#small town pa

[wahlpaper]

Make My Wish Come True Review

Make My Wish Come True by Rachel Lippincott and Alyson Derrick - 5/5 - WLW Contemporary YA Holiday RomCom

What's this? A review for a Christmas novel? In October? Why, it's not even Halloween yet! Look, I get it, imaginary audience! When Rachel Lippincott and Alyson Derrick announced a holiday romance to be released in October, I assumed it would be a Halloween romance. They corrected my assumption, but I did suggest that they do a Halloween one in the future. How cool would that be? A Pittsburgh Halloween queer ya romcom? I'll be so excited if (when?) that happens. In the meantime, if you think I'm going to wait 3ish months to read a book by this couple, you just don't know me. I already had to miss the book launch because I caught Covid. My impatience eagerness was rewarded with Jewish rep! Yep, that's right! Make My Wish Come True is queer and Jewish!

Make My Wish Come True is a hallmark-esque interfaith holiday rom-com starring a small-town girl and a big-city actress. Arden James can't stay out of the news due to her bad-girl antics. Of course, her persona is fabricated by her agent. So when an amazing role could be hers if she'd just clean up her act and embrace her small-town roots, it's easy as flipping a switch. Or, it would be if she had been back home at all in the last 4 years. Her agent thinks the perfect solution is going back to Arden's small town outside of Pittsburgh and fake-dating the girl she left behind. That girl is Caroline Beckett, a journalist in the making, Christian and Jewish, a family girl, and an active member of her community. She never got over her crush on Arden, but she also never got over the hurt of being ghosted. When Arden appears 12 days before Christmas/Hanukkah, it's not easy to convince Caroline. Once she does, it shakes up both of their lives. Will it settle nicely like a snow globe or end up like a natural disaster? 

...

Read More:

[thebohemianloner]

Sunbeam General Store • New Hope, Pennsylvania

[crabsandbeer]

The Architecture of Jim Thorpe, Pennsylvania. by Kevin B. Moore

[yagodichjagodic]

Went to Rehmyer’s Hollow again last weekend. Still feels wrong. Not ominous exactly. The house doesn’t belong there. It’s other. The light doesn’t hit it right. Can’t explain it better than that.

[freelanceexorcist]

Reason# 248583947 Why Sephiroth Lost His Shpadoinkles

He got fed up with the aggravation of SOLDIER and took that easy-looking job in Procurement instead.

And then The Incident happened.

Sephiroth: (thinking) "You sure can tell it's the day before a holiday. This place is like a graveyard and I haven't had one request all morning. Surely there won't be any civilization-ending emergencies with no one else here, right? I might even be able to sneak out a little before 5:00 myself."

Sephiroth's email: "DING!"

To: NoLastName, Sephiroth

From: From Field Services, That Fuckwit

CC: Deusericus, Lazard; Hojo, Professor; Shinra, Rufus; Shinra, President; Herself, The Goddess Minerva; Planet, The

Time/Date: [ ν ] – εγλ 0001, 4:38 pm

Subject: ***URGENT!!!*** ***EXPEDITE!!!*** ***EMERGENCY!!!***

Hey buddy! Can you knock this one out for me real quick? It has to be ordered today for delivery tomorrow. I've attached the requisition I put together three days ago using a quote I've had for a month and the lead time says 12 weeks BUT IF IT DOESN'T GO OUT RIGHT NOW AND ARRIVE TOMORROW THE ENTIRE PROJECT IS GOING TO BURN TO THE GROUND AND IT WILL BE ALL YOUR FAULT!!!"

Warmest Regards,

That Fuckwit From Field Services

====

To: From Field Services, That Fuckwit

From: NoLastName, Sephiroth

Date:  [ ν ] – εγλ 0007, 4:39 pm

Subject: Re: ***URGENT!!!*** ***EXPEDITE!!!*** ***EMERGENCY!!!***

That Fuckwit,

The requisition cannot be accepted in its current form, and until the corrections below are made, policy prevents us from issuing a PO that includes The Shinra Electric Power Company's terms and conditions.

Rev 4 of this form has been obsolete since 0001. Please resubmit using current Rev 23.

The requisition does not have a valid approval for this gil amount. Gary the Field Services Tech has not worked for Shinra since 0003 and was never a designated approver or delegate. Please resubmit with the approval of Cathy the Field Services Manager.

The gil amounts and quantities on the requisition do not match the quote. Please clarify if there has been a price increase or change in the requested quantity.

[Insert continued list of dealbreakers here. Use your imaginations. --Freelance Exorcist]

Your prompt correction of these errors will ensure that your goods will arrive to site in time to prevent a work stoppage.

For future reference, please send purchase requisitions only to the Procurement department. Dir. Deusericus, Professor Hojo, the Vice President, the President, The Goddess Minerva Herself and The Planet are not currently members of the Procurement team.

Thank you.

Sephiroth

===

To: NoLastName, Sephiroth

From: From Field Services, That Fuckwit

Date:  [ ν ] – εγλ 0007, 4:41 pm

Subject: Re: ***URGENT!!!*** ***EXPEDITE!!!*** ***EMERGENCY!!!***

-Automatic Reply-

Hello,

I will be out of the office on PTO from [ ν ] – εγλ 0007 to [ ν ] – εγλ 0007 without access to email, Teams, my phone or my laptop and will in fact temporarily cease to exist. If you require immediate assistance, please contact Gary the Field Services Tech but please be advised that he is currently working on an offshore platform with inconsistent cell phone reception and network access.

Thanks and have a great holiday!

[redridcr]

i used to be LOL Eric is a COWBOY but i think it's more fitting mb he was a farmer's son who was Too Small and went to the track instead?

[s00nyoungie]

drove abt 5 hours yesterday thru PA and had to stop at a small town for a break and it was the most unsafe feeling i ever experienced

[royasuka]

i think of all american suburbs in terms of detroit. today i went to niles, illinois and i thought it had big sterling heights, michigan energy. no one will understand this if you’re not from both northern illinois and southeast michigan.

[decafvillain]

list of baby names in my dads handwriting!

for the purposes of this poll, consider nonbinary under the trans umbrella

[pittsburghbeautiful]

Charming Small Towns Near Pittsburgh Perfect for a Weekend Escape

Just a short drive from Pittsburgh you’ll find charming towns that offer the perfect blend of history, culture, and relaxation. These hidden gems are ideal for day trips or weekend getaways, allowing you to unwind and explore at your own pace. Discover five delightful towns near Pittsburgh that are worth a visit. From riverside communities with boutique shops to historic districts steeped in…

[livelikealucid]

finding solace in going to my local library to pick up a new book after i finish one. small town brunette life.

[nowherestogo]

i just deadass got a message saying “someone told me you moved back to [insert my hometown” FROM SOMEONE I HAVENT TALKED SINCE I MOVED OUT OF THAT TOWN!!!

[crabsandbeer]

View down Broadway - Jim Thorpe, Pennsylvania by Kevin B. Moore

[yagodichjagodic]

We find the best places

[freelanceexorcist]

Ooookay. I watched the demo. Still can't get my hands on a PS5, so just watching is how it has to be.

Spoilers under the cut.

Sane Sephiroth is giving me so many Superman and Lois vibes that I don't know where I can store them all. Specifically "Clark Kent is just a dad trying to do the best for his family and those he needs to protect." You're doing a great job, Tyler Hoechlin.

If seeing them turn Sephiroth from "just a guy who suffered a complete and catastrophic mental breakdown after finding he was lied to his entire life" into a bog-standard cartoon villain that went Insane Equals Violent doesn't make me want to burn down a small, 3000-person town in Pennsylvania, nothing will. Mental illness is real and you don't get to turn someone with that illness into a violent psychopath just because.

You don't get to turn someone obviously suffering from serious PTSD into a world killer. You don't get to do that. Do him justice, god damn it.

And people who are mentally ill don't become violent psychopaths once the illness manifests. People dealing with mental illness are more likely to harm themselves. People dealing with mental illness are more likely to harm others in self-defense.

It's time to stop saying that mentally ill people are of course violent. Our illnesses are not our fault any more than your diabetes or high blood pressure is your fault.

I hope that you'll all recognize that mental illness is an ILLNESS. We can't control it on our own. But we can manage it with medications and supplements. Me taking Ashwagandha and St. John's Wort does wonders for me. But if it stops working, you better fucking believe I'll be telling my doctor I need that Lexapro.

[eowynstwin]

Blackbird, Fly - One

Cowboy Gaz x mail order bride—only, not his. After exchanging letters for half a year with ranching man Hans König, you finally travel out west to marry him. - You stand alone on a train platform, whole life in your hands, ready to promise yourself to a man you’ve yet to meet. - ao3

You step off the train carrying every one of your earthly possessions clutched in both hands. In one a carpetbag, only half-full, and in the other, a stack of letters tied together with string. A paltry summary of a very small life, you thought months ago, but today you only see how much room is left over where happiness might take root.

It began with an ad in the paper—Widowed Ranch Owner Seeking Tender Companionship—and a mailing address to a livestock town out in the west. Hans König described himself as Austrian, unusually tall, and fair lonesome in a big ranch house with no woman to make it a home. He’d immigrated to the United States as a child, married very young, had no children, and was forced to watch his first wife perish to consumption.

After two years of mourning, he said in the paper, he finally accepted that she would not want him to live and die alone. And thus, if there were any kind-hearted lady willing to give an old widower a chance, he would promise to take very good care of her.

You’d replied as fast as you could get your hands on paper and pen. The fourth child and only daughter of a tobacco farmer, you hadn’t much else to occupy yourself with. And truly, you hadn’t expected anything to come of it. Proficient in the written word though you were, there was not much else to recommend you. You brought a tiny dowry, skill with a sewing needle, a general knowledge of plants, and mediocre cooking to the bargaining table; he was horse man tried and tested by the challenges of the frontier.

You were under no illusions that you were the most attractive candidate.

Still, you wrote your letter. Described yourself to him as honestly as you could—neither especially pretty nor particularly accomplished, but told by friends and family to be of gentle demeanor and useful intelligence. Forgave him preemptively if he never responded, and wished him the best of luck in his search for a wife.

You’d nearly fainted dead away when his response had arrived as immediately as the next mail wagon. Hans König had addressed you by name, as intimately as if he’d known you for years, and said,

I was very pleased to receive your letter, Miss, and am terribly excited to correspond with you in the future. Although you write that you cannot imagine yourself an appropriate wife for a man of my experience, I myself cannot imagine what more you must need to be such. While I will not do you the discourtesy of making any promises with only my first letter to you, I will tell you truly that I was glad of your introduction, and hope you will grant me the pleasure of knowing you further.

Your whole family had been so excited for his response that Pa had broken out his fiddle after dinner that night, rejoicing already that his little girl’s future was secure.

What followed was a whirlwind half year of romance over letters sent back and forth so fast that you kept running out of ink for your pen. When you’d related this problem to Hans, he’d sent not only an entire box of lampblack ink, but a new steel pen, blotter, and lap desk on which to write.

There is no greater misfortune I can imagine now than to lose the pleasure of your correspondence, he’d written.

Pa had cried that day. Your mother had drawn you close and kissed your hair, whispering a thankful prayer that her baby was going to be alright.

In every letter, Hans demonstrated himself to be a kind man, thoughtful and patient, and as the relationship between the two of you blossomed, you started to believe it yourself. You had long given up on the possibility of marriage, thinking yourself too old and plain by now to offer much to any man worth marrying.

Now you stand alone on a train platform, whole life in your hands, ready to promise yourself to a man you’ve yet to meet.

There are only a few people milling about the station for you to survey. The surest way to pick Hans out from a crowd, he’d written, was by height. He towered over most people, and expressed hope in an early letter that he would not dwarf you too much.

But as you look around, no one stands out above the rest. In fact, the people here aren’t much different than what you’re used to; their simple dress and slight grubbiness prove them to be working folk, the kind you’d expect in a town like this, stockyards visible from the station. Your kind of people—at least normally.

Anticipating this meeting, you’d put on the best dress you own, a light frock with little printed flowers all over it. Your hair is braided and pinned up as fashionably as you could manage early this morning, and you’d even dabbed a little rouge on your lips for the occasion. As far as you can tell you are the cleanest, best-dressed person in the vicinity, and you notice not a few people openly staring.

The thought would usually make you blanch, but right now you hope it will only help your would-be husband to catch sight of you. You still can’t find him—

“Mrs. König!”

You whip your head in the direction of the call. Relief trickles through you, soothing an anxiety you hadn’t wanted to acknowledge yet, and then you see that stepping onto the platform is the handsomest man you’ve ever laid eyes on.

Dark skin, warm as a summer’s day. Lips soft and full like a peach fresh-picked from the tree. A serious brow over serious eyes.

Strong and lean in build, with a loose, confident swagger in his step. He approaches, his large, long-fingered hands coming to rest on the buckle of his belt as comes to stand before you.

Tall, to be sure.

But not unusually tall.

This cowboy—profession evidenced by the worn state of his attire—is not your intended husband.

Something in you falls at that.

Swiftly you berate yourself for the betrayal. Your Hans is gentle, generous, kind. So what if this man before you is attractive? Marriages must be built on more, and Hans has already given you more. His looks shouldn’t—don’t—matter to you at all.

“Not as of yet,”you reply to the cowboy, “but soon. May I help you, sir?”

He fixes you with an intense gaze. Up close, you see thick, dark lashes framing even darker eyes—the color of which, you realize, is as black as fresh-turned soil.

The smell of humus fills your memory, powerfully earthy and fresh, such that you could be on your hands and knees with your face to the ground right now. You feel the phantom of it between your fingers; rich and cool, like at the start of the planting season before the rains. So dark and fine as to live between the grooves of your fingertips for days.

“I’m Kyle Garrick,” he says, pressing a hand to his chest. “I’m a wrangler for Hans König, miss. He sent me to meet you.”

You blink. The fantasy you’d dreamed up on the train ride—of seeing Hans across the platform, recognizing him instantly, and running into his arms—finally crumbles into dust.

“Oh,” you say.

Kyle Garrick frowns. “You’re disappointed.”

“No!” you exclaim immediately. “No, he must be such a busy man, I couldn’t expect him to drop everything for me.”

The cowboy sucks his lips between his teeth, studying you for a heartbeat, then—“He is busy. Mr. König is finishing preparations for your wedding this evening. That’s why he couldn’t come.”

What disappointment had begun to sprout in your stomach immediately strangles down to the root. Joy surges in your chest like birds taking flight.

“A wedding!”

You didn’t need a wedding, you’d written to him—you were so happy merely to marry him, you couldn’t possibly ask for more. All you needed, you told him, were his hands in yours, promising before God to be your husband for the rest of your lives. You’d meant it, too.

But an actual wedding!

“Biggest the town’s seen in years,” says Kyle Garrick. “Folks haven’t talked about anything else for weeks.”

“Oh!” Then suddenly you despair. “Oh, I’m not dressed at all for a wedding. If I’d known, I would’ve worked on this dress more, I would’ve put my hair up better!”

Kyle surprises you with sudden passion. “You look perfect. You’re the prettiest thing that’s ever come into this train station, miss. This town, even.”

“Oh,” you say again. You flush hot up into the roots of your hair. Embarrassed, you avert your gaze, looking down at his worn roper boots. “I’m not, really. But it’s kind of you to say.”

His hand touches yours, the one holding onto your carpetbag. When you look back up at him, his expression is gentler.

“Mr. König will agree with me,” he says, “I promise.” He eases the handle from your grasp. Up close, he has a comforting smell. Leather, and sweet hay, and campfire smoke.

“You think so?” you ask, tightening your grasp on the letters in your other hand.

He nods. “I do. Now come on—I brought a cart. Let me take you home.”

-

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