mom to move into an impoverished part of the south intentionally because “we would live like kings with the money we’ve got coming in right now.” He’s full of shit because it actually isn’t that much money. It’s just that we can stop starving. (For context, my mom wants to move north ever since her mom/my grandma died because her sister is all she has left and she lives up north, and since Kent State is up there, I’m fine with that.)

My dad wants to sit around and be lazy and absorb any and all conspiracy theories on YouTube that appeals to his fucked up worldviews on a device he claims to hate and wishes never existed. He also bitches about having to drive my husband around, who “should have gotten his permit and license by now” despite the fact that he finally got new glasses after 10+ years of not being able to afford to upgrade his prescription and needs to get used to his new vision. My dad is convinced that because he willed himself through his own problems that literally everyone else can do the same. My dad is the most self-centered adult outside of celebrity-hood I’ve ever seen. My husband has anxiety because being behind the wheel of a machine that could easily kill people freaks him out, and he’s not sure if he can see a counselor for managing his anxiety on a regular basis is going to be possible right now.

My dad thinks my husband works at a retail video game store to support his hobby and nothing else “because of all the damn games and statues he keeps buying” when my dad likes to ignore the fact that employee discounts, clearance sales, trade-in credits, and special deals exist.

My dad is a miserable old bastard, and because we’re in the same situation as him, he cannot stand how we enjoy ourselves to make the most of it. Misery loves company, and he can’t get past the fact that his life changed forever when he got hurt and permanently disabled at the steel mill back in ‘95. He has since then refused to accept what has happened to him, and would rather be a miserable piece of shit and take down anyone else nearby with him. Which could be why he bitches about having money he can spend, now.

And he does all of his venting at my husband. I know my dad is trying to goad my husband into saying or doing something stupid so my dad has a reason to either kick us out or be physically violent. My dad doesn’t like the fact that my husband isn’t a fucking idiot. My husband grew up with a family full of anger-filled assholes. He knows the ropes as much as I do. And the fact that my husband sticks up for me while I’m not around shows to my dad that my husband truly does love me, and wouldn’t only stick up for me while I’m around. He has called my dad on his shit quite a bit when I’m not around. My dad HATES that he can’t dangle the indirect message of “you’re all by yourself, no one else thinks you’re right” above my head. And ever since my husband started routinely calling my dad out on his shit, or defending me when my dad bitches about me over stupid shit, my dad has backed off me for the most part.

My dad wasn’t counting on me getting married to a good man. My dad previously equated good men with financial wealth. Turns out my dad was proven wrong, and he can’t stand it. That fucker is the whole reason why I have had so many self-image insecurities (and still do) and my dad can’t stand it that my husband isn’t joining him on mocking me. My husband tells him to fucking stop. My dad dares not do it in front of my mom, because she tells him to stop.

My parents aren’t in a very health marriage. There’s more footage of convincing evidence of Bigfoot than there are times my parents did something together because they love each other, and I’m not talking about anything expensive, either.

Mom sleeps on the couch because she told me she can’t stand his snoring. However, I remember my mom once telling me that my dad “doesn’t have an ‘off’ switch with his libido” so I’m guessing that’s another reason why.

Both of them sit in the same room on opposite sides of the room (mom on the couch, dad in the busted-ass armchair) on their devices (mom on her tablet and/or phone and dad on the computer that’s by/in front of his chair), only talking to each other about certain articles they read, and not much else. They’ll occasionally watch something on the TV together on Netflix or Hulu but that’s about it.

Mom wanted to live on a farm and raise horses ever since she was a little girl, and through manipulation and the excuse of 4-H projects through me and my brother, she finally got her wish. And my dad is against having any animals of any sort. All he does is bitch about them. He also bitches about how much country my mom listens to (and I can’t blame him there; my mom is the whole reason why country music is the bane of my fucking existence).

Aside from boinking to have 2 kids and mourning over the loss of one of them, my parents have very little in common. I have no idea how or why they got together other than my dad made my mom laugh and didn’t break her jaw like her ex-husband did, my dad had 3 exes and wanted to make the 4th one count, and my mom found out she was pregnant with me before dad proposed (I’m GUESSING knocking my mom up is what made them decide to marry, I dunno).

My mom has (VERY FEW) redeeming qualities, so I take advantage of her mama bear nature to ensure I’m safe under the same roof as my dad. I’m unintentionally appealing to her desire for a farmer-daughter by wanting to garden, though I made it very clear I will never be responsible for farm animals again. She also doesn’t mind the fact that she’ll never be a grandmother to human babies. I’m willing to bet it’s because she never wanted me and doesn’t blame me for not wanting kids of my own. She gets points for not being exactly like her own mother, but I could’ve used some meaningful and caring mother-daughter bonding instead of the distant I-see-you-as-a-burden-now-that-we-are-living-in-poverty treatment I got growing up.

I could point all of this out to my parents, and they would rather spend more time coming up with excuses or redirecting the blame instead of, you know, APOLOGIZING FIRST. And I say this because I have brushed on the topic before and they got SUPER defensive about it.

I was an accident, they got married probably so I wouldn’t be born out of wedlock and so their respective families wouldn’t look down upon them, they thought they had this and had a second kid, a year to two years later dad gets hurt at the mill and we’ve been impoverished ever since but because boys bring more promise of success than girls---especially girls who are different like I was and still am---my brother was automatically the favorite. And I was always screamed at.

Boy would I love to see a therapist instead of a one-hour visit with a counselor trying to figure out as much of why my brain is the way it is once a friggin’ week. Not blaming the counselor, because he’s awesome. But my counselor did say that he’s actually a bit surprised but glad I’ve figured out some way to live with this. It’s because I know how they act, how their minds work, how they would react if I said or did this or that. Having all of this free time and being alone with my thoughts because my husband works his ass off for pennies only for my dad to try and make him spend money on necessities instead of spending his own goddamn money has allowed me to think about and even analyze my own parents; how they act, why they act this way, why they’ve acted that way, etc.

I do consider myself lucky that they aren’t worse than this. My mom is actually much more understanding with me, now, and that’s probably because I’m the last child she has left. So I guess after living in a shit or unhappy marriage and working her ass off to raise two kids and then losing one, she tries to be the good xtian mother and be thankful for what she has now. It’s a guess, though. The whole thing could be a facade for all I fucking know.

Dad’s all talk, but because his tone is the same whether or not he makes his shitty, stupid jokes, or can’t keep certain thoughts to himself and feels the need to say them aloud (SUCH AS POINTING OUT I HAVE CLEAVAGE LIKE IT’S SOME “OMG WOW YOU HAVE BOOBIES NOW AFTER HIGH SCHOOL” IN FRONT OF THE ENTIRE COMMUNITY COLLEGE IN MY EARLY TWENTIES THANKS DAD THAT WAS CREEPY WHAT THE FUCK), it’s hard to tell whether or not he’s serious about some of the shit he says.

He projects himself onto Trump because he wants to BE Trump. Trump says if Ivanka wasn’t his daughter, he’d date her. I wouldn’t be surprised (I’d still be creeped out) if my dad said something similar. And he has tried to talk about my appearance and how I could make money with it such as a pin-up cosplay calendar because apparently I “look so attractive” while at the same time he shames me for having “skin so pale my legs blind him from reflecting so much light while I wear shorts.” And when I call him out on it, he genuinely thinks he’s done no wrong. My dad is pretty much Trump Lite, and it’s creepy.

But I know the fucker. I can play at his fucked up game, too. All I gotta do is talk about periods or vaginas, because suddenly when his daughter talks about, you know, being a human, suddenly it’s just too much for him.

And he hates I can play this fuck-ass game with him.

And I’m glad he hates it.

Because it’s evident he will never see himself in the wrong. He never has, never does, never will. Because he’s got one excuse or answer after another, and when he runs out, it’s time to drop the conversation before he gets pissed and ruins the night for everybody.

So I’m glad I’m good at playing this game back at him and being damn good at it. That’s what he gets for being a piece of shit.

#personal #rant #yep it's long #created a new account and crawled back to this site just so I could do this

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sachigram · 7 years ago

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Infinity, With Coffee Rings Chapter 2

Click here to read on ao3!

The coffeehouse is quiet so early in the morning. Tweek actually enjoys it and always has, despite the fact he's technically working. There's something special about the late night and the early morning hours. When the rest of the world is asleep, there's no one to impress or hide from. Tweek is alone with the coffee, his most favorite audience.

Only a few customers trickle in, doctors from Hells Pass, fast food workers off to open their stores. Tweek wonders what it would be like to have another job sometimes, but he knows better than to think anyone else would actually ever hire him. All it would take for his applications to be thrown out would be his medical history, and then he knows the employers would go running for the hills if they had any sense.

“Whoa—dude!”

Tweek looks up from the counter to see Kyle Broflovski in the doorway, though it's hard to recognize him without the ushanka on his head. Then again, Craig wasn't wearing his chullo, so Tweek supposes he's going to have to rethink normalcy.

Kyle bounds for the counter, startling Tweek, who finds himself being hugged tightly for the second time in twenty-four hours by an old childhood friend.

“This is crazy! I never thought I'd see you again!” Kyle says. Tweek snorts incredulously.

“I guess I wasn't really aware I was so popular back then,” Tweek mutters, patting Kyle awkwardly on the back.

“Well—yeah we were kind of jerks as kids.” Kyle pulls back with a smile. They weren't really friends. Tweek hung out with Kyle's group of friends off and on, and he remembers being picked on mercilessly, even worse than he was picked on when he hung out with Craig's group. Tweek remembers Craig punching Cartman in the face once for cornering Tweek and trying to make him eat dirt. Kyle had found the punching hilarious.

Kyle is a little taller than Tweek, eyes still bright green and hair still wild and red. Tweek can tell Kyle puts a lot of work into his hair now, probably expensive work.

“It's pretty early. Do you work at the hospital too?” Tweek asks.

“Oh, no, I work in private practice,” Kyle says.

“But you're a doctor?”

“No, I'm a child counselor.” Kyle grins, and Tweek finds himself thinking that Kyle grew up to be cute. “I'd love to be a doctor, but that'd be four more years of school.”

Tweek notices the ring on Kyle's finger.

“You're married?”

“You remember Stan, right?”

Tweek's eyes nearly pop out of his head.

“You and Stan?! I mean—wow. Wow. Congratulations! It's just—fuck, I'm really bad with words, if you remember, so...”

“Hey, it's okay,” Kyle says. “Just slow down and say how you feel.”

Tweek recognizes therapy when he hears it. He shoots Kyle a glare, then feels bad about it.

“It's just like an alien planet, man. This place was supposed to stay the same. Nothing ever changes here, except things did change. It's like that 'you can't go home again' feeling but I never thought that shit was real,” Tweek says.

“Life happens fast, dude,” Kyle agrees, and Tweek is grateful he's dropped the counselor talk.

“So, uh, how long? Were you guys together when we were kids? Did I miss that?” Tweek asks.

Kyle laughs. “God, no. It didn't happen until we were teenagers. We've been together thirteen years, now, married for three.”

“Jesus.”

“Tell me about it. Stan would be super happy to see you, too,” Kyle says.

“He would?”

“Stan loves everyone.” Kyle grins fondly as he says so.

Tweek takes Kyle's order and is busy making it while Kyle chatters in the background about some other people Tweek's been curious about. Butters supposedly railed against his parents after high school and ran off with Kenny, though they recently moved back at Kenny's insistence. Kyle talks about Kenny's supposed “spiritual marriage” with South Park with a tiny scowl on his face, and Tweek wonders how many times Kyle's tried to convince Kenny there's no such thing to no avail. Kyle always did get pissy when no one saw his logic as the right answer. Tweek is so busy thinking this he almost doesn't hear what Kyle just said. Almost.

“WHAT! Cartman and...and Wendy?!”

“Yeah, that was Stan's reaction, too,” Kyle says.

“Holy... How is that even possible? Wendy isn't... Did she get stupid when I was away?”

“Ha! Sorry it's just that she was Valedictorian and she makes these snide little comments about it sometimes because she beat me for it. She's good at everything but dating, I guess. Cartman's calmed down a lot since he finally landed her, though. Really he needs someone who isn't gonna take his shit, and she fits the bill,” Kyle says.

“God. None of that makes any sense. None of any of this does, dude. Cartman was a fucking—ugh. And Clyde has cancer and I had a fucking dinner party with him and Bebe and Craig—“

“Craig Tucker?” Kyle asks. “He's in town?”

“Yeah, he was here yesterday. And he was nice to me. I mean I guess he was never mean to me before but he didn't like, smile and shit. He wasn't like that before. He didn't care about anything when we were kids except his guinea pig and cartoons.” Tweek runs a hand through his already disarrayed hair. “I'm in fucking—Chinatown. I can't process any of this.”

“Craig's still a dick. He sent Stan and I a collection of dildos for our wedding present with a card that just said 'Take it Jew'.”

Tweek barks out a laugh, then feels a little bad about it. Kyle just smiles though.

“Yeah, so see? Some things are still the same.”

Kyle gives his number to Tweek and then hurries out of the shop to work, leaving Tweek alone with the coffee again. He's busy stacking sugar packets into a tower when Craig stumbles into the shop looking like death itself.

“You look rough,” Tweek comments.

“Yeah. I feel like shit,” Craig says. He strides to the counter and leans against it, glaring at the menu.

“Are you sick? Dude—you shouldn't be here if you're sick. I could catch it. I hate being sick! Argh—I'll have to take more pills than I already do! That's a lot of pills!” Tweek is already counting in his head.

“Chill. It's sleep deprivation. Clyde's couch is lumpy and I don't think I slept at all last night.” Craig's still reading the menu. He squints his eyes. “Is it unhealthy to just drink straight espresso? In a large cup?”

“It's probably not healthy. Not like I'm a health expert. I think I read that you'd have to drink a lot of coffee for it to kill you though but sometimes those reports aren't accurate. I could just pull some shots for you and see if it helps.”

“Sure, why the fuck not,” Craig says.

They're in a companionable silence for a bit. Tweek takes his time readying shots for Craig, who downs them with an awful expression. Craig is on his third when he holds his hand up.

“Okay, no. First of all, this is disgusting. Secondly, I don't feel awake. I feel like I'm vibrating.”

“That's a step up from sleeping,” Tweek says with a grin.

“You're the worst. You peddle me this garbage in a tiny cup and say it'll help just to watch me suffer.” Craig gives him a stern look. “You aren't even sympathetic to my zombie state.”

“Not really. I never sleep and you don't hear me complaining.”

“Smartass.”

Tweek smiles innocently. “Guess who came in earlier.”

“I can't believe anyone ever comes in here,” Craig snarks.

“Ha. You're here. And you were here yesterday, too, okay, so you can shut up,” Tweek says, making Craig grin. “Kyle was here today.”

“Gross.”

“He told me about his marriage and stuff.”

“Extra gross.”

“And apparently you gave him dildos for a present because you're an awful person.”

“It seemed like the most useful thing. Broflovski has a stick up his ass, but I'm sure something else would fit up there with enough effort. And Marsh is dickless, so.”

Tweek laughs. “That's awful! You're awful!”

“I'm right, though.” Craig grins again, and Tweek thinks if Kyle grew up to be cute, another adjective fits Craig entirely. Handsome, maybe? Would gorgeous be offensive to another guy? Probably. Tweek offends people easily without meaning to, since it's easier to blurt everything out than to process it first.

Has Tweek ever found another man gorgeous before? Honestly, he can't remember ever thinking anyone was, gender aside. Craig definitely is though, with his black hair and light blue eyes. He always looks either bored or up to something, which also describes Craig very well actually.

“Is Cartman still fat?” Tweek asks suddenly, thinking about it.

“Probably. I try not to see him. Or anyone, really, aside from a handful of people in this town,” Craig says, shrugging.

“Am I—I mean, I guess I am in the handful, right? Since you're here.”

“Clearly.”

Tweek smiles down at the counter.

“Do you ever think about alternate realities?” he asks, blurting again.

“Frequently,” Craig says without a moment's pause.

“Okay, so like, do you think the old South Park fell into a black hole or something and was replaced with a new one? Or—or maybe I was? Oh, God!” Tweek grabs at his hair and pulls. It's a bad habit he's been working on breaking.

“What makes you ask?” Craig asks, still calm. He frowns and smacks Tweek's hands out of his hair. “Stop that. Clyde's bald enough for you both without you pulling your hair out.”

“Just...everything changed? And Kyle said some stuff that was true, I mean, life does happen fast but to think of things changing here? Am I the only one who thinks this place is in some kind of void where things should always stay the same?”

“You aren't the only one. Things did stay the same, to me. I guess it's just because you weren't here while things were changing, so you came back to everything being different than it was.” Craig starts messing with the sugar packet tower Tweek was making before.

“I guess. Well. You left, too. Do you ever feel this way?” Tweek asks.

“Kind of, but I guess it doesn't get to me because I hear firsthand from Clyde and Token about any changes in their lives. I don't really come back and get surprised. But this time I did, since you were suddenly here.”

“Surprises are good sometimes. One of my therapists said that to me—hey. Hey!” Tweek squawks as Craig knocks over his looming tower of sugar packets. “I had those color coordinated!”

“Sorry. Hey, when can you leave?” Craig asks, clearly not sorry at all.

“Whenever my dad gets here. He likes to sleep in now that I can watch the store in the mornings. He doesn't like getting up early,” Tweek explains.

“Cool, so around lunchtime?”

“Yeah, did you want to go somewhere?”

“You're upset,” Craig says simply. “I have things I like to do when I'm upset.”

About an hour later, Tweek's dad comes in. He smiles at Craig and pats Tweek on the shoulder, looking as serene as he always does after he takes his morning medication.

“Hello, boys. It's a wonderful day today,” he says.

“Dad, do you mind if I go somewhere with Craig?” Tweek asks.

“Mm. Where is this 'somewhere'?”

“The pet store,” Craig says before Tweek can answer.

“Oh. That's fine. Just don't bring anything home, Tweek. You know what your mother would say.”

Tweek's climbing in the passenger seat of Craig's car when Craig speaks again, so he almost misses it.

“Huh?” he asks.

“I said why can't you bring anything home? Your parents don't like pets?”

“Oh. Well, I'm not supposed to have anything to take care of. My parents think I'm...not ready for that,” Tweek says glumly. He hates having to admit things like that, but it's easier to tell the truth than to have to keep track of a lie.

Craig's jaw is set as he starts his car and pulls out of the parking lot.

“So they just decided that? Your doctors never said you couldn't have a pet?”

“A couple of my doctors thought it'd be good for me to have...you know, like a fish or something small. My parents were always against it though. They don't really think I can even take care of myself, much less a defenseless animal.”

“That's really—uh,” Craig pauses. “That's super shitty. That's what they think your limitations are, but have you tried testing your own?”

“No,” Tweek says quietly. Craig looks over at him.

“I'm not saying you have to. You should, though. No one knows what you can do better than you.”

“I feel like I'd kill something. Or hurt it. I don't want to have that on my shoulders,” Tweek says.

“Do you remember to brush your teeth and shit like that?” Craig asks, and Tweek nods confusedly. “Okay, well it's the same thing. You brush your teeth in the morning and then you give the fish some fish flakes. It's like a routine. And fish die sometimes but that doesn't always mean it's anyone's fault.”

“Do you have a pet?” Tweek asks to get the focus off himself.

“Nope. I'm hardly ever home, and when I am home, I'm asleep. I could get a fish, though. They're pretty low maintenance.”

“I'm surprised you don't have a guinea pig,” Tweek says.

“I had one. He died,” Craig says.

“Recently?”

“A couple years ago. I didn't buy him, someone gave him to me. He died pretty young. Do you remember Stripe?”

Tweek smiles at the name of Craig's old beloved guinea pig. He nods.

“Yeah, he lived to be nine. That's older than they usually get. I haven't bought one since he died. There won't ever be another one like him, you know?”

The rest of the ride is spent in silence, aside from Craig's music, which is some kind of heavy metal music Tweek doesn't listen to. He snorts when they actually pull into the pet store parking lot.

“I wasn't sure if you were serious,” he admits.

“I'm always serious,” Craig says. “Unless I'm not,” he adds, waggling his eyebrows.

They journey through the cold into the warmth of the store. Tweek's never been to a pet store before, since he always knew he wasn't supposed to have one. He sees bird cages as soon as they enter, but Craig pulls him to the side, towards some glass containers where there are mice, hamsters, and—of course, guinea pigs.

“See, look? Don't you feel better already? De-stressed? I know I do,” Craig says.

“They're cute,” Tweek admits. A tiny black one catches his eye. It has a cute twitching nose, and it doesn't take its eyes off Tweek.

“That one likes you,” Craig comments as Tweek moves his finger along the outside of the glass just to have the little ball of fluff chase after it.

“Yeah, it's so...” Tweek's eyes fill with tears. “It's so little. I think I'm gonna cry, just 'cause it's so cute.”

“Hang on,” Craig says. He shuffles away and leaves Tweek to play with the guinea pig for a moment. He comes back with an employee Tweek recognizes.

“Well, hey there, Tweek!” Butters says jovially. He pulls Tweek into a hug, and Tweek is starting to think he'd better get used to this. “I almost didn't believe Craig when he said you were here! How have you been, buddy?”

“Good,” Tweek says, his eyebrows raised. “I'm just, you know. Here.”

“I'm here, too! Craig said you wanted to hold one of the guinea pigs?”

“What? No! I can't hold one! I'll drop it!” Tweek practically shouts.

“He wants to hold it. I'll supervise and make sure he doesn't drop it,” Craig says.

“Okay, good. We have to be careful about who we let hold things around here. Kids like to be mean sometimes!” Butters starts to open the cage, and Tweek seriously considers running for it. “Which one of the little fellas did you wanna hold?”

“The black one,” Craig answers.

“Oh yeah, I've been callin' him Midnight!” Butters scoops the little guy up and holds him out to Tweek, who twitches.

“I—I can't, man! That's too much! I'll hurt it!”

“Hand him here, Butters,” Craig instructs. He takes the little guinea pig and pets him gently before holding him out to Tweek.

“Craig, I can't,” Tweek says.

“You can do it. Come on, trust yourself a little. You won't hurt him.”

Nervously, Tweek lets the little fluff ball drop into his hands. He quickly pulls it to his chest and cradles it, staring down at it with wide eyes.

“Is it a boy?” he asks.

“Yep!” Butters says. “He's about three months old!”

Tweek pets him carefully, and feels emotional again as the guinea pig twitches its nose and whiskers at him.

“He twitches like I do,” he says softly. He doesn't pay attention to Craig's and Butters's conversation as he plays with the guinea pig, who really does seem to enjoy being held.

“Well,” Craig says after a few minutes. “He's yours, if you want him.”

“Huh?” Tweek asks lamely.

“I'll get him for you. It'll be good for you to have a pet, and I can tell you love him already. He can stay in your room.”

“I... My parents would kill me. And what if I forget to take care of him? Or...” Tweek starts.

“I'll personally text you every day to remind you if that's what it takes. Just buy him food and clean up after him and your parents won't even really know he's in your room.”

“I can give you guys a discount!” Butters says happily. “You should get him, Tweek, he likes you! Better you buy him than some little kid who really doesn't wanna take care of him.”

Tweek thinks of the poor guinea pig being ignored by a snot nosed kid and he finds himself nodding his head.

Somehow he ends up back in Craig's car with a new guinea pig, a giant cage, some food, and some other supplies. He feels overwhelmed as he holds the little box carefully in his lap.

“You really didn't have to spend all that money,” he says.

“It wasn't that much,” Craig says, though it was over one-hundred dollars. “I'll just live vicariously through you since I'm not home enough to have my own.”

“He'll be okay while I'm working, right?” Tweek asks worriedly.

“Yeah, he'll be fine. Are you changing his name?” Craig asks.

“I don't really like Midnight,” Tweek admits. “I think he needs a cooler name.” Tweek thinks about it for a minute. “What about Espresso?”

“You would name him after coffee,” Craig says. “Yeah, I like it. Espresso did wake me up today, a little. It's worthy.”

Luckily, both Tweek's parents must be at the shop, because the house is empty. Craig helps him carry everything upstairs to his room, and then puts the cage together while Tweek holds Espresso, still marveling at the fact he has a pet now. A pet that likes him.

“Is Clyde working today?” Tweek asks, wondering why Craig wants to spend time with him when he came to see Clyde.

“Yeah, till five. He only works part time, so I wasn't gonna ask him to take the weekend off. I knew I'd have something to do.”

“Do you think I offended him yesterday? About the, uh, phallic head comment?” Tweek asks guiltily.

“Definitely.”

“Oh, no!”

“Relax, Clyde gets offended about everything,” Craig says with a smirk. “Did you forget he's a crybaby? Trust me, you can't offend him more than I usually do. He's already over it.”

“It was still insensitive of me. I have a bad habit of blurting things out. It's just...so sad he's got cancer. Poor Clyde... I can't imagine.”

“He's gonna be okay,” Craig says, his voice soft. Tweek notices the change in Craig's expression, and he knows to change the subject.

“Well, good for me and Espresso you're here this weekend! Now he gets to have a home,” Tweek says, petting Espresso, who he's letting roam around the bed while keeping a close eye on him.

“I never noticed how rodent-like you were until I saw you next to one,” Craig says. “They say people look like their pets, but this is a whole new level.”

“I'm not rodent-like!” Tweek huffs.

“Small, twitchy, easily frightened. Totally rodent-like.”

Tweek grumbles and wills Espresso to leap off the bed at Craig's face, but it doesn't happen.

When the cage is done, Tweek puts Espresso inside it and readies his food and water. It's easy enough, and Tweek thinks it should be simple to incorporate it into his daily routine, like Craig said.

“You promise you'll remind me every day?” he asks.

“I won't have to, but I promise,” Craig says.

They hang out and play with Espresso until a little after four. Craig says he has to go pick up Clyde from work and spend quality bro time with him, which Tweek understands. Tweek really wants to stay with Espresso and make sure he gets settled in anyway. Also he wants to make sure his parents don't find Espresso on their own and freak out.

“I'll see you tomorrow,” Craig says, and Tweek blinks dumbly up at him.

“You want to hang out again tomorrow?”

“Clearly you don't recognize how friendship works,” Craig says. “I just bought you a guinea pig. I've bought your affection. So tomorrow you have to hang out with me and Clyde again.”

“Oh my god, fine. My affection isn't cheap, though! It'll cost more than a guinea pig!” Tweek teases, then he blushes. Did he just flirt? Was that flirting?

“Be off tomorrow,” is all Craig says before he leaves.

Tweek has a hard time explaining the new guinea pig and an even harder time convincing his parents to let him off the next day, but they relent when Tweek tells them Craig is leaving and won't be back for a while. He hurriedly picks at his dinner and then goes back upstairs with Espresso, who seems to be making himself quite at home.

Tweek spends the rest of the evening writing in his journal, one of his many coping mechanisms. He fills three pages with his worry over his new pet, and also his excitement over doing something he was always told he shouldn't do. It feels liberating, in a way. He wants to do his best to take care of Espresso, and he doesn't want to let Craig down, either. No one has ever believed in him before. It's something he doesn't want to lose.

The next morning he finds himself in the backseat of Craig's car. Craig still looks like he hasn't slept, and Clyde is eating a fast food sausage and cheese biscuit blissfully like it's the best food he's ever had.

“So where are we going?” Tweek asks.

“To see a movie,” Craig says.

“It's not scary, right?”

“Clyde is with us,” Craig scoffs. “Clyde can't watch scary movies.”

“Fuck you!” Clyde says. “I can watch them. I just think they're stupid.”

“He'll cry. It's best to avoid the headache.”

They end up watching some comedy that has Tweek laughing loudly, and he'd be embarrassed, but everyone else is laughing too. They don't notice him, and Tweek finds himself thinking it's so nice just to blend in, even if it's in the darkness of a movie theater. He shares popcorn and Skittles with Craig, and Clyde has what seems to be a lap full of candy on Craig's other side.

“I just feel bad for him since he never gets to have junk food at home,” Craig had said at the concession. Tweek thinks it's probably good for Clyde to have some calories, since he's gotten pretty thin.

By the time they're walking through the parking lot back to Craig's car, Tweek has forgotten Craig is leaving soon. That is, until Clyde mentions it.

“You could hang out a little longer. Leave after dark. You'll be up all night anyway.”

“I won't. I'm planning on crashing since your lumpy ass couch didn't let me sleep at all this weekend,” Craig says. “Besides, I've gotta do laundry and shit. Tomorrow starts a long week.”

“Feels like you just got here,” Clyde mumbles petulantly.

“Well, I'll be back soon enough. Try not to eat too much candy while I'm gone or Bebe will blame me.”

They drop Clyde off first, since he's the closest. Clyde gives Craig a tight hug that makes Tweek's ribs hurt in sympathy, and then they're driving back to Tweek's house.

“I forgot you had to leave today,” Tweek says.

“You gonna miss me?” Craig asks.

“Yes,” Tweek says without pause. “You're easy to get used to.”

“I'll take that as a compliment.”

“It is one!”

Craig pulls in front of Tweek's house and puts the car in park.

“Ugh, my dad's gonna ask me to work the night shift. I know he is. Oh well. I guess I should play with Espresso while I can.” Tweek looks over at Craig. “Be careful, okay?”

“I'll text you when I get back,” Craig says. “You aren't planning on leaving town before I come back, are you?”

“No. I promise. And even if I did, you have my number.”

“I'll probably text you a lot,” Craig says, nodding to himself, and Tweek doesn't bother asking why. “You'd better respond.”

“I will!”

“And send me pictures of Espresso.”

Tweek laughs. “I will!”

“I want updates on every thought in his guinea pig brain,” Craig says seriously.

“Okay, okay! I promise!” Tweek says, laughing harder. He stops when he notices Craig looking at him with a strange expression on is face. “What is it?”

“Nothing,” Craig says quickly. “I'd better go. But first.” He leans over the glove box and pulls Tweek into a hug. Craig smells like cigarettes and movie theater popcorn. Tweek leans into him and hugs him back. It's the easiest hug he's had to return.

“Take care of yourself. And Clyde, if he needs it,” Craig murmurs. He pulls back and the strange expression is gone, replaced with his usual neutral one. “And don't hang out with Kyle or Stan too much. They'll turn you into a douche.”

“I guess your only option is to come back soon and make sure I'm not their new BFF,” Tweek says, and Craig snorts.

“You are such a smartass. Fine. I'll be back before you know it.”

Tweek exits the car and walks up to his front door before he turns around and waves to Craig, who waves back before driving off. Tweek sighs and goes inside. He's climbing the stairs to his room when his phone buzzes in his pocket. It's from Craig.

I missed you Tweek

Tweek manages to type back that Craig shouldn't be texting while behind the wheel after he gets done blushing and smiling like a loon.

#sp creek #craig x tweek #tweek tweak #craig tucker #south park fanfiction

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dudence-blog · 7 years ago

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Dear Dudence for Way After 24 October 2017

When this post should have published I was drowning my sorrows in a couple bottles of Shiner as the Astros futilely waved their bats in the general direction of Clayton Kershaw being awesome. Oh well, other people still need questions answered! Ask your own at [email protected] or on Facebook!

My 8-year-old asked me “What is sex?”: I am a very open and honest parent with my inquisitive 8-year-old daughter. We can sometimes have lengthy discussions on a wide range of topics. I try to answer as honestly as possible—within reason, of course, depending on whether it’s appropriate for her to know something just yet.

Dear Help! My 8 Year Old Asked me… did she recently use the toilet while your brother’s girlfriend was bathing? Nevermind. Your daughter has some idea what sex is, as evidenced by her recognizing two bears frolicking near each other as possibly sex. So it’s time for you to suck it up and do your parental duty by explaining it to her in an appropriate manner. She’s going to keep asking until she gets an acceptable answer, and I guarantee you’ll prefer that answer come from you over the older girls at school or… God Forbid… the internet *shudder*. NuPru’s “Tell your kid what sex is!” is the sort of answer you expect from a young person who has never had to deal with the thought of explaining the wide wide wide world of sex to a pre-teen. There is an entire genre of books dealing with puberty and sex, I highly recommend you go to Google or Amazon and start researching them, find a couple that look like they might work, get them, read them yourself, and then prepare for this conversation with your daughter. Heck, I actually think this is important enough to have the beginning discussion without consulting a whole bunch of resources. Ask your daughter “Hon, the other day you asked me what sex was, I’d like to know what you think it is.” Find out what she knows, correct what she’s wrong about, and use that as a starting point for your own discussion with her. You don’t need to get into the many details of the different things people do with themselves, their partners, or the local minor league semi-pro hockey team. Touch on the basics in an age appropriate way, but, and this is important, you should let her know this is a subject you want to discuss with her because it is an important part of life. You don’t need to be perfect or have all the answers. That she knows you are someone she can trust as a reliable source of information on this topic is what really matters.

Toilet seats: Can you issue a ruling on this? I’m a man. When I use a gender-neutral bathroom to pee, I put the toilet lid down when I’m done. But when there’s no lid, I still put the seat down so if the next person to use the bathroom is a woman (or a man who will be sitting), the seat will already be down and they won’t have to handle the seat. I think men tend to be the ones who make the seats gross in the first place so we should be the ones saddled with this mildest of burdens to occasionally touch toilet seats.

Dear Toilet Seats, put the seat down. It’s the polite thing to do. If anyone is putting their ass down in a place they haven’t checked first that’s on them. You’re asking to have a rattlesnake bite your ass if you’re not checking first (Editor’s Note: AAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!). Don’t let a rattlesnake bite your ass. That being said, your friends fucking hate you for bringing up this topic.

How do I tell her I’m pregnant?: I am a mother of two perfect, healthy, amazing daughters. I thought I was done having kids and have just started the process of weaning my youngest from breast-feeding. I have been very vocal about not wanting more children. I wanted to really focus on me, my marriage, and raising my two awesome kids. Well, I just found out I am pregnant with No. 3! Total surprise. Here is the problem: One of my best friends has been unsuccessfully trying to get pregnant. She is currently doing in vitro fertilization—shots, surgeries, the whole nine yards. I want so badly for her to get pregnant and for this to be an easier road for her.

Dear How Do I… I know how you got pregnant. You’d think after two kids you’d have figured that one out. I went to public school in Texas and even I know that banging leads to babies! If your friend has been struggling to get pregnant to the point where she’s using IVF and other measures you’re not the first, only, or probably last friend who has gotten pregnant while she has been unable to. Give her the respect to treat her like a friend, not like some sort of defective who needs to have her feelings coddled. Tell her the same way you’re going to tell everyone: by announcing it on Facebook or Instagram. That way if she does need some time and privacy to deal with any unpleasant feelings your news generates she can do it in the privacy of her own home. Unless your way of telling people is to phone them and say “I’m pregnant again and it’s amazing how easy it happened! I just look at man goo and my ovum fertilizes! Anyone who can’t get pregnant this easily is probably doing it wrong!” If that’s how you plan to tell her then I’d reconsider.

Romantic comedy: Last month, my fiancé left me for his ex and canceled our wedding. And I am fine. Now that everything has settled down, I find myself relieved. We were together three years, never fought, and were good on paper together. I used to describe us as OK when the real word was lukewarm. I feel like a fraud for not feeling bad. We lost some deposits, but my ex has lost our entire circle of friends. His family has apologized to me and bad-mouthed his new girl to me. My ex even paid off my car for me as a ‘sorry for leaving you at the altar!’ gesture. His girlfriend wrote me a letter (she seems very nice, actually).

Dear Romantic Comedy, what you do now is let people’s emotions and righteous indignation at his act fade. It’s been a month, it’s going to take a bit of time for the vicarious shock and hurt of disaffected parties to fade. You help it along by being honest about how you felt about the relationship; it was fading, you were better on paper than as real people, etc. Eventually those friends he’s lost will come back around.

Dear Widow Seeks Celibacy, hummmm… it sounds like you’re fighting this fight on your own. You’re going to get worn down to frustration and anger that way. Try and find, among your friends and family, people who do understand your choice, why you feel the way you do, and how important it is to you, and explain to them in detail how and why you feel this way. Get them to start running some interference for you. The people who are pressuring you to “move on” are, certainly, discussing this amongst themselves. You need people there when it’s mentioned to intervene and let them know how seriously you mean this. There is no immutable natural law which prevents a “father figure” from being someone other than “man currently banging mom,” so your kids are not being denied some role model because you’re not dating; that is just a cruel thing to say honestly. The sad fact is you can’t make people understand, all you can control is your message. What they do after receiving it is on them.

Feelings for my future fake husband: I’m a manager in the service industry, and I love my job, but insurance under the Affordable Care Act is unaffordable and impractical (the back surgery I need would cost me tens of thousands), and I make too much to qualify for any help.

Dear Feelings for My Future Fake Husband, earlier we had Clueless, now we have the Adam Sandler/Kevin James vehicle “I Now Pronounce you Chuck and Larry” I do not like the direction our movie references are going. We’re going to be in MST3K fodder soon. Don’t marry Jack because you need insurance. That being said is there any particular reason you’re keeping your feelings for Jack under wraps? Actually building a relationship with him based on being open and honest with your feelings probably doesn’t get you into an insurance policy that will offer the surgery you think you need in a timely manner, but he has broached the subject of marriage with you, even if only to facilitate some fraud. It might not be the worst idea for you to reject his offer of marriage because you can’t make a commitment like that for such a blatant material reason, while at the same time saying you’d like to go out with him sometime.

Is my co-worker joining a cult?: Around two months ago, one of my co-workers mentioned that she was trying a new spiritual practice and has been acting strangely since: She often comes in late or won’t show up at all; she deleted her social media presence; her demeanor is distant and confused instead of bubbly and engaged; and she’s started using terms like “good energy,” “negative energy,” and other similar things in everyday conversations. When she misses work, she says that she was meeting with either a “spiritual counselor” or “godparents.”

Dear Is My Co-Worker… since your co-workers new-found spirituality is adversely impacting your work it’s time to have a discussion with your mutual boss about it. I will let you know that asking someone “Hey, are you in a cult?” is not likely to elicit an affirmative response, even if they are. As long as you’re not bothered by the risk of a long explanation about how the Church of Atom can improve your life, do go ahead and ask you co-worker if she’s okay; you’ve noticed she’s been distant, whatever.

To clean or not to clean without permission: Do you think it rude to clean someone else’s home without their permission? When my mother-in-law “Deb” visited from another state, she cleaned our house while I was at work—making me feel ashamed about my housekeeping, throwing out things I still wanted, and reorganizing in what I found to be a confusing fashion. My husband said to just let it go because that’s what his family does and she was just trying to be helpful.

Dear To Clean or Not to Clean… follow your gut and check with Carol, maybe she does want to come home to a clean house, or maybe she wants to come home to the place she left. Regardless “Deb moving in and rearranging an elderly woman’s home without her permission,” is a bad idea. Then tell your husband to grow a pair and support you when it comes to establishing boundaries with his mom.

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