#(when i lay it all out like that i’m like perhaps ‘ian being exited about doing crimes’ is not a Good Sign for him. but

[dashiellqvverty]

my opinion on season 11 is that ian and mickey were all over the place from episode to episode and i ultimately wasn’t very happy with where it ended for them

[pcttrailsidereader]

Ordeal by Ice and Snow

As a counterpoint to Monday’s post, Ian Sarmento’s story is illustrative of what can happen without the right equipment and experience in navigating the winter PCT.  Ryan Forsythe, author of “Sometimes They Come Back”, in The Pacific Crest Trailside Reader: California, observes that “there are two types of stories of lost hikers.  First, are those the hikers themselves tell of being stuck or stranded, perhaps due to injury or horrific weather, before somehow miraculously finding their way out.  And then there are those stories that others must tell, of friends or loved ones lost forever …” Ian Sarmento, thanks to a blend of determination, stamina, and luck, lived to tell his tale from the wintry north this past autumn.  While there will be some second guessing of Ian’s decisions along the way, there can be no question about his courage, his fight, and unwillingness to give up.

Today marks the 8th anniversary of the safe conclusion of Sarmento‘s story and his thru hike.

By Ian “I’m Fine” Sarmento

October 19 - November 11, 2012

I was hiking in the rain south of Glacier Peak when I passed two other thrus mid day who were waiting out the weather in their tents. After a few hours of hiking, rain turned to sleet, and eventually to snow.  I crossed Red Pass, and was soaked to the bone and freezing, so after descending a thousand feet to a small patch of trees, it started to get dark and I decided to setup camp. When I awoke in the morning, the snow was knee to mid thigh deep, with some waist high drifts, and it was still coming down. I packed up and decided to make a move for lower elevations, soon losing the trail. As I cut downhill, the side of the ridge was covered with nearly waist deep snow. I aimed for a creek with the intention of following running water to lower elevation and hopefully eventually exiting the wilderness. After following the creek for an hour or so, I noticed a saw-cut stump and soon three small logs lying across the creek with saw-cut ends. There was a noticeable indent (trail) in the snow on the other side. I crossed the logs and followed the indent the best I could, eventually leading to a very nice man-made bridge. I came to a side trail with a sign that read, “Trail Abandoned, Use New Side Trail .25 mile North of Sitkum Creek on PCT”.  I continued until I reached that side trail where there was another sign posted.  “White Chuck Road and Trail Washed Out”. F***.  

I continued north on the PCT until I reached a sign reading “White Chuck Road, and Kennedy Hot Springs”. Scratched into the sign were some notes from other hikers including “Both Destroyed!!!” and “Not an exit!!!”. F***!!!.

I stayed on the PCT intending to cross Fire Creek Pass, and camp by Milk Creek, hoping that the Milk Creek Trail would offer an exit. But by nightfall I had lost the PCT just north of where it crosses Glacier Creek (not realizing that it crossed the creek I continued straight instead), and dug in next to a boulder, set up camp, and hoped to find the trail in the morning. By morning a fresh 3-4 inches of snow had fallen.

I crested the ridge. I saw no sign of the trail. The ridge dropped steeply down in front of me. To my left was a steep treacherous pass, complete with shear cliffs and glaciers, and to my right the ridge gradually descended until there were trees on it. I couldn’t cross the pass, I didn’t want to slide down into the canyon ahead (which eventually ended up happening anyway), I didn’t want to backtrack, so I trucked down the ridge to my right hoping to find sign of the trail once I got into the trees. Cut off branches, blazes, anything.

However the ridge grew steeper and steeper until I started sliding out in 20ish foot sections, stopping myself on trees, until I reached a small cliff.  I lowered myself, holding onto small trees and branches. Eventually the path I chose became nearly vertical offering me no other options than to continue forward. I reached a 15-20 foot cliff.  I maneuvered horizontally holding onto trees until I found a more manageable section of cliff. I dropped my pack and trekking poles down first, then pissed on my hands to warm them up enough to gain enough grip strength to lower myself down holding onto exposed roots or rock. When I got to my pack, which had rolled about twenty feet in the snow I noticed my camera had fallen out of my hip belt pocket. I dug all around in the snow, went downhill, back uphill, nothing. I had lost the only thing making me feel somewhat connected to the outside world/people. My video diaries of this whole misadventure were lost. Felt more alone.

I continued forward until the terrain flattened and stumbled through a patch of small trees bent over under the weight of the snow. I reached one more small cliff and dropped down to the scree slopes of the canyon below and started following the creek at the bottom downstream until it dropped off steeply into a section of canyon with 20-foot vertical walls. I backtracked until I reached another waterfall. Each side of the canyon was too steep to ascend, so on the floor of the canyon between two branches of the creek, I stomped down and scooped out as much snow as I could on the flattest spot for my tent.

And I waited. And waited. And waited. And starved. And froze. And waited.

On day two for some reason I had a premonition that after nine nights in my tent I would be rescued. I spent the next nine days rationing food at 300-500 calories per day (the first couple days were closer to six or seven hundred). The first five or six nights were very cold.  During this period the snow would melt a little during the day but be replenished at night with new snow. After that it warmed up enough to rain and even the nights were only slightly below freezing. After night nine, the snow had mostly melted. During this period I spent all day crazy with hunger pangs, hoping, and thinking. There were times I was extremely anxious. Sometimes I felt good about my decision to wait for help and other times I contemplated trying anything I could to escape. I would drift back and forth between feeling relatively calm and sedated to helpless and anxious. At times I was confident that I would survive, and other times I was less hopeful. By the fifth or sixth day I began imagining airplane sounds from the noise of the creek. Two days later I began imagining helicopter noises, and by day nine or ten I would constantly hear both airplanes and helicopters. I wore earplugs the last two days to protect my sanity the best I could.

After the ninth night the snow had melted enough that I should have made a break for it then, but I decided to wait the day out to honor my premonition. If I wasn’t rescued I would go for it the next day. This was my first full day with zero calorie intake. The day came and went, and when I woke up the next morning I decided that if I were going to die in the wilderness, I wasn’t going to die laying in a nylon coffin in that god forsaken canyon I had grown to detest.

I packed up and headed for the upstream waterfall, carefully climbing hand over hand beside it, then following the creek to a low spot in the cliff above the steep canyon wall. This was the only possible chance I had to climb out. I crawled up the scree slope on my hands and knees, then grabbed onto rocks and roots to climb the canyon wall. I fought through thick undergrowth and trees until I was able to climb a small knoll to view the surrounding area. I spotted a route for getting up the canyon wall and back onto the ridgeline from which I had descended ten days ago. I crossed a steep, unstable scree slope very carefully with each ill-placed step sliding out. Once across the scree I had to attempt a climb. I started up, and grabbing onto the frigid rock face for dear life, made it. Thinking back I cringe at the thought of how narrowly I had made it and just what would have happened if I made a mistake. I resurveyed my surroundings on the ridge hiking around the area for a couple hours. I eventually traced my steps back to Glacier Creek, found the trail where it crossed, and followed it up to Fire Creek Pass, which was still completely covered in enough snow to make navigating very difficult. The north side of the pass still had deep snow drifts but as I lost elevation back into pine forest the way became clearer.

It started raining lightly and by nightfall I was pretty wet. I camped on the trail north of Milk Creek. The next two passes were pretty much the same – difficult to maneuver, covered in snow, and sometimes frightening. I made it to Stehekin on a Friday. My last meal, if you can call it that, had been Monday. Hiking without any food, after already barely eating for nine days previously, was very difficult. Sometimes I could hardly keep moving when going uphill or through the snow. Having to pick my feet up to step over logs or rocks felt like I was lifting blocks of concrete. I ended up consuming massive amounts of water in spite of hardly sweating. When I arrived in Stehekin, I had lost eighteen pounds. I was ecstatic to have found my way out and to eat again, but also extremely sore and a little disoriented.

After deciding to continue north to the border (with a GPS this time), my backpack was unbearably heavy as I carried a ton of extra food. It was at least sixty pounds. The first twenty miles to Rainy Pass were smooth sailing. Then it started snowing again and by the time I reached Cutthroat Pass a fresh 3-5 inches had fallen. The higher I climbed the more snow remained from the last storm. It was frozen to a hard shell and very slippery and made for difficult walking. The north side of the pass was worse and wherever there was a steep ridge, the trail was completely snowed over, then frozen solid, making it nearly impossible, and completely terrifying, to traverse. South of Harts Pass the trail was treacherous as well.  I had to traverse a section on one ridge on my knees, facing the mountain, and stabbing my trekking poles a foot into the snow as to anchor myself. North of Rock Pass I slid about 100 feet down the ridge until stopping myself by digging my elbows and trekking poles into the ice and snow. Then using my trekking pole as a break, I slid down to the next switchback. Several times it took everything I had to keep going. The last day it never got above thirteen degrees. My nose was bleeding all morning from the cold dry air. By nightfall, before the sun had even finished setting, my thermometer maxed out at zero degrees. After the ice that had formed in my inflatable sleeping pad the night before ruptured it, I set up a bed of pine branches under my tent for extra warmth.

I finished my thru hike on November 11th.

[angelic-holland]

Hang the Stars // TMO imagine

“Because what’s worse than knowing you want something, besides knowing you can never have it?” - James Patterson

“I’ll take care of you.”

“It’s rotten work.”

“Not to me. Not if it’s you.”

- Anne Carson, Euripides

Word Count: 5.5k

Warnings: angst, mentions of murder, mentions of mob activity, fluffy fluff

Summary: Three Months and 14 days. That’s how long Harrison has loved you. That’s how long he’s known he can never have you like he wants you. Three months and 14 days is a dreadfully long time to love someone who will never love him back. 

A/N: Hi! This is a little short of the reader’s time with Ian and Harrison and the Irish mob. This can sort of work as a stand alone fic but works better after reading the first 13 chapters of Take Me Out! This is from Harrison’s perspective aka the reader is ‘her’. As always, feedback through reblogs and asks are always appreciated and encouraged if you’re part of my taglist! Let me know what you think about this little piece! 

The worst part of falling in love is the pain when you hit the ground. 

That isn’t how Harrison feels sitting in the meeting room of Ian’s brownstone when the doorbell rang. He feels calm with the slightest bit of excitement because he’s finally allowed to sit in on meetings. 

Nobody rings the doorbell here. All of Ian’s men knocked, a special knock to let Ian know that it was them.

So Harrison sat in his seat right by the head of the table where Ian usually sits while Ian draws a gun, stalking toward the front door. 

He can’t see anything, neither can any of the other men in the room, but they can hear her. 

At first, Dewey jokes that it’s a girl that Ian knocked up, here to collect child support.

Russell shuts him up with a glare, “probably just a girl scout or something.”

“It’s nine at night,” Harrison says, straining to hear what Ian was saying to whoever was standing at the door. 

There’s a shrill cry that makes all of the men at the table widen their eyes.

“Don’t touch me!” 

Then Ian’s voice is soothing and attempting to comfort the girl, whoever she may be. 

There’s a rumbling and Harrison swears it’s thunder but he can’t help the next words that slip out of his mouth, “everything okay?” 

A sob ripples through the near silent house. 

Harrison stands up, about to leave the room when Russell stops him.

“This isn’t your business.”

“It might be-,”

“Just wait, patience, boy,” Dewey sneers.

Harrison sits back down, mumbling under his breath about leaving him the fuck alone.

The men sit in silence as they hear Ian walking around the house, making a few phone calls.

“Check in on the place, that’s right, rented to Adeline Park, I want an update by tomorrow morning.”

Adeline Park. Maybe that’s the girl who showed up at the door. It has to be. 

Several minutes later, Ian steps back inside the room, trying to push the franticness out of his voice.

“Meeting dismissed, we’ll pick up tomorrow morning. Harrison, go out and get food, real food, fruits and vegetables, shit like that.”

Harrison isn’t going to question it at this point, “right away, boss.”

He stands up and buttons his suit jacket, following the rest of the men out of the house before Ian grabs his arm.

“Don’t let them get you caught up in their rumor mill, I’m taking care of an old friend,” Ian says, voice low so the last of the men exiting the house don’t hear him.

“Course, boss, I’ll be right back.” 

Harrison is nosy, it’s not something he’s exactly proud of, but with his job, it comes with the territory. 

That’s why he searches for an Adeline Park on Facebook. A dozen or so results show up. He didn’t catch a glimpse of her face, so he scrolls through each result, each profile, wondering if this was the girl who showed up on his bosses doorstep, completely throwing him for a loop.

He buys a lot of food, probably too much, but he had no idea what Ian wanted other than fruits and vegetables, he swears he almost buys out the entire store. After unloading all of the food into the cabinets and fridge, he makes his way upstairs. 

He hears Ian and her talking, Adeline, her voice is weak but anxious as Ian tries to soothe her. He almost doesn’t want to interrupt, to break into their precious moment. But Harrison is nosy, so he does anyway. 

“It is though, you take bad people and you get rid of them. You kill people who deserve to be killed.”

Harrison’s eyes widen at Ian’s words. So she isn’t just an old flame. Or perhaps she is, Ian’s circle consists mainly of mobsters and murderers. So it’s possible she is a killer and an old flame. What better person for a murderer than another murderer? 

Harrison took off his suit jacket, leaning against the door as he watches her, her hair in a messy ponytail, eyes puffy, bruises encircling her throat. He wonders who could hurt someone as beautiful as her.

“Boss.”

“Harrison, she’s going to be staying in the guest room with you for a little bit. Is that okay?”

“Course, boss, groceries are downstairs, all set away.”

“Great, sweetheart, I’ve got to make a few phone calls but if you need anything, Harrison can help you, okay?”

“He’s uh, he’s good?” 

Her voice is terrified, it’s a trembling whisper and she doesn’t want Harrison to hear but he does. 

“He’s the best,” Ian says before he stands up, giving Harrison a look before leaving him alone with the girl who clearly didn’t trust anyone.

What the fuck is Harrison supposed to do? To say? She reminds him of a scared cat, drawing in on herself as he steps forward into the room completely. 

“Hi, uh, name’s Harrison,” He says, wanting to smack himself, he drops his coat on his bed and walks toward her, sticking his hand out.

Right, because the way to look non threatening to her is to stick your hand out when the last man who did that was the one who gave her all of those bruises. 

She is hesitant as he holds his hand out, and right before he’s about to drop it, she meekly shakes his hand. 

“Y/N.”

So not Adeline.

She drops his hand almost as quickly as she shakes it.

“Well, y/n, you’re free to borrow my clothes anytime, definitely look better on you than me.”

Damn it Harrison.

The last thing this girl wants, or needs, is someone flirting with her. 

“Sorry, that was uh, stupid of me.”

She giggles and Harrison feels light headed. 

“It’s okay, uh, you been with Ian long?”

“No, a few months. We met while he was back in Ireland.” 

“So are you his uh, next in command?” She asks as Harrison begins to get ready for bed.

“Sort of, if I show I can do well under pressure. How much do you know about Ian?”

He’s curious about which part of Ian’s past she’s from. 

“Just that he’s the Irish mob leader here, and uh, you’re not Irish.”

Her tone is almost accusatory, like Harrison isn’t supposed to be here. But she digresses, somewhat caging herself off to his response as she sets the plate down and gently touches her neck, wincing as her fingers touch the bruises.

“You shouldn’t, you know, touch that, I can get you some ice if you want, I’ll just go change and then grab an ice pack,” Harrison says, not waiting for a response before gathering up his pajamas and leaving her alone. 

Ian is talking downstairs after Harrison changed and he becomes quiet as Harrison enters the kitchen.

“Just grabbing her an ice pack,” Harrison says, grabbing one from the freezer and wrapping it in a dish towel.

“She’s got some problems, Harrison, you won’t be able to fix her.”

“I wasn’t planning on trying to-,”

“It’s okay son, I’m sure you only want to help. But I think she’ll just need time.”

“Oh, sure, of course,” Harrison nods, “but Ian, do you think she’d, I mean, do you know who hurt her?”

Ian shakes his head, “that’s what I’m trying to find out, I haven't seen her in five years. She drove here from fucking Idaho. I guess she didn’t really have anyone else to go to.” 

Harrison nods, swallowing the lump in his throat as he makes his way back upstairs. He wonders who could have hurt her so badly she drove across the country to someone she hasn’t seen in over half a decade.

“Hey, I uh, I got you an ice pack,” he says, watching her roll over in the blue sheets, her eyes red, cheeks swollen from crying.

“Thanks,” she mumbles, holding her hand out for the ice.

When he hands it to her, he swears electricity crackles under his fingertips when they touch her hand. She withdraws almost immediately.

“Stop looking at me like that,” she says, turning back toward the wall, not letting Harrison look at her properly as she rests the ice pack against her neck.

“Like what?” Harrison asks, slightly confused as he sits down in his own bed, wanting to give her as much distance as she needs.

“Like I’m a lost puppy someone just kicked to the curb. Like you’re sorry for me, like you’re some guy who sees a girl that’s broken and wants to piece me back together. I’m Humpty fucking Dumpty, you’re not putting me back together again.”

Harrison figures the best thing to do is let her vent.

“I didn’t think you’re Humpty Dumpty.”

“Right, next you’re going to tell me you would never hurt me and that you’d never do anything to put me at risk.”

“I wouldn’t hurt you,” Harrison says, laying down.

“The last person who said that, did this,” she turns and takes away the ice pack, her throat definitely swollen past it’s normal size. 

“Listen, you don’t have to tell me about him, whoever did that, but I would never do that, never touch you like that-,”

“Just- don’t make promises you don’t intend to keep.”

The realization that Y/N doesn’t trust him, doesn’t trust anyone, because the man who did that most definitely wasn’t the first person who has hurt her like that, sits on Harrison’s chest like a stack of bricks.

Taking care of her, being her keeper or her babysitter or whatever wasn’t his goal or intention after the first night, but since then, that’s all Harrison has ever done. And he doesn’t mind. He doesn’t mind one bit. 

For the first time in his life, Y/N gave Harrison what he felt was a purpose, a reason for being more than his typical self.

And isn’t that the cruelest sort of love? The love you feel for someone so broken that industrial strength glue can’t piece them together, the love that no matter how hard and how fiercely you love, they’ll never be quite able to reciprocate it?

***

There are bad nights, nights where she wakes up screaming for someone, crying out for the person who hurt her. He buries the name in his subconscious, never gaining the courage to ask her about this Tom character who invaded her peaceful sleep.

During the first two weeks she hardly got any sleep, and that keeps Harrison up as well. There are moments when she’ll stare at him and he’d stare right back, her eyes the only thing visible in the dark room. A beacon of hope for someone lost at sea. 

And then she climbs into his bed. They’re both restless on this September night, now morning if Harrison is being technical. 2am. 

“I uh, I was hoping I might sleep better if I, well, if I sleep next to you,” her voice is soft and her eyes wide as Harrison nods, patting the spot next to him. The bed is small, no doubt that they’d have to lay practically on top of each other to not fall off. So with a gentle nod from Harrison, she curls up next to him, her head on his chest and her legs practically on top of his. 

That night Harrison has slept better than he has in years.  In fact, Y/N and Harrison looked so peaceful that when Ian went to check on them the next morning, he didn’t wake them up. Finally both of them got a full nights sleep without screaming, without fear of what tomorrow may bring. Finally it seems both of them are at peace.

***

When she kisses Harrison for the first time, about a month after she arrived, he swore he was dreaming. They’ve kissed plenty of times in Harrison’s dreams, but each time he feels like he’s betraying the real Y/N.

They’re lying in bed, Harrison has an arm around her shoulder, only after she gave him explicit permission to do so. She’s cradling his face like it’s a glass vase, her eyes searching for the blooming flowers beneath his fragile exterior. Maybe poppies or brunneras. Nothing can quite match his shade of blue. 

“Can I?” She asks, her eyes focused on the short sharp breaths forming on Harrison’s lips.

He nods, waiting for the dream to end, to wake up and be reminded this isn’t real. 

Her lips brush against his and she waits for him to reciprocate before moving further. She’s warm against him, almost burning up or maybe that’s his heart? Harrison can’t tell, in fact he feels light headed and his stomach twists into a knot as he kisses her back. Her lips are so soft, and she tastes like his mint toothpaste, the one she uses now, since they’ve gotten in the habit of brushing their teeth together. 

He pulls away, only because he’s sure he’s stopped breathing, “pinch me.”

It makes her laugh, it’s melodic and Harrison closes his eyes, resting his forehead against hers, soaking up each note.

“You’re not dreaming,” she murmurs, her lips finding his again. 

“Pinch me anyway,” he mumbles against her lips, he can’t find it in him to pull away. 

She gently pinches his cheek and he waits to wake up. But he doesn’t. Tonight they don’t sleep much, random thoughts and words are shared between soft kisses, never moving further than a gentle hand on cheek, soft skin against skin. 

Neither of them mind as she traces his cheekbone, the moonlight cutting across his skin and illuminating every imperfection. 

“Thank you, for everything.”

She doesn’t need to say it. She doesn’t need to thank him. 

“Don’t thank me,” he says as she snuggles into his chest, her hair tickling his chin.

“I don’t know why you do it, why you take care of me. I’m sure you’d much rather be out with Ian and the rest of them-,”

“There’s nowhere else I’d rather be,” Harrison cuts her off and he watches as she turns in his arms, her eyes wandering to the window, staring up at the moon, the stars. He wonders if she feels the same way. 

“Don’t say that just because-,” 

“I’ve never lied to you,” Harrison murmurs, his arm rests against her shoulder and for a half a second he thinks she flinches, but she relaxes almost immediately.

“It’s rotten work,” she huffs, laughing low in her throat.

“What is?”

“Sometimes I feel like I’m poison, draining the life out of everyone around me. I don’t want you to be as lifeless as me. It’s rotten work being around a person like me.”

“Well, unless you’re planning on killing me…” he’s joking, for the most part. 

“No! I wouldn’t, I couldn’t,” she mumbles, the sky is forgotten as she turns back around, resting her hand on his chest, right over his heart.

“You know, it’s not rotten work, caring for you. I don’t think I could ever get tired of spending time with you.”

“Liar.”

“I’m anything but. I just wish you’d believe me.”

“I don’t deserve it.”

He wants to ask, he wants to ask why she doesn’t think she’s worth every single second he spends with her. He wants to cradle her face in his hands as gently as she cradled his. He wants to whisper, he wants to shout that she’s worth it, she’s so god damn worth it that he can’t see himself doing anything else but share the same twin size bed with her for the rest of his life. 

But by now, he can tell when she’s feeling drained, emotionally, mentally, physically.

She needs to sleep, and she isn’t going to listen to anything else that he plans on saying. So he tucks those words back into his mind and lets her sleep.  

***

Their life isn’t perfect, it’s far from it. Especially on days Y/N is so depressed she can’t get out of bed. There are days when she’s downright mean and it forces Harrison to take a step back and realize that she’s been through some stuff, she’s seen some shit, and she has every right to get upset and angry at the world. Besides, the world is a cruel place, and it sometimes feels that she is their sole target. 

He does things to try to brighten her up, whether it be getting her favorite cannoli from Mike’s Pastry or a smoothie from a local farmer’s market. Today he brought her both, because before he left, she was yelling about how useless it was to be here and how she wishes she was back in Idaho. 

“Y/N?” Harrison calls out, climbing the stairs two at a time with the food and a gift. 

He hears the shower going and calls out to her, resting his head on the bathroom door. 

She doesn’t answer and immediately his mind flies to worse case scenarios. 

To her taking her anger and depression and turning it inward on herself, so much so that she can’t come back from it.

“Y/N!” Harrison shouts, voice unsteady as he opens the door. He doesn’t want to invade her privacy, but he will just to make sure that the worst case scenario he built up isn’t coming true.

Normally there’s a shadow of the person showering on the shower curtain. But as Harrison sets everything aside he finds Y/N’s shadow curled up in the corner, the water almost drowning out her cries.

“Y/N, darling, are you okay?” Harrison asks, kneeling down at the edge of the tub, hesitant to push back the curtain.

“I can’t breath,” she gasps and no matter how much of a gentleman Harrison is, he can’t sit outside the tub and not check on her now.

“Y/N, I’m going to open the curtain, I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

“I’m a monster,” she shouts as Harrison pulls back the curtain, revealing her crying form.

“What?” Harrison asks, watching her continue to shake.

“I- I’m here, I ran from my problem and he, he’s dead because of me, I’m a monster,” she sobs, the water starting to prune her skin.

Harrison has absolutely no idea what Y/N is talking about, but he knows one thing for sure, that something happened to her or because of her that has changed her forever.

“Come on Y/N, we can talk about this if you want, but you need to get out of the shower, need to get dried off,” Harrison reaches over to grab her arm but she pulls away violently, quivering at the thought of his touch.

He stands up, turning the water off, it’s scalding and he wonders how she hasn’t practically burnt her skin off yet.

He waits a moment for her to come out, grabbing a towel from the closet and standing at the edge of the tub.

“Y/N…”

“Just leave me alone! You should hate me! I don’t-,” she starts as Harrison leans down, trying to pick her up.

“Go away!” She screams, batting at his hands as he tries to, at this point drag her out of the bath if he has to.

“No, Y/N, you have to understand, please, please understand I’m not going anywhere,” Harrison pleads as he struggles with what to do now.

Fuck it, if she won’t get out of the tub, he’ll join her. So that’s what Harrison does, clothes and all, sitting behind her and drawing her body against his as she sobs. She doesn’t resist him however, and that’s the most important part of this exchange. He just wants her to feel safe, like he’s the one person she can feel safe with.

“It’s okay,” he brushes back her wet hair as she cries until her breathing levels out and there aren’t anymore tears left to cry.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“This kid, Harry, he uh, he was in a coma. And Jake, Jake killed him. This innocent kid who never did anything wrong in his life. Jake killed him to get back at me, to get back at Tom.”

“Why is that your fault then, darling?” Harrison asks as he begins wringing out her hair, not a care in the world that his clothes are now completely soaked as well.

“Because, if I didn’t get involved with T-T-Tom, then Jake would have no reason to try to put him in his place like that! If I didn’t put my stupid fucking heart out like that, this wouldn’t have happened!”

Harrison doesn’t have the courage to ask if she meant the two of them.

“Is that why you came looking for Ian?”

“Tom he- he blamed me for Harry’s death. And he- I never thought he was capable of hurting me until that moment. And I couldn’t- I couldn’t stay while he was so angry like that. He would’ve killed me. But maybe I deserve that.”

“No, hey, look at me,” Harrison pleads, his heart literally aching in his chest as she stares back at him with trembling lips and tear tracks down her cheeks.

“What? How can you know who I am and not think I deserve to die?”

“Did you kill this kid with your own two hands?”

She shakes her head no, so Harrison continues.

“So you kill bad people. You didn’t kill this kid, so you need to get into that mindset. You need to see yourself how I see you.”

“I feel like I’m a rain cloud or a fucking black hole, just sucking the life out of everything.”

“You’re anything but,” Harrison tries to reassure her.

“Don’t lie to me just to make me feel better.”

“Okay, you might be a rain cloud. But more than that, you’re an entire day’s worth of weather. And what happens after a rain?”

She sniffles but doesn’t respond, so Harrison pulls out the small velvet black box he wasn’t expecting to give her until later tonight. His jeans are soaking wet and it makes it harder to grab, but when he does, his hand is shaking harder than Y/N is. 

“You know, when I was a kid and I was having a bad day, my mum used to sing this song for me,” Harrison opens the box and holds the necklace up to show her.

“What is this?” She asks, her fingers curling around the sun pendant. 

“You are my sunshine, my only sunshine. You make me happy, when skies are grey. You’ll never know dear, how much I love you, please don’t take my sunshine away.”

***

It’s been almost four months since Y/N showed up on Ian’s doorstep. Harrison wants to celebrate the small strides she’s making by cooking her breakfast. Tomorrow they’re supposed to go stake out a hit that Harrison will be running, and Ian is letting Y/N go with him. 

“What’re you making?” Y/N asks, sleepily rubbing her eyes as she sits at the kitchen counter.

“Pancakes,” Harrison smiles, flipping one over before turning back to Y/N. 

She has tears in her eyes that she quickly tries to hide. She’s not fast enough. Harrison often catches her before she can hide her emotions from him. She isn’t sure if she appreciates this ability of his, but he’s always able to calm her down when she gets worked up. 

“Okay, if you don’t like pancakes, darling, we don’t have to have them,” Harrison quickly turns off the stove and walks around the counter, holding his arms out for her. 

He always waits for her to make the first move. To pull him into a hug, to sleep by his side, to kiss him. He would never want her to feel pressured into anything, make her feel like she’s required to reciprocate what he wants to give to her. 

She buries herself inside his arms, her body shaking with sobs. 

“You are my sunshine, my only sunshine,” Harrison sings lightly, feeling her slowly bring herself back to reality and out of whatever dark space pancakes seemed to send her to. “Sing with me, darling,” he murmurs as he rubs her back, “you make me happy when skies are grey.”

Her voice is thick with tears but she continues along with him, “you’ll never know dear, how much I love you, please don’t take my sunshine away.”

“So no pancakes?” Harrison asks hesitantly as she sits back down.

“I, uh, I prefer waffles,” she sniffles, wiping the tears from her eyes. 

“Waffles it is.”

After work, Harrison buys a waffle maker and all the ingredients he needs to cook up the best waffle recipe he can find. The look in Y/N’s eyes when he sets up the waffle maker is enough to make Harrison melt into a puddle on the floor like a schoolboy whose crush notices him. 

“Please tell me you like your waffles sweet,” Harrison pulls out a can of whipped cream from the fridge, raising an eyebrow at Y/N. 

She nods eagerly, “what’s a waffle without maple syrup and whipped cream?”

Harrison chuckles as she takes the plate and can from him, loading the waffle with whipped cream. 

“God, I love you.”

Maybe he didn’t mean for those words to slip out, but they did. They’ve been stuck in his throat for three months now, ever since the first night she crawled into his bed and asked him to hold her. 

The whipped cream can cuts off, filling the kitchen with a silence that absolutely shatters Harrison’s heart.

She doesn’t need to say anything. Her face, shocked with slight confusion, mouth wide open and eyebrows pinched together, tells him everything he needs to know. 

“Why?” She can’t even look at him as she begins to cut into her food.

“What do you mean why? Why do I love you?”

She nods as she begins to eat, still not meeting his eyes.

“You showed up when I was beginning to doubt joining Ian, don’t tell him that though. And you were closed off. Mean and cranky, and I mean, you still are-,”

“Hey!” She scowls, flicking a bit of whipped cream at him.

“The face you make when you’re mad is really cute. But even when you put on the grumpiest face, I know that you care a lot, about Ian, about the people in your life.”

“About you.”

“Hmm?” Harrison has to pinch himself, wondering if he is truly hearing what he thinks he’s hearing.

“I care about you,” she says, shoveling more of the waffle into her mouth before she stands up, the chair scraping against the floor.

“You care about me?” Harrison asks, watching her nervously pick at the fingernail of her thumb, nodding as she wraps her arms around his neck.

“I know you want me to say that I- that I-, fuck I’m sorry, but I can’t. And you know if I said it right now, it would only be because of what you said, because of how you feel. And you deserve someone who can say that back because it’s true, because she has no reservations and shitty feelings and emotional shortcomings.” 

“But I’ll stay, through your shitty feelings and your emotional shortcomings.”

“Don’t know why,” she mumbles. 

“You’re worth it, Y/N, don’t you see how incredibly fucking worth it you are?”

“I’m worth it?” She asks, as if she is discovering this for the first time as well.

“You’re so fucking worth it, there aren’t enough words in the dictionary or our time on this earth to tell you how worth it you are.”

***

“Darling, what’s wrong?” Harrison asks as he brushes hair out of her eyes, kissing her forehead before sitting up to get a good look at her, watching the way her hands start to shake.

“Kiss me like you hate me.”

He’s confused, because he figured this might be the night she decides to go further with him, to share a part of herself he wasn’t sure he’s ever seen. But why would she ask him to kiss her like that? 

Aggressively? 

“What do you-,”

“I don’t want you to make love to me, I- I can’t make love to you.”

“Darling I’m not going to kiss you like I hate you, I don’t hate you, I couldn’t hate you.” 

“You should hate me,” she sobs, curling in on herself as Harrison lays down next to her, pulling her into his chest.

“No, darling, it’s okay, shhh, I couldn’t hate you, darling, you could be the wicked witch of the west and I’d still look at you like you hung the stars in the sky. Maybe that’s why you’re cranky, you’ve spent so long bringing light to everyone else, you never saved any for yourself. What’s wrong?”

“Nobody’s ever, well except- and I can’t, I just can’t,” she continues to cry, her tears soaking his shirt as he runs a hand through her hair.

“It’s okay, we don’t have to do anything, I would be perfectly content with you in my arms, just laying here,” Harrison assures her, keeping her as calm as he could even when he felt like his world simply didn’t make sense. 

“I’ve killed people, you know.”

“I know,” Harrison says, calm and even.

“Lots of people.”

“Bad people.”

She shifts around in his arms, facing him. Her breath is shaky as he wipes the tears from her face and kisses her forehead.

“You gave people light by taking bad people out of their lives.”

“Doesn’t change the fact that I’m a bad person,” she sniffles as Harrison brings his lips along her face, kissing every single inch of skin. 

“There’s such a blurred line between good and bad, right and wrong. How many people have you saved by killing murderers? By killing rapists?”

She shrugs and it shocks Harrison how she can’t see what he sees. 

“Too many to count. And tomorrow you’re getting back in the game, staking out the new hit with me. It’ll be fun but if you’re uncomfortable, we stop, got it?”

“Got it,” she nods, letting his warmth calm her down and lull her to sleep.

***

“Y/N, when was the uh, last time you had your period?” Harrison asked, wondering how long it typically took for someone to start showing. 

“What? Uh two months and uhh 20 days ago,” her eyes widened and she stopped about five feet short of the brownstone, turning to Harrison, “I’m not, it’s uh, it’s the stress.”

***

It’s been a week and a half since Y/N left Harrison on the curbside dreaming of children and a life together. It’s been a week and a half and all Harrison has been able to do is dream of her, growing old with her, a kid, as many kids as she wants. He dreams of a life where he can play catch or push them on the swing set. It’s a stupid dream, especially now that she’s gone. She promised to check in, but it’s been absolute and complete radio silence since she left.

Most days Ian doesn’t ask much of him, understanding how torn up Harrison is after she left. Today was one of those days where Harrison sits in bed drinking straight from a bottle of expensive rum and stares at his phone, at her contact photo. It’s the only photo of her that he has. He took it one day while they were drinking hot chocolate at this small bakery in the North End. She has a whipped cream mustache and is flushing as Harrison holds his phone up, snapping a cheeky picture. She protested at first but he insisted that it could be used for his lockscreen. She immediately stole a picture of him as well, head tilted back in a laugh. He wonders if it’s still her lockscreen.

As if by some twist of fate, maybe his luck is finally turning around, his phone rings. And it’s Y/N.

He’s so excited he spills the remaining bottle of rum as he tries to set it down on the counter. But that could wait. Y/N couldn’t.

“Y/N? Is that you?” Harrison says, choking back tears as her ragged voice greets him on the other end.

“Haz?” There’s a short pause and several sharp breaths before she continues.

“I need you, Harrison. I made a huge mistake.”

***

Taglist (removed anyone who hasn’t interacted w the fic sorry I don’t want to type out a bunch of urls and have nobody interact; if you want to be added back message me!):  @gioandreolli   @honeymoonparker @itsjusttor @averyfosterthoughts @worldoftom @angelhaz11 @rebekkah4766   

[thrashermaxey]

Ramblings: Updates on Crawford, Pastrnak, Okposo; Trade Deadline Round-Up – February 26

  Kyle Okposo returned to the lineup for the Sabres on Monday night following his recovery from a concussion suffered in a fight. This is significant because Okposo’s concussion history is very well documented and there were fears this would be a long-term issue. You can’t help but be fearful for a player with his kind of history returning to action so soon but if he feels good and the doctors clear him, there’s not much that can be done. Let’s just hope that he decides to keep his gloves on his hands from now on.

*

We got an update on David Pastrnak and it appears he’ll be out for two more weeks. After that point, it’s a matter of him being comfortable playing with some sort of brace. That means

*

Corey Crawford has been activated off the injured reserve by the Blackhawks having recovered from his concussion. His injury history, like Kyle Okposo’s, is grossly concerning. Let’s just hope he can finish his career without further issue. Fingers crossed.

*

After the injuries suffered over the weekend, both Kris Letang and Brian Dumoulin are not expected to suit up in Pittsburgh’s game tonight against Columbus. There’s some thought that Letang’s injury is minor but details right now are sketchy. All the same, if it’s only a game or two, Letang fantasy owners can breathe a big sigh of relief. When we get further updates on either player (which may not happen given the time of year), we’ll pass them on.

*

Perhaps lost in the trade deadline shuffle on Monday afternoon was this news about Andreas Athanasiou:

  Andreas Athanasiou is going to center for the rest of the year

— Max Bultman (@m_bultman) February 25, 2019

  The immediate plan seems to be lining Athanasiou with Filip Zadina to see if they can develop some chemistry for next season. That gives AA some additional fantasy value in face-off leagues but I’m really more interested to see how he and Zadina mesh together. It gives people a reason to watch the Wings over the final six weeks.

*

My last Ramblings was Thursday prior which means I’ve missed out writing on much of the goings-on in the NHL over the last several days. I was able to weigh in on the Matt Duchene trade but that’s about it. I want to go through the deals again just to offer my opinion.

*

Late Sunday night (or early Monday morning, depending where you are), the San Jose Sharks acquired Gustav Nyquist for a pair of picks. You can read Dobber’s take here.

To review some things I’ve written on Nyquist in the last year, you can read about his lack of secondary assists here and need for power-play minutes here. His secondary assist rate has indeed rebounded from a poor 2017-18 rate to the second-highest of his six full-ish seasons. Though he hasn’t earned more PP ice time, Dylan Larkin’s shooting percentage at five-on-four rebounded from a disastrous 2017-18 mark and that has helped Nyquist add some more PP assists. Those are a couple reasons he’s having the season he’s having.

As far as the move to San Jose goes, this is likely a downgrade for him. I disagree with Dobber on one thing and that’s where he slots on the team. There are only two right-handed shots currently in the team’s top two lines, Joe Pavelski and Joonas Donskoi. It’s possible they go with three lefties on the second line, pushing Donskoi to the third line, but I think it makes more sense for Nyquist to replace Marcus Sorensen on Thornton’s line. We’ll see how that shakes out.

Nyquist’s fantasy fortunes hinge on his placement. Currently, five of the six forwards in San Jose’s top-6 is averaging at least 17 minutes a game and four are over 18 minutes. Meanwhile, the bottom-6, naturally, is about 15 minutes or fewer. Nyquist has moved to a better team but it’s not necessarily a better situation fantasy-wise.

*

There was a lot of hubbub on social media following the trade of Brandon Montour from Anaheim to Buffalo. You can read Ian’s take on that trade here.

The hubbub was largely around whether Montour’s poor 2018-19 season is a reflection of him, his team, his coach, or some combination of the three. To be sure, Anaheim’s injuries have negatively affected almost everyone on that roster. All the same, Randy Carlyle was the coach for Montour’s entire NHL career to date. Laying this year at Carlyle’s feet while disregarding the previous two seasons is disingenuous at best.

Though he’ll have time to develop his defensive game, at this point, he’s a much better offensive defenceman than a defensive one. His blue line defence has been subpar for his career and he doesn’t do a good job limiting shots from the dangerous areas (from Hockey Viz):

    There’s a very real possibility that Montour performs similarly to new teammate Rasmus Ristolainen: passable offensively but poor defensively, and the offence doesn’t make up for the lack of defence. It’s a question, then, of whether Montour can flourish under a new coach on a new team.

The gamble is sending prospect defenceman Brendan Guhle and the first-rounder for Montour. I’ve always liked Guhle’s ability at both ends and was seemingly coming into his own in the AHL the last year or so. He’ll get an immediate shot in the NHL with Anaheim, though that’s obviously a very poor situation.

Fantasy-wise, this isn’t great for Montour. He goes to a team where he’ll definitely be behind Rasmus Dahlin on the power-play chart, and most likely also behind Ristolainen. Without power play minutes, there’s unlikely to be much offensive production playing for a mid-pack offensive team. The upside for Montour in these conditions is something like Mattias Ekholm has been for most of his career: 8-10 goals and 30-35 points. I know Ekholm has exceeded that this year but it seems more a career year-type thing than a new norm.

*

I’m going to dive a lot deeper on the Fiala/Granlund trade in my next Ramblings. As far as the players are concerned, I don’t think it’s quite fair to just look at surface stats and spend a couple hundred words on it. I really want to dig in so I’ll do that on Thursday. For now, I’ll say this is a lot more even than people will care to admit.

You can read Dobber’s angle on this swap here.

*

You can read Dobber’s take on the Kevin Hayes trade here.

Though Hayes is on pace for some career bests, a lot of that is related to ice time. In fact, he’s not even sporting the highest points/60 minutes at five-on-five of his career (2.24), that actually came in his rookie year (2.33). This year isn’t really an aberration of production, either: from 2015-18, he was tied for 81st among 264 forwards with at least 2000 minutes in primary points/60 minutes. He was in the same range as names like Jack Eichel, Dylan Larkin, Joe Pavelski, and Anze Kopitar. Now, he did that largely in a middle-six role and not playing huge minutes like this year, but that’ll be much the same case in Winnipeg. Only now, he’ll get to play with the likes of Patrik Laine, Kyle Connor and Nikolaj Ehlers.

Hayes isn’t really a goal scorer. It’s not to say he can’t score, but he’s never averaged 2.5 shots per game, has cracked 20 goals once, and he may not get there this year. Winnipeg doesn’t need him to score, though. They have a plethora of goal scorers. They need players who can generate conditions conducive to scoring, and players to find their goal scorers. Hayes can do exactly that (from CJ Turtoro’s viz):

  So, yeah, he’s not nearly as good as Anze Kopitar at exiting his zone or gaining the opposing blue line, but you can see a similar profile, if watered down.

Hayes is also a player who has developed his defensive ability as his career has matures as well. The viz below from Hockey Viz isolates an individual player’s impact offensively and defensively at five-on-five. Over the last two years, he’s helped generate a lot of dangerous chances for the Rangers while limiting them at the other end:

    It does seem Hayes has really hit his stride over the last year or two. He was always solid offensively, but he’s really upped his defensive game of late. He is a good two-way centre who can be the playmaker that someone like Laine needs while covering responsibly, while not needing to play 18-19 minutes a night.

Though his scoring environment has improved, expectations for Hayes need to be kept in check. He’ll likely see 2-3 fewer minutes in ice time per night and that kind of loss is tough to make up, especially considering Hayes is already enjoying his highest on-ice team goal rate of his career. Fantasy owners should be happy with 12-14 points over the balance of the season.

*

Once the Blue Jackets acquired Matt Duchene, it was obvious they were pushing all in this year and Artemi Panarin was off the table. That meant Mark Stone was the clear-cut big fish, and he landed in Vegas in exchange for Erik Brannstrom, Oscar Lindberg, and a 2nd round pick. You can read Ian’s take here.

There’s not much to discuss here. We know how good Stone is; you’d only need Jason Pierre-Paul’s hand to count the number of right wingers in the NHL better than him. It’s a matter of where he slots, and as good as Reilly Smith and Alex Tuch are, Stone is now easily their best right winger.

Some people may see the return as light, but we don’t know what was going on behind the scenes. Calgary said they wouldn’t trade their top prospects or a first-round pick, Winnipeg traded a first-rounder for Kevin Hayes so trading more seemed unlikely, and the number of teams that A) are pushing for a Cup, and B) has a truly top-shelf prospect is limited. Maybe Nashville wasn’t willing to part with Eeli Tolvanen? If that were the case, we could cross San Jose, Calgary, Nashville, Winnipeg, and Tampa Bay (because they were standing pat) off the list. How many Cup contenders are left with the pieces necessary to acquire Stone? The Islanders could if they were willing to part with their first rounders from last year, which they may or may not have been. Possibly the Bruins? The list is short. So, while some people may view the return as light, the number of teams were a trade would be possible would similarly be light. Getting someone like Brannstrom, who has every look as a future top-pair guy, is a pretty good result.

*

I’ve long been a fan of Marcus Johansson but it’s more of a real-world thing than a fantasy thing. I imagine he’ll be lining up on the third line, which is fine, but he probably won’t be on the top PP unit. Third-line minutes as a two-way player with limited PP time doesn’t scream fantasy value to me. I think this is a decent deal for the Bruins to shore up an area of weakness for this year and for the next couple years, but it doesn’t move the needle fantasy-wise.

You can read Dobber’s take on the deal here.

*

Wayne Simmonds going to Nashville is a bit confusing to me. At this point, he’s a power-play specialist and I assumed that Brian Boyle was acquired for exactly that reason. I guess they have one for each PP unit now?

More interesting to me is Ryan Hartman going the other way. Hartman was a guy I was really excited about when he was traded from Chicago, thinking he could settle in the middle-six and provide some scoring both at even strength and on the PP.

Needless to say, it’s been a disaster.

I’m still a believer in Hartman. His shot rates are still good and considering he was playing third/fourth line minutes with no PP production, 10 goals and 20 points this year isn’t bad. He likely plays on the third line and second PP unit for the Flyers which means his fantasy value will be flimsy. This probably ends up being a better real-world deal than a fantasy deal, though.

You can read Cam’s take on the trade here.

from All About Sports https://dobberhockey.com/hockey-rambling/ramblings-updates-on-crawford-pastrnak-okposo-trade-deadline-round-up-february-26/