#log cabin school house

[edge-oftheworld]

if I designed a village for 5sos to live in

happy 30th ashton I drew you a little piece of paradise in the blue mountains

[shhhimnothereiswear]

I think I'd be an avatar of the Eye (I LOVE learning new stuff) or the Spiral (im just funky like that)

I think I'd probably give a statement on the Corruption (I'm currently writing a fan statement on it B] )

ok wait im curious-

which tma entity do you think youd be an avatar of and which do you think youd give a statement on

[metalhoops]

Steve was used to climbing out windows. Before his junior year, he’d made a habit of entering through and escaping from girls' houses unnoticed. He was stealthy. He’d learned how to scale trees and tread lightly across roof shingles with the deftness of a nocturnal animal. Yet, for the first time, he found himself escaping his own home. There was a first time for everything, right? 

Steve’s parents were home. The second Steve saw the familiar BMW pull into the Harrington’s driveway, he knew he wanted to be anywhere but home. His parents were only palatable when he had good news, but all he had to tell them was that after their last visit, The Mall had burnt down and he’d gotten a new job at a video store. He really was doing the family proud. He didn’t want to deal with it, not today. 

That’s how he found himself crawling out his bedroom window, shimmying across the guttering and trying not to sprain his ankles as he dropped onto the lawn. He headed out back, past his pool and into the woods. Usually, it was the last place you’d find Steve. He kept expecting to run into a Demogorgon or something equally as nasty. 

He walked for a while without direction, trudging through the underbrush until the rustling of leaves behind him set his teeth on edge. His body moved before his mind had time to keep up. He spun on his heels, hand scrabbling to the forest floor in search of a weapon. It supplied him with a fallen tree branch, almost too large to heft comfortably, but he did it, running on adrenaline. He came face to face with a familiar, wide-eyed boy. 

“Holy shit, Harrington. Take it down like ten notches,” the boy grumbled, showing his upturned hands as though trying to calm a startled animal. 

Hawkins was a small town, the kind of place where everybody knew everybody. Steve knew the boy with deep brown eyes and dark hair, halloed by fallen leaves, was none other than Eddie Munson, or as he was colloquially known, ‘The Freak’. They’d gone to high school together. He thought the guy was due to repeat his senior year, again. He didn’t know what he was doing alone in the woods. 

“What are you doing?” Steve asked.

You couldn’t blame him for being on high alert. Even if Eddie was someone he’d grown up with, that didn’t make him safe. Steve was still riled up after running down Billy Hargrove with his car. He was paranoid. He’d had a rough couple of years. 

“Collecting sticks,” Eddie breathed, indicating the large bundle in his hand. 

“Collecting sticks?” Steve echoed. It wasn’t that he didn’t believe him. He couldn’t fathom why the guy was doing it.

“Yeah, I’m making a miniature log cabin for my D&D campaign, and you know, miniature logs are just... sticks—you don’t care, anyway. Sorry for startling you, my liege.” Steve tilted his head, thinking the acronym was familiar. 

“Is that the dragon game, with the Demogorgon and junk?” Eddie looked at Steve like he’d sprouted a third head.

“How the hell do you, Steve ‘the hair’ Harrington, know what D&D is?” 

Steve wished people would stop calling him that. Every time he heard the stupid nickname it felt like someone was rubbing chunks of asphalt into his gravel rash. He wondered if Eddie felt the same about his title. 

The old Steve would’ve used it just to spite the guy, to see what buttons he could push, not because he wanted to but because it was expected of him. It wasn’t an excuse. He knew that. Instead, Steve shrugged his shoulders and told the truth, something the old Steve never would’ve done.

“I babysit some nerds who play it,” he confessed. 

Eddie looked at Steve in wonder. He was puzzled, amazed and, for once, a little intrigued. He’d never looked at Steve like that back in high school. The two rarely crossed paths and when they did, they never spoke. Sure, Eddie ranted about ‘jocks’ as a whole, but Steve had always just been one piece of a puzzle. It would seem redundant to yell at a patch of blue and grey for being a picture of the sky. 

“Why did you need to take up a babysitting gig?” 

To answer that, Steve had to embellish a little. Maybe he no longer liked lying about who he was, but he couldn’t exactly dump the cosmic mind fuck that was The Upside Down on some unsuspecting guy. 

“I needed money.” 

“You needed money? What, did you get cut off?” Steve shrugged in response. 

“Christ, what did you do? Piss in a family urn? Trash the house? Get a girl pregnant?” Eddie questioned.

“I think generally existing was enough to do it,” Steve mumbled, kicking at the dirt beneath his shoes. 

Eddie let out a low whistle. 

“Hey Harrington, think fast,” Eddie called, throwing the bundle of twigs in his direction. Steve dropped the branch and grabbed the bundle with wide eyes. 

“What was that for?” Steve choked. 

“What are you doing in this neck of the woods, anyway?” Eddie asked instead of responding. Steve shrugged, still cradling the bundle to his chest. 

“Avoiding my parents.” 

“You got any plans for the rest of the day?” Eddie spoke. Steve responded with a shake of his head. 

“Well, you know, this really is a two-person job, so if you wanted to come back to my place, it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.” 

For some reason, Steve agreed. 

Eddie had a habit of collecting strays. 

There was the cat he’d kept under the bed when he was six and the gathering of stray dogs that hung around the back of the trailer park that he’d been feeding for as long as he could remember. The same theory applied to people. He made friends with the loners, the weird kids, the ones with wide eyes and nowhere to go. He was a bleeding heart, so sue him. However, he’d never expected Steve Harrington to trigger his urge to protect and befriend. That really hit Eddie out of left field. 

Never in Eddie’s wildest dreams did he imagine he and Steve would be sitting across from each other at his small dining table, Steve’s knee pressed on the inside of Eddie’s thigh. The jock’s still hands held small bits of twigs in place as Eddie worked around him with his hot glue gun. The guy had seemed so lost, back in the woods, so unlike how Eddie remembered him. He knew about D&D for Christ’s sake. Eddie wondered if he’d woken up in an alternate universe because it seemed like Steve Harrington was actually a good dude. 

He asked Eddie about his goddamn log cabin, tavern. Then he’d pushed deeper. ‘Why do you need a bar in a game about dragons’? To which Eddie explained, of course, you do more than just fight dragons, which appeared to be news to Steve. Besides his friends, no one showed interest in Eddie’s ‘stupid little fantasy game’. With Steve, questions came thick and fast. Eddie loved every second of it. When he’d asked why Steve cared so much, the guy had shrugged his shoulders and muttered,

“I might be able to impress the kids.” 

Eddie decided to ask about ‘the kids’. He and Steve didn’t have much in common. Sure, the two could commiserate about high school together, but neither man was in the mood to do that. And god, Steve could talk about ‘the kids’. 

“I run a D&D club called Hellfire. If they’re starting high school this year, send ‘em my way. I’ll tuck your little ducklings under my wing. Keep the big scary jocks away from ‘em,” Eddie noted, feeling comfortable enough with Steve to take a jab at him. Steve surprised him again by snorting out a laugh.

“Make sure you do. That Jason kid’s a senior, right? Total psychopath. The kid would peg basketballs at pigeons.” 

By the time the sun set, the boys were in stitches and had a fairly decent log cabin to show for a day’s work. Eddie was surprised that the idea of Steve leaving set a pit in his stomach.

“Hey, Steve? We should do this again,” Eddie proposed, and Steve was too quick to agree. 

“I have work tomorrow morning, but how about the afternoon?” 

Eddie hadn’t expected the guy to be as keen as he felt. 

“It’s a date,” Eddie agreed, before promptly wanting to shove his head through a miniature log cabin. A date? Really, Munson? 

A flicker of amusement crossed Steve’s face as he shoved his hands into the pockets of his too-tight jeans. Mind out of the gutter, Munson. You were doing so well. 

“You’re weird, you know that?” Steve remarked, running his hand through his trademark hair, and yeah, Eddie should’ve expected that. 

Now Steve was going to call him a Freak, the ‘King Steve’, he’d heard about would make an appearance and Eddie would be glad he dodged a bullet by cutting his crush off at the knees before it had the chance to grow legs. 

“Weird is good,” Steve corrected, seeming aware of Eddie’s inner turmoil. 

“One thing I’ve learnt about myself since high school is that I like weird.”

Oh, no. Eddie was so gone for Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington. 

Read Part 2

[aphroditelovesu]

Heyaaaa, how are you, babe? Can we have a Yan!Platonic Nico di Angelo and Yan!Platonic!Percy Jackson with a daughter of Poseidon ‘reader’ (aka Ayane Ishikawa my OC XD), pretty please? They discussing who would be the best big bro to Ayane lol 🥺🥺

❝ 💀 — lady l: hii, babe! I hope you like it. It's a little short and very soft yandere, but it's more focused on their relationship, which, by the way, I'd love to hear you describe! 👀

❝tw: none, i think? just fluff and very soft yandere.

❝🌊pairing: platonic yandere!nico di angelo, platonic yandere!percy jackson x daughter of poseidon!reader.

❝word count: 850.

You loved your brothers. You really did. Percy was always protective and the comical relief you needed sometimes and Nico was sweet and protective of you too, but he was less controlling than Percy.

You sometimes found it funny how they were always fighting over you. Percy was really your brother but you considered Nico as your brother too. The son of Hades became attached to you the moment you, Percy, Annabeth and Thalia found him with Bianca at that school. His protectiveness only increased after his sister's death.

You loved them deeply. You would be willing to die and kill for them and you knew the feeling was mutual. But sometimes.... They were a little too much to deal with and you liked having a moment alone, something that since your arrival at Camp Half-Blood had become almost impossible.

You remembered your first day at Camp Half-Blood. Percy was excited to show you everything, from Thalia's Pine Tree to the Big House. Nico, on the other hand, seemed more reserved when you first met, but you knew he was only concerned about ensuring your safety. The first days were full of adventures and discoveries, but also a lot of responsibilities and hard training.

There were days when everything seemed like a whirlwind. The missions, the training, the council meetings... Percy and Nico were always by your side, but sometimes, you missed a moment of peace. A moment of your own.

One afternoon, after a particularly grueling workout, you decided you needed some time to yourself. Leaving a simple note for Percy and Nico – "I'm fine. I need some time alone. I'll be back soon." – you ventured out of Poseidon's cabin. You walked into the forest near the camp, a place where the sounds of nature offered a welcome solace from the chaos of the camp.

You found a small clearing, lit by the afternoon sun. You sat down on a fallen log, taking a deep breath and letting the calm surroundings wash over you. It was the first time in weeks that you could hear your own thoughts.

The only company was the dryads and some satyrs looking for these dryads. You smiled as a dryad waved at you and turned into an oak tree.

As you were lost in your reflections, remembering peaceful moments before your life turned into a whirlwind of battles and quests, conflicts with gods, and your relationship with your divine father, you heard a faint rustling in the leaves. You looked around, your heart racing a little, but you relaxed when you saw that it was just a curious squirrel. You just hoped your brothers weren't spying on you like they had many times before.

Time passed quickly, and before you knew it, the sun began to set. You knew it was time to go back. Although you loved your brothers and the camp, you knew that these moments of solitude were essential to maintaining your sanity. You stood up, feeling refreshed and ready to face whatever came next. And you knew that what would come next would be a whirlwind of questions from your brothers.

When you returned to the cabin, Percy and Nico were waiting for you, with mixed expressions of concern and relief. Percy was the first to speak, ''Are you okay?! We were worried.''

You smiled as you saw the concern in Percy and Nico's eyes, and realized how much they truly loved you, "I'm fine, really.'' You replied, trying to reassure them. ''I just needed some time to think.''

Percy sighed, clearly relieved. "We understand, but next time, give a little more notice, okay? We almost set up a search of the entire camp."

Nico, who had remained silent, finally spoke up, ''We know you need time for yourself, but you're important to us too. We want to make sure you're safe.'' There was an intensity in his voice that showed how seriously he took his responsibility to protect you and you knew that this responsibility, this protection came from a pain that he would always keep within himself.

You nodded, understanding their concern, ''I know, and I appreciate that. I promise I'll let you know better next time.''

As if there will be a next time.

That night, instead of going out for another training session, the three of you decided to spend time together, just talking and laughing. Percy told funny stories about his first days at Camp Half-Blood, while Nico, a little more reserved, shared some memories of his childhood with Bianca.

You loved them and you knew it. But they tended to become increasingly overprotective when you decided to leave without warning. They hated it when you did that. Were you that naive? The camp might be safe but they didn't trust the other demigods and gods. Nico and Percy that night, after you fell asleep, made an oath to each other.

You wouldn't go out alone anymore. And they would be sure that you would obey that. It's not like you really have a choice.

[drewtober]

Hey! Sorry this has taken so long--had a lot of family things come up one after another after another, and lots of work on top of all of it. Been kinda one thing after another these past few months. 🤣

TAGGING AND SUBMISSIONS

I'll open up submissions on October 1st for any pieces if anyone wishes to submit, and I'll check the tags once a day for reblogging. The tag is #Drewtober2024.

LOCATIONS

This list is mainly for quick reference or to spark an idea, but if I’ve forgotten a location in a game that you wanna illustrate go for it! I’m doing this from memory.

SCK - Paso Del Mar High School, Maxine’s Diner, Aunt’s Eloise’s house

STFD - The studio, Dwayne’s apartment, Aunt Eloise’s apartment (this is the only game I've not played, so I'm unfamiliar with all the locations).

MHM - Nancy’s room, the basement, Abby’s room, the library, the parlor, the foyer

TRT - Nancy’s room, the foyer, the library, the locker room, Marie's tower

FIN - The Royal Paladium

SSH - The exhibits, the Henrik’s lab, Nancy’s hotel room, Henrik’s hospital room, Joanna’s office, Alejandro’s office, Taylor’s office

DOG - Sally's cabin, Mickie's speakeasy, the ranger station, the woods, Em’s Emporium

CAR - Nancy’s hotel room, Joy’s office, the security office, Ingrid’s workshop, the various rides in the amusement park, Rolfe Kessler’s workshop

DDI - Katie’s boat, Jenna’s cafe, Whale World, the lighthouse, the beach, the sea caves, the smuggling tunnels

SHA - The ranch house, the stable, the farm yard, Mary’s gift shop, Dry Creek, the cliff dwellings

CUR - Nancy’s room, Linda's room, Jane’s room, the conservatory, the library, the foyer, the alchemy lab

CLK - The Lilac Inn, the tunnels, Josiah's house and barn, the mini golf course, Jim's office, Bogart's pond

TRN - The dining car, the sleeping car, Camile’s car, Jake’s car, the map room car, the dancing studio car, Fatima’s shop, the crypts

DAN - Minette’s workshop, the reception office, Dieter’s studio, the park, the sewers, Cafe Kiki, Jay Jay’s house, Noisette's stained glass safe

CRE - Big Island Mike’s property, the beach, the Hilihili labs, the volcano, Three Finger Rock jungle, Dr. Kim’s base camp

ICE - Nancy’s room + all guest rooms, the fishing shack, the Trapper Dan's Needle, Julius's cabin, the basement

CRY - Renee’s room, Bruno’s room, the library, the miniature’s room, the foyer, the garden, the cemetery, Bernie’s log and swamp, Zeke’s

VEN- Nancy and Helena's room, the ca, the flower stand, the various plazas, Antonio's office, Casa dei Giochi

HAU - The foyer/downstairs, Brendan and Caitlyn’s room/tower, Fiona’s room, the library, the castle grounds, Fiona’s bog hut, The Screaming Banshee Inn, the laboratory

WAC - Nancy and Corine’s room, Mel’s room, Izzy and Leela's room, the basement, the library, the common area, the courtyard

TOT - The basement, the farm house, the barn, the wind mills, Pa’s shop, Pa's museum

SAW - Nancy’s room, the baths, the hidden bath’s, Yumi’s apartment, the gardens, the bento stand, the pachinko parlor, the ryokan foyer, Rentaro's workshop, Takae's classroom

CAP - Nancy’s room, Karl’s office, the gift shop, the security booth, the monster’s camp, the dungeons, the glass blowing studio, the dining hall, the courtyard

ASH - River Heights police department, Toni's ice cream shop, Alexei's antique shop, Brenda's van, Nancy's house, original town hall

TMB - The camp tent, the tomb

DED - Ryan's workshop, Mason and Ellie's offices, the break room, Gray's security room, Niko's office and secret lab, the main lab

GTH - The cemetery, the crypt, the dilapidated house, the mansion parlor, the kitchen, the basement, Charlotte’s room

SPY - Nancy’s hotel room, Bridget's hotel room, Cathedral HQ and server room, Moira’s house, the training grounds, the cookie stand, the train station

MED - Pacific Run camp, the puzzle palace, the Annunaki star cave

LIE - The museum, Melina's office, the stage, the sets, the Niobe's pottery workshop

SEA - The Missti Skip, the Heerlijkheid, Magnus's cabin, the caves, the gift shop

BONUS DAYS/ALTERNATIVE DAYS

MID - Mei and Jason's hideout, the Parry house, Lauren's shop, Olivia's shop, the museum, the courthouse, the Hathorne estate and grounds, the cemetery, the tunnels,

KEY - Hungerkünstler Cafe, Oskar's exhibit, Zlaty Custom Jewelry, Aparát, Radek's marionette theater, Prague castle courtyard, St. Vitus cathedral, the alchemy lab, the astronomical clock

[fictionadventurer]

Time to talk about James Garfield! He's nearly forgotten today because his presidency was cut so short, but he might be one of the biggest over-achievers ever to reach the White House, and I'm overdue to tell you about his life story.

James Garfield, like Lincoln, came from a dirt poor background. Pretty sure he was the last president to be born in a log cabin. His father was a farmer who died when he was three years old, leaving him in the care of a mother and older brother who doted on him. They recognized that he was smart and wanted him to make something of himself, but young James had read a few too many books that romanticized life at sea, so at sixteen he ran away from home to get the closest possible version of that experience that he could manage--working on a boat in the Erie Canal. He came back home within a few months because he nearly drowned, and by then, his mother and brother had scraped up enough money for him to go to school.

After high school, he went to a prep school where he worked as a janitor to pay for his tuition. At least, for the first year. By his second year, the school decided to hire him to teach six classes! And later added two more because he was so popular! While he was still attending the school as a student, mind you! He went to college, became the principal of his old prep school, studied for the bar and became a lawyer, got involved in state politics, and then left to go serve in the Civil War, where he became the youngest-ever major general. Then his friends asked him to run for the US House of Representatives, and even though he refused to leave the army to go campaign, he won the election. Then he did leave the army to join the House, where he served eight terms.

Which brings us to the 1880 presidential election. Which was an absolutely wild and crazy political battle within the Republican Party. The big issue was civil service reform. Up to this point, all federal employees were appointed by the ruling president's party--it was called the spoils system, because "to the victor go the spoils." The president (or whoever he gave hiring power to) could appoint whoever he wanted to any government position, regardless of whether or not the person had any relevant experience. By the 1870s, this system had become a cesspool of corruption and cronyism, but the Republicans were split on the need for reform. On one side, you had the Stalwarts, who wanted to continue with business as usual. On the other side were the Half-Breeds, who wanted to replace the spoils system with a merit-based system where employees would have to meet certain education or experience requirements to get the job, which they could then stay in regardless of which party was in power.

Anyway, when it came time to choose the presidential candidate, the battle got ugly. On one side, you had Senator Roscoe Conkling of New York, a political boss who maintained his power through the spoils system, who was there to nominate Ulysses S. Grant to a third term. On the other side, you had James G. Blaine (the Magnetic Man from Maine), a Half-Breed who'd been Conkling's archnemesis ever since he called him out on the Senate floor as a seedy, ruthless villain.

James Garfield had no interest in being president; he'd seen too many of his friends (including James Blaine) get their principles warped by their obsession with the presidency, and he wanted to stay well away from all that. He was there to nominate John Sherman (younger brother of a certain famous Civil War general). Sherman, for his part, knew that Garfield was the more popular politician from Ohio, and hoped to neutralize him as a potential competitor by asking him to give the nominating speech.

So anyhow, at the nominating convention, Conkling gives this rousing speech in support of Grant that has the crowd going wild. There’s no way Garfield's going to be able to follow that. So what he does is look at the crowd and calmly talk to them about how there may be a lot of noise and emotion here today, but this isn't where the election is going to be won. Votes are going to be cast by ordinary Americans living on their homes and farms with their families, and they need to know that there's someone who can serve their interests in the White House. The crowd is spellbound. Garfield then asks them, "What do we want?" To Garfield's horror, one guy yells out, "We want Garfield!"

Garfield made it clear he was there to nominate Sherman, and finished his speech. Then the voting began. Round after round after round of voting, with no one candidate getting enough votes to win the nomination. Garfield got one vote in the third round. In the thirty-fourth round, he suddenly got seventeen votes, as delegates desperate to escape the gridlock decided to throw some votes behind a different name. Garfield stood to protest, saying that no one had the right to vote for him since he hadn't consented to be nominated, but the president of the convention, who secretly liked Garfield more than any of the other candidates, told him to sit down.

By the thirty-sixth vote, Garfield won the nomination. He reluctantly accepted.

When Garfield won the presidential election, it was the first time since the Civil War that a president had been elected who had support in both the North and South. Garfield was seen as a man of the people, living proof of the American dream that any man, no matter how lowly, could one day rise to become president. As Garfield rode in the carriage toward the White House for his inauguration, a man in the crowd yelled out, "Low bridge!" as a reference to Garfield's now-legendary past as a canal worker; Garfield grinned, took off his hat, and ducked.

Once he became president, Garfield became embroiled in the war over civil service reform. Since it hadn't been reformed, he had a constant stream of office-seekers coming to beg for appointments to federal positions, and a lot of federal positions that needed to be filled. His archnemesis was Roscoe Conkling; Garfield was determined to enact civil service reform, and Conkling wanted to do all in his power to prevent it. Conkling forced Stalwart members of Garfield's Cabinet to resign, and he went to war with Garfield over the filling of federal positions.

And that's an interesting story, but the more important part of the battle was with another person entirely, who Garfield had never met. Charles Guiteau was a madman with a checkered past, who'd been involved in strange sex cults and in running various scams--mostly running out on rent payments. During Garfield's election, he gave one speech in support of Garfield to a tiny crowd, and Guiteau, in his delusion, thought that under the spoils system, this entitled him to a reward. He wanted to be a foreign ambassador, and he came to the White House every day seeking a meeting with someone who could give him the job. He was mostly stopped by Garfield's secretary, and his attempts to get help from the vice president and various Cabinet members also failed.

At last, Guiteau became frustrated, and decided that the only thing to do was kill Garfield. God wanted to maintain the spoils system, he thought, and the only way to do that was to get the reform-minded Garfield out of the way so the spoils system advocate Chester Arthur could be president. Guiteau tracked the president to a couple of spots in Washington, but always found a reason not to take a shot.

But on July 2, 1881, when Garfield was at a Washington train station, Guiteau shot him in the back. The bullet went past Garfield's spine and lodged in his pancreas. Robert Lincoln--who happened to be traveling with Garfield--secured the services of the doctor who had treated his father. The wound was examined--the doctor poking unsterilized fingers into the bullet hole--and Garfield was transferred back to the White House for treatment.

If the bullet had been left alone, Garfield would most likely have made a full recovery--nothing about the wound was fatal. Unfortunately, he was president of the United States, and doctors were determined to give him intense medical care--which meant that he died through medical malpractice. The head doctor thought these new-fangled ideas about "germs" and "sterile procedure" were conspiracy theories, and certainly not worth the extra work of sterilizing everything. The wound was repeatedly probed with fingers and unsterilized instruments, which led to a massive infection that spread through Garfield's whole body.

Alexander Graham Bell invented a medical detector to locate the bullet; it would have worked, but Garfield's doctors--convinced they knew the path the bullet had taken--only allowed Bell to scan the right side of Garfield's body--and the bullet was on the left.

Garfield was unable to keep down solid food. He dropped from 210 lbs to 130 lbs. Massive pockets of pus formed throughout his body. He was literally rotting from the inside. Yet by all accounts, Garfield remained cheerful and kind to everyone who cared for him.

Garfield was a healthy fifty-year-old man, and he rallied a few times, but he wasn't able to overcome the infection. The heat and humidity of Washington only made it worse. An air-conditioning device was invented and installed to keep the room cool, but at the beginning of September, the decision was made to transfer Garfield to a house at the New Jersey seaside, in the hopes that the cool sea breezes could aid his recovery.

Garfield left Washington on September 6. A special train line was constructed that took him right up to the door of the house; when the train got stuck on the final hill, a crowd of hundreds that had gathered in support of the president worked together to push it to the top. Garfield's final few days were spent in the pleasant seaside atmosphere, but it was of no use. Garfield died on September 19, 1881. The country plunged into mourning--this president with so much promise, this man of the people, was dead, only six months into his presidency.

That short term means that Garfield is mostly skipped over in American history classes today, but he absolutely should not be. His rise from poverty to the White House is inspiring, and his death is tragic. There is so much to his story, and it's a shame that it gets shuffled aside in the grand sweep of American history.

[blueiscoool]

Lost and Found: Bottle Hunter Digs Extraordinary Farmland Treasures

Tom Askjem is a time traveler. Every May to November, he disappears into the bowels of the earth, descends to depths of 13’-plus, and returns to the surface with treasure—bottles and glassware from farming’s past.

After 1,800 pits and hundreds of thousands of relics, Askjem is equal parts archeologist, thrill seeker, and mole. Muscle on dirt, the North Dakota farm boy has turned an addiction into a career, multiple books, and a captivating YouTube channel with millions of views. However, Askjem seeks more than glass.

“I’m digging for adventure, history, and love,” he says. The past is in these holes and there are countless numbers of them across farmland.”

Time to hunt with a master.

The Infection

On the flats of extreme eastern North Dakota’s Traill County, Askjem, 32, prepares for a dig trip. “No mountains and no hills in the Red River Valley,” he describes. “You can see your dog run away for days. The land is mostly featureless, other than a few big cottonwoods and shelter belts where farms used to be.”

A mop of blonde hair sits atop a 6’-tall, lanky frame as Askjem saddles his pony—a Honda Civic. At the current mileage rate, the Civic will be junkyard fodder before it has a scratch: 60,000 backroad miles added to the odometer in the past six months.

Askjem piles layers of gear into the trunk, including three of each tool for insurance: shovels, pronged garden forks, trampoline pads, probe rods, buckets, plastic scoopers, trowels, tents, sleeping bags, blankets, pillows, air mattresses, clothes, and waterproof, Redwing leather work boots.

“It never gets old,” he says, wearing a wide grin. “I caught the infection when I was a kid.”

Digging Bodies

Pushed from the Grand Forks area by the historic Red River flood of 1997, Askjem moved to a farm outside Buxton at six years young. The main property was an 1878 homestead—a progression from sod house to log cabin to the present standing 1898 farmhouse decked in Victorian-era woodwork and hardware.

Surrounded by history, including the skeletons of old wagons and rusting machinery, Askjem explored a 5-acre patch of woods on the property, and chanced on a garbage dump: pop bottles and trash.

Askjem dug.

“I went deep and found stuff going back to 1898. When you’re a kid living in the country, there’s no going down the street and there’s no hanging with friends to play video games—you make your own adventure. I started hitting up all the farmers I could find for leads.”

Behind the wheel of a rattling go-cart, Askjem sought Buxton old-timers and collected tips on abandoned houses. “They all helped me,” he says. “Nobody cared where I hunted because I was just a little kid exploring for all the right reasons.”

“I’ve still got an elementary school journal with an assignment describing my weekend,” he adds. “I wrote, ‘Me and Mom dug up old bodies.’ The teacher marked my paper out of concern,” Askjem describes, with an easy, deep chuckle. “I meant to spell bottles, not bodies. But it shows I was truly hooked.”

Indeed. Wonderfully hooked.

Soft Landing

Why are bottles buried under farmland and old house sites?

Prior to plastic and synthetics, glassware held everything: medicine, hygiene products, alcohol, soda, and beyond. Glass was it.

Additionally, prior to waste disposal services, homeowners discarded trash on-site—in back yard outhouses, trash depressions, burn pits, and wells or cisterns. In short time, the various ground receptacle spots were filled and forgotten.

“Let’s say, for example, a family moved in around 1880,” Askjem explains. “That site likely has two or three outhouse locations prior to World War l. The outhouse spots filled up at a rate according to family size. I dug one farmhouse site that had six outhouses in a 10-year span. Folks went into the outhouses and threw away bottles: medicine, opiates, beer, whiskey. It was convenient and private, and had a soft landing, and got covered quickly. Even now, the bottles often are still preserved.”

“Generally, these houses also had a burn pit and/or dump pit. In the early days, they burned all trash in the stove for heat. Also, homestead bucket wells were filled up with trash and bottles once they were replaced by pump wells. Cisterns also were eventually filled up, but most of those are associated with houses in town.”

And the sites remain, he emphasizes, hiding intact relics beyond the reach of farm machinery or tillage equipment.

X Marks the Spot

Location. Location. Location. Other than a tip or invitation, how does Askjem find dig sites?

X marks the spot, at least in the county courthouse or public library. He spends winters poring over early property transaction documents. “I look at lot sales. If several lots sold for $100 each in 1880, but one sold for $1,000 in 1885, the price climb tells the story and likely represents a building location.”

“I also read old newspaper archives, looking for hotel or business advertisements,” Askjem continues. “Then I can look up the proprietor’s name and keep tightening the scope, narrowing down the exact building location.”

“Every single house is different, but generally, in the countryside, outhouses were 30 paces out the back door. In the city, where most lots were 140’ long, outhouses could be as close as 5-10 paces.”

Confident of a site’s potential, Askjem first asks for permission to dig from the landowner. “Property owners are always so kind to me and I don’t hide anything I find. They’re curious about what is in the ground, just like anybody else.”

Second, he grids out the site. “I put down markers 2 paces apart, maybe 20 paces long. I push probe rods into ground and feel for compaction differences. Depending on the location, I’ll call in and have utility lines marked out for power and gas.”

Decked in Levi’s and a tank-top, it’s time to tunnel.

Claustrophobic Comfort

Shovel in hand, Askjem descends into a layer cake of dirt: black topsoil to brown-colored clay to telltale ash to a use layer containing treasure.

“Generally, I go deep to find old items in quantity. The earliest bottles were used to the last drop by farmers and thrown out empty. Therefore, when they froze in brutal Dakota winters, the glass didn’t break from liquid expansion.”

As Askjem extracts glass vessels from the dirt and grime, his encyclopedic knowledge registers with each find. He recognizes the type, manufacturer, and age. Ink bottles, hygiene bottles, medicine bottles, beer bottles, soda bottles—and far more spill from the holes.

“I find patented medicine bottles across the country, but my favorite are soda bottles because they are unique to their locale and have character. The old soda bottles are usually marked with the bottler and town name because they were returnable.”

The outhouse pits are typically 6’-deep at home sites, with an average size of 6’-by-4’-by-3’. “I’ve dug ghost towns, dug saloons, train depots, and pool halls that were 12’ long, 4’ wide, and 8’ deep. I remember a hotel pit that was 20’-by-20’ and 8’ deep. There was a military fort with pits behind the barracks that was 12’ long, 4’ wide, and 13.5’ deep: That was a week’s worth of digging.”

Askjem’s subterranean realm provides no comfort to the claustrophobic. At 8’-9’, he braces the holes with woodwork. “I’m in a solid clay base that doesn’t cave, but I have a healthy respect for the ground’s limitation. Sometimes, it looks like I’m digging a rabbit hole.”

Preserved in nature’s freezer, the artifacts unearthed by Askjem often are in phenomenal condition.

“Pieces of newspaper can still be read; bottle labels are legible; white lime used in decomposition is visible; and undigested seeds are everywhere. Even 120-year-old human waste sometimes is perfectly preserved and still smells like hell. I wear a hydrogen sulfide respirator in those cases.”

“It’s all there; almost like it was dropped yesterday.”

Ghosts in the Ground

In 2022, Askjem began chronicling his digs via a YouTube channel, Below the Plains, and soon captured millions of views. At two posts per week, he gins footage at a steady rate to feed the algorithm, a tough task considering the ground in his geography is frozen from mid-November to mid-May.

Additionally, Askjem has written two in-depth books (Nebraska Soda Bottles 1865-1930 and A History of North Dakota Bottling Operations 1879-1930) and has more on the way. “I put the bottle prices in the books because they can sell for a whole lot and I always tell the landowners. Listing prices draw criticism, but that’s important to me because it helps preserve the item, and preservation of history is what drives me.”

Covered in dust or mud at the end of each day in digging season, Askjem is highly respectful of what he finds—almost reverent after 1,800 digs. “I appreciate everything I uncover because it represents a part of someone’s daily life and existence. There’s nothing wrong with coveting bottles, but I’m really in those holes for the moment of discovery.”

Even when not digging, Askjem is on the move, surfing on the coasts or river diving for lost cargo. In the decades to come, will he continue burrowing into the past? “Twenty years from now, I hope I’m still digging and there’s nothing I’d rather be doing right now.”

“There’s not an infinite amount of lost bottle sites, but there’s certainly an incredibly high number,” he continues. “There were 300,000 homestead farms in North Dakota with a minimum of one well, one outhouse, and one trash dump. And that doesn’t include towns where most of the population lived. There are millions of these sites in North Dakota and far more in other states.”

Respect to a freewheeling hunter like no other. Bottles draw the eye, but ghosts draw the heart: “The moment never gets old when you uncover a bottle and find that history,” Askjem adds. “Never.”

By CHRIS BENNETT.

[dozing-marshmallow]

Hi 👋 , could you write a fic of chris and wife! reader visiting his homeland of newfoundland and meeting his family. (btw you're like the #1 chris fanfic writer on this app, keep up the amazing work!!)

#1 Chris fanfic writer is a MASSIVE compliment, thank you so much!😳 this is a new request, but my brain was suuuuper fixated on it, so I hope you enjoy!💗

CHRIS MCLEAN AND WIFE! READER VISITING NEWFOUNDLAND ONE SHOT

We're heading down to Newfoundland That rocky eastern shore!

That song’s been stuck in your head since you found out Chris was taking you on a private trip to his homeland.

You kiss his cheek,“You were such a sweetheart for bringing the contestants to your childhood home, Chris!”

He didn’t see what the deal was,“It’s nothing. You get to meet my mom and know Jerd a little more. The rest of the family aren’t important.”

“Hold up, Chris.” your grave sounding words draw him away from the window,“That sentence doesn’t feel right.”

“What do you mean?”

You weren’t gonna comment on Chris devaluing the position of his other family members, since it was his family, it was his business,“Well, we’re married... Doesn’t that mean I should’ve met them during our engagement or at the wedding?”

“Uh...” he chuckled,“There’s a reason why it’s us going to them, (Y/N).”

You put the pieces together,“I won’t ask anymore.”

Without Total Drama, this visit was a lot more ordinary yet unfamiliar. The smell of marine clogs your nostrils and seagulls’ squawks still active at this time of day clanged your ears.

Chris knocks on the barn door of his old home, opened by an auburn haired woman in a matter of seconds. Wrinkles lightens her face, almost like they mainly came from her constant joy rather than age as demonstrated with her loving greeting to Chris, making her title in his life clear.

Your anxiety in making a good first impression was compressed when she called your name more cheerfully, wrapping her arms around you,“Welcome welcome, I was wondering when Chris would finally bring ye home! Look at ya, Chris was right when he told me he married a bonnie lass!”

You looked at him for help. What did she say?

“She means an ugly cow.” by that look on his face, you knew he was teasing.

“Ohh patch aht, Chris! Ye ken what I meant when I said that.” his mother scolded him, turning back to you with a smile,“I meant yer a fine woman, love! Maybe too good for my wee Chris here.”

“Mommm...” now he knew how it felt hearing something dislikable, pouting at her,“You don’t mean that.”

“Aw stop yer whinin’, mac, it’s been a long time since yer introduced me to somebody I liked, hasn’t it?” she nudges him gently with her knuckle, addressing both of you,“Come in, I’ll fetch the Screech!”

Here was what the rest of the contestants didn’t get to see. A warm cabin-like house where most of the walls and stairs were made from logs. A lot of fish decor and though there wasn’t much interior walls, it was easy to tell where the kitchen and living room separated at. It was strange that Chris had not lived here for a long time, yet his scent was still so fresh among the furniture.

“Your mom is so nice, Chris!” you exclaim to your husband, looking around the well kept lounge, with three sofas and a coffee table,“You didn’t tell me she was so cheerful.”

He chuckles, shrugging,“Now you know where I get my smile from.”

And you recognised a duplicate of that smile in a photo frame, a teenage looking boy standing next to a woman who had a big resemblance to his mom. Both of them looked forward to the camera, appearing to be outside on a warm crowded day,“Was this you?”

He looks at it and nods,“That was on the final day of high school. It’s weird looking back on how I used to look without my stubble. I was still a hunk either way!”

You look at another frame, above the fireplace, of another younger Chris, dressed in a grey sweater and his hair medium cut. He looked about seven here,“Aww.. And this was you as a little boy. Your face was so round.”

He admires it,“It sure was. I remember shortly afterwards, I lost my first tooth.”

Then caught your eye, a time where he didn’t have any teeth: his mother, with much more frizzy hair and large hoop earrings, holding a baby close to her chin. They must have been at a beach, the woman’s vest being an appropriate choice for those outdoors.

“Aww, you were such a cute baby...” even with the low quality cameras had back then, you could still make out the the docile face Chris once had. You beamed at how he started off in the world as this beautiful baby boy.

He grins at the petting compliment,“The best thing on the planet was once so small you could pick him up in your arms!”

That’s still possible, but anyway! It was very clear his mom loves him, with a lot of moments of his childhood put up on show in her living room- you were happy that your husband had such a good relationship with one of his parents,“You love your mom a lot, don’t you?”

“How can’t I? She’s an amazing woman who’s done a lot for me. Probably the reason why I have some humanity left in this calamitous heart.”

Said woman returns back with a tray of four bottles of Screech,“Jerd should be here in ‘bout two shakes! Leave that bottle for him.”

“Thank you, mom.” though, he proceeded to walk out,“Bladder’s full.” Ah.

In the meantime, she invited you to have a seat on one of her comfy beige sofas. You decided to use this time to ask her some questions,“So... Ms McLean-“

“Katherine, dear!” your mother in law interrupts you kindly.

Your appreciation rose. She was as pellucid as when she first saw you come with Chris,“Thank you, Katherine. How long have you lived here in Newfoundland for?”

“Been living ‘ere before Chris was born! This is where his dad’s from and he wanted to stay so I figured I ought to come live with him.” Katherine replied, taking a sip of her Screech.

“Wow! And your accent is still very fresh.” you make an obvious comment on her heritage.

“Well lass, when yer getting old, it don matter where you are. Your roots will always wanna come back up to enjoy the review of yer life.” she winked,“I have learnt a bit about how these people in Newfoundland parts talk though! For example, they like to say “‘Ow’s she cuttin, me cocky?” as a way to say “How are you, my friend?” Funny, isn’t it!”

Your face stretches in surprise,“I never would have thought that was how they asked how you’re doing! Though, these kind of idioms are what makes cultures so beautiful and unique, right?”

“For sure!” her amused smile tones down to a very welcoming one as she put a hand on your shoulder,“Aw (Y/N). I really wished I was there to congratulate ye on the wedding day. I woulda loved to seen you in that lovely white dress.” her smile folds away, almost like she was lying to you...until she added,“My Christian on the other hand had to go looking like a pure bampot with all that gel he keeps using. Woman to woman, dae ye dig it?”

Before you could answer, her son returns to the living room, not pleased with the first words his embarrassed ears encountered,“Of course (Y/N) likes my hair! I totally looked way more gorgeous than I normally do on the wedding day, and that’s beyond science! Have you seen the photos?”

“Oh I saw everything.” you knew this was his mother for her to not be fazed at all by his self absorbed utterances,“That don’t mean ye should be using that damned gel every day! Dae ye ken what will happen if ye keep going? Yer gonna lose all this nice hair I used to comb for ye everyday and yer gonna be as bald as a nickel! And I know that’s not what ye want, but I canny tell ye what to dae, it’s yer life and I’ve done me part as yer mom while ye were a wee bairn.”

Chris didn’t like being told what to do, but he made very few exceptions to people’s advices, like from his mother,“Okaaaaay Ma... I’ll lay off the gel every two days. Happy?”

She kisses him apace,“That’s my boy!”

On cue, the short cousin arrives, looking identical to the first time you saw him from third season, in his sun coloured raincoat to his fiery red beard.

“Jerd!” Chris goes over to his ginger relative and clasps hands with him,“How you been?”

“Well, b’y!” he keeps his large genetic smile as he saw you,“Ah, the pretty lady! ‘Ow's she cuttin', me cocky?” he miraculously asked, enthusiastically shaking your hand.

“Best kind b’y, thank you!” never has been a better time to be prepared!,“We saved you a bottle of Screech.”

Jerd notices and he grabs it off the tray immediately,“Cheers! I’m just ‘bout gutfounded for some of this good o’ stuff!”

You weren’t thirty minutes in your stay at Newfoundland, but you already decided. You needed to visit them more often.

[whencyclopedia]

John Marshall

John Marshall (1755-1835) was an American lawyer and statesman, who served as the fourth chief justice of the United States Supreme Court from 1801 until his death in 1835. Considered one of the most influential chief justices in US history, Marshall participated in over 1,000 decisions, including Marbury v. Madison, which established the principle of judicial review.

Early Life & Revolution

John Marshall was born on 24 September 1755 in a log cabin in the frontier community of Germantown, in Fauquier County, Virginia. He was the eldest of 15 children born to Thomas Marshall, a land surveyor who, over the course of his career, would accumulate some 200,000 acres (81,000 ha) of land spread out across Virginia and Kentucky, making him one of the largest landowners along this frontier. Thomas Marshall, who had worked alongside a young George Washington to survey the land that would become Fauquier County, eventually became one of the county's most prominent citizens, serving as its first sheriff and later as its representative to the House of Burgesses in Williamsburg. In 1754, Thomas married Mary Randolph Keith, a reverend's daughter who was related to both of Virginia's leading families, the Randolphs and the Lees. She gave birth to John a year after her marriage; through her, John Marshall was a distant cousin of Thomas Jefferson, his future political rival.

Despite the pedigree of his mother's side of the family, John Marshall did not receive a gentleman's education. Instead, he was raised on the frontier, first in the wilderness of Fauquier County and later in the Blue Ridge Mountain region. He was easy-going, with simple tastes in clothing and food, and a manner that was rustic yet pleasant. His black eyes were said to have been full of intelligence and good humor, and his boisterous laugh was enough to put anyone at ease; one future colleague would later recall that Marshall's laugh was "too hearty for an intriguer" (Wood, 434). He was mostly home-schooled by his parents, although he did receive a few months of formal education at an academy where he befriended future president James Monroe. His education was cut short, however, by the outbreak of the American Revolutionary War in 1775. His father had supported the Patriot cause and joined a militia regiment leaving John, dutiful to both father and homeland, to quickly follow suit.

In 1776, Marshall was incorporated into the Continental Army as a lieutenant. In the autumn of 1777, he served under General Washington in the Philadelphia Campaign, seeing action at the Battle of Brandywine and the Battle of Germantown. When the army hunkered down for a bitter winter at Valley Forge, Marshall suffered through the cold and the hunger, shivering side by side with the other men; when the winter snows thawed into springtime mud, he drilled with them as well. In 1780, having risen to the rank of captain, Marshall was furloughed from the army and went off to the College of William & Mary to study law. As he left the military behind, Marshall reflected on his wartime experiences and came away with two beliefs that would greatly impact his career. The first was a fierce admiration for George Washington, whose integrity and determination led Marshall to believe that he was "the greatest man on earth" (Wood, 434). Second was a belief that the nation, were it to survive, needed a strong central government; Marshall's experience at Valley Forge, where Congress had struggled to keep the army supplied with adequate food and clothing, had been enough to convince him of that. Armed with these convictions, Marshall set out to embark on a legal career, one that would shape the destiny of the infant United States.

Continue reading...

[sfwregressionfanfictions]

Growing pain: Johanna Mason x little reader

Summary: Johanna and (Y/N) find ways to live after the pain.

Wc: 4k

Tw: hunger games details, mentions of death and gore. Less that The Hunger Games , but more that the average agree fic.

I feel like I’ve lost control of everything since the games ended and the rebellion succeeded. After years of torture, it was over but I wasn’t over it. Mentally I was never free. I feel it lurking around every corner, in my brain and physically.

I see the faces of the people I killed in the arena and for the rebellion. I see the faces of those I lost: Finnick, bogs and so many others. I see the torture I endured in the capital and in my district. I cannot sleep due to this haunting.

I’m lucky enough not to be alone. After the rebellion won the therapist said both Johanna and I should not live alone. We both quickly decided we tolerate each other well enough, so we would rather live together than have a “babysitter”. We still have mandatory therapy appointments but most are done on the phone.

Johanna was loud and harsh a majority of the time, she seemed to have calmed down slightly since our freedom was established. She was outspoken still but she was honest and genuine. She always tried her best to calm me during my episodes, she has improved her ability to empathize but still struggles.

She says I help ground her too. I never feel like I do, but I suppose I can’t determine how she feels. She sometimes talks about how we met, she talks about how she saw me during my games while she was the mentor, and she discusses the past and who we were. Johanna has grown nostalgic, talking about the innocence in my eyes during my first interview. It’s hard to remember. I’m only 21 now, but it’s hard to remember when I was a child or when I had a childhood.

Even before the games, I fought to survive and help my family survive. I trapped animals by the fences and worked for anyone willing to pay. And not to talk about the horrors from after my first game.

Now we live in a house on the edge of the woods in district 7. Johanna has started building a log cabin farther into the woods, as she has wanted to do for a long time, it’s part of her therapy I think. I meet with my therapist meets with me every Saturday morning, and so far she’s said I’ve made no improvements.

She wants to actually meet in person this weekend so we can try a new method. I agreed, only because I knew Johanna would be in the woods. She would probably stay close enough to hear me if I scream, she’s always nervous to leave me with strangers.

Johanna had left early for the woods, claiming she wanted to get a lot of work done. My therapist showed up with a large bag over her shoulder. She made herself comfortable in Johanna and my living room. She accepts my offer of water, rejecting coffee or tea.

“So how have you been sleeping?” She asks, as soon as I sit across from her.

“Umm… The usual amount… I guess maybe a little more…” I reply shyly. I hated that question.

“That’s good that you are increasing your sleep, even just a little. That’s a huge step for you!” She said, she was sincere, but I always feel like she’s being sarcastic. “What about nightmares?”

“No change,” I said almost too fast. It’s not that there was an increase in number, it was an increase in severity.

“Okay, now I was hoping you would be willing to talk about what you were like before the games?” The therapist asked.

“God it’s been so long, I guess I was a normal child? I mean I had a family, I went to school, worked. I was the average kid in my district.” I reply.

“So what I’m hearing is you never really had time for those key parts of being a kid?” The therapist asked, “Did you feel like your needs were being met in all capacities?”

“Yeah! My family gave me the best life they could!” I yell, I felt like she was spitting on the efforts and the fight they put into providing the life I had.

“I didn’t mean to offend you, I simply meant compared to that of perhaps a capital child!” The therapist explained, “the reason I brought it up is so I could be positive that this therapy had a chance to be helpful.”

“What is this therapy?” I said reserved again.

“So it’s called age regression. It is a coping/therapeutic method that helps you reconnect to your inner child, to a point where you were safe and felt loved.” The therapist explained, “what it is, is you revert to a childlike mental state where you will have a chance to engage with like like you are that age.”

I grumble, almost embarrassed that this is even a suggestion. I think about how Johanna’s therapist told her to build the house she wanted and acknowledge the way she feels. AND I GET TURNED INTO A BABY?

“You don’t seem thrilled by the idea, however, I would really like you to give it a genuine try.” The therapist said, “I won’t ask you to attempt in front of me as I know you aren’t ready for that yet. But I would also like you to reflect if there was any time you might have accidentally or unintentionally regressed okay?”

“Yeah, I guess I can try to do that.” I signed.

“Okay, I will leave you with this bag of different items that might help you regress. And how about we call next week and meet in person the time after that?” She asked.

“Yeah, that will work for me,” I said staring at the bag as if it could come alive at any point.

She was quick to leave after that. Once I was alone, I picked up the bag. However, the door goes flying open, and in comes Johanna. She tried to play it cool, but it was obvious she wanted to make sure I was okay.

“What’s in the bag?” Johanna immediately asked, pointing her ax at it.

“Apparently stuff for a new type of therapy…” I gave up the information.

“Yeah? Morphling? That’s some good stuff to help you forget the pain.” She jabs at herself, she had an intense addiction after she was held in the capital.

“Umm… no… I don’t know exactly what is in it…” I didn’t lie, I technically didn’t know exactly what was in the bag.

“Okay,” She raised her hands as a surrender, “I have to get back to work, but I’ll be back before dinner tonight.”

“Okay, be safe,” I reply.

“Obviously, got a lot to do still!” She replied.

With Johanna gone, I brought the bag to my room. I closed to door and immediately started going through the bag. I was almost embarrassed to say that I was excited, it felt like I was getting lots of gifts.

On the top of the bag, I pulled out fake stuffed animals, a bunny, and a bear. I giggled lightly thinking of how Jo and I presented, the stuffed animals looked like us. I was fast and jumpy during my games, like a bunny. Johanna was strong and sturdy with her axe during her games, like a bear.

I go into the bag again and find a few types of dolls. Then I pull out diapers, I yelp at this. I placed the diapers very far away, I wasn’t willing to try that! I grab another item quickly to avoid lingering on the diapers. The item I pull out is a storybook. It was a picture book, it looked like something I would have enjoyed as a kid.

I dove into the bag again, this time pulling out a coloring book. I could do that and not feel too embarrassed. I continued pulling stuff from the bags, primarily toys, pacifiers, and teethers.

With everything laid out, I decided that I was willing to try the coloring books and teethers/paci tonight. The stuffed animals somehow already made themselves at home on my bed. I guess I should put on something comfortable and try what the therapist said.

Once cozy, I lay on the floor and begin looking through the coloring book. I settle on a picture of a Pegasus with butterflies. I begin coloring the picture, I start on the butterflies, coloring the wings a burnt orange. I was cautious of the edges.

Soon enough, I was done coloring the butterflies and I am feeling slightly fuzzy in the head. It was odd, it felt like when I would go to the parties in the capital and would drink the strange bubbly drinks, that always made me giggly. I was giggly now too. I notice I am not holding the crayon correctly anymore. I am gripping it in my fist, and rubbing it against the page.

I feel light, almost weightless. It is nice to feel so carefree, I am childlike again. I feel like when I was 7. I dive back into coloring, one page turns into two turns into a handful. My drawing begins to ignore the lines and I pick the most fun colors rather than the ones that would work together the best. I start sprawling on the floor, rubbing my eyes with my balled-up fist, and haphazardly swiping my hair out of my face with no grace.

I suppose it must have been a while since I began my session. Because it grew dark in my room, as the light from the window faded out of view. I whimper at the change in light, I feel silly being scared of the dark but I was so small. Smaller than when I was 7, I wanted Johanna. I always felt safe with her. However, I couldn’t let her see me like this. I felt embarrassed that this made me feel better, I should be able to deal with it like every other victor. But here I am sprawled on the ground giggling at the pictures I color, as my thumb migrates toward my mouth. Just as it passes my lips, the slamming of a door startles me. Johanna always was rough on the doors after a long day.

“(Y/N)?” She yelled out from the living room. I freeze, think big thoughts, think big thoughts I repeat to myself.

“Yes?” I yell back, I sounded wrong. I move to get up and go to the door, hoping she wasn’t set on coming into my room as there was no time to get everything hidden before she comes in. I was lucky enough to slip out before she made it to my door. I smile at the sight of her sweaty frame, she had been working hard on the cabin. Seeing her like this was always slightly domestic, she had a slight smile and her axe was left at the door.

“What have you been up to, birdie?” Johanna asked, she called me that as the first time we met, I squawked like a bird. I did not mean to she startled me and now she wouldn’t let me live it down.

“I was doing something that the doc wanted me to do…” I reply shyly, It was scary to talk about treatment. Johanna would want to know, making a comment about ‘supporting’ each other. She acted like it was important to us, but I think she just likes being nosy. “I meant to make dinner, but I go distracted…”

“You sound off, weird almost,” Johanna said bluntly, she didn’t mean it in an offensive way she just spoke like that. “How about we cook up some soup now? We got that rice from district 11 that you liked, we can try to make the rice soup seeder made that one time.”

She always seems to remember the small things that I liked. Last week, she decided to visit Finnick (He was alive but had some nasty scars from the muttations.), and came back with a Tupperware of the same dessert Annie made for her baby shower. I mentioned once that I wish I had the recipe so I could remake it, but I knew it was an important family recipe for Annie so I didn't pry.

“I would like that…” I reply, I sounded small and innocent still like a child. Johanna said nothing this time, I suppose she didn’t care enough to point out that fact.

“Start filling that pot up with water, I’m gonna clean up a little,” Johanna says walking to the bathroom, Johanna has gotten better with showers and water in general. She doesn’t freak out about water she knows is going to touch her, but surprise water still gets to her. Puddles, rain, and any splashes.

Once the pot is filled up, Johanna is out of the shower. She is dressed in a tank top and sweatpants. She looks so pretty.

“All filled up, what is the next step chef?” I asked my voice almost back to normal. I still felt slightly fuzzy in my head.

“You are gonna chop up some broccoli, and I am going to make the base and rice.” She said she was always good at delegating work.

With that, she’s pulling goods out of the pantry and fridge, and I am getting the knife and cutting block. By the time I get the large block of wood, I am pretty sure Johanna made it. If I was being honest, using a knife made me nervous still. I would start to shake and think back to my game.

I stood there staring at the board that had broccoli sitting on it, the knife in my hand. I didn’t mean to space out at this scene. I must have stood there too long, not moving. I felt a hand wrap around mine, as I hold the knife. My head whipped around only to see Johanna’s pity-filled smile.

“It’s just broccoli,” Johanna said, it was blunt. It was meant to be soothing though, it worked better on me than it would on others. Johanna did the leg work of cutting up on veggies while I just leaned back into her sturdy frame.

Johanna was always overly gentle with me, even when she was rough on me it did not compare to the roughness she had towards others. When she had flashbacks or breaks, she never hurt me. She would scream and cry, trying to get me away, but would never hurt me. When we first moved back to district 7, she would rarely shower due to her fear of it, however, I slowly got her to shower. I would stand in the way of the water and she would let the mist that bounced off me hit her. It took a while but she eventually got to a point where she was comfortable showering alone.

“You know you can tell me what your head doctor said to you right?” Johanna asked, before following it up, “Or I could call her and have her tell me…”

“I feel like that would be breaking a rule,” I giggled at her. We placed the knife down as we finished cutting the vegetables.

“Then tell me, little bird,” Johanna said, as she poked at my sides. I felt my face go red and my eyes water a bit.

“You will make fun of me, and then leave me here alone,” I reply looking down at my hands.

“Now, does that sound like something I would do?” She asked as she dumped the vegetables into the soup and left it to simmer. “What if I told you something that my head doctor told me to do that I don’t like?”

I stood there, ‘would I trade a secret for a secret?’. I nod as I pull myself onto the counter to sit.

“My doctor says it's important that I start connecting with more people and try to connect on a different level…” Johanna all but groaned out.

“Like date someone?” I squeak back.

“I suppose, something about taking care of someone I connect with and care about… blah blah blah. Like I pay attention to that.” Johanna huffed, her eyes bearing into mine as to say she wanted to say more, to be vulnerable but wasn’t able to form the words.

“Do you not want to ever have that? Someone that loves you as you love them?” I ask quickly, I was never good at hiding my feelings. I always had an affection for her, although I tried to break it. As Johanna would always refuse to love another person after what happened to her.

“I…” She starts and trails off as she stares into my doe eyes. She bit the inside of my cheeks as her eyes flicker to my lips. “Stop trying to stall, tell me what your stupid head doctor said.

I stare at her for a second before reaching my pinky out and asking her if she would still stay with me no matter what. She connected our fingers with a small scuff at my antics. I soon spoke, “So she said before we could deal with the trauma from the games and the umm… you know afterward. I have to address the trauma I have from my childhood…”

“What the f*** does that even mean?” Johanna says, getting angry that the doctor wasn’t just fixing me. I appreciate that she cares this much, but she was being loud and aggressive about it and it startled me.

“She wants me to create a safe childhood for myself…” I am still picking at my nails but I am hyper aware of her shifting next to me.

“What?” She was confused, I could almost hear the cogs turning in her hair.

“She ummm… she wants me to regress…” I finally say, Johanna still didn’t understand but she faked a smile.

“Well, do you think it will fix the screws that are loose?” She asked, it was all she could, she didn’t know anything about it. All I could do was shrug before turning my attention to getting bowls and spoons.

Johanna did not push the topic anymore, at dinner she talked about how the cabin was coming along. She said that I was going to get to decorate it, she would make any furniture I wanted. It was her way of sharing what mattered to her. Her love language

I told her the following day I was going to go into the market to get groceries and asked if there was anything she needed. She said no like always, she always wanted to be the provider. I only smiled and nodded before resuming eating my soup.

The evening was like any other, Johanna and I sat on the couch. She is reading a book about an adventure that takes place far away from here. I sat close to her, writing a grocery list. My head eventually makes its way to her lap. Her hand finds its way to my head, playing with strands, almost petting me. Johanna and I fell asleep like this, I was the first to fall asleep obviously.

This happens a lot, usually when this happens Johanna will either carry me to bed or if she is tired also she will simply wiggle in. She tries to wake up before me so I dont catch her being soft but sometimes I get lucky. I was not lucky that morning, she was gone by the time I woke up. She was most likely in the woods again or perhaps she went to speak with the lady down the street to get a new ax head made.

I did not fret over her whereabouts, she was strong and reliable. I was quick getting ready, I loved days at the market. Now that people are able to enjoy life, the market was light and airy. Kids played and danced, there was always music playing and the shopkeepers were always throwing extra into my bag, as I was a ‘leader’ in the rebellion. I always refused the gifts, I was never a leader, simply a survivor.

Today I stopped by a small flower stand, I always pause to look at them. I could never get myself to buy them, I feel like a capital citizen using money on lavish goods when people could be starving. I am aware the war is over and the likelihood of starvation is low with the new leadership.

I was in the market for about two hours before deciding to walk back to victors village. I took what was considered the long way back, and it only took an additional 5 minutes. However, I enjoyed the extra 5 minutes of birds singing and trees so tall I couldn’t see the top.

When I returned, I opened the door to find Johanna on the couch reading a book. ‘Must have decided to have a short day,’ I think as I drop the groceries in the kitchen before walking over to see how she was. Once I walk back into the living room, I see the title of the book she was reading. I freeze, “Age regression: explanations and tips”. There were other books all similarly themed.

“What are you doing?” I ask nervously. I nibbled on my lip to keep from attempting to remain grounded.

“Reading.” She said dryly, flipping the page. She was obviously enthralled by the book. She had tabs sticking out of it and a pen in her lap.

“You don't have to read that, you can act like nothing is happening!” I meekly reply. I want to cry from embarrassment, how could I be doing this nonchalantly. This is embarrassing.

“Why would I do that? That is stupid.” She didn’t spare a glance away from the book, “Do you need help with the groceries?”

“Umm… No, I can do it. You don’t have to worry about it.” I sputtered out as she finally glanced away from the page she was on, placing a bookmark in it and stood up.

“Too late, you are stuck with my help.” Johanna grunted walking past me to the kitchen.

I follow behind, looking lost. All I could really think of was ‘why?’. Why would Johanna go out of her way to do this for me? Why did it seem she was enjoying my suffering?

“Ohhh, you got the stuff for the meal we had when Katniss visited! It was tasty. When are we making it?” She asked, snapping me out of my mental tirade.

“We can make it whenever, there isn't a specific day I was planning to make it.” I reply, grabbing the bag that held the fruits I bought us.

“Cool, cool. You should read some of the books I got, they are really informative.” She said, watching me like she did during the 75th hunger games. Cautiously, ready to save me from an unseen force.

“Why did you get them?” I ask, staring at the apples I placed in our fridge.

“Well we are gonna be living together for a while so I thought I should at least know a little of what was going on in that head…” Johanna trailed off, an unsureness settling over us.

We let the silence fill the room until she lets out a forced cough. I popped my head up from were I was squatting, still holding the food I meant to put away. She spoke, “So I read that usually regressors have a caregiver, did your doc say anything about getting one?”

I shook my head, not knowing exactly what it was. I did understand she seemed bitter about it. She seemed glad to know I wasn’t planning to get one, she was rather territorial.

“Okay, for now perhaps, I could take on that role? Then my shrink is happy and I know that you are safe.” She suggests.

“Okay, I suppose that’s okay. I don’t know what that means though.” I said.

“I will teach you”

[countrymusiclover]

60 - Missing What We Had

Part 61

Family is More than Blood

@melvia-ito @vavafaure1994 @kmc1989 @tallrock35

Missy’s pov

Ethan parked his truck outside of the lake house before I vamped behind opening the tailgate and taking out our suitcases. It had been five years since we had graduated high school. And we were doing our best to work in our small town. But most free weekends we were spending our time out here with our friends. “Landon just texted and said they’re almost here.”

“That’s good to know. We can set up the bonfire after the sun sets. My aunt Caroline said that they’d always start the school year off with a bonfire in the woods. And I think we should make that a tradition here, what do you think?” Grabbing the fireplace lighter stuffed inside one of the kitchen drawers I turned back to face my boyfriend.

My boyfriend smiled back at me. “That sounds fun. Let’s get everything set up before they get here.”

A few hours later we stood in the yard and down by the edge of the lake water with a burning pile of firewood at our feet. It was our whole little group of family and some friends gathered together which included me, Hope, Ethan, Landon and Andrea. Josie and Lizzie were back at Mystic Falls catching up with each other. “So what exactly are we doing with a fire? Are we going to be camping outside?”

“Not this time, Landon. This is actually a Mikaelson family tradition.”

Ethan made a confused face. “What kind of tradition?”

“Our auntie Bex said that we would write down our wishes and then burn them for luck.” Hope explained sitting on a log with Andrea and Landon seated on either side of her.

Landon smiled, scribbling down something and throwing it in the fire before anyone else could see it. “Sounds like fun.”

“Dang Landon, I guess we don’t get to know what you’re writing over there.” Andrea was the first to notice what he had just done.

The rest of us paused our wish writing focusing on the former supernatural boy. “What don’t you want us to know, Landon. I mean I thought we were all friends here.”

“He doesn’t have to answer if he doesn’t want to.” Hope defended.

Landon nervously rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s just embarrassing. I wished for some more muscles - like a certain Avenger.”

“The Hulk, Captain America or Thor?” I asked him with a cheeky grin.

Ethan pointed his index finger at him. “It’d be hard to pick between Thor and Steve Rogers.”

“Nah it wouldn’t be hard for me. God of Thunder, all the way.” Ethan and Landon shifted their gazes at me. Ethan gave me a weak smile until I responded back to him. “He’s a hot God. Oh don’t worry, E. You’re the only guy for me.”

Andrea slightly rolled her eyes, chuckling. “You guys are such cute nerds.”

The laughter in the room began to fade with my sister seeing some sadness welling in my eyes. “Missy, what’s wrong?”

“I wish Alina and Jackson were here. Along with the rest of our family.”

My sister nodded her head yes in agreement looking up at the stars above our heads. “Yeah, me too. I wonder if Alina is happy back in New Orleans.”

Raelyn’s pov

“Alina Mikaelson, you open the door this instant!” Vamping inside the cabin I heard my husband’s voice shouting down at the end of the tight hallway.

Striding up to him I grabbed him gently by the shoulder. “Klaus, yelling at her isn’t going to help us any faster.”

“She shouldn't have done what she did. She lied to us for five years. She didn't tell her son, our own grandson, about us. Oh and now to top it off she has another offspring that will probably know nothing about us!” He shouted back at me throwing his hands up in the air.

Running my hands down my face I sighed heavily knowing he had every right to be furious with her. I know I was but what would that anger solve, absolutely nothing. “I'm angry with her too. But if we don't have her on our side then I can’t do the spell to help my brother have another baby.”

“So that's what this trip was all about. My idiot brother in law can't wrap his head around the fact that he can't have any more children. Oh I feel so sorry for him.”

Glaring at my husband I remarked. “Niklaus, be nice. Remember he is my brother and I care about him just as much as I do you.”

“If he really cared about you he would have told you what Alina had done.” He turned his head back towards the door shouting again. “We're still your parents regardless of you legally being an adult now!”

Slapping my hand over his mouth I shut him up, turning his face with my other hand. “That’s not going to get us anywhere. Besides you can't dagger her for this, Nik.”

“Freya - could use - a boundary - spell.” He muffled against my palm.

Shaking my head he knew I was right. “And she'll break it in a second because she's half siphon witch in case you've forgotten.”

“What do you suggest we do then, Raelyn?” He removed my hand from his mouth holding it in his larger one.

Leading him over to the living room coach with our hands still together I dragged him down to sit with me. “We just wait for her to come talk to us.”

“You can't be serious, Rae?” He knitted his brows at me.

Nodding my head I laid down on my back on the coach staring at him. “I am 100% serious, Nik. She's old enough to make her own decisions even if we don't agree with them. We have to listen to what she has to say. Now can we please cuddle while we wait?”

“I have a better idea, we could go have sex on your brother's bed.” He smirked down at me.

Covering my mouth with my hands I attempted to hold back the fit of laughter that escaped my lips. “Nik, no!”

“Why not?” He pressed on leaning down to connect our lips together, his body hovering over mine.

Breaking the kiss I held his face in my hands I lightly smiled. “Because with our luck we'd get me knocked up and be on our way to child number 7.”

“What’s wrong with that? We both love our children don't we?” He questioned with a tilt of his head.

Lazily running my fingers through his dirty blonde locks I replied hoping he would understand. “I adore them with all my heart. It's just - we never have time to ourselves anymore. Like we used to when my cousins were alive and -”

“And you were always horrified you'd die and kill your entire coven.”

Rolling my eyes it all seemed so foreign now for me to be afraid of death. Looking back now I was born to be a vampire. I was born to be a heretic. “Yes, that too. But my point is I want us to go back to those moments. The moments where it was just you and me against the world. Where we aren't responsible for other people, just you and me.”

“I'll find a way to make that happen, my heretic Queen. You have my word on that because I love you.” Nik closed the gap between us, connecting our lips in a heated kiss.

Threading my fingers deeply into his curls I let myself get lost in the passionate kiss. “I love you too.”

[footballffbarbiex]

player: Ben Chilwell words: 880 so slightly over request: Ben Chilwell - no pref - 500 - 750 words - My birthday is the 20th Dec, Chilly’s is 21st Dec, so shopping for birthday gifts in among the Christmas gifts, a night away to celebrate both birthdays in a cabin with a hot tub, snow, real fire, smut, before the madness of Christmas and the Christmas fixture list kicks off…

You hadn’t known what to expect when Ben said that he was taking you away as a mini birthday treat for you both and an early christmas present. You didn’t want to think how much was spent to secure this cabin, what with anything surrounding children’s school holidays and Christmas was an automatic price hiker after all. You hadn’t been sure what to think when he’d told you to pack for a “cabin in the woods”. Which is hardly surprising considering your first thought was “I’ve seen how this movie plays out before”. 

Snow had already begun to fall before either of you had climbed from the car but seeing it fluttering down from the sky, between the branches and landing softly onto the building had made you grin from ear to ear. From the outside, it truly looked like a log cabin with its large logs stacked upon one another until it reached a thatched type roof, but once inside, you realise this was merely an aesthetic with most of the downstairs walling being exposed brick. 

With a large AGA cooker taking pride of place in the kitchen area which overlooked the raised decking in the backyard and an impressive open fire with a small basket of logs on either side of the fire proudly holding a sign stating to be used if cold - each basket containing wood with a burn time of 3-8 hours, enabling you to pick the best log for your ideal burning duration. 

Ben had dragged the suitcases from the car to the bedroom up the stairs which featured a much bigger window than you’d been expecting and already, you couldn’t wait to get snuggled up in there and look at the stars from beneath the covers. While he took care of that, you’d looked over the hamper in the kitchen. A handwritten card hoping that you enjoyed your stay and with it brought a selection of breakfast items, a bottle of wine and things for a light lunch including what smelt like a fresh baked loaf. Out on the decking beneath a quickly growing layer of snow, is what appears to be a hot tub. 

Ben found you unpacking the final bag while you put away the food and drink that he’d purchased. So far, it felt as though there wasn’t anything that Ben hadn’t thought of for this trip and you had to hand it to him, this had clearly been something on his mind for a long time for him to have planned this so perfectly. But that’s exactly what this day has been so far - perfect. 

The two of you spent the evening heating up the house and making sure the hot tub was all fired up and nice and hot ready for after the evening meal. The cabin emitted a beautiful warm glow which poured from the windows across the rapidly deepening snow as you’d cooked together. Something which you’d done many times before at home but here in this setting, it felt different - far more romantic if you dare state such a word for something as simple yet intimate as this. He looked at you in ways that made your heart feel as though it was on the verge of bursting. His kisses held promises of something else to come. 

-

Pressing a towel to your hair, you make your way out of the bathroom and to the bedroom. Ben is already sprawled out over the mattress in only his boxers, one hand laid on his stomach while the other holds his phone as he scrolls through social media with a concentrating expression. Despite now only being dressed in a vest top and shorts, you didn’t feel the cold like you had earlier

“I still can’t believe how clear it is here,” you comment as you enter the room, the large window grabbing your attention as it has each time you’ve walked in here. Even with all the trees surrounding the cabin, the sky is still more exposed than in London. Stars are brighter here than you’ve ever seen in the city and already your camera roll is now filled with tens of photos ready to be uploaded to insta once you’re back. “The view is amazing. You couldn’t have picked a better place.”

“Mmm,” Ben nods, lowering his phone to look at you, “was just thinking the same thing about the view.” The look he gives can almost, almost, makes up for the corniness of the sentence. And if the look didn’t, then the swelling in his boxers did.  You’d heard the saying “drinking them in” but only now do you fully understand the meaning of it. The way Ben takes in the sight of you is enough to feel wetness gathering where your thighs meet. Give it a bit longer and you’ll dampen your underwear and your nipples will strain against the shirt you wear. 

“Something interesting got your attention?” you ask him as you fold up the towel nonchalantly and place it on top of the dresser. Ben leans over and reaches out, fingers skimming up your thigh until goosebumps leave a light trail where they’ve touched. 

“Call it a work in progress,” he replies, gaze remaining where he touches as they climb higher up your leg. 

[12timetraveler]

Something In The Orange

Chapter 12

Summary:

The Matthews family take you and Charles to their cabin in Big Valley for a winter vacation.

Notes:

Y'all I am SO SORRY for how long this chapter has taken.

I hit some major burnout over the last few months. So much so that I've actually been put on short-term disability leave from work. I'm starting to feel a bit better and I've been able to do more writing, but I'm still pretty worn out if I'm honest.

As always, this chapter was written entirely on my phone, so any weird typos, autocorrect words, etc you can blame on my phone haha.

Anyway I hope I haven't lost all of you who've been here since the beginning.

As always below is a little preview. Read the whole chapter and the entire work (so far) on AO3

Reminder: You must be logged in to an AO3 account to read my works as I've had to lock them down to protect from AI Scraping.

~~~~~~

You couldn't help but smile as you examined the three pins on your Christmas stocking. Three Christmas seasons with the Matthews family, each marked with a little pin. The silver horse-drawn sleigh from the first year. Then a little mouse sleeping next to a piece of cheese with a bow from the second year. And this year was a cowgirl boot and hat dusted in snow.

Christmas was a month ago, of course. Hosea hadn't had time to take down the stockings. Or all the lights. Or the menorah. But you were actually kind of glad about that. It was nice to see the cheerful sight, even in late January.

Going back to campus after the winter holidays this year had been awful. You tried your best to be a good student, to get excited for your classes and get right back into studying. But you found your thoughts drifting more and more to your beloved. Wondering what he was doing. Missing his sweet voice, his herbal scent, his long cock. It had been torture.

Monday was a bank holiday, meaning the high schools and the universities had a three-day weekend. So Friday afternoon you and Arthur drove up to Firwood Rise to pick up Hosea, John, and the horses to go on a little weekend trip. The plan was to go out to a cabin Hosea and Dutch shared out in Big Valley, West Elizabeth.

Aside from a couple ranches, it was still mostly wild, and even in the winter the trail rides were unforgettable. Or so Arthur said. This was your first expedition with the Matthews men out to this cabin. You'd never been to Big Valley, but it was legendary for the beautiful, natural scenery.

Charles was going to meet you at the cabin early Saturday morning, since he had a late class on Friday. His old beat-up truck was a beast when it came to snowy mountain roads, so you weren't worried. And then the lot of you would spend the weekend trail riding, maybe doing some snow sports, just having a good time.

So that's how you found yourself standing in the Matthews living room, smiling at the stockings while the others loaded up the truck. You could hear John and Arthur yelling out in the yard as John backed the truck up to the horse trailer to hitch up. Occasionally Hosea's voice would cut in if the two got too close to an argument as John insisted he could do it while Arthur was adamant he was doing it wrong. Typical of the two brothers.

You heard the truck turn off, and the driver door open. “Told you I had it covered,” John's voice echoed just loud enough that you could hear from inside. You couldn't make out Arthur's retort, but based on the way John began to snap back, only to be cut off by Hosea’s sharp scolding, you could only imagine it was more brotherly banter.

The door opened a moment later. “Those boys,” Hosea tutted, stepping into the house, looking a little irritated, cheeks rosy from the cold. His face softened when he spotted you, and he shut the door behind him, glancing out the window to make sure John and Arthur weren't near before stepping toward you and pulling you into his arms.

“Hey,” you murmured, tilting your head up expectantly.

“Hi,” he whispered before granting your request for a kiss. “I've missed you.”

“I missed you too.” You nuzzled against his chest, the fabric of his jacket cold from the winter chill, but the warmth of him underneath still seeping through.

“The boys are loading up the horses and then we'll be good to go.” Hosea hummed.

“Okay,” you said, stepping back. “Before we go, I need your help with something.”

“Oh?” He asked. You jerked your head towards the stairs, gesturing for him to follow you. Once upstairs you led him to the bathroom, pulling him in and locking the door behind you.

“Dove, it'll only take a few minutes for the boys to get the horses loaded.” Hosea chuckled, immediately clocking what your intentions were.

“Five horses. It'll take them at least ten minutes right? Probably more.” You mumbled, guiding him backwards until he was pinned between you and the sink.

“Something like that,” he sighed as your hands settled on his waist. “The horses are all pretty good at loading.”

“That's enough time for what I have planned.”

[leiawritesstories]

Stick Season (Part 3)

thanks for putting up with the writer's block lol :) if you've been reading this au, you have my heart and all my love (hehe because it's Noah Kahan...all right i'll stop) there will be one more part, maybe two :))

masterlist

Word count: 2.5k

Warnings: talk of death/funerals, swearing, lots of emotions, tears, idiots in love (kind of?)

enjoy!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Black wool peacoat cinched tightly around her waist, Aelin stood at her father’s side, her gloved hand in his, and stared vacantly at the square granite plaque that marked the site of her mother’s earthly remains. 

Evalin Ashryver. Beloved Wife and Mother. May She Rest In Eternal Peace. 

Rhoe placed his free hand against the plaque, leaned his head against the cold stone, and closed his eyes, the creases on his face more pronounced with sorrow. His lips moved silently, exchanging private words with his departed wife. Aelin remained steady at his side, surprised that she had been unable to shed any tears throughout the simple, poignant memorial service. Deep down, Aelin had loved her mother, and no amount of criticism or disapproval could completely quench that love. 

“Aelin. Ae–Fireheart?” Rhoe’s voice broke through her reverie. 

She shook her head. “I’m here.” 

“Are you ready to go?” Her father’s question was nothing but kind. 

“Yes.” She cast a final look at Evalin’s plaque, turned, and walked side by side with her father out of the mausoleum. “Dad?” 

“Hmm?” 

Aelin released a shaky breath. “I…Is it bad that I haven’t cried?” Worry creased her forehead. “I feel like a horrible daughter, but I haven’t cried. Or even really felt that sad.” 

Rhoe stopped, faced his daughter, and took both of her gloved hands in his. “No, my Fireheart, it’s not bad.” He wrapped Aelin into a hug. “I know your relationship with your mother was…ah, complicated. It’s not bad that you haven’t shed any tears.” 

Aelin felt her throat tighten at her father’s quiet reassurance. “I love you, Dad.” 

“Love you too,” he returned, his words clogged with tears. “Perhaps someday you’ll feel like visiting her stone, and perhaps then you’ll cry. But maybe not.” He looped his arm back through hers. “It does not and never will make you a bad daughter.” 

~

Rowan had needed to get out of the house–with all the cousins there, it was often a wild whirlwind of chaos, and his type-A personality couldn’t handle it 24/7. So Sellene and Enda had kicked him out, sending him into town with a short shopping list that ended up taking hours to complete. 

It wasn’t his fault that he’d had to drive clear over to Rifthold to find a stand for the Christmas tree, because of course the only hardware store in the region that had tree stands in stock would be thirty miles away. 

There was only one more item on the list, though, and Rowan had been avoiding it for as long as he possibly could. Why the fuck did Sellene want a book on “holistic herbal healing,” for gods’ sake? He was going to look like an idiot buying that. She’d left him a note saying Orynth Shelves had the book in stock, so at least he wouldn’t have to go terribly far, and Philippa–who owned that bookstore–was a sweetheart who’d known Rowan since he was a kid. 

He glanced into the display window of the bookstore as he walked up the street and cracked a half smile. Philippa must have had some volunteers from the high school help with the holiday display, because she had great love and knowledge of books, but she did not have great knowledge of artistically pleasing book displays. Short stacks of holiday books, from classics like A Christmas Carol and How The Grinch Stole Christmas to modern novels with brightly colored covers sat atop a blanket of fake snow and mingled with little decorative log cabins, plastic pine trees, and even a ski lift. Soft yellow twinkle lights gave the charming display a cozy, small-town feel, and the whole effect was that of a little village in the mountains offering winter books galore for enjoyment. No, Philippa definitely couldn’t have planned and executed that display by herself. 

Nobody was at the front desk when Rowan walked in, the bells on the front door jingling behind him. He headed straight for the section where Sellene had told him the book she wanted was, located the title, and plucked it off the shelf. And grimaced. It wasn’t ugly or obnoxious, but the words Holistic Herbal Healing for Beginners were lettered in large, decorative script on the cover. There would be no doubt what the book was. He muffled a sigh and walked back to the desk, hoping Philippa wouldn’t tease him too much about the damn book. The desk was still unattended, so he rang the little bell. 

There was a rustle of papers from the office in the back, and a moment later–

“You’re not Philippa.” Before the words were fully out of his mouth, Rowan knew how stupid they sounded. 

Aelin pressed her lips together, her characteristic sign of holding back laughter. “Sorry to disappoint.” She glanced at the book in his hand, and an irrepressible grin tugged at the corners of her lips despite her valiant effort to stifle it. “Getting into alternative medicine, hmm?” 

“I–it’s not–huh?” Rowan’s brain finally caught up with the fact that Aelin had made a joke. 

“It’s for Sellene, isn’t it?” She tapped the tablet in her hand. 

“Yeah.” He passed her the book. “She’s had me running errands all over creation for hours. Had to drive all the way to Rifthold to find a fuckin’ stand for the tree.” Aelin scanned the book’s barcode, a small smirk curving her full, plush lips. Lips that Rowan still dreamed of tasting three years later. Pull it together, idiot! “This is the last thing on her list.” 

“I didn't think she was into holistic herbal healing,” Aelin drawled. She glanced at the total. “That’ll be $12.99. Cash or card?” 

How about I take you on a date instead? For some inexplicable reason, those were the first words on Rowan’s tongue. “Card.” Aelin nodded and slid a card reader across the desk. He tapped his credit card and the little reader flashed green. 

“Thanks for coming to Orynth Shelves!” She handed him the receipt and gave him her brightest customer service smile. 

He blinked. “Wait…are you actually working here?” 

“Temporarily, yes.” She knew him too well–anyone else would have bristled at his question, thinking it offensive. “Since I’m home through New Year’s.” Unless he was seeing things (which was a very real possibility, considering that ninety-five percent of him still ached with love for Aelin Ashryver Galathynius), he could have sworn there was something deeper than exhaustion hiding beneath the smile and the paper-thin veneer of cheerful humor. 

“Does that…you’re not alone, are you?” 

“No.” She paused. “I’m with Dad, and Aedion decided he was going to crash at our house, so he’s there too.” 

“Typical Aedion.” 

“Yeah.” She cast him a glance that, as always, saw more than anyone else ever saw. “What about you? House full of wild children?” 

“And adults,” he added with a wry grin. 

She huffed a soft laugh. “No wonder you got the shopping list.” 

“Should I be offended that you think I’m always the designated shopper?” 

“Of course not. I know you too we–I know how you are with chaos.” 

The words she hadn’t completely said trickled into the frozen corners of his heart, filling him with some kind of warmth. I know you too well. “I know you do.” He hadn’t meant to say it like that, in that soft, low voice he only ever used with her. 

Raw longing flashed across her face, quickly muffled by blank, controlled politeness. “Thanks for visiting Orynth Shelves,” she repeated, this time in a whisper that cracked on the last word. 

“Aelin,” Rowan breathed, feeling his pounding heart spill into his expression, “I want to see you again.” Because he did. 

Three years without her was three years too long.

“I don’t think that’s the best idea,” she returned, conflicted. 

He tucked the book under his arm and braced his hands flat atop the desk. “Since when have we done what other people think is the best idea?” 

A single tear glittered in the corner of her left eye. “I’m going back to New York in less than a month, Rowan. I…even if I wasn’t, I wouldn’t deserve to see you.” 

The words stabbed him right through the heart. “Whoever told you that was spewing bullshit,” he said, his voice soft but firm with conviction. 

She smashed her lips into a flat, tight line, keeping her composure from crumbling. “I…why?” The question just about broke her chest in half. “Why would you want to see me after what I did?” 

“Because I lo–loved you.” It took all of his restraint to keep his hands where they were and not place his fingertips to her fallen face and lift her chin up. “Because you’re still the better half of my heart, and nobody will ever change that.” 

“Ro,” she breathed, shakily. She lifted her eyes to his, and the depth of the grief in her gaze paired with that familiar nickname threatened to break him in two. “I’m…not sure.” 

“I’m sure.” Damn his restraint to hell. He reached across the desk and, tentatively, placed his hand atop hers, the barest possible slice of contact. “Please, Ae.” 

She drew in and released a deep, uneven breath. “Okay.” Beneath his hand, she turned hers over and flattened her palm against his. “When are you free?” 

~

The Stone Castle, a restaurant in downtown Orynth that had been owned by Emrys since as long as Aelin could remember, was as warm, welcoming, and bustling as ever when she walked in the front doors on Friday evening. She’d worked there for a couple of years when she was in high school, and the place still felt the same. 

“Miss Galathynius, as I live and breathe!” Emrys himself appeared from gods-knew-where and shook Aelin's hand warmly, his smile creasing his cheeks. “It’s been too long since you were home.” 

“It really has.” She grinned at the jovial older man who cooked the best food in fifty miles. “New York can never compare.” 

“You flatter me,” he chuckled. “Now don’t tell me–are you meeting a certain Mr. Whitethorn tonight?” 

Her silence and rising blush was an answer in itself. 

Emrys beamed. “You know where to find him, then.” 

“You meddle far too much,” she teased, laughing wryly. “Thanks, Emrys.” 

He winked. “Have a lovely evening, my dear.” 

“I’ll do my best.” Aelin shed her heavy winter coat, hung it neatly on a peg in the coat room, adjusted her purse on her shoulder, and walked towards the back of the restaurant with her heartbeat suddenly hammering twice as fast and nervous questions clogging her mind. Should she have agreed to this–was it too soon? Was it too much? Would it be wrong to back out now? 

“Hey.” As if he could sense her, Rowan was suddenly in front of her, steadying her with one large, warm hand on her upper arm. “You look gorgeous, Ae.” 

A small smile curved her lips. “Thanks.” She linked her hand in his and let him lead her back to their table, the same booth they sat in every time they came to Emrys’s restaurant. “You clean up pretty well too, Rowan.” 

He cracked a grin. “Would I sound desperate if I said I’ve missed you?” 

A tiny corner of her iced-over heart melted. “Not at all.” Her grin turned softer. “I missed you too.” More than I’m ready to admit, she added, mentally. 

Neither one of them needed to look at a menu, so a brief silence fell over their little booth before Rowan exhaled shakily and the question tumbled out of his lips. “Why, Ae?” 

Hot tears pricked at the corners of her eyes at the way his simple, plaintive question sliced right through all the walls she’d built around her heart. “I…” Something she didn’t know how to name stopped her before she could rattle off her usual spiel about it wasn’t working anymore. “I let myself think too much,” she finally admitted, voice hoarse. 

“Fireheart,” Rowan breathed, reaching instinctively for her hands but stopping himself–gods, the man had always been too perceptive. 

Aelin linked her fingers with his, grounding herself in the solid, reassuring warmth of his rough palms. “On the drive home that day, I…my mother called, and she was…you know how Evalin could be sometimes.” 

“Indeed.” His thumbs stroked idly over her knuckles. “So, she called you?” 

“She didn’t try to hide her displeasure that I planned to stop at your house first,” Aelin murmured. “She…she was always finding some fault to pick at, some flaw to criticize, and I should have said I was farther away so she wouldn’t get on my ass about seeing you but I wasn’t thinking because I was so godsdamned happy to see you again so I just said I was going to your house, and then she told me I didn’t care about my own family and it just–” The sob she’d been strangling broke free, escaping as the first tear slipped down her cheek. 

“I’m so sorry, Ae,” Rowan whispered. Gently, he reached up and caught her tears, brushing the salty crystal drops away from her cheeks. “You never should have had to go through that.” 

“I let her get in my head,” she croaked. “I let her disapproval control me.” 

He slipped around to her side of the booth, hesitantly offering to hold her. “She was never pleased with anything, was she, love?” 

Aelin tucked herself into Rowan’s side, half in his lap, and pressed her face into his shoulder, an old familiar position in which he’d held her so many times before. “Never.” 

The heat of her silent tears seeped into his sweater, but he didn’t give two shits about the clothing. He’d sacrifice his entire wardrobe if it meant holding her in his arms like this. 

“I’m so sorry, Ro,” she murmured, raising her head to meet his open gaze, her turquoise eyes shrouded with tears. “I ruined everything–gods, I was so shallow, you probably still hate me for it.” 

His heart cracked at the wavering insecurity hiding behind her words. “I have never hated you, Ae. Never.” He swept a stray tear from her cheek. “You shattered me when you drove past, yeah, but even that could never make me stop loving you.” 

Breathless, she blinked, stunned to her core by his words. “You…what?”

“I love you, Aelin Galathynius.” His thumb traced her jawline. “To whatever end, right?” 

“How?” she choked out, curling her fingers into his sweater like she was afraid this was all some kind of dream. “I broke us apart, Rowan.” 

“And you’re putting us back together as we speak,” he said. 

The pure conviction in his voice, and the love she’d always had from him but had been too protective of her heart to fully feel, seeped through the cracks in her armor and filled her depleted heart with warmth. “Are you sure?” 

“With you? Always.” 

She sniffled. “You’ve always been too good to me, love.” 

“Impossible.” For the first time in three long years, he tipped up her chin and touched a whisper of a kiss to her lips. “Nothing can ever be too good for you, love.”

~~~

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[archivist-crow]

The Haunted Atlas

Craigdarroch Castle - Victoria, British Columbia, Canada

48°25'20"N / 123°20'38"W

Former private residence of the wealthy and influential Dunsmuir family of Victoria, British Columbia. Craigdarroch Castle was once the most spectacular residence in the province. It is now a museum and historic landmark and reportedly the home to ghosts.

History

Craigdarroch Castle was touched by gloom and mourning before it was ever occupied. It was built by Robert Dunsmuir, a poor Scottish immigrant who arrived in Victoria in 1851 with his wife Joan and family, determined to build himself a great fortune. At first the family lived in a windowless log cabin, and Dunsmuir labored away for dismal wages. He pursued his ambition zealously and, true to his vow, soon built a business empire, raking in money in coal. Though once a poor worker himself, he exploited other poor workers and lavished money on politicians to buy their favors. His critics called him a greedy capitalist, "King Grab."

Dunsmuir shrugged off the criticism. He wanted everyone to know how rich and powerful he had become. There was no better way to put that on display than by building the most impressive home in the entire province. In 1887, construction began on Craigdarroch Castle, designed by architect Warren William Heywood. Tragically, Heywood died of an enlarged heart just four months into the project.

More tragedy followed. Dunsmuir himself was never to occupy his grand home. In April 1889, he went to bed with a cold. He was renowned for his health and vigor, and no one suspected that he would never leave his bed. Four days later, he was in a coma. Within two more days, he was dead.

Several months later, in September, Dunsmuir's second daughter, Agnes, died in a typhoid epidemic that swept through the town of Nanaimo, where she lived with her husband and family. Her husband, James Harvey, never regained his health and died the following year.

In the summer of 1890, Craigdarroch Castle was ready for occupancy. It had four floors plus a tower and an 87-step staircase leading to a fourth-floor ballroom the size of a three-bedroom house. Dunsmuir had spared no expense acquiring the finest oak, walnut, mahogany, cedar, granite, marble, and sandstone. Exquisite stained glass and ceiling paintings decorated the castle.

Widow Joan moved in with her three unmarried daughters and Agnes's orphaned children. It was not the happy occasion she had once envisioned. Nonetheless, Joan was determined to reign as "Queen Joan" the socialite. She reigned until her death in October 1908. Many thought the era of excessive displays of wealth was over, but son Robert had yet to erect an even grander home, Hatley Castle.

Craigdarroch was now a liability, too big and expensive to appeal to most buyers. Eventually it was sold and its contents were auctioned off. After World War I, it became Craig Darroch Military Hospital for veterans. The hospital was moved to another facility in 1921, and the castle was taken over by Victoria College. By 1946, the college was severely overcrowded, and the castle was condemned as a fire hazard. Students were moved out, and the school board turned it into an administrative facility.

The school board moved out in 1967, leaving behind a deteriorating building with rotting wood, crumbling stonework, and broken stained glass. City officials considered demolishing the once-grand home to make way for a high-rise apartment complex. Instead, it was taken over by the Victoria School of Music, who later turned it over to The Castle Society, who restored it as a historic landmark, its present status.

Haunting Activity

Ghosts have been experienced since the renovation of Craigdarroch Castle. One worker, resting on his lunch break near the stairway to the ballroom, glimpsed a partial apparition of a young woman's foot in a satin shoe and the length of a ball gown. The startled man watched for several minutes as the shoed foot and part of gown came slowly down the stairs. Perhaps he had witnessed an imprint of the social dancing that went on at Craigdarroch during its Victoria College days.

Visitors both see and sense other apparitions. The ghost of a small girl has been seen in the basement and the invisible presences of suffering soldiers have been felt. Another ghost is a maid dressed in Victorian clothing who walks into a room, looks around, and then vanishes. A phantom man wearing a bowler hat and carrying a walking stick has been seen. One witness who saw the ghost noticed that the following day, a bowler hat and walking stick that had been on stands inside of a glass case in the museum had been knocked off their stands while still in the case.

Other phenomena include cold gusts of air, sounds of ghostly piano music, and the smell of burning candles where none are present.

Text from The Encyclopedia of Ghosts and Spirits, Third Edition by Rosemary Ellen Guiley (Checkmark Books - 2007)

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Daniel Villarreal at LGBTQ Nation:

The Log Cabin Republicans (LCR) has touted itself as the “nation’s largest Republican organization dedicated to representing LGBT conservatives and allies.” Despite this, LCR has increasingly endorsed anti-LGBTQ+ political candidates and policies that seek to ban LGBTQ+ content in schools and gender-affirming care for trans minors. This article provides an overview of the group’s history, its meager standing in the Republican party, its stated core principles, and a list of LCR’s recent actions that repeatedly contradict those principles.

History of the Log Cabin Republicans

The Log Cabin Republicans formed in California in 1977 in opposition to Proposition 6 (also known as the Briggs Initiative), an unsuccessful ballot measure that sought to ban gay people and their supporters from working in public schools. While the group wanted to be called the Lincoln Club, an Orange County conservative group was already using that name. Nonetheless, the group’s chosen name still references former President Abraham Lincoln, who “built the Republican Party on the principles of liberty and equality under the law” and was born in a log cabin, LCR’s website states. In the 1990s, LCR members and its allies tried to educate influential Republican politicians about issues affecting gay, lesbian, and bisexual people. But in 1996, then-presidential candidate Bob Dole rejected LCR’s $1,000 donation, though he later accepted the cash. In 2000, LCR endorsed then-presidential candidate George W. Bush, noting his promise to unite the country and his lack of anti-gay campaign rhetoric. But while Bush established PEPFAR, a largely successful African HIV-prevention program, in 2003, he endorsed the Federal Marriage Amendment (FMA) to ban same-sex marriage.

In response, LCR spent $1,000,000 to fight the FMA and aired its first TV ad campaign against it. In 2004, Congress rejected the measure. In 2008, LCR endorsed then-presidential candidate John McCain, citing his opposition to the FMA, even though he supported a same-sex marriage ban sought by legislators in his home state of Arizona and also opposed efforts to end the ban on gay and bisexual military members known as “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell” (DADT). In 2010, LCR filed a successful federal court challenge to DADT. In 2012, LCR endorsed then-presidential candidate Mitt Romney even though he opposed same-sex marriage, the repeal of DADT, and the federal Employment Non-Discrimination Act. While the national board of LCR chose not to endorse then-candidate Donald Trump in 2016, numerous state chapters of LCR did. But the national LCR endorsed Trump in 2020, with board members writing an op-ed in The Washington Post proclaiming that “Trump met his commitments to LGBTQ Americans.”

In reality, the Republican Party platform — which has remained unchanged since 2016 — calls for a ban on same-sex marriage and transgender military members and supports both “ex-gay” conversion therapy and making it legal for businesses to discriminate against LGBTQ+ people. Trump’s numerous policies against the queer community have made him one of the most anti-LGBTQ+ presidents of all time.

Core principles and beliefs

According to its national website, LCR supports legislative protections against anti-LGBTQ+ discrimination in the workplace, housing, adoption, and other civil areas; a national ban on so-called conversion therapy for minors; continued policies to fight the HIV epidemic; the international decriminalization of LGBTQ+ identity; and also acceptance of LGBTQ+ refugees in the United States. The group also supports lower taxes and firearm ownership rights.

[...]

Recent developments

It has defended Florida’s “Don’t Say Gay” bill by comparing its opponents to pedophiles who have “wet dreams of gender fluid, indoctrinated, and groomed children.” The group’s president, Charles Moran, has written op-eds opposing transgender civil rights and also the Equality Act, legislation seeking LGBTQ+ nondiscrimination protections. Earlier this year, the group named a straight self-described homophobe as one of its ambassadors. The group’s executive director, Jerri Ann Henry, called President Donald Trump’s numerous anti-LGBTQ+ policies “hiccups.” The organization also endorsed 14 anti-LGBTQ+ Republicans during the 2018 midterm elections and 12 anti-LGBTQ+ extremists in 2020, including Trump, Mike Pence, and a woman who thinks pedophiles are part of the LGBTQ+ community.

Log Cabin Republicans have been a voice for LGBTQ+ conservativism.

The organization’s beginnings arose to opposition to the homophobic failed Briggs Initiative.

Until the Trump era, the LCR have at least pretended to care about LGB issues. Nowadays, despite purporting to champion LGBTQ+ conservativism, they support anti-trans and anti-LGBTQ policies and politicians.