This Is Moremysteriesthantragedies Here. Just Don't Want To Make Anyone Panic, So Letting Y'all Know

Writing Update 5/15/2025

Hi hi! For the most part, I've finished the hero side of the worldbuilding. I mostly just have to think of more holidays. Anyways, here are the categories of heroes for anyone interested (keep in mind this is a draft that needs more polish):

Commons - Heroes that represent common hopes and dreams.

Pinnacles - Heroes that represent hopes that are achievable, but need a lot of work to become reality, and depend highly on the direction of the future. This can include heroes that represent concepts like world peace or futuristic technology.

Ambitions - Heroes that represent hopes and dreams that are more personal, such as hopes for one's family, personal goals, and so on.

Unattainables - Heroes that represent human desires or dreams which can not be attained. Some are obvious like those based on things like flying or shape shifting dreams, while others are more abstract and connect to humans attempting to disregard their humanity.

Tag list: @aweirdshipp, @floofyboi57, @aralithmenathere

Teenage Wasteland - Chap. 2 - Bad Music and Good Desires

Sunlight streamed into Samantha’s cavernous garage, illuminating a lone, scarlet-colored toolbox and stacks of cardboard boxes which smelled faintly of dust and old newspapers. Yet more pervasive of all was that stench of motor oil which clung to the air, a thick, greasy perfume even the strong breeze couldn’t quite shift. This emptiness came with a strange comfort, the perfect canvas for Sam and Tegan’s rehearsal space; the quiet hum of the neighborhood traffic added a low background thrum to their afternoon. Samantha’s parents’ absence, a welcoming situation, stretched out before them like a long, open road.

“Yeah, we both should sing, right? Like, If’n it makes you feel better. I can be the lead, but you got to be my back up.” Samantha offered the well-used can turned weed-bowl towards Tegan. “I can’t be singing alone, ya know?”

The metallic clang of the can against the lighter echoed as Tegan inhaled deep of the weed’s smoke, the butane’s sharp scent stinging her nostrils. She sat the can down on a rough, large cardboard box, its texture a sharp contrast to the smooth metal. “I can’t sing for shit,” she mumbled, her voice husky from the smoke. “You are the one with the beautiful voice.”

“Hah! No! I’m going to go all punk with this shit. Because this isn’t ‘bout beauty. We’re going to make music and say, ‘fuck the man,’ all at the same time.” Samantha’s passion took over as she strummed the V-shaped guitar strapped around her. “Now let’s make some music!”

With a snorting laughter, Tegan nodded. “Fuck yeah! We’ll be the next Bratmobile or Bikini Kill. But before we get to that point, co-band leader, what’cha playing?”

“I don’t know! Fuck it! Let’s jam!”

Not saying a word, Tegan moved over to Samantha, the soft brush of her cheek against Sam’s was a fleeting whisper. An almost secret smile played on their lips; they both smelled of Teen Spirit, the Romantic Rose aroma, that is. They’d tried to conceal their affections from the older generations—a hushed giggle, a furtive glance, but here they could do what they wanted. Being so far back from the road, no one could see them.

Samantha was still brand new to playing guitar but made up for it with sheer enthusiasm and a can-do attitude that most did not have with something they were so new at. No imposter syndrome for her, no self-consciousness telling her she could not do it. Just a desire to play and play she did. Not great, even by punk rock standards, but the pair played Bikini Kill, Bratmobile, and Jack Off Jill as rough and raw as they could—they played their hearts out over and over.

Sweat beaded on Tegan’s forehead, as that Carolina summer heat started early this year. Her sleeveless black tank top with that stylized heart and knife stabbed through it—a lucky purchase at the mall-soaked through and clung tight to her thin torso. Playing the bass line for the songs, eventually just playing whatever sounded good to her. It flowed with Samantha’s rather chaotic guitar-playing. She hopped around, scream-singing whatever came to mind, which was both good and hilarious.

“I’m your whore! The one you adore!” Samantha yelled into a microphone that didn’t exist, which had Tegan doing her best not to laugh.

They lost track of time, and people had driven past on their way home from a long day. That’s when Tegan noticed the sour expression on Mister Oakley’s face. A man in his mid-forties and about as conservative and closed-minded as they come. That type of Christian that followed none of the tenets of Christianity that hated everything and everyone that was not white, Christian, and straight. Anyone who did not fit into his archaic view of what Americans or America should be. Tegan was well-acquainted with this man in the past. So, as he stomped up the driveway, she knew this was going to be a bunch of bullshit.

“What in the hell are you two doing?” He stepped up, chest puffed out and hands on his hips. “This isn’t the type of neighborhood that allows such type of music. We don’t like punks here. Tegan, you have a long history of being nothing but a pain in the ass ever since your grandparents did this entire neighborhood a disservice. By bringing your inconsiderate, rule-breaking ass home.”

Which was Mister Oakley’s modus operandi, to act like he had the higher moral ground. When, in actuality, he was just a bigot.

****

In the late winter of 1993, on March 13th to be exact, brought with it a blizzard of sorts. Where temperatures dropped beyond any normal winter, and alongside that, over a foot of snow in some places within the upstate of South Carolina. Which neither the state, nor any of its citizens knew what to do, nor were they prepared for such a snowfall. The south froze over that day, and despite it all, Tegan’s life finally opened up, and in a fashion, defrosted for her. With previously unknown grandparents spending months freeing her from this prison, and everything seemed brand new and beautiful.

On the long car ride from Spartanburg to Simpsonville, her grandparents—Sadie and John Morgan—asked a hundred and one questions. Of which Tegan had no issues answering, though her right knee bounced the entire car ride. She wasn’t sure if that was from her nerves, or if it was the excitement which surged through her veins. Her new life would begin; she never thought it would at all. That there came with her life a curse, unbroken and unbothered, yet here it was broken and bothered.

“We promise to never send you back there. No matter what,” grandmother assured. “Ain’t that right, John?”

“You’re one of us. Family watches out for family,” grandfather agreed. “I just wish your mother remembered this.”

“Not now,” Grandmother admonished.

Sullivan Road winded its way through a thickly-wooded area on the outskirts of Simpsonville, SC. Several parcels of land portioned out with every house a ranch-style, every third one just the same as the third before it. Lawns neatly-manicured and maintained, covered in a layer of snow. Which gave everything a soft, sculpted veneer, as if crafted by the hands of a master. Kids in their thickest clothes ran about throwing snowballs at one another, building snowmen, and for Tegan, it was a first-time experience.

“Can I play in the snow?” Tegan asked, already wanting to jump out of the car and do snow angels. Get completely covered in the white, frozen stuff, and enjoy that sense of freedom that tasted oh-so-good right now.

Grandmother bade Tegan to wait; to let her get situated into the bedroom they had prepared for her. To eat something more hearty and bone-warming than the rather sad breakfast she ate that morning; but, more important than all of that, the five simple rules of living with them: Finish all homework on time, making sure grandfather checks its—no excuses barring sickness. Definitely no drugs or drinking whatsoever. Be back home by 9:30 pm sharp, 9 on school nights. No one can come over unless they are cleared by grandmother first. And absolutely no boyfriends over, though this was not an issue for Tegan.

All easily agreed to by Tegan, who then stuffed herself in as much warm clothing as would fit over her and rushed outside into the snow. With blustery winds and dancing snow, Tegan ran over to a group of kids who were engaged in a light-hearted game of throwing snowballs at one another. Kids who introduced themselves were kind to the new girl, and only asked surface-level questions about where she came from. It was a beautiful kind of freedom.

“Oh! So, you’re that kid that came from the orphanage? The broken one?” Asked Lisa Oakley, her black hair pinned back behind her ears.

“Father says you were unwanted, and we shouldn’t associate with someone tainted like yourself,” said her twin brother Robert.

The two teased Tegan over and over, and it caused her fists to clench, her jaw to clench. While the other children were nice enough, the twins kept pushing her throughout the whole time. To not jeopardize her new home and her place within it, Tegan just took it until it became almost too much. That after Robert asked what happened to her mother, or if she even had one. Tegan lashed out to where he took a swift punch to the nose, followed by being tackled by the smaller girl, and a rain of punches landed over and over. He did not know how to defend himself in the least.

Strong arms wrapped themselves around Tegan and pulled her off the boy, who lay in a pool of freezing blood and sobs. She wriggled around enough to elbow the man in the nose and escape his clutches. To notice that it had to be their father, for he looked just like the boy quivering on the ground.

“Stop attacking my children, you demon!” He shouted with the fury of an angered pastor. “I saw it all! You just blindsided him for no reason!”

“No reason, eh?” Grandfather trudged out through the snow. “For the things he said, he deserves even worse. You touch my granddaughter again, and we’ll have some real issues here. Understand?”

Pointing his finger at grandfather then at Tegan. “Do not even talk to my children again, you-you forgotten child! Jesus has no place for the unwanted and unwashed, like you.”

****

He’s been the same since the day Tegan moved here.

“Okay, old man, you can fuck right on off,” Samantha growled, resembling a guard dog. “This is not your house at all. If you have an issue, call the fucking cops and see how seriously they take you.”

Mister Oakley took a step forward but stopped suddenly at Samantha’s voice. “Another fucking step and I go to my dad’s gun cabinet. You have come onto my parents’ property, making two underaged girls feeling WAY unsafe. Any issues? Take it up with my father. He’ll tell you the same that I told you. Go eat a fucking dick. You are unwanted, unwelcomed here.”

As if he had just experienced the most traumatic event, Mister Oakley stood shell-shocked. Tegan took the opportunity and said, “you heard her! We’re just having fun and hurting no one. Does having fun hurt you?”

“I-it’s not good!” He sputtered out.

“No fucking shit, dude. We’re just starting out and learning,” Tegan fired back with more venom than she expected. “Why don’t you just go back home to Missus Oakley, and disappoint her in all ways, and just leave us alone?”

“Well, I’m going to tell your parents,” he threatened as he pointed at Samantha, “and tell your grandparents about this!”

Tegan shrugged, readjusted the faux leather of her bass strap before she resumed playing. With a disgruntled huff and the soft thud of his loafers on the concrete driveway marked the man’s departure. Sam’s laughter, bright and clear, filled the air as she playfully hip-checked Tegan, the impact a gentle, almost loving jolt. Followed by a quick, fleeting kiss on Tegan’s cheek. Then back to his guitar, the enthusiastic strumming a cheerful, if a bit clumsy, melody.

Eventually, the two young teens had to depart, and Tegan carried her bass in its case across the street. Her mismatched eyes turned toward the Oakleys just down the way, and an overwhelming desire to throw rocks at it almost overcame her reasonable side. Being so late in the school year, there was not much homework for her to do. So, instead, she watched MTV Live and tuned out on the pop music that played in the top hits of the week.

“So, Tegan,” Grandfather began as he cut into his steak and shoved a piece into his mouth. “Mister Oakley said you were very rude to him today. Even cussed at him.”

“Meh, he’s a holier-than-thou blowhard, grandpa,” Tegan replied as she poked her fork at the mashed potatoes on the plate. “Plus, he was saying some mean things to Sam.”

Grandmother gave a half-laugh. “He is a blowhard, honey. But I do have a concern. He said you two were playing music and smoking weed?”

Not looking up from her good, Tegan took a bite, always loving how buttery and garlicky grandmother’s mashed potatoes always ended up as. “Yeah, well, we were playing some music. She’s learning to play guitar and is getting better, after all. So, since her parents were gone, we figured why not jam out in her garage? Might even form a band. Maybe. Either way, Mister Oakley didn’t like it.”

“And the weed?” Grandfather’s tone took on the one that Tegan recognized as his not-messing-around voice.

“He said he was going to try and get me in trouble. Just making up some bullshit,” Tegan muttered.

“Language, Tegan,” Grandmother admonished, but neither said anything else about the matter.

After dinner, America’s Funniest Home videos blared on the television as Tegan was interested in everything else but that. Waiting until the house went quiet, she laid on top of her thick blanket with only the lamp on the bedside table on. A creased copy of Alanna: The First Adventure in her hands, and despite how worn-out it was, and how many times she had read it. Tegan could always get lost in the Kingdom of Tortall and Alanna’s adventures as a page in a fantasy Royal Court. Sure, Alanna had to hide her gender and pretend to be a boy, but it didn’t last the whole story. It just seemed so romantic and awesome and so much better than the boring-ass town that is Simpsonville.

Tap-tappity-tap came from outside her window, and Tegan paid it no heed at first. Just a bird far-too-close to her window, yet it happened again with more insistence and need. Crawling across her bed, Tegan peered through the blinds to see the beautiful face of her girlfriend, who gave a wide grin and a wave. “Hey, Tee! Come out here!”

Pulling open the window, Tegan giggled as she climbed through and landed barefoot on the soft soil of the flowerbed. Doing her best to not step on any of grandmother’s prized flowers. Before she could even gain her bearings, Samantha pulled her into the shadows that concealed the side of the house away from the prying eyes of the neighbors and the road. Sam was very much assertive, almost too much by some standards, but Tegan loved the dominant side. When Samantha would press their lips together with such force and passion, to be desired as such and to be loved as such, or at the very least, to be lusted after. Each teen’s hands would embolden and explore each other every time they kissed and embraced.

Samantha’s hand lingered at the edge of Tegan’s shirt, as the faint sound of their breaths mixed with the rustling of fabric. The touch of recently-calloused fingers traced a path up Tegan’s smooth stomach, sending a shiver down her spine. The air was filled with a hint of anticipation as the fingertips playfully danced just below the curve of Tegan’s breasts.

“What if someone sees us?” Tegan finally protested, but she didn’t protest strongly.

“No one’s going to see us,” Samantha’s tone carried with it something Tegan had never really heard before, a true longing, desire, and lust toward her. “I have this burning need to feel, to taste every bit of you. I want to make you quiver, squirm, and cum.” At those words, Tegan had to stop herself from moaning out with barely a touch by this point.

The warm evening air smelled ever sweeter as Samantha lifted Tegan’s shirt to expose the pale-skin beneath and kissed her belly button. Which caused a soft giggle to escape from her, who said not a word but bit her bottom lip as Sam' moved upwards at a slow, deliberate pace. Indescribable, utterly indescribable were the feelings in Tegan’s mind as her eyes closed, just as Samantha’s lips found the buds of her destination.

“Keep your beautiful eyes open,” Sam whispered her demand. “Makes it so much better.”

Yet before Samantha could really turn Tegan’s life around, the light in the house beside them turned on and forced the two teenagers apart in the blink of an eye. Tegan pulled down her shirt, face flushed, breathing deep and heavy, and Samantha’s frustration etched across her face. When the older woman peeked through the blinds at them, the two teens gave a short, sharp wave.

“Son of a bitch,” Tegan groaned.

Samantha sighed but then giggled. “I was feeling so, you know, horny for you. We can always go somewhere else.”

“Not tonight. We need to find more privacy around here.”

“Yeah. Sorry, I’ll find something. There’s got to be somewhere.”

Tegan pulled her girlfriend into a tight hug and kissed her on the nose. “Never apologize. I’m just happy Missus Auerbach over there doesn’t gossip.” With a bashful smile, she tucked a strand of reddish-blonde hair behind Samantha’s ear. “There’s still so much in front of us, you know? Though, I agree, we need a place to be together from prying eyes.”

“Blah, I’ll see you at the bus stop.” Samantha planted another long kiss on Tegan’s lips before she scampered off back home.

After she crept back into her bedroom, Tegan kept the window open, which allowed a cool night breeze to stir the curtains, whispering against Tegan’s face as she snuggled under her soft blanket. Sleep evaded her for who knows how long; Samantha’s lips, warm and lingering on her breasts, played on repeat in her mind. This memory, this vivid memory, sent shivers down her spine; a potent cocktail of longing and arousal surpassed anything she had ever known before. She ached, oh did she ache for Samantha—her touch, the taste of her skin, the lovely fresh aroma of her hair, every exquisite detail that her girlfriend brought with her. Tegan bit her lip, a sharp sting against the overwhelming heat that built within. Her hand, much like a silent intruder, slipped beneath the soft-blue cotton panties. A muffled moan followed by a breathy sigh escaped as she encountered the slick, undeniable evidence of her desires and lust she felt. It did not take her long to reach that peak she was not unfamiliar with.

She brought up two fingers slick with her own moisture; Tegan pulled them apart. A glistening strand stretched, then snapped as a wave of hot shamed washed over her—she’d never imagined herself rubbing one off to someone she actually knew and not some hot celebrity. Yet, the cool night air on her skin offered a stark contrast to the fiery blush that stained her damp, sweat-covered cheeks. The intensity of her orgasm was unlike anything she’d experienced before; Samantha had truly ignited her, and this was not quite as satisfying as she suspected being with Sam would be.

Was this just hormonal lust, a wildfire of tingling skin and racing pulse? Tegan knew she cared for Samantha; she always did her best to make Tegan feel cherished, and vice-versa. But was their intense attraction merely physical, a symphony of breathless sighs and flushed skin and stolen kisses, or something deeper?  She wasn’t sure; love felt like a hazy dawn, a dream that slipped through the mind once awoken, and had no true examples of how it was supposed to be. If it meant the sun-warmed happiness of Samantha’s presence, each day brighter with her laughter, then maybe, just maybe, it was love.

“Shit,” Tegan cursed before she got out of bed to clean herself up. Changing out her sheets, tossing them into the washer and tossing herself onto the fresh set. A fresh wave of exhaustion overcame her, and this time, Tegan fell into a deep, sound sleep.

****

@fablesandfragments @seastarblue @vesanal @theink-stainedfolk @leahnardo-da-veggie

@aalinaaaaaa @an-indecisive-nerd @write-with-will @the-ellia-west @carb0n-m0n0xide

@inadequatecowboy @kitkins13 @watermeezer @shepardstales @bardic-tales

@dyrewrites

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“omg you’re so creative. how do you get your ideas” i hallucinate a single scene in the taco bell drive thru and then spend 13 months trying to write it

Lol for real. They'd be little menaces, sucking the soul energy from the cows that can't shake them off. They'd leave the crops alone at least. Heck, they might be able to scare away wolves and foxes. Yes, those little puffballs can be that terrifying. They still wouldn't be great among farm animals though.

Thankfully, outside of a pet the crew get later on, they mostly just stay in Des' realm, frolicking amoung the roses.

I'm late, but happy worldbuilding wednesday! Any favorite animals who've created or modified for your story?

Thanks for the ask! Also late, haha.

I've created creatures inspired from various animals. Now... favorites? Hmm... Do dragons count? I only have: a anime typical half-jaguar oc; a raccoon skull in the design of a giant; dragons, dragon people, dragonborn, dragon inspired designs, original fantasy dragons, etc.

*None of the real life examples above appear in a WIP I'm currently working on.

My favorite animals are black jaguars, dogs, corvids, raccoons, cats and blue whales.

My top favorite fantastical creatures are: dragons (the broad, ineffable definition) and ponies.

Writing Update 5/15/2025

Hi hi! For the most part, I've finished the hero side of the worldbuilding. I mostly just have to think of more holidays. Anyways, here are the categories of heroes for anyone interested (keep in mind this is a draft that needs more polish):

Commons - Heroes that represent common hopes and dreams.

Pinnacles - Heroes that represent hopes that are achievable, but need a lot of work to become reality, and depend highly on the direction of the future. This can include heroes that represent concepts like world peace or futuristic technology.

Ambitions - Heroes that represent hopes and dreams that are more personal, such as hopes for one's family, personal goals, and so on.

Unattainables - Heroes that represent human desires or dreams which can not be attained. Some are obvious like those based on things like flying or shape shifting dreams, while others are more abstract and connect to humans attempting to disregard their humanity.

Tag list: @aweirdshipp, @floofyboi57, @aralithmenathere

OC Crossover [1/?] -> Spirit Guide Foxes

Flat colored doodle of: Spring Form Autumn ( @pluttskutt 's OC) and Zenjirou (mine) from my older story The Court Of Rooks !

(Listened to this one on repeat while I drew)

Teenage Wasteland, Chap. 3 - Come On Kids

[Author's Note: A more transitional chapter where I wanted to introduce one more of the last major characters. Enjoy!]

As the blazing South Carolina sun, a fiery orb in the cloudless, azure sky beat down on the Earth below, Tegan ignored Miss April Stauch’s droning lecture—the final, stifling school day of the year held zero interest to her. Her gaze, instead, snapped to the gym class outside, a blur of motion circling the soccer field. Specifically, she watched Samantha. Sweat plastered her mid-thigh shorts and white Hillcrest High shirt, clung to every curve in a way that made Tegan’s breath catch. A soft sigh escaped from her lips, with the sudden silence amplified the sound in the hot, still classroom, which drew every eye to her.

“Miss Tegan, just because it is the last day of the school year does not mean this isn’t important,” Miss Stauch admonished, but it did little to bring about Tegan’s focus.

The absolute drag of a day dragged on further and further, and despite Samantha and Tegan sharing many classes, they did not share these last two periods. That while Tegan spent the rest of her time this school year watching the clock, and then that last bell finally rung. She nearly sprinted out of the classroom—everyone else be damned. Grabbed everything important from her locker; most notably a bag of weed she got from her new friend, Robin. Who had quickly become a close friend to the pair and a band member for the Starstruck Queer. Though she lived on the other side of town, closer to Fountain Inn, she played the drums and was in the grade above them, even though she was sixteen and held back last year. And luckily for the trio, she also had an old Chevy van and had a license.

“Hey!” called out Robin, whose bright rainbow-colored hair flowed down to her broad shoulders, and the leather vest wrapped around her slightly-chubby torso, patched over with all the queer flags that could fit. Not to mention all the band patches: Bikini Kill, Metallica, Talking Heads, and even a few Blondie ones.

Just beside her stood the beautiful Samantha, who held her backpack from its handle. A happy, if tired, expression crossed her face. “I saw you staring at me during gym class,” she commented with a sly smile that brightened up her features and creased her eyebrows.

“Ready to get out of here?” Robin asked, as her car keys dangled between her fingers with a slight clinking of metal.

“Fuck yeah, I’m tired of this place and everyone in it. Don’t ever want to come back,” Tegan replied, slamming her locker door shut. Stuffing the actual combination lock into her bag.

Samantha yanked on Robin’s arm. “Plus, we need to go get some food and go jam, ya know? I feel like we’re finally getting into the grove, into the pocket, ya know?”

“Hell, you’ve improved so much,” Tegan complimented her girlfriend, not caring who saw them walking down the hallway hand-in-hand. A few sideways glances and mumbled words, just out of earshot, were always present, but neither cared.

“Those tapes you got me really helped,” Sam hummed, her lips brushed against Tegan’s cheek, a feather-light touch. The faint scent of vanilla from Tegan’s hair helped hide the stench of the un-air-conditioned air. Robin’s powerful arms, who smelled faintly of weed, encircled them both in a warm embrace, her laughter a low, comforting rumble.

“We’ll get some Sonic burgers and shakes. Then we need to start working on some original songs, yeah? Now speaking of buzz—”

Before she could finish her thought, the Oakley twins—Lisa and Robert—sauntered up, radiating an aura of superiority and false righteousness. Their clothes, impeccably-tailored Tommy Hilfiger, told of the wealth their parents had, and Tegan always wondered why they didn’t go to the private schools in Greenville. Robert’s hair, bleached blonde and spiked in such an absurd way, made her think of a hedgehog; the image brought a silent giggle to her lips.

“Well, if it isn’t the queer squad of Simpsonville,” Lisa laughed at her own joke. “Father says people like you are going to burn in hell. He even says we used to take fags and dykes, and hang ‘em from the railroad bridge down off Lake Harris.”

“Fuck off,” Samantha shot back. “You are just cookie-cutter bitches. Looking like every other unimaginative poser jackass."

Doing her best to direct the pair away from the bullies, Robin shot looks at the twins, who kept egging them on and on. As they kept following the trio, the twins directed insult after insult towards them.

“Hey, unwanted girl, you’re not a dyke, right?” Lisa pushed Tegan’s shoulder from behind, which had Tegan clenching both her jaw and fists. “You pretend to also like guys, right? Or is it that you actually just like guys, but no one wanted you, right?”

Tegan didn’t reply. She did her best to just walk away, to take the higher road. Breathing increasing, thoughts ran through her head at a thousand miles per hour. Not too long ago, she would have struck out against this bully. It’s the last day of school; why not just escape from these confines?

Lisa continued, pushing against Tegan’s shoulder again despite her brother’s protests to stop. “Like your piece of shit mother who left you at the orphanage, she couldn’t even stand you. So, instead of being alone forever. You decide to get with the local dyke, right?”

“Not everyone opens their legs for anything with a dick!” Samantha growled, her face turning a bright red, her fists clenched and veins bulging.

“Too ugly and unwanted for a proper boyfriend, is that it? I think I figured you out,” Lisa mocked, pushing Tegan once more. Samantha moved to stop, but Robin held Sam in place. Sam gave Robin a look but remained silent.

“Come on, just ignore her,” Robin tried her best to soothe the pair. “Let’s just get out of here. Fuck them. Not worth the problems.”

“At least Samantha and Robin are dykes. They know what they are. What the fuck are you, orphan bitch? Just some unwanted girl who had to settle for a—” Lisa had no chance to finish her insult. She had gone on far-too-long.

Turning on her heels, and using all her weight, Tegan punched Lisa right in her Romanesque nose as hard as she could. A clear crunch shook her hand and forced the smaller teen backwards into the arms of her twin brother. Much like a broken dam, there came forth a deluge of blood that covered Lisa’s face and onto her name-brand shirt. Before either twin could react, or even a teacher, the three ran out into the hot early summer. Teachers hot on their tail, but they didn’t follow them out into the parking lot. Lisa did have a reputation for running her mouth.

“Whoa, babe, that was fucking awesome!” Samantha shouted her praise as the pair slid into the van’s side door. Slamming it shut behind them.

The inside of the van was bare, stripped of the seats that were in here. Just a thick green-brown carpet, and some party lights strung across the ceiling. They lit up into a kaleidoscopic color array that would enrapture Tegan whenever they got high, which had been as often as they could afford to do so. As the engine rumbled to life and the whole van came to life with low vibrations that ran through Tegan’s every fiber.

Her adrenaline ran quickly and fast, her blood churned as thick as mud deep in her chest. Breathing still quickened, needing to be caught but cannot be. Samantha wrapped a sweaty arm around her girlfriend, pulling Tegan closer. They shared a quick kiss. Then, it became deep, passionate, as if they’ll never kiss one another again. A fleeting moment in Heaven was better than none. Because it ended quickly with a loud cough from Robin.

“Hello, I’m still here and single!” Robin called out from the driver’s seat.

Samantha’s full-bodied laugh, a rich, throaty sound, echoed through the van as she crawled towards the back. Dusty air, thick with the scent of old canvas and faint motor oil and gasoline, filled her nostrils as she reached a hidden compartment—Tegan watched her as she pulled up the carpet to show a roughly-cut hole underneath Robin’s handiwork. A makeshift shelf, yet fully-bolted in, nestled above the rumbling machinery, held a treasure: an antique cigar box. Its aged wood and rusted hinges creaked and groaned as Sam opened it, released a pungent wave of stale weed. Inside, nestled in a crinkled sandwich bag, was the sought-after prize: dark, sticky buds, a crisp pack of rolling papers, a metallic smoking pipe, and a lighter with a peace symbol on it. Her fingers were nimble and well-practiced, she rolled a joint, the stems and seeds clunk softly as she tossed them back into the box. And tossed each one back inside. With a pat to secure the carpet, their secret tucked away once again.

They didn’t smoke the joint as they drove. No, that would be an invitation for those small-town cops—always patrolling and waiting for some teenager to fuck up—to harass them, then arrest them, or, at the least, drive them home and talk to their parents. It was far too risky. Instead, after the fatty burgers and sugary sweetness of Sonic’s drive-through faded, Robin drove them to Simpsonville Park’s far side, away from the graveyard’s somber stillness and the busier section with its cheerful cacophony of children’s laughter and the crack of baseball bats from the always busy baseball fields. Partially hidden by a thick copse of oak and maple trees, their haven felt secluded, a hushed sanctuary from the town’s watchful gaze. No one came out here.

“So, I got some lyrics written up,” Tegan said as she leaned against the metal wall of the van. Joint between two short fingers, she took a long draw and held it in as she passed it onward. But she coughed it out just a quick; a headiness overtook her and planted a smile across her face.

Robin sat beside Tegan; legs crossed beneath her. As she took the joint and took her own hit before passing it to Samantha. “Well, sing it for us! No need to be shy. We’re best friends and bandmates, right?”

The mere idea of singing made Tegan sweat; hot beads prickled her forehead, her palms itched with a nervous tremor, her mouth as dry as parchment. The simple act, once effortless during their jam sessions, now loomed, a daunting, almost impossible task. “Right now?” she stammered, the words caught in her dry throat.

Samantha’s reassuring hand rested on Tegan’s knee, rubbing it softly in small circles. “Nah, not right now, babe. Just, well, do you have the lyrics? We’d love to go over it. Just promise us you’ll sing it later.”

Tegan nodded and dug in her backpack until she pulled out an old, creased notebook. “Yeah, when we get back to your place and jam out. I’ll sing my heart out. It feels so embarrassing to do so as we get high in the van.”

“Oh, these are quite good,” Samantha remarked as she flipped through the pages of the notebook. “There’s, like, a dozen songs in here. We could have our whole first album in here. Actually, I take it back. These are wonderful. ‘Forgotten’ is so angry, but I feel it. ‘Jubilee and Me’ is so lovely.”

“Lemme see, lemme see.” Robin snatched the notebook, pursuing its pages.

Robin quietly read each page, stopped on one for a moment, then moved to another. Saying not a word, even waving off the last little bit of the joint. She didn’t look up; no, she was so engrossed to where Tegan and Samantha exited the hot van to leave the older teen to her reading that Robin didn’t notice.

A strong breeze rustled the bright green leaves of the surrounding trees. Under their heavy boughs, where squirrels scampered and birds sung, was a large boulder that showed the scars of dozens of teens who have visited it. Several names etched onto its rough surface, many proclamations of love and lust—graffiti of all sorts. Littered with empty beer and soda cans, cigarette butts dotted the dirt. Ground in by weeks and months of different shoes of those who came here for some peace and quiet.

“Lisa Oakley pisses me off so much,” Tegan let out a huff. “On the last day of school, too. The second or third best day of the year. Maybe fourth. Well, I guess fifth now with your birthday involved.”

“Dork,” Samantha joked. “She’s a nobody. Destined to have a shitty life of Sunday church, three-and-a-half kids, and unsatisfying sex.”

Robin handed Tegan the notebook and climbed up the walk beside the couple. “Dude, your songs are awesome. We need to put them to music. Like as soon as possible. Need to come down a bit before I’ll drive, but yeah, we gonna play one of these today. Just pick one.”

Tegan took it to heart, as she went through every song in her notebook. The other two distracted themselves like they did every time they got high. Breaking down into the two of them talking about whatever happened on WWF Raw of WCW Nitro, which wrestler was the best, or which show was better. Tegan held zero interest in it. Instead, she wrote a song about how Samantha made her feel on that night those weeks ago.

“That’s it,” Tegan said after some time. “Come on, let’s go jam. I’m feeling it.”

Samantha hopped off the boulder. “Oh, she’s feeling it, eh? This is going to be good.”

“Yeah, let’s get to it. We’ll play until Sam’s parents throw us out.” Robin laughed and climbed into the driver’s seat. Tegan joined her in the passenger’s side. The dash held only a cassette player with a recordable cassette of songs that Robin had copied from the radio. She pushed it in and cranked up the volume.

The van’s engine rumbled to life; a deep growl vibrated through the floorboards as Robin steered them toward the other side of Simpsonville. Nirvana’s “Smells Like Teen Spirit,” distorted and crackling, filled the van. As the short drive got closer to Sullivan road, there came the sudden appearance of several black, ominous clouds, blotting out the sun. A heavy, humid blanket clung to the air, thick and cloying, as a gusty wind whipped around the van, which made the trees lining Sullivan Road to sway and thrash about, their leaves rustled like whispered secrets that Mother Nature refused to give up.

Samantha’s parents were kind enough to let Robin store her drum kit—a gleaming green set—in the garage, which they otherwise used only for storage. The pitter-patter of rain against the roof and the driveway formed a natural rhythm as Tegan came upon the corner where the V-shaped guitar and her very own bass guitar, lovingly-covered in a soft, grey sheet, sat. The faint scent of old wood and stale polish lingered around them. On an almost daily basis, the trio practiced, which echoed the rhythmic thud of drums and the twang of strings throughout the neighborhood. Now, with school out, the trio planned hours of practice every single day, as Tegan declared, “until we are too good to be ignored,” her words sharp and determined.

****

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i loveeeeeee nonlinear storytelling. show me where we are. now show me how we got here. the end before the beginning. show me how it was inevitable or how many chances we had to change things(nothing was ever going to change). let's meet in the middle as all the puzzle pieces slide into place hell yeah that's the good shit.

I like the description! It gives a good mental image of what it sounds like.

Man, trying to write a lisp is hard. I don't want to do it phonetically, since it can come off as ablist or what-have-you. Trying to mimic an interdental lisp

In a husky, throaty voice and plosive language gave her speech an aspect that she popped bubbles with her words. “I’m Kaylie King,” the young woman replied. “I’ve been in contact with Mrs. Hawke. She said that she wanted to meet me in person. At ten-thirty on the sixteenth. Today is the sixteenth, sir.”