#lawn care flyers

[sirfrogsworth]

Early voting to beat the lines... the best-laid schemes of mice and men often go awry.

So... yesterday was quite the day.

After being stuck in bed for the past 6 weeks with some mystery slump, I was finally feeling better. So I decided I would try to cram as many errands into my day as possible. That works better for me when I drive out into the world because I end up only having to do one big recovery instead of a bunch of little recoveries.

My to-do list...

Go to the doctor

Vote early

Return oxygen machine to FedEx store for scammy eBay guy

Return Amazon package to the UPS store

Get gasoline for my whip

Go to Discount Tire to get my tires filled for free

Drop a check off for my lawn guy

Mail a secret package to Katrina at the US Post Office

It would have been nice if I could have gone to just one shipping place instead of all three, but the universe has a sense of humor and likes to do shit like that to me on a regular basis.

So, I get my checkup, it goes quick, no long wait, I'm feeling good.

As I get in my car, it starts to rain. It was an ugly day and it actually has not stopped raining to this very moment a day later. Just gray, windy, chilly, and wet. I look up the voting place and start the GPS.

Wipers and music on full blast, it's time to get my vote on.

When I reach my destination, I realize early voting is at some kind of private golf club. And at the center is a recreation center—which is a public building.

So it's like this private/public turducken situation.

I was expecting this errand to take 20 minutes. Because early voting always seemed like a way to get in before the crowds of election day for a more convenient voting experience.

But the parking lot was packed and I feared my expectations were about to be subverted.

As I walk through the parking lot I see a bunch of signs in the ground.

And a particular one caught my eye.

This is bullshit.

Like, just a straight up lie. No truth to it whatsoever.

Amendment 3 in Missouri basically restores abortion rights in the state. And Republicans have taken issue with the following language...

"The Government shall not deny or infringe upon a person's fundamental right to reproductive freedom, which is the right to make and carry out decisions about all matters relating to reproductive health care, including but not limited to prenatal care, childbirth, postpartum care, birth control, abortion care, miscarriage care, and respectful birthing conditions."

They claim the phrasing "but not limited to" means you can give an 8-year-old kid "sex change surgery."

This is how their online flyer puts it...

It could also include a free puppy.

Or a zillion bucks.

Or a clown will come to your house after the abortion and honk your nose.

It's ridiculous and desperate. I honestly don't know how it is legal for them to put a lie like that outside of a polling location, but here we are.

The organization "Missouri Stands with Women" is run by... a man.

It was set up by a lawyer named "Edward Greim" on behalf of the Federalist Society.

His law firm has a lovely biography about him. And a bunch of publicly available contact information. I say that for no reason whatsoever.

The Federalist Society funds all kinds of shit like this. Their main thing is installing conservative judges all over the country who will reinterpret or negate legislation. And they do it all to "stand with women" by taking away their reproductive rights.

Here is the board of directors of the Federalist Society.

Ya know, before I looked this up, I said to myself, "I bet it's going to be a sausage fest." I am psychic.

I think it would be more accurate to say they stand with A woman.

Just one.

And she sucks.

Nicole is a law professor at Notre Dame. She chose her Catholicism over her right to choose. The Catholic Church will fuck your rights and your children and Nicole will help them do it.

Anyway... back to my quick and easy voting experience...

So as I'm walking in to vote I keep passing a ton of these awful signs. I notice an older woman standing next to the aforementioned "child sex change" sign and she says, "Can I talk to you about Amendment 3?"

At this point, I'm pretty angry. I look her dead in the eyes and say with my most assholish tone, "NO." as I walk past her.

And then she finishes her sentence...

"...to protect the reproductive rights of women."

Ah, dammit.

I thought she was an old Karen but she was cool as heck. Standing out in the rain telling people the sign is bullshit. I wanted to turn around and apologize but I was stuck in full social anxiety mode so I just kept walking.

If that old lady happens to have a Tumblr and follows me and is willing to read this giant story... I just want to say I am sorry. I thought you were awful and I should have let you finish your sentence. You're super cool and I'm happy there are folks like you fighting for what is right.

I get inside and a young woman greets me. She tells me the line is in the next room and points. I still wasn't quite sure what the situation was. The parking lot being full gave me pause, but I was still hopeful I could have a swift early voting experience.

But I walk through the doors and into a huge gymnasium and my heart sinks.

It's hard to represent in pictures how long this line is.

It goes all the way to the end of the gym, loops around, and comes back. At first I was not too discouraged, because there was a nice gentle ramp at the start of the line.

But then I notice several sets of stairs at different stages of the line. And I'm just thinking how hard it would be to stand in this line and then also having to go up and down several sets of stairs.

So I go back to the young woman working there and ask what their accessible voting options are. And she told me I could do curbside voting and points outside. I then notice a line of cars wrapped around the parking lot. I don't know how I didn't see them walking in, but I guess I was too busy being a jerk to elderly progressive women.

My biggest concern was time.

The longer this takes, the more energy I use up, the longer my eventual recovery will be.

They tell me the car option is the slowest. And I could be in line for 2 to 3 hours. And then an old man who seemed to be in charge walks over and tells me the fastest option is to stand in line.

So I walk back out to my car and grab my cane and decide to try the long serpentine gynasium line.

I start walking up the ramp and some of the other folks see how slow and labored I'm walking and they start encouraging me. "You can do it! You got this!" Which I suppose was meant to be a positive helpful thing. But I found it to be embarrassing.

I get to the end of the line and notice most of the line has bleachers directly next to it. So I decide to sit down and rest and figure out how I am going to survive this experience.

It took me a while to recover from the long walk to this spot. I watched a bunch of people pass me by and the line was actually getting much longer as I rested. I was not really sure what to do. I was trying to problem-solve this situation but the answer that kept popping up in my mind was just... "go home."

But I felt this was too important and that wasn't really an option.

My best idea was to ask someone if they would hold my spot in line. Perhaps I could just sit in the bleachers and follow them around in the line, staying as close to them as I could. But my social anxiety was set to maximum and I was not finding the courage to ask someone.

After about 10 minutes of sitting, resting, and thinking, I basically say, "Fuck it, I'll try to stand in line."

I get up and start walking to the end of the line.

Then I hear a voice yell out to me.

"Hey, man! Come over here! This is your spot!"

A young man was waving at me. He was accompanied by his wife. Both of them were dressed in black and they had a sort of goth skater aesthetic going on. He had a competitively bushy beard, but with less gray. And she had very vivid purple hair.

I was a little confused and still processing what was happening. Then they both started waving at me to join them in line. They remembered I got there just before and told me I should be in front of them. I walk over and thank them. Then he suggests...

"Hey, why don't you just sit in the bleachers and follow us around the line."

He suggested my idea!

Without me asking!

I felt like he read my mind or something.

Can bearded people read each others' minds? Was this some beard skill I was unaware of?

"I got you, man. You just sit and we'll keep your place."

And his violet hair'd significant other agreed. "Yeah, we got you."

The kindness of strangers was more accessible than my polling place and I was just so thankful in that moment.

So I sat in the bleachers and watched them traverse the line. In the middle of the gym there were some teenagers playing basketball. And so I just rested and watched them play.

That young man in the red pants was like a goddamn Harlem Globetrotter. He was just embarrassing the others. He was bouncing the ball behind his back and through his legs and then he just danced around his opponents like a figure skater. It was such an unbalanced matchup. He might as well have been playing 4th graders. Not only was he significantly faster and more maneuverable, but he was consistently hitting 3-pointers.

And then during a break, he ran towards the hoop, jumped from the free throw line, flew all the way to the net, grabbed onto the rim, and proceeded to do several pull ups as if they were the easiest thing in the world. I don't think I've seen anyone jump that far and that high in real life and it was just a bonkers display of athleticism.

I spent the entire wait watching him humiliate the others—hoping he would get a full ride scholarship to some prestigious university.

And I hoped the other boys paid attention in school and got straight As, because basketball was not going to work out for them.

As my new goth skater friends progressed through the line, I would make sure to keep sight of them. Every once in a while I'd give them a head nod to acknowledge we were in this together. After an hour and a half they were at the final segment of the line, so I sat next to the wheelchair folks.

I probably could have argued to sit with them in the first place. But I really did not feel like making the case that I was just as disabled as them and needed that level of consideration. The old man running things seemed quite stressed and was putting out 8 fires at once. And my anxiety wasn't really cooperating enough to be assertive in my needs.

But it worked out in the end, so I'm not going to dwell on the lack of accommodation for people who weren't *visually* disabled.

My new bearded friend neared the end and waved me over. I thanked him and his wife profusely.

I joked, "Thank you for adopting a voter."

They seemed confused by my joke.

"No problem, man. Happy to help."

I told him and his wife they truly saved me. "I honestly don't think I would have made it through the line." And then I looked back...

I said, "As crazy as this is, I do find this kind of turnout encouraging." His wife agreed and said, "We were saying the same thing!" And then I thought, "Can the wives of bearded people absorb the mind reading ability? I hope she can't read my mind right now. Although, I'm mostly thinking that her hair is a really cool shade of purple, so she'd probably find that complimentary."

As I waited to get my ballot I could hear the happy couple behind me. They were very cute. They were making fun of each other in a very lovey-dovey fashion. I had high hopes they were going to grow old and gray and purple together based on their chemistry. And I was just so thankful they were able to recognize that I needed help without me asking. Because I probably would have just caved to my anxiety and not asked for help otherwise.

I got my ballot and sat down to fill in all of the appropriate squares. Thankfully I had prepared a cheat sheet on my phone.

It was an exact replica so I was able to copy it and finish quite rapidly.

Then I fed my votes into the vote-eating monster and they gave me a sticker.

My quick 20 minute adventure to vote early only took 2.5 hours!

And because I didn't want to buck tradition, I stood outside in the wind and the rain and took a voting selfie.

Yep, that seems about right.

Ah, crap... that was only the second thing on my to-do list.

Let's speedrun the rest of this story, shall we?

I drove to FedEx. I hauled a 40 pound box inside. I plopped it on the counter and said, "Man, this thing is heavy!" as I tried to catch my breath. The 20 year old working there then lifted it like it was a feather and I felt great about that.

I drove to the gas station because I was nearly on empty—that is both a metaphor and not a metaphor. I filled my ride with go juice.

I noticed I was a mile from the tire store and they fill up tires for free. So I did that and the guy was super nice and complimented my tires. I felt both weird and proud about having my tires complimented. Like, I had nothing to do with my tires being nice. But I accepted the praise on their behalf.

I drove to the UPS store. The last time I was there I made a scene. They refused to box up a return and I got upset and wasn't feeling well and they had to find a chair for me to sit in because I was going to faint. So I was hoping the same woman wasn't there, but she was. She didn't recognize me, so it was fine.

I drove to my lawn guy's house. He wasn't home. I dropped a check in his mailbox. My checks have corgis on them. My checks are cute.

I drove to the post office. I sent a secret package to my bestie, Katrina. I'd tell you what is in it, but it is an inside joke and you wouldn't get it. The woman noticed my voting sticker and I couldn't help thinking about what I just accomplished to get that sticker.

On my way out I noticed a miracle.

2 of the 4 doors were fixed!

I mean, I don't know why they couldn't fix all 4, but now the employees won't freeze in the winter. So I take that as a win. It only took a year and a half to accomplish and I'm sure all of my phone calls and emails did not help at all. But I'm going to pretend I saved the day regardless.

And then... I drove home.

5 hours of errands.

I was so fucking tired. My back was on fire with pain. I immediately collapsed into my bed. I passed out. And I slept for 14 hours.

The End

[lemoncrushh]

Fratboy Harry - Part 9

Summary: Harry Styles was a boy with a reputation, one that you couldn’t care less about. Yet one night at a frat party changed everything.

Warnings: Smut, drinking, angst, a very cocky Harry. 18+ ONLY!!

Part 9 Word Count: 2516

STORY PAGE

After having basically a week from hell, Saturday had finally rolled around again. Despite having met with your professor, you didn't do as well on your English exam as you'd hoped. On Wednesday you'd had a job interview that had seemed way too short, and you doubted you'd be offered the position. And then on Thursday as you were headed toward your Ethics class, you passed a student body election going on. A guy you recognized from some of the frat parties was giving his speech, his supporters gathered around him on the lawn. That was when you spotted Harry, his arm thrown casually around the shoulders of a blonde girl. Jamie.

Your blood boiling, you began walking faster, nearly bumping into a short peppy girl who was trying to hand you a flyer.

"Please vote for Alex Webster!" she exclaimed, shoving the piece of paper in your face.

You scowled at her, practically ripping it from her hand before storming off.

"Jesus, what's wrong with you?" Jimmy asked when you dropped your backpack on your desk.

"Boys!" you yelled. "You're all so fucking pathetic."

"Hey!" he held his hands up, "Don't lump me in there, please. I'm doing my best."

Your face softened as you sat down. "Sorry, Jimmy. You just may be the exception."

He gave you a grin and patted your hand. "Whoever it is, he's an idiot if he doesn't see how great you are."

You smiled back. "Thanks."

"You going to the party this weekend? I heard it's supposed to be the biggest one this year."

You slumped in your seat and crossed your arms. "Seriously doubt it. I can't deal with fraternity boys and sorority girls anymore."

"I'll be there," Jimmy shrugged. "You can hang out with me. Get drunk and talk smack about everybody."

You threw your head back laughing. "Actually, that does sound pretty sweet."

"So you'll go?"

"I'll think about it."

So now it was Saturday and you were on your way to this stupid frat party with Mandy and a couple other friends. You'd told yourself that you didn't give a shit if you saw Harry or not. He was not your reason for going.

You weren't in the house two seconds before you spotted Jimmy.

"Hey, alright you came!" he greeted you with a hug.

As soon as he released you, your friends had already scattered in different directions. With a shrug, you followed Jimmy into the kitchen where he quickly reached for two cups.

"Nah," you shook your head. "Let's do shots."

"Really?" he raised his eyebrows.

"Yep."

With a wink, Jimmy grabbed the bottle of tequila and two shot glasses, pouring the gold liquid into each and handing you one. You quickly licked the side of your hand, shaking salt onto it.

"Bottoms up," you said before licking the salt and taking the shot.

The warm liquor warmed your throat instantly as you reached for a lime wedge to suck on.

"Another," you announced when you tossed the lime in the trash.

"You sure?" chuckled Jimmy.

"Let's get this party rolling!" you danced, making Jimmy laugh harder.

He poured you another shot, and this time you downed it without bothering with the salt or lime. You shook your head after swallowing, the sting making you cringe slightly. You slammed the shot glass down on the counter and blinked at Jimmy.

"Okay," you lifted a finger, "now this is a officially a party."

You stayed in the kitchen a while with Jimmy, chatting and watching other people come in and out. Mandy made an appearance, her arm looped through Keg Boy's while they shared some kind of spiked punch that somebody made. You were apprehensive to try it yourself, though it resembled the concoction that you'd been drinking the night you met Harry.

Harry.

Almost like he knew you were thinking about him, he just happened to show up at that moment. In fact, you heard his laughter before he even entered the kitchen. He wore a cocky smirk as he leaned against the counter, with none other than Jamie tagging along. It was like deja vu.

With a scowl on your face, you swiftly filled a red Solo cup with the punch and grabbed Jimmy's arm.

"C'mon, let's get out of here," you said.

"What the-"

Jimmy glared at you in question as you pulled him into the living room. When you reached the sofa, he stopped and released his arm from your grip.

"Is he why you didn't wanna come tonight?" he turned to you. "The reason you were so pissed off the other day?"

"Who?" you asked as though you had no idea what he was talking about.

He pursed and lips and narrowed his eyes. "Styles."

You chewed your bottom lip. "Maybe."

Jimmy sighed and shook his head. "Y/N."

"What?"

"I should have known. That guy's a prick."

"Tell me about it," you scoffed.

"I wanted to warn you that night when he was talking to you, but I didn't wanna start anything. Now I guess I should have. What did he do to you?"

"He..." you started. "You know what? It doesn't matter anymore. I came to have a good time, didn't you?"

"Yeah," Jimmy gave a lazy smile.

"C'mon then," you raised your cup.

Jimmy slowly raised his beer and you tapped them together.

"Cheers!" you exclaimed before taking several large gulps of your drink, realizing it was more spiked than you thought. And it tasted good.

"Give me the microphone!" you shouted, doing your best to try to stand up.

About an hour ago, somebody had turned on the karaoke machine. You, Jimmy, and several other people had gathered around the floor of the living room to watch people sing off key. If you weren't feeling the effects of the alcohol so much, you would have thought it cringe-worthy. But as it was, you found it completely hilarious. After your Grammy-winning performance of a Britney Spears cover, Jimmy had rolled his eyes at you and kissed your cheek, announcing he was taking a breather and going outside. You'd wanted to stay and listen until it was your turn again.

While a girl you knew from somewhere but you couldn't place was up singing some Mariah Carey, and not too badly you might add, a cute guy came and sat next to you. You'd already forgotten his name by the time the song was over, but you didn't care. He was flirting with you, and you liked it. Especially since you'd already had...how many drinks had you had? You'd lost count.

This time you sang an 80s power ballad, encouraging everybody to sway and sing along. Cute Guy was staring at you the entire time, not so much a smile on his face, but like he was drinking you in. It made you feel sexy.

Just as you were singing the last chorus, however, Harry walked into the room and leaned against the wall with his arms crossed. You gave him a go to hell look as you returned the microphone to its stand. Then you smiled at Cute Guy before sitting down beside him again. You noticed then that your cup was empty, so you stood up to return to the kitchen to refill it. You stumbled a bit and Cute Guy helped you find your balance.

"You okay?" he asked.

"'m fine," you mumbled.

When you crossed the living room toward the kitchen, you passed Harry.

"Hi," you heard him say.

You glared at him incredulously. Then you rolled your eyes and kept walking, completely dismissing him. You entered the kitchen just as a group of people were cheering about shots. You beamed at them as you stepped closer.

"I want in!" you exclaimed.

"Hell yeah, baby!" one boy yelled, grabbing an extra shot glass.

He filled it with tequila and handed it to you. You got your salt ready and lifted your glass with everyone else. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw two other boys standing in the doorway. One was Cute Guy (damn, you wished you could remember his name), and the other was Harry. Deciding to have some fun, you seductively licked your lips before meeting the salt on your hand with your tongue. Then you threw back the shot and grabbed a piece of lime, bringing it to your mouth. You sucked on it gingerly and allowed your tongue to roll around it.

Cute Guy was grinning from ear to ear. Your little game had worked. Harry, however, didn't seem as pleased. He shook his head and crossed his arms again, looking down at the floor. As you threw away the lime, Cute Guy walked up to you.

"Can I have one of those?" he inquired.

"A shot? Sure."

Grabbing the same glass you'd used, you filled it for him. With his eyes on you, he grabbed your hand and licked it, shaking salt on it. You watched him as he licked it again, taking all the salt before tossing back the tequila shot. Your bottom lip trapped between your teeth, you grinned at him.

Without warning, he pulled you to him, his hands on your hips. When his mouth covered yours, a tiny sound escaped your throat.

"C'mon," he whispered, grabbing your hand and guiding you out of the kitchen.

You didn't miss the look on Harry's face as you passed him in the doorway, though you couldn't quite make out its meaning.

You and Cute Guy were almost to the stairs when you heard your name called.

"Y/N! Wait!"

"What?" you whined as you swung around, not bothering to hide your disgust.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Harry asked.

"What do you care?" you slurred.

"You're drunk."

"Indeed I am," you nodded. "It's a party."

You turned back around, giving Cute Guy a wink, and you continued to follow him up the stairs. When you made it to the landing, though, your knees seemed to give out and you fell down laughing.

"Shit," you muttered. "I'm so drunk."

Cute Guy didn't seem affected by it. He reached down to pull you to your feet. You tried to assure him you could make it, but your giggles erupted, and you couldn't stand straight for very long.

"Y/N," you heard Harry call again, only this time he sounded closer. Your vision had blurred suddenly, making it hard to see past two feet. "Please don't do this."

"Fuck off, pal!" you heard another voice say. You thought it was Cute Guy.

"Yeah, leave me alone, Harry!" you managed to shout.

Or at least you thought you did. You weren't sure if your mouth and your brain were cooperating. You started to feel dizzy.

"C'mon, baby," Cute Guy said. "Let's go in here."

"I think I need to lie down," you mumbled.

"Yeah, you can lie down in here."

When you heard a door close, you blinked, your vision coming back to you for a bit. You realized you were in another room, and there was definitely a bed. Hurrying toward it, you collapsed on it, closing your eyes. You felt the bed shift as someone joined you. You felt like you were under water until you felt a pair of lips touch yours. You opened your mouth, almost like a reflex, and before you knew it, a body was pressed against yours, someone else's tongue inside your mouth.

He tasted like tequila and smelled like cologne. You still felt disoriented and very confused, but too tired to fight him. Besides, he wasn't a bad kisser. When you felt his hand reach between your legs, however, you tried to push him off.

"No," you whispered against his lips. "Too tired."

"It's okay," he remarked. "I'm not."

You half chuckled at his words, though you weren't quite sure why you found them funny. You really just wanted to sleep.

Suddenly, you heard a loud knock at the door and the doorknob jiggle. Cute Guy cursed and yelled something like "go away".

"Not a chance, mate!" a familiar voice boomed. "Open the fucking door, now!"

You weren't sure exactly what made Cute Guy decide to abide by Harry's wishes, but you felt him climb off of you. Your eyes mere slits and your vision still blurry, you saw three things happen almost simultaneously. Cute Guy unlocked the door, Jimmy and another guy you didn't know rushed in and pinned him against the wall, and Harry picked you up off the bed.

"What are you doing?" you whined. "I told you to leave me alone!"

"Not gonna happen," he argued.

"You okay to drive man?" Jimmy asked.

"Yeah, I'm fine," Harry replied.

"Harry!" you cried, pushing on his chest as he carried you out of the room.

Ignoring your protests, he continued down the stairs and out the front door. You felt the brisk air hit you, instantly cooling the heat on your face. Harry stopped at a car, cursing under his breath.

"I have to put you down for a second," he muttered.

Throwing daggers with your eyes, you allowed him to put you down, where you leaned against the car. Harry shoved his hand in his pocket and retrieved a key fob, pressing the button to unlock the car door. Then pulling you away from the car, he opened the door.

"Get in," he insisted.

"No," you argued.

"Get in!" he repeated.

"Fuck you, Harry!" you yelled. "I'm not going anywhere with you!"

"Yes, you are."

When you didn't move, Harry picked you up like before, placing you in the passenger seat. You pouted, though your limbs felt like jelly. There was no way you could have resisted.

Slamming your door shut, Harry walked around to the driver's side and put the key in the ignition. You heard loud music as soon as he did, and you covered your ears and groaned. Harry turned down the volume and drove away.

The ride to his apartment was silent except for the low radio. He didn't say a word to you, and you were fine with that. You still felt dizzy and disoriented, though you were more aware of your surroundings than you were earlier.

You were able to get out of the car yourself when you arrived, but Harry still put his arm around you to help you walk to the front door. The apartment was dark except for a dim light coming from the bedroom. You heard Harry toss his keys on the table before setting you on the bed. You watched him through heavy eyelids as he removed your shoes.

"I'm drunk," you heard yourself declare.

Harry chuckled softly. "That you are."

"And you're still with Jamie," you added.

Glaring at you, Harry didn't say a word. Instead, he pulled the covers down and laid you back on the bed. You sighed when your head hit the pillow.

You didn't remember much after that except for the lamp being turned off and the bed shifting when Harry must have crawled in. All else was darkness.

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[witchofthesouls]

Hi!! I was wondering what Sarah and wills reaction to starscream and his trine would be in seeker fam au. Like individually and as a pair. How would the decepticon seekers react to Annabelle? It would be hilarious if it was just a get off my lawn situation but also I was wondering the deeper context in seeker culture too!

Out of both, Sarah is the more agitated Seeker because she already has Will as a bondmate and sparkling with a not-so-secured nest among mechs that she's trying to make sense of. Will likes the Autobots, she's still trying to come around them.

Sarah acts as an early warning system as she can sense sparks in a wide territory. She's the best alarm the base can get, and her alarm-screeching can wake up the dead. Plus, her own sigma ability is capable of scrambling non-sentient machinery along with Cybertronian signals. The Seeker in her doesn't like the newcomers since they're not flock, and it unconsciously picks up certain behavioral cues as they try to test potentially courting. It doesn't like that. At all. If the Command Trine weren't excellent and agile flyers, then she would literally ram them out of the sky because she wants a large amount of space and they're not listening.

Will is far more wary of them. He's curious because his own frame recognizes other Seeker mechs, but he's freshly bonded to Sarah with a sparkling-Annabelle between them. He recognizes that they're far more experienced flyers, so he'll rely on ambush attacks from his camouflage sigma ability to, at least, break their formation. Plus, the Seeker in him unconsciously understands the behavioral cues that the Decepticon Seekers are trying to challenge something from him, and it's misunderstanding as the right to be the primary sire to any of Sarah's heats. Of course, he's not going to tolerate it.

(Even Optimus is picking up something from the interactions but lacks the cultural context to fully understand it. Starscream is trying to convince the Lennoxes that he's the superior leader.)

It hasn't devolved into full dogfighting because Command Trine is being careful with handling it. Will and Sarah are a bonded pair with no other stable social ties, so killing one would completely destabilize the other and, unfortunately, take Annabelle with their deaths. Not a result they want, especially Sarah being the only healthy Seeker femme in several galaxies at this point.

Since there's a lot of air traffic, Sarah and Will typically combine during Energon expeditions since it's safer for traveling. Will's steadiness cools Sarah's newfound bloodthirst should other aerials get in her space, and Sarah is able to tap into Will's sigma ability to bypass any security measures as she follows the cues to where ever it is.

It takes the pair dozens of times to do it on purpose, but eventually, they get to it. Both consider it the most bizarre experience of their lives. It even tops waking up off the shore of Alaska as a different species.

Bottom line, it really amounts to the Decepticon Seekers trying to snare the healthy pair of new Seekers to their neighborhood, but the Lennoxes are suspicious of the meet up party and want to stay in their own house.

[ajesterwrites]

10. the fashionable miss forbes

summary: while bonnie pulls back, you and caroline get some alone time. sheriff forbes delivers devastating news.

pairings: caroline forbes x reader (platonic)

warnings: mention of death

word count: 2.7K

"TONIGHT, night of the comet! Would you like a program?" Bonnie recited, handing a flyer to a passing group of strangers as she, you, and Caroline strolled down the sidewalk. You scanned the flyer, wondering why on Earth you even needed it. It was all anyone had talked about for the past week. Vicki had been attacked. Ryder could be dead. And all this town cared about was this stupid festival. Bonnie glanced at you. "He didn't call, huh?"

"If by him you mean Stefan, then yes," You confirmed. You hadn't spoken all day either. You weren't sure why you were disappointed. Sure, you hit it off, but that didn't mean they had something. He was your friend, and you were delusional. "And I was wondering why until I realized that during our eight-hour talk session, I never even gave him my number."

"That's an important milestone in any relationship."

"Well, you know me," You shrugged. "I'm not a milestone kind of person."

Bonnie laughed. "What are you talking about? You used to document everything. Like that time you taped weed against one of the pages in your scrapbook?"

"I did that?" You asked, frowning. All the time in the trauma center must have screwed with a few of your memories. If only you could forget the memories of the center.

"You don't remember? Your parents freaked!" Bonnie exclaimed, and you giggled, but soon her smile faded. "Look. Caroline and I are worried about you. Ever since you've come back, you've been acting... not like yourself."

"What do you mean?"

"It's just..." Bonnie sighed. "I've never even seen you pick up a sketchbook until yesterday. You love to cook, I remember we used to try out different recipes all the time even though you were terrible at it. And you and Vicki always fought when you were sober, but at the end of the day, you two were good friends."

"What are you saying?"

"That you've changed." Bonnie confessed, smiling sadly. "Y/N...what happened to you?"

The pitiful look on her face was lethal. You nearly winced, but kept your composure and shrugged. "Nothing happened," You assured her but it didn't alleviate your friend's concern the way you hoped it would. "I mean it. Nothing happened, okay?"

"Alright," Bonnie replied reluctantly. "But if you ever need someone to talk to, we're all here for you."

"I know," You said, giving her a fond smile. Bonnie happily returned the gesture and grabbed your shoulder comfortingly. You handed a flyer to a passerby, hardly noticing how quickly Bonnie snatched her hand away, as if she'd touched the steam from a kettle.

You noticed Caroline across the lawn, a flirtatious grin on her face as she stalked towards someone. You followed the determined blonde's gaze but frowned when you realized no one was there—at least no one who seemed to be interested or even aware. You glanced back at Caroline, who appeared to be as lost as you. What the-?

"Care, you alright?"

"What?" Caroline's head snapped in your direction. She blinked into reality and faked a smile before joining the pair. "Yeah, I'm fine. So what are you two going on about?"

"I have to go," Bonnie blurted out. Before either girl could say anything, she spun around and rushed away, stealing a frightened look at you. You tilted your head to the side. What was that all about?

Caroline faced you, furrowing her eyebrows. "What's going on with her?"

"I'm not sure." Bonnie seemed...afraid of you. But she had no reason to be, right? What you had done to her? Unless...

Unless she saw something. What if she really was a witch? What if she had psychic powers and could see into your head? But...no. That was absurd. Just because her ancestors were from Salem didn't mean she was psychic. Bonnie's reaction could be due to a number of factors, factors which didn't even include you. It wasn't personal. It surely felt personal...but feelings weren't always the best judgment. It wasn't like Bonnie was the most forthcoming about her home life.

Within seconds, Caroline confused expression flipped into a dazzling smile. "So I was thinking, since tonight's a very special night and Stefan's going to be there, I should do your hair and makeup."

"Caroline, I am not going to let you come anywhere near me with a curling or flat iron."

"But-"

"Last time, you almost burned my eyebrow off!"

"I was seven!" Caroline exclaimed, and you shook your head. "Fine! But at least let me pick out your outfit."

You opened your mouth to protest but quickly snapped it back shut. It'll be our first one-on-one since I came back, you thought. And it's a step towards normalcy.

Caroline stared at you with anticipation. You looked into her wide, excited eyes and sighed. "I have two conditions," You decided. "The first is I will not look like anything between the lines of prom queen or hooker."

"Done!" Caroline declared. "And the second?"

"The jacket stays."

You extended your hand. Smiling, Caroline gave it a light shake. "Deal."

◇◇◇

You threw yourself on the cloud-like blankets, sinking in the refreshing fluff. You were wearing nothing but a bra and shorts, and your body felt so much lighter. It'd been a while since you'd visited the Forbes household but God, had you missed it. You suddenly remembered the secret to your sleepovers; you had the best movies and Bonnie had the best snacks, but Caroline had the best blankets.

"How's this?" Caroline asked, holding up a yellow sundress. You were currently in her bedroom, picking out an outfit. Unfortunately, you weren't making it very easy. Over the past hour, your complaints had been that the dresses were too flashy, too short, too long, too spotty—the last one was "too sporty." Caroline didn't even know what that meant!

You pulled herself from bed heaven and stared at the dress in front of her. It was pretty...for a cowgirl living in the countryside, maybe. You shook your head. "Too bright."

Caroline sighed exasperatedly. "Okay, really?" You had always been rather difficult to dress, but this was just ridiculous. It was one dress! For one night!

"What?" You asked with an innocent laugh. Caroline rolled her eyes and stuffed the dress back between a million others.

You peered into the closet, inspecting the array of colors and fabrics. It was like a shopping mall in there. Or the rainbow Dorothy sang about. You perked up when you caught a glimpse of black silk. "Wait is that my jumpsuit? I've been looking all over for that!"

Caroline raised an eyebrow, giving you a judgmental stare. "You wanna wear that with a leather jacket?"

"Fine, how about that?" You pointed at a small blue, black, and white checkered dress. It was subtle, casual, short but not too short, and it mixed well with leather.

"Plaid?" Caroline asked skeptically. She'd never known you to wear plaid. In fact, that was one of the few things only she and Bonnie had in common. Caroline was pretty sure she'd borrowed that dress from Bonnie junior year, actually.

"Would you rather have me wear the jumpsuit?"

"Plaid it is," Caroline replied instantly and pulled it off the rack. You took it from her hands and pulled it on. Caroline sized you up and down as she smoothed out the wrinkles with her hands. "Hm...It's missing something."

Caroline beelined for her drawer. After a minute of rummaging through her belongings, she came across what she was looking for: a pair of golden hoops. "Here."

You rubbed them between your fingers, inspecting them carefully. They were hard spirals. Probably not too tough. Made of cheap nickel or aluminum. Just like the ones...

"Y/N?"

Just like the ones your mother used to wear. You smiled, raising your head to meet Caroline's concerned eyes. "They're beautiful. Thanks, Care."

Caroline returned the smile, unaware of the context, but knowing there was something deeper going on. Knock, knock.

"Ugh Mom, I have company!" She shouted at the door, rolling her eyes. The door was gently pushed open to reveal none other than Sheriff Forbes. She was still in uniform—you couldn't recall ever seeing her without it. When she saw you, her eyebrows quirked in surprise.

"Y/N," She greeted merrily, a light smile gracing her lips. "I thought I heard you...I didn't know you were stopping by."

You nodded cordially. "Caroline's just helping me get ready for the festival."

"Oh..." Sheriff Forbes seemed to ponder something for a moment.

"Do you need something?" Caroline snapped. It was no secret that Caroline and her mother didn't get along. Ever since her dad left them after coming out as gay, all Caroline had was her mom...but it seemed like all Sheriff Forbes had was her job.

Sheriff Forbes cleared her throat. "Well, since you're here, do you mind if I speak with you for a moment?"

Your heart thumped. Speak with you? About what? You'd already told Sheriff Forbes everything you knew...well, everything you knew at the time. It's not like you could tell her that Ryder was a vampire and he might have assaulted Vicki.

"Really, Mom?"

You forced a smile. It would look worse if you didn't cooperate. Plus, you'd known Sheriff Forbes almost your whole life. You couldn't say she was trustworthy for sure, but you did have history. "It's okay, Caroline. I'll be back in a minute."

Caroline groaned. "Fine, whatever, just hurry up!"

"I will, I promise." You held out your pinky finger. Caroline scoffed but interlocked pinkies. Sheriff Forbes glowed at your interaction. Caroline crossed her arms as her mom and best friend walked out.

"Let's go to the kitchen," Sheriff Forbes suggested. You followed after her, glancing around the hall. Everything looked the same. Polished wooden floors. Olive green walls. Darker than Holly's eyes but full of charm and life. The doors were made of glass panels and white frames.

You remembered summers spent in this home, looking at your reflection in the panels as you compared heights with Bonnie and Caroline. The fridge that you and the girls raided one night in July before sneaking up to Caroline's room and dividing the ice cream and gummy bears. Sheriff Forbes had hidden it there, hoping the girls wouldn't see it until the following afternoon, but you noticed everything—and you were quick to spill.

"Do you want anything to eat?"

You snapped out of the memory. "No. Thank you."

You sat down at the table. Sheriff Forbes sat across from you, observing you with empathy and uncertainty. "You're a good kid, Y/N," Sheriff Forbes began. "And you and Caroline are such great friends, which is why I don't want to haul you all the way to the station."

You shifted in your seat and set your clasped hands on the table. "What's going on?"

"After the animal attack on Vicki Donovan, we scoured the woods to find whatever it was that bit her," Sheriff Forbes explained carefully, studying your reaction. Okay...animal attack...Vicki...what did any of this have to do with her? "And we found a body instead. Ryder Duran."

You stared.

For a moment, you didn't know where you were, like you'd forgotten you existed. You hadn't even realized you were crying until the teardrops trickled on your hands and slid against the table. Then it hit.

Ryder was...he was gone.

"So it was him," You whispered. You blinked, meeting the sheriff's eyes. "I saw him...at the bonfire. I didn't want to believe..."

"I'm sorry, Y/N." Sheriff Forbes reached for your hands and pat them tenderly.

You sniffled and wiped your tears. Now was not the time to lose your composure. "How did he die?"

"We're still waiting on the autopsy," Sheriff Forbes replied. "We don't know really anything about him, except that he was good friends with you. In fact, we wouldn't even have ID'd him if it wasn't for the cell we found in his back pocket."

"I don't know if I can help you."

The sheriff smiled reassuringly. "Anything information is helpful, Y/N. Just tell me about your relationship. Were you two close?"

Close, You wanted to scoff. The last time you spoke, it was because he sold your brother drugs. You'd called him an asshole...that was the last word you'd said to him. He hadn't heard it but it didn't matter. That was your last thought of him...that he was an asshole undeserving of your affection. All because he hung up on you to talk to some stranger. What if the person who had interrupted your final conversation killed him?

"Y/N?"

"We weren't best friends or anything," You finally responded. Sheriff Forbes brought her hands back. "We'd only known each other three months but...we got along."

"How did you two meet?"

You smiled. Oh, you could never forget the day you met Ryder Duran. You'd been scared out of your wits; he was the only person to ever put the fear of God in you. But you couldn't say that. You had to stick with the plan: operation return-to-normalcy. Your story was ready. All you had to do was be convincing. You couldn't show weakness.

"When my parents died, I was sent to Coral City's Trauma Center," You recounted. You'd practiced this with Holly so many times just to be safe, but never thought it'd be necessary. "Ryder and I had the same schedule. So during meal hours, we talked. He didn't tell me much about his home life, except that he was adopted and he had a sister."

Sheriff Forbes nodded thoughtfully. "Do you know where she is now?"

"His entire family passed away in a fire," You said flatly. The sheriff blinked. "I think I was his only friend." To think the last time they spoke, you blew him off.

"Can you tell me more about the center?"

You glanced at the wall behind her. Green. Like soft moss or pond water. "What do you want to know?"

"Did you like it there?"

You allowed yourself to scoff. "Away from my friends, family, and everything I love? Of course not. We had no contact with the outside world. The only thing I had to keep me sane were my journals, sketchbooks, and the nurses."

"That sounds like a prison," Sheriff Forbes remarked. The uncertainty was back. Perhaps you should've maintained eye contact...but how could you look someone in the eye and hide the horrors you'd been through? Of all the things she'd seen and experienced, that was the most impossible. But the best lie had a semblance of truth.

"It felt like one." You and the other patients had a word for it: purgatory. But none of them dared say it in the presence of the doctors and outsiders. You cleared your throat. "Is that all? I should go, Caroline's waiting on me."

"Of course." Sheriff Forbes rose to her feet and offered a hand. "Thank you for your help, Y/N." You gave it a firm shake and stood, forcing a smile. "I'll let you know as soon as we find something."

"Thanks," You said gratefully. "And do you mind if we keep this between us? I just don't want...you know..."

Sheriff Forbes smiled with understanding. "Your secret's safe with me."

When you returned to Caroline's bedroom, your mind had drifted to all sorts of hell. But with your best friend present, you couldn't break. You'd already cracked before Sheriff Forbes. That was a mistake. You couldn't make it again.

Caroline, who'd been standing by the window, turned when she heard you enter. "What was that all about?"

"Nothing," You sighed, and plopped on the bed. "She was just asking me questions about the animal attack."

"I told her she needs to stop hounding people!" Caroline exclaimed. She plucked a tube of lipstick from her dresser and gestured wildly with her hands. "It's not like any of us saw anything and even if someone did, they were probably too wasted to remember."

You arched an eyebrow at the tube. "Um, what is that?"

"It's called lipstick," Caroline responded slowly, as if speaking to a child. "Made in 1884, the thing people apply to their lips when they want to look nice."

You rolled your eyes. "Alright, smartass, I know what it is. I'm not wearing that."

You didn't have a problem with makeup, but this was just going overboard.

"But-"

"Don't push it."

[morbidology]

Diane Tilly lived her life with zest and enthusiasm. Her friends would say that she had a mischievous humor and a smile that radiated in any crowd. Diane had helped establish Robbins Academy, an alternative high school for high-risk students in San Antonio, Texas. Here, she used the skills that made her such a great friend and mother.

She inspired those all around her with her generosity and dedication to improving her student’s lives. She had a strong belief that every single student, regardless of their circumstances, could succeed. “Diane was the heart of the school to the teachers as well as the students,” said Bill Sain, a Robbins Academy math teacher. “Diane would never let students give up.”

In fact, Diane would become so close to her students that a number would stay in contact with her after their graduation. In a way, Diane considered herself a mother to the struggling students. Diane had two birth children and she referred to them as the greatest achievement. “Momma talked about her friends, students and family as if they could do no wrong – she really felt that way,” recollected her son, Stephen Tilly.

Diane had just returned home from a school reunion in a wonderful mood on the 22nd of November, 2004. She was expecting a second grandchild and she was going to visit a boyfriend over the thanksgiving period. Unbeknownst to her, he planned on proposing. Unfortunately, however, somebody else had different plans for Diane that evening.

Ronnie Joe Neal and his 15-year-old daughter, Pearl Cruz, had been planning on robbing and killing Diane “because she was wealthy and made a lot of money.” The plan began with a scheme to gain the teacher’s trust. Ronnie had met Diane as he was handing out flyers for his lawn-mowing business. She decided to hire him to do some work in her garden. As they got to know one another, Ronnie told Diane about his daughter, Pearl. Diane was moved by Ronnie’s stories about his daughter that one afternoon, she randomly gifted him a swing set. Ronnie took this opportunity to bring Pearl over to Diane’s home to introduce them.

On that fateful evening in November 2004, their plans materialized....

𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐞:

[newlacesleeves]

block party, ice cream, flower crowns

The first Saturday in June, West Valley High throws a Kick Off to Summer event in the school parking lot. Streamers of orange, pink, and green are hanging from lamp posts and vendor tents with everything from artisans selling homemade crafts to street food and local restaurants to homegrown lawn care businesses desperately passing out flyers for maintenance in the middle of a southern California drought.

Johnny remembers the year he volunteered with Ali to set it up. He had thought the whole thing was lame (who wants to go to school in the summer?) but he went along anyway. For Ali. And maybe he enjoyed it, pinning up the banner Ali and Susan had worked on to the backside of the bleachers, walking hand-in-hand with Ali as they checked out every booth in the line, sipping on Cokes and sharing too-sweet, sticky pieces of cotton candy.

The kids want to go this year. Even Anthony, who's been more and more amenable to leaving the house without a screen glued to his hand. Miguel, Sam, and Robby turn to look at Johnny with teenaged pouts in their prodding pleas but all it really takes is Daniel saying, "Come on, it'll be nice" for Johnny to relent with slumped shoulders and a heavy, drawn out sigh.

The place is packed this year. Every family in the Valley turned out in attendance. The outside air smells like barbecue and the sweet sizzle of summer that makes the power lines buzz like Johnny's skin.

There's a makeshift carnival complete with a ferris wheel that the kids bee-line to the moment it comes into view, leaving Johnny and Daniel alone to stroll through the streets tethered only to each other.

They pass by each booth and Daniel is annoyingly insistent about looking into each one. He leaves with flyers and business cards shoved into his jeans pockets that Johnny knows he'll never look at again. They should have put up a booth this year, Johnny thinks. Not that they need any new students now that Cobra Kai is gone but still, couldn't hurt.

A young woman with a nervous smile is parked out front of a booth containing handmade jewelry: beads and rings and little trinkets like that. On the table in the corner are tightly bound flower crowns, some small little daisy chains, some fuller stuffed with baby's breath and pops of colorful florals that Johnny finds himself staring at, too careful of breaking them to touch them. They remind him of his mom, how she would find a wildflower on a walk through the neighborhood and tuck it behind her ear to wear until the petals wilted.

Daniel comes up behind him, flush against Johnny's back, hooking his chin over Johnny's shoulder to sneak a peek at what's caught his attention. He picks up a crown, one made of daisies and tied together with a white ribbon that cascades down the back, and places it gingerly atop Johnny's blonde head.

"Knock it off, LaRusso," Johnny grumbles. His hands fly to remove it but Daniel catches him by the wrist mid-air. He grabs another one off the table, blue florals and baby's breath, and puts it on his own head and Johnny's breath catches in the softness of it all. Under the shade of the white tent, just the two of them hidden in a corner, trading florals.

Daniel pays for the crowns and Johnny's beet red when he walks back into the sun but he doesn't take it off. Not when Daniel keeps looking at him like that. Soft brown eyes, sneaking glances like kids sneak candy.

Kids line up in front of an ice cream vendor and Daniel tugs like a kid himself onto Johnny's sleeve to secure their place in line. Johnny's not a big sweets kind of guy (not with the body he's worked hard to maintain over the years). Would rather indulge in a beer and a few good cheeseburgers and fries.

Daniel orders one large vanilla ice cream ("Seriously? Vanilla?" "It's the most popular ice cream flavor for a reason, John.") with two spoons. They find a spot under the bleachers to take refuge beneath the shade, Daniel taking greedy spoonfuls of ice cream with each step.

Johnny wants to reach out and grasp, thread their fingers together palm to palm and squeeze tightly and maybe never let go. But there are too many people and Johnny just shoves his hands into his pockets lest they find their own bravery in the light of day.

Under the bleachers, Daniel offers Johnny his spoon. Most of the ice cream has softened or melted into a soup but Johnny digs in and takes a bite, mouth filled with the creamy sweetness and when was the last time he even had ice cream on a summer day? He can't remember and he takes another bite before he's even swallowed the first one.

Daniel's looking at him, same soft eyes, but something warmer and brighter behind them. Not the same heat he reserves for the dark corners of the dojo, when they're sweating and panting but both still begging for more. Something more subdued but no less yearning. It sparks a fire in Johnny's gut and he drops his spoon into the paper cup in order to grab Daniel by the chin and bring their lips together.

His mouth is cold and the vanilla on his tongue makes him sweeter. Daniel opens easily, surprised at the quickness of the kiss for only a moment before falling into it head first the way he does everything else.

[1988hc]

Jonny is 36 and officially retired. They say you grow up fast when you first come into the league, that the NHL makes men out of boys. It's true. But Jonny likes to think he's done most of his growing in the past few years. The tough ones, when the glory of their cup wins started to slowly fade into memories of a different time, just as Crosby was celebrating his renaissance, as Tampa started making a name for themselves.

"You cannot coast on past achievements," his coach once told Jonny when he first made it into the Canada U17 team, uninterested to hear of Jonny's junior days. Who cares if you're a big deal in your precious little prep school league, that means nothing once you make it to the international stage. Back then he had a head full of dreams and a body that could get him there. Now all he's got is that ache in his knee when it rains and boxes of old trophies gathering dust in his parent's basement, the future stretching out before him like a fresh page without any pre-penciled in goal posts, terrifying in its blankness.

How do you know who you are when you could be anything?

"Just be happy," his mom said, watching him across the rim of her tea cup, as if life really is just that simple.

He goes to Arizona, to Costa Rica, to Salzburg. Travels the world, meeting up with old friends, guys he hasn't seen since he still lived in Winnipeg more than a lifetime ago. He surfs, he golfs, goes hiking and sightseeing, deletes Twitter off his phone and barely opens insta unless he gets a DM.

There's still a Hawks groupchat from 2010, even if it's grown quiet, short bursts of activities followed by months of radio silence. Pat only writes in there to chirp Hoss for getting excited over his ride-on lawn mower, or congratulate Sharpy for his new Flyers front office job. Every time he sees that name on his screen the same question keeps hammering in his mind, a nagging itch that won't go away.

Jonny spends nights awake staring at an endless black sky full of tiny pinpricks of light, wondering how much he's willing to risk, if it's worth it. It was easy to push away while he was still wearing four feathers on his chest, keep his head and down and focus on the game. But he's done a lot of soul searching in the last few years, finally admitting a couple hard truths to himself. It's not something he can shy away from anymore.

Anyone can cook, but only the fearless can be great.

He swipes back over to his text thread with Pat, heart in his throat, his finger trembling.

He's done this a million times already, hovering at the precipice like that, unable to push himself the last few inches past the point of no return.

Somewhere a tiny voice in the back of his mind from his media training days pipes up about never putting anything in writing that he wouldn't be comfortable seeing splashed across the cover of a magazine, but he doesn't think he can do this on the phone, doesn't trust his voice to hold up. So it's gonna have to be text.

Five months ago he stood in a tiny little souvenir shop in Bora Bora, wondering if he should just write it on a postcard and throw his phone in the ocean, but it had felt too much like a coward's move. How can he live his truth if he can't even stomach to see the reactions of the people he cares most about?

It's not what he really wants to say, the much bigger truth still held back behind his teeth. But it's a step, a first test of the waters.

I'm gay. Figured you deserved to know. Sorry it took me 16 years to say.

Too many words and yet still too few, not quite the right ones.

He stares at the text until it goes blurry.

Breathes in, breathes out.

And hits send.

[samiabadilah]

GreenBlade Lawn Care: Bringing Eco-Friendly Lawn Maintenance to Your Doorstep

Sourcing Eco-Friendly Products and Resources

One of the cornerstones of GreenBlade Lawn Care is our commitment to eco-friendly practices. To uphold this promise to our customers, we need to carefully source our products and resources. This includes:

Electric Mowers: We will need to invest in electric mowers to ensure quiet, emission-free lawn maintenance. Researching and purchasing these mowers will be a priority to have them ready for service.

Organic Fertilizers and Supplies: Finding suppliers of organic fertilizers and other lawn care supplies is essential to maintain our commitment to sustainability. We will explore local suppliers and distributors to ensure we have a steady supply of eco-friendly products.

Group Responsibilities

If working within a group, it’s crucial to assign roles and responsibilities to ensure smooth operations. Here’s how we plan to divide tasks:

Purchasing and Equipment Management: One team member will be responsible for researching and purchasing electric mowers and other necessary equipment. They will also oversee equipment maintenance and inventory management.

Supplier Relations: Another team member will focus on building relationships with suppliers of organic fertilizers and supplies. They will negotiate contracts, manage orders, and ensure timely delivery of products.

Legal Compliance: A third team member will handle legal matters, including obtaining any necessary licenses or permits required to operate our lawn care business. They will ensure that we comply with local regulations and environmental standards.

Licenses and Permits

Before launching our business, we need to ensure that we have all the necessary licenses and permits. This may include:

Business License: Obtaining a business license from the local government to operate a lawn care service.

Environmental Permits: Ensuring compliance with environmental regulations, especially concerning the use of electric equipment and organic products.

Insurance: Securing liability insurance to protect our business and customers in case of accidents or property damage.

Tools and Items Needed to Start Selling

To start selling our lawn care services, we will need:

Marketing Materials: Flyers, business cards, and promotional materials to spread the word about our business.

Online Presence: A website and social media profiles to showcase our services and connect with potential customers.

Scheduling System: An online booking system or scheduling software to manage appointments and customer inquiries efficiently.

Uniforms and Branding: Uniforms or branded attire to present a professional image to customers during service visits.

Overall Vision for Launching GreenBlade Lawn Care

Our overall vision for launching GreenBlade Lawn Care is to create a seamless and sustainable lawn care experience for our customers. By focusing on eco-friendly practices, excellent service, and community engagement, we aim to differentiate ourselves in the market and build a loyal customer base. With careful planning, strategic sourcing of products, and effective division of responsibilities within our group, we are confident that we can launch our business successfully within the remaining six weeks of the course.

As we embark on this journey, we are excited to bring our vision to life and make a positive impact on the environment and our local community. Stay tuned for updates as we prepare to launch GreenBlade Lawn Care and revolutionize the lawn care industry, one blade at a time!

[redheadspark]

For Christmas Prompt!!

10. Scene- Presents

6. Dialog- "Ho, ho, ho." With Oliver

Happy Writing! 😄

A/N: BESTIE! Thanks for the Oliver love ;). Hopefully you like it!

Gotten Soft

Summary: It's your first Christmas as a family together, and it was the perfect day :)

Warnings: Just some good ol' fluff for our boy!

"Come on, Pops! Let's try it out before we get anymore snow!"

"Careful, Oli! Make sure she has her mittens on!"

Oliver rearranged the holster that your daughter was in, her babbled and squealing made you grin as he placed the beanie on top of her head and adjusted the straps to make sure it was tight on his shoulders. You shrugged on your own jacket, grabbing your broom that was perched in the closet along with Oliver's broom.

The fresh snow has finally stopped for a few hours before it would fall again, going the entire countryside a Winter Wonderland kind of feel when you all woke up at morning. After rubbing the sleep from your eyes and feeding Poppy, you all went downstairs to open present together as a family.

Your first Christmas together in your cottage.

Poppy was big enough for you two to celebrate Christmas properly, including decorating a tree. And of course you had to decorate the tree in Gryffindor colors, tinsels in scarlet and ornaments in gold along with one ornament that had Poppy's handprinted enchanted on it. It reminded you of the times you celebrated Christmas in the Gryffindor Common Room, the warmth of the castle and the snow falling from the dark sky was such a warm memory that you could never forget, even after all that happened with the War and all those who were lost.

Still, this new memory with Oliver and Poppy was going to be worthwhile.

"Now, what time are the others going to come by?" Oliver asked you as you handed him his broomstick.

"Not for another 30 minutes, at least that's what George and Ron told me," You explained as you both walked out onto the front lawn. The pristine white snow that blanketed your little herb garden and the green grass look enchanting, almost glittering and shimmering in the sunlight as the crisp morning was still evident. Yet it was the perfect weather to fly.

And Poppy was going to fly with her father.

You wanted Poppy to fly sooner, but Oliver was more of a worry wort with his daughter being on a broomstick. Of course, the first rule he placed was that she wouldn't fly on her own until she was at least 3 years old, and even then he would be with her and fly right behind. As much as a flyer he was, he was paranoid when it came to Poppy being anywhere near a broom. But you were more lenient, convincing Oliver that he could fly with her strapped to him, just to get her acquainted with the feeling of flying and if she'll like it.

"Of course she'll like it! Her mum and da are Quidditch players!"

"Alright, ready Pops?" Oliver asked as he threw his leg over the broom to straddle it, gripping tight as Poppy was facing him in her holster. She was wearing one of her bigger winter jumpsuits and her beanie was right over her curly hair, though her bright eyes were looking up at Oliver and she was grinning widely at him.

"Remember, nice and slow.." You explained to him again as you adjusted Poppy's curls under her beanie, and he nodded at you.

"And easy on the barrel rolls," He recited back, though you looked at him in shock.

"Oliver!" You scolded, yet he grinned and kicked off the ground. You watched in but a hint of worry and in happiness as he was hovering over the ground for a brief moment before he slowly started to go up in the air. The bundle against his chest was still close, you could hear her squealing a bit as Oliver was slowly going around in circles with Poppy.

"There ya go, see Pops? It's fun up here, eh?" You heard him ask as he was now going around another circle again while you watched. You had to smile, leaning against your own broomstick and watching your husband and daughter enjoy her first broomstick flight together.

The last time you flew with Oliver was back in the war, back when you two had to take out some Death Eaters from the sky within the courtyard and help protect the school. That night was always on your mind: the death was surrounded you and the others who made it out alive, the darkness that came over the school, and Voldemort wishing to bring everything and everyone to its knees for the sake of dominating it all.

Saying his name now was no longer a curse, but a haunting reminder and memory.

Nightmares were constant for you and Oliver, but especially you. The first few months you would wake up either or in a cold sweat or screaming. Maybe both at times, yet Oliver was still there to bring you back down to earth and made sure you were okay. His constant hugs and affirmations helped you, really helped you, and you were grateful that he was there with you.

Oliver too suffered, but he hid it away from you. You hated it when it did that, zoning out during meals or watching the field outside the cottage lost in his own mind. He would never dare to tell you what was haunting him, but you knew better than to provoke him since he was stubborn. Oliver did come to you with some of it, curled up together on the couch and he would vent what he was feeling. It felt like you both needed to heal together and on your won terms, and it worked.

All you could do was look to the future with your daughter, hoping she would never have to live thought what her mother and father did.

"Come on up! It's nice up here!"

You kicked off, hovering a bit to get your bearings since it's been sometime since your flew. But it only took a moment, going up and bit more before you beelined over to where Oliver and Poppy were. Oliver was right over your little garden to the left, you flying over to be perched at his side to see if Poppy was doing okay. Sure enough, seeing her face lit up as she saw you and she screeched while her arms pumped up and down in ease.

"We got a natural flyer here," Oliver commented to you as he looked down at Poppy, seeing her stick her tongue out at you and you stuck your tongue back. Poppy laughed as Oliver rolled his eyes, "Now, I don't know if ya mum still has her speed on that rusty ol' broom stick,"

You eyed him carefully, "You saying I've gotten slow, Wood?"

Oliver could only grin as he shrugged, "I'm sayin'.....you've gotten soft,"

Challenged accepted then.

You rolled your shoulders as you took off, speeding all around the cottage and doing the old tricks that you used to do when you were younger back on the Quidditch team. It reminded you of all the times you were challenged by Oliver when you were teens, pushing one another to go a bit faster and a bit harder in the dips and turns. Those practices were always intense, epically when you had to get ready for a match against Slytherin. That challenge to one up each other was what brought you and Oliver together as a couple, and that fire never went away.

But they were still great memories to have, back to when things were simple and not too complicated.

"Go mummy, go!" Oliver cheered as you rolled a few more times across the front long, you grinning as you were tucked very close to your broomstick to make yourself spin harder and quicker. You made have gotten older, but you were still a fabulous flyer. Finally, after a few more stretches around the house and down to barely touch the top of the snow with your fingers, you slowed down and went back to hover near Oliver and Poppy. Oliver was grinning massively at you, almost with a hint of pride as you leaned back on your broomstick.

"You still got it, babe," he replied, you grinned widely.

"As do you," you agreed.

"Ho ho ho! Oi, you two love birds bring my Goddaughter down before I make ya!"

You and Oliver looked down, seeing George Weasley and Angelina Johnson walking hand and hand up to your front gate, a bag with presents in George's hand as they waved at you from the ground. Poppy was now alerted, hearing George's voice as she was looking around for him.

"Thought you were coming earlier, George! What took ya so long?" Oliver called down to him as George chuckled.

"Had to make a pitstop to see Harry and Ginny. Didn't think we were going to come see you two flying around or else I would have brought my own broomstick!" George explained, Angelina rolling her eyes.

"We have two more in the closet," You reminded him, George's eyes going wide.

"Merlin's sake," Angeline snorted as you giggled.

"Alright then, Wood. I'll mop you again like I did last time!" George said in a triumphant manner, thne bolting to the house with Angelina right on his heels.

Yeah, this Christmas was going to be great for certain!

The End.

Christmas Prompts

[redhead-reporter]

"It's LAME to get excited about this, right? Yeah, definitely lame." MJ mumbled to herself, stretching past Peter to toss the colorful piece of paper into their nearby recycling bin. It was just an ADVERTISEMENT, a flyer processed in bulk for every house in the neighborhood no doubt. It wasn't even for anything she WANTED, pictures of lawn care equipment cluttering the front and discounted charcoal grills dominating the back.

But right there, on the line above 15 Amfan Ave? Was MJ's name, not his - her first piece of MAIL since moving into the house.

º ✧ 。 shaye's FRESH START starter call with @castshed !

[mbrainspaz]

foolish of the IRS to expect me to remember all the jobs I had at the start of last year, or to have kept track of any mail they sent me. I'm a millennial with ADHD. Mail goes in the countertop mail basket, unopened. I had to sort through 45 lawn care flyers to find one tax form. Two were in a pile of Chinese newspapers and Elder Futhark rune notes by my desk. At least one is still missing.

[hersweetrevenge]

corey cunningham x roger allen: relationship headcanons

i've become unreasonably invested in this pairing, and feel the need to explain myself lol. i think a relationship between corey and mr allen is fundamentally very complex and problematic, while also being an all american story of infidelity and youth.

WARNING for corey cunningham x mr allen, age gap relationship, smut, unprotected sex, infidelity/cheating, implied sex work, mildly implied child abuse (corey and his mom), murder, violence and child death. 3.8k word count.

pre-accident

their relationship is sort of like a subversion of the "lonely wife has an affair with the pool boy", but instead it's the "white collar husband has an affair with the boy who mows their lawn".

no matter how many times roger tells corey to call him roger, corey pretty much always says mr allen.

when corey first starts doing yard work, he put flyers (printed at the library) in the letterboxes through the nicer neighbourhoods in haddonfield.

joan is not happy about it. she wants corey at home, with her, always. but he's been getting a lot of big idead lately about college and independence and she is not happy. not one bit.

he meets the allens when they call the number he left and ask if he can come by at the weekend to talk about what he can help with.

corey got a crush first, almost as soon as he first met the allens, but roger was the one to instigate the affair, after a couple of months.

to begin with, roger thinks corey is a well-meaning but awkward kid, clearly not used to speaking to people that much. there's a sort of boyish confidence that comes through now and then, when he's talking about something he knows well. as time goes by roger starts to wonder -- when corey takes his shirt off in the heat, he must know what he's doing, right?

both of them are bisexual. roger experimented in college and was comfortable in his identity, but isn't really open about it since he got married. corey is still figuring himself out when the affair starts, but he's had a lot of crushes on both men, especially older men, and women.

[contrary to my original fic] i actually think corey was 20 when he starts working for the allens, while roger is in his mid 40s.

roger starts an affair for the classic, all american reason: his marriage has gotten boring. he wants an affair with someone younger and more exciting who will let him play out his fantasy of still being in his prime.

i don't think he has sinister or malicious intentions when he "seduces" corey. maybe he's just defending his own actions, but corey is an adult, if he didn't want to do anything then he wouldn't, right? corey clearly has a crush, right?

corey really, genuinely respects the allens' marriage.

not only does corey respect the allens as a couple (the ideal american marriage when compared with his mom and ronald), but he also really respects roger. i don't think (at that point) corey would "whore himself out" for a man he didn't respect.

deep down, corey is aware of how this all looks. he knows he's being a homewrecker.

but another part of him feels like he's doing something good. if roger was going to cheat, surely it's better that he does it with corey, than with someone else who doesn't care about his marriage.

another motivation for why corey gives in so easily is that his life is so controlled and there is so much pressure on him, he just wants an outlet to forget about everything. think gifted kid to dumbification kink pipeline.

he doesn't want to think about anything at all, and roger makes it so he doesn't have to. makes it so that his mind is empty and all he has to do is lie there and let himself feel good. it's an offer he won't can't pass up.

roger used to watch corey do yard work from the kitchen window, when he was at home. the sight made him stay home on the weekend a lot more.

even though a lot of their affair is based on convenience, roger can very much see how handsome corey is.

roger loves making corey laugh, because his laugh loud and childish. and he means it to, roger can tell he isn't faking.

mrs allen is rarely mentioned, beyond whether she is home or not, and where she is if she isn't home. both of them have a guilty conscience about her.

roger starts to wonder, is corey like this with everyone he works for? does he put on an elaborate act of "awkward, blushing virgin" -- is he actually sleeping with all the people he does yard work for? and he acts all innocent because he knows it gets people going?

corey understands he's being used. he knows this isn't a "relationship" and roger definitely isn't going to leave his family for him or anything like that, they're not going to be together, so he tells himself that he's just going to enjoy it while it lasts.

but in saying that, corey definitely fell in love a little bit.

corey's isn't your "classic" attention whore, but he is one all the same. he never had a dad and now this older man is showing him a lot of (special) attention? he'll do anything to keep it.

what can he say, he has some intense daddy issues. being wanted by an older man satiates that for a while.

plus it makes him feel like he has some control in his life. and makes him feel like an adult where he doesn't at home. it feels so grown up to have an affair.

roger doesn't know everything about corey's home life, but he thinks he understands, from what corey tells him when he's feeling vulnerable. he knows corey is lonely and stressed; a resentful momma's boy.

corey tells him about his college plans; he wants to be an engineer, wants to go to a school in chicago. if anything, roger feels an affection for him. he wants corey to find a better life for himself.

in all honesty, corey doesn't really know much about roger either. he sees him as this ideal family man, father figure and partner. he's so caught up in that, and so validated by his attention, that he forget he doesn't really know him. he knows one side of him.

roger still pays corey money for doing "yard work". corey does still do that, to keep up appearances, but he's less thorough than he used to be. they both know what the money is really for.

corey tells himself he doesn't care about the money. he needs it, but that's not what he's having this affair for.

he's selling himself (or letting himself be bought) for affection more than money.

subconsciously, it does mess him up a little bit though.

roger's thoughts about corey possibly putting on an act lose all their credit after the first few times they do anything. there's no way corey is faking this sort of earnest inexperience.

because corey is very nervous and shy at first. he's so inexperienced and he doesn't want to embarrass himself. mostly he just let's roger do whatever he wants to him.

they always have their trysts at the allen house.

at first it's at the weekend when corey is there to do the yard and mrs allen and jeremy aren't at home, but then roger starts inviting corey around more, still when mrs allen and jeremy are out (lucky for them, his wife and child have busy social lives).

roger starts finding more time to be at home when corey can be there, working from home when he can. think blow jobs while on a zoom meeting.

roger drinks heineken, pretty much all of their hook ups begin with them having a drink, even before corey hits 21.

corey's about to get a pavlov response to the sound of beer bottles clinking together.

the first few times, they only kiss. then it gets more hot and heavy, dry humping and grinding, a hand job here and there. roger teaches corey how to give head. he fingers him to get him used to the feeling because he's never done this before. they stay in the kitchen or on the couch.

the first time corey ever sucked dick, it took him a while to take it down all the way, even with roger guiding him through it.

his eyes water and roger wipes away the tears that spill over, his other hand always in his hair.

he gets good though, very good, even though he's nervous every time. roger secretly likes that nervous look, it's such a contrast to how he actually takes it like a champ. call him the king of sloppy toppy. and he always swallows.

the first time corey got a blow job he cried. just like he did with all of his other firsts. it's actually kind of rare that roger gives corey head. corey'd rather give than receive with oral, he thinks, but really roger is just kind of selfish.

roger took corey's virginity. sometimes he even feels guilty about it.

corey cried. he tried not to, he really did, but he couldn't help it. the stretch was more than he expected, even with a lot of prep and he'd never felt so full before.

("just the tip," roger had promised, to see if he could take it. it felt okay, corey had nodded to keep going but didn't realise how overwhelming it'd be)

roger pets his hair, kisses his temple, strokes his dick to try and and calm him down. it starts feeling good, really good and too much all at once.

condoms? never heard if them. it's not like roger can knock him up and they're both clean so roger never even suggests it.

corey loses his virginity in the allens' bed. after that, they pretty much always do it in the bedroom.

missionary is their usual position, though sometimes corey rides cowgirl because roger likes seeing him do all the work to get himself there.

roger doesn't really do dirty talk, corey seems too innocent for that sort of thing (in the beginning anyway). he does dole out the praise though.

"good boy" "you're so good for me" "you're taking me so well, look at you" "it's okay, i've got you"

their sex life is pretty vanilla to be honest. roger isn't into anything particularly kinky, and corey hasn't figured himself out that far yet.

the thrill of "we shouldn't be doing this" is enough.

while praise is the main thing corey likes, he's also into overstimulation (once he deals with the actually overwhelming aspect of the first few time), something like dumbification (without the more objectifying aspects), and he is more than willing to do a little bit of begging. roger tries a little bit of teasing degradation on occasion, but corey doesn't like it that much; he doesn't want to feel like he's doing something wrong or he isn't good enough.

the riskiest thing they ever did was have a quickie while jeremy was at home. corey was there to do the yard (and more), but jeremy is unexpectedly at home because his playdate got cancelled. jeremy is playing upstairs in his room and when corey comes back inside from the garden, mr allen corners him in the kitchen.

he nudges corey up onto the counter, a hand going down the front of his shorts.

corey whimpers and shakes his head, "jeremy's --"

"upstairs," mr allen finishes his sentence for him, "he won't be down for a while - kids and their computers- don't worry about it."

slowly corey starts to get more comfortable and confident during their escapades, he leans into what he knows roger wants. someone young and playful who can give him a run for his money, but who will always give in, in the end.

he starts having fun, like he's playing the role of someone more confident and sexy and teasing.

roger sometimes sends him upstairs to get ready while he grabs them some beers and locks the front door. corey does as he's told, stripping off and laying in mr allen's bed and when he walks in, corey smiles at the older man, legs spread wantonly, "see anything you like?"

roger is initially surprised at how malleable and easy corey is to manhandle when he wants to be. roger is taller by a few inches, but corey had broad shoulders and broad hips, he isn't waifish by any means. roger likes how boyishly masculine corey is.

corey is very, very good at keeping secrets. he's so used to his mom's snooping and meddling that he's perfected the art of hiding things from her. and really, who else is he going to tell?

the hardest part is hiding any marks on his skin. corey is carefully not to leave any on roger, but roger doesn't always extend the same courtesy.

joan has an annoying habit of just walking into corey's room, or even the bathroom while he's in the shower, without knocking to collect his washing or talk to him or interrogate him, so he has to be careful she doesn't see anything like a hickey ln his neck or bruises on his hips or else he'll never, ever hear the end of it.

corey is a stickler for punctuality. he is always home in time for dinner. there have been a few close calls where they lost track of time and corey needed to bike hard as hell to get home on time.

a random thing corey was unnecessarily embarrassed about was that he only wears tighty-whiteys, and not even a good brand, they are classic fruit of the loom. roger literally doesn't care, it's even kind of endearing. and the darker part of him gets a thrill out of it, knowing corey's mom still buys and probably washes his underwear while corey is here getting his brains fucked out.

speaking of that darker side of roger. he knows corey is an adult, capable of making his own decisions, but there's something about him being so dependent that does something to him.

[i'm not sure if i really believe they'd go this far, but i don't think it's out of the realm of possibility] roger takes corey out of town for a dirty weekend. corey lies to his mom, roger lies to theresa.

this dirty weekend is a turning point for their sex life.

with no time constraints, they go so many rounds they start losing count.

still nothing particularly wild, but things mrs allen wouldn't do.

corey already fulfilled one of those things for him, of course. theresa would never let him do anal.

the rest are more mundane things, like doggy style and wake up blow jobs and shower sex. even just the sense of free use that means they keep going and going and going.

corey isn't delusional (he swears he isn't), but he turns off his brain for the weekend and imagines this is his real life. with roger spending money like it was nothing, on a fancy as fuck hotel room and hundreds of dollars of room service, and having all the time in the world to laze around in bed watching movies and having zero expectations placed on him.

the boldest and hottest thing corey did on that trip was pull roger's wedding ring off with his teeth when he put his fingers in his mouth to get wet. even corey doesn't know what possessed him to do that, but the way roger practically fold him in half to fuck him afterwards, he's glad for the divine inspiration.

that is also the first time they literally sleep together after having sex, and they end up getting, perhaps dangerously, sentimental. corey just wants to be held and roger is much too gentle with him for someone who claims this is just a casual fling.

in corey's fantasies when he's alone in bed, he gets off on the forbidden nature of the affair, but it never really translates to their actual encounters.

he thinks about how he does things for mr allen that mrs allen wouldn't, thinks about saying it one day because he knows it'd drive roger crazy.

"i bet your wife doesn't feel this good, does she?" "she doesn't moan like i do" "she doesn't let you ruin her".

he'd never say any of that out loud, and it leads to some of his meaner and more delusional daydreams.

selfish. corey knows deep down that he's selfish. He doesn't want to think about mrs allen or jeremy, and he wants to be mr allen's one and only. he'd let mr allen do anything to him and he knows he'd love him so well if he got the chance.

but that is never going to happen, of course. corey knows that.

corey swings between those selfish daydreams and feeling guilty. mrs allen is really nice, he doesn't want to wreck her marriage. but is it really hurting anyone, if no one ever finds out?

the final time they fuck before the accident was on the weekend before halloween.

neither of them showed any indication of wanting to stop anytime soon. if it weren't for the accident, the affair could have gone on for months more, maybe even a year -- until corey went to college.

everything that weekend was normal, their usual routine. corey raked some leaves and then got railed.

if only they knew that would be their last time, maybe they could have savoured it.

roger is the one who suggests calling corey on halloween when their babysitter cancels on them. theresa is sceptical -- she doesn't know corey that well -- but roger makes a convincing case.

he knows corey is a good, responsible kid, and it's only for a few hours. he trusts corey.

post-accident

after the accident, they never speak. roger barely even says anything while they wait for the ambulance and the cops.

the trial is long and roger watches corey but they never interact beyond being in the same courtroom.

theresa had yelled at him outside the courthouse and roger had just held her, watching as ronald acted as a buffer between corey and anyone who tried to get close, mostly the press. he bundles him in the back of their car before they start the long drive back to warren county.

a horrible, selfish part of roger is relieved that corey never told anyone about the affair. no one who mattered anyway. he might of told his therapist, but nothing could would come of it now, he thinks.

as it happens, corey never did tell anyone. not his therapist, not the cops, certainly not his mother.

he doesn't think anyone would believe him, even if he did.

roger sees corey around town. a lot. sometimes he thinks about talking to him, but he holds steady. corey killed his son, he tells himself.

(jeremy's death is the penance he has to pay for his infidelity, he thinks)

corey takes the "break up" really hard. not only is he wracked with guilt over jeremy's death, but in a single moment, his relationship with roger is over. all that attention and affection and comfort, even just having someone to alleviate the physical need of getting off, is gone.

when mrs allen rips into him at the bar, corey's stomach drops thinking she might of found out about the affair in the years since. but no, she just hasn't forgiven him for killing her baby.

the first time they speak in four years is when roger picks corey up the morning after he meets michael.

corey isn't thinking clearly. something happened to him, something that changed everything.

roger hasn't spoken to him in years, but corey knows what he wants. it's the only thing he ever wanted from him.

he's resentful that roger tries to act like he doesn't want sex, then still feels resentful when it turns out he does.

where once corey had been shy and virginal, now he doesn't care. he's not been with anyone for a long time, something is happening to him that he doesn't understand and he wants, just for a while, to have something familiar. so he just lets himself let go.

part of him is trying to process his sudden and dangerous attraction to michael, by going back to his "first love", safe and familiar mr allen.

roger is meaner now. if corey can be -- bringing up theresa in the way he does -- then so can he. he's been through a lot. he deserves to take it out on corey, especially when corey is offering himself up.

it's rough and roger knows it must hurt, at least a little bit, but corey doesn't slow down.

when corey sleeps with allyson, he thinks about how different it is this way around. wonders if this is how it felt for mr allen when he fucked him.

post-michael

corey has absolutely nothing left to lose. a combination of stress and past trauma and an untreated concussion causes him to snap.

after killing those kids -- those fucking kids -- and that dj and his momma, and with michael in tow, he finds mr allen one more time.

(he begs michael to stay outside, he wants to do this one all on his own)

he knocks on the door, "can i talk to you?", roger lets him in, because what's the harm.

corey says everything he wishes he'd said before, that morning when mr allen picked him up and they fucked in that empty lot.

he screams and yells and blames everything on roger. getting more and more nonsensical as he goes on. working himself up to just do it --

"-- it's all your fault, everything that happened is because of you. you only asked me to babysit because you'd been fucking me behind your wife's back and you knew i'd drop everything to help you, you knew i'd do it and - and i did and then everything went wrong and - and it's your fault and you never fucking loved me, you never --"

roger thinks corey is having a mental breakdown (which in a way, he very much is)

so he just stands there and takes it, letting corey get out whatever he needs to before he can take him home to his mom or call the cops or whatever.

corey takes a deep breath and leans forward. pulls roger to him and kisses him. it's messy and desperate. corey's hands twisted in roger's shirt.

then, so much like that first kill, corey stabs him. the blood gushes over his hand and roger gasps like he's been winded.

corey doesn't break the kiss, though roger isn't even an active participant anymore. he pulls his hand back and stabs him again. and again. and again.

he only pulls away when roger crumples, unable to hold his own weight. blood pools around corey's feet on the cream carpet.

corey wipes the tears from his face that he didn't even notice had fallen and goes back outside to find michael.

[shofiuddin]

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[entrepreneur22]

Progress Update: Sandhu Garden Maintaining Business

I just wanted to an update on my journey with Sandhu Garden Maintaining Business, the start-up venture I have launched. Here’s a little detail into what’s going well, what’s been challenging, and the lessons I am taking from this experience so far.

About Working: I am really happy with the response to our services. The pricing strategy I set up (offering both bi-weekly lawn maintenance and monthly full garden care) seems to be deep with clients, and we’re on track to hit our revenue goals. The local marketing—flyers around the neighborhood and some well-placed digital ads—has been a success in getting our name out there.

About not Working: On the other side, we have hit a few roadblocks. One unexpected issue has been the weather; heavy rains recently have forced us to reschedule several appointments. I also underestimated the cost of materials, especially when we need to refill supplies like fertilizers and straw. Additionally, managing transportation for myself and my assistant has been a bit challenging—fuel costs add up fast, and the logistics of getting from one job site to another efficiently are trickier than I anticipated.

About the project coming along: Overall, I am feeling positive about the progress, despite the bumps. We're managing to stay on top of appointments, and each week we’re getting a little better at streamlining operations. The client feedback has been super encouraging, and every new project feels like a step toward establishing Sandhu Garden Maintaining Business as a reliable service in the community.

My learning about running a business: This experience has shown me that there’s a lot more to running a business than just providing a service. From budgeting for unexpected costs to adjusting plans when things don’t go as expected, flexibility is key. I am learning that thorough planning is important, and customer relationships are everything.

Learning about myself: I am learning that I enjoy the challenge of problem-solving and coming up with creative solutions on the spot. It pushed me to be more strong and patient than I realized I could be. Running this venture has also taught me to trust my own characters and be confident in own decisions. Every day brings me new lessons in organization, prioritization, and handling the unexpected—all skills I am grateful to be building.

[dinuja]

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[unhingedwomandiaries]

I spent the day engaged in what most people would call "gardening," but what I'd more accurately describe as a Sisyphean struggle against nature's relentless encroachment on suburban artifice. It's supposed to be therapeutic, they say. Therapeutic like my mom's post-pool garden therapy after my dad died. She filled in that in-ground pool faster than you can say "chlorine-induced nostalgia" and turned it into some kind of floral purgatory.

I remember "helping" her in my early twenties, a time when I was apparently expected to possess the strength of ten men and the patience of a saint. "Put some muscle into it," she'd say, as if I wasn't already channeling the spirit of John Henry himself into every thrust of the spade. But in her eyes, I was always coming up short, like a B-side track that never made it to the album.

Fast forward to today, and I'm locked in mortal combat with weeds growing between patio bricks. These aren't your garden variety weeds (pun intended, but not enjoyed). These are the Rasputins of the plant world, refusing to die no matter how much I pull. It's 21 degrees Celsius out here, which is basically the temperature at which human dignity begins to evaporate.

I feel like I'm in a prison yard, except it's worse because I've sentenced myself to this green mile. My knees are screaming for mercy, begging for the sweet relief of foam padding. But no, that would be too simple, too logical. My husband would probably view it as a sign of weakness, like using an umbrella in a hurricane.

And don't get me started on my mother-in-law's idea of "helpful alternatives." She's the type who'd hear you say you want a Ferrari and show up with a red Radio Flyer wagon. Remember when she "gifted" me that footstool after I mentioned liking chaise lounges? It was like getting socks for Christmas when you asked for a PlayStation.

Then, in the middle of my weed-pulling purgatory, my husband swoops in like some botanical messiah with his "faster way" to weed. Spoiler alert: it's not faster in my eyes. It's just different, like choosing between being pecked to death by ducks or smothered by pillows.

I found myself ranting about how Americans have it easy with their chemical warfare approach to lawn care. Spray, wait, rototill, done. But no, we're in England, where apparently, we're too posh for pesticides. We'd rather spend our weekends locked in hand-to-hand combat with dandelions.

And you know there are people who actually watch videos of this stuff for fun. They play video games simulating the very activity I'm trying to escape. It's like some sick, horticultural version of Stockholm syndrome.

Sometimes, I fantasize about living in a concrete jungle, surrounded by nothing but asphalt and regret. But then I remember: even in the heart of the city, life finds a way. And that way usually involves weeds.