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batarella · 4 years

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3 birds 1 stone - BLUE

From a world once so cruel, that never seemed to have granted them the time enough to be together, it’d never built up into anything more perfect.

WORDS: 7785 WARNINGS: Sexual Content

MASTERLIST | 3 BIRDS 1 STONE MASTERLIST | RED | YELLOW

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Dick:

It was concerning how at the moment he stepped into the narrow elevator, he wasn’t the least bit surprised at the pile of animal shit at the corner. It wasn’t until the doors closed when he noticed it, or rather his nose did, and he had to clog his nostrils just so he doesn’t pass out on the floor.

“Gar!?” he yelled just as the doors opened. No one was there, save for Raven with a book sitting at the couch. She didn’t glance at him. “Gar, I swear if you took a shit in the elevato-“

“That wasn’t me!”

Gar’s voice came from the kitchen, panting and occupied with something unruly. Then he heard plates falling to the floor, breaking, then there was a whimper. Not one that came from a human.

“Then who was it!?”

His question was soon answered, when a dog, a brown-furred mutt, sprinted out into the living room with a strip of bacon lodged in its teeth. “Gar!”

“I told you!”

Gar came out of the kitchen with a leash that had been ripped. “It wasn’t me!”

“You brought a dog into the tower?!”

“It was hungry!”

The mutt had finished off the bacon and headed straight for Raven’s lap. She gave it a scratch under its ear.

“Not on the couch,” Dick said.

“But Dick-“

“You’re not allowed on the couch either,” he told Gar. The boy murmured something Dick couldn’t hear, and after a second, no longer was he a boy but a green parrot. It squealed against Dick’s ear before it flew to Raven’s book.

“Jesus-“ he rubbed his ear. “I’m not in the mood.”

“SQUAWK-,” the parrot said. “WHAT’S UP WITH YOU?”

Having some coherent answer to that would only cement it as some grueling reminder. Hell, even thinking about it hurts more than the coward’s way out of pretending the past year never even happened. But then again, here he was, back in the Titan’s Tower to escape from the love of his life he could never be with and force himself into this infernal damnation of having forever to get over her. Here. Thousands of miles away. Where he’d only have his thoughts to battle and nothing else.

But all he said was: “Nothing.”

Dick should have told her, at least. Given her that kind of closure instead of his current disappearing act without so much as a note or a text or even a notice memo at the manor’s announcement board, which Alfred insisted with there being eight kids around.

But being away will be good. For her. For him. The first step to moving on. And with that, cutting all ties. Make it hurt less for both of them.

Maybe not all ties. He’ll have to go back to Gotham soon enough. But at least he was trying something. Not like the past five, six, seven years. God, has it really been that long?

She was probably over at Tim’s office, or Jason’s apartment doing whatever. Thinking about it won't do him any good. Doesn’t mean he subconsciously won’t.

It was apparent, and out into full consciousness, when he pulled out his phone and saw her name in five missed calls, with voice messages she’s left behind. A whole lot of minutes of them, too, it seems. She’d called while he was on the plane.

He could listen to them. Hear her voice one last time. Let his mind trail away. God, he was pathetic.

Dick put it up to his ear, his other hand stuffed to his pockets as he went out to the tower’s highest balcony so at least the air wasn’t so stuffy and he wouldn’t choke so much.

He wasn’t even nervous when he heard her speak. “Hey, Dick.”

A plane. A helicopter. Some folks over at the apartment building nearby partying it out. At least he’d have something to look at. He was exhausted, too. It was eight am over at Gotham. Shouldn’t have taken the overnight flight.

“You weren’t at the manor. I tried calling there first. I wanted to see you. Call me when you get this?”

He might. After he listens to the four other messages she’d left behind.

“Hey. I know it’s only been an hour. But please call me.”

Another one.

“Dick, where are you? I hope you didn’t change your phone. or I’ll look stupid leaving all these messages behind, which I’m not about to stop doing. Call me. Please. No one knows where you are but no one’s panicking either. It’s worrying me.”

Next one. From another hour after. He’d been gone a little over ten hours since he left. If Bruce didn’t have a tracker on him, they’d have called the police by now. But he highly doubted Bruce would take the time to announce his little trip to the West Coast to everyone in the house.

“Dick, if this is you ignoring me, you’re doing a hell of a good job at it. Did I do something?”

He heard her huff over the phone. No one else seemed to be around her.

“Please, I just wanna talk. Call me.”

The last one. Sent just four hours ago, which meant she’d been awake at four in the morning.

And, on top of that, the last one was five whole minutes long.

A call to tell her she was dating Tim again? Explaining how there are no hard feelings? Catch a movie sometime? An ass of him to think she’d be that cruel, but he was jetlagged and exhausted and the smell of dog shit still hadn’t left, which could be explained because that mutt had made a home just a few feet away from where he stood.

Dick played the message despite all that. Even if she called to tell him she’s getting married. He’d answer it.

“Dick…”

He could hear the rain, sheets shuffling under her feet.

“I’m sorry…” she said. “I… I probably took too long… I guess, if you’re ignoring me, you still deserve to know. I hope you get this message. I’ll tell you now, I guess. So you won't have to respond if you don’t want to.”

Tears. He could hear her wipe them off her skin.

“I kept you waiting for… I wanna say months but it’s a lot longer than that. Years… God, and I didn’t even see it… I took too long trying to figure this all out for myself, and you just kept waiting for me. No one should be worth waiting for that long.”

He was laughing as if it were one of her god-awful jokes. Funnily enough, it was worth it. Even when it sent him nowhere in the end. All that waiting was worth it. Somehow.

“Which is why I don’t blame you. Because you shouldn’t have taken this long. I thought even if I took another few weeks before I’d have enough courage to finally ask you to be mine, you’d still be there waiting for me. Selfish as it is, but I guess that’s your fault, too. Spoiling me and whatnot. Now my expectations for men are out of hand. Sorry.”

She even fucking laughed all the while he could hear her biting back her sobs. If he were there, he’d hold her by the shoulders and squeeze the fucking sense back into her and tell her yes, I did wait for you, and I’d wait for you for a hundred more years if I had to but I know you love someone else and-

Wait.

Backtrack.

What the hell did she just say!?

“I mean, I’m…” she continued, completely ignoring his panic. Was there a rewind on this thing??? “The past two days all I did was read your letter. Over and over again, trying to find something I could have missed. I memorized it by now. I’m a wreck. I’m sorry. I know it’s all so complicated, but I can't stop thinking that if the timing had just been good to us the past few years, all this would have been so different.”

Shit, shit, shit, shit, SHIT, is she actually saying she-

“I’m so sorry, Dick…” she sighed. “I kept you waiting. But even if… even if you’re not anymore, I already made up my mind. I’ll be here. It’s my turn to wait for you. As long as it takes. I love yo-“

Something hit the back of his knees.

Which, unfortunately, with him not in some defensive stance, caught him in a rather vulnerable position.

And with that, Dick tumbled off his feet, almost fell off the railing, and failed to catch his phone from slipping right off his hands.

“NO!”

“DOWN BOY-SQUAWK!” Gar the parrot cried and followed the obnoxiously unruly dog running around the terrace. “SORRY, DICK!”

The dog kept running around and almost crashed to his feet twice with it being too fast even for Gar's supposedly swift wings, and if he wasn’t so frozen and horrified, watching his phone descend from almost a hundred stories above ground, he would have grabbed that mutt by the neck.

“GAR, I SWEAR TO GOD-“

“I’m sorry!” He turned back into a human and caught the dog. “It was him!”

“My fucking phone just fell over the railing!”

“Want me to go get it-“

A car alarm. He could hear it even from above. Or Gar did. Because he went to look over and caught sight of his phone breaking a car’s windshield below. He scratched the back of his neck. “Sorry.”

“I have to…” Dick pulled on his scalp. “I have to go call her.”

“Call who?!”

“Give me your phone!”

“I don’t have a phone!”

“Give me Raven’s phone!”

“She talks to people with her mind,” Gar twirled his finger against his temple. “She doesn’t need a phone!”

“Just get- UGH!”

He stormed back into the building. “Where the hell is everyone else!?”

“They’re all out of town!”

“So it’s just you and Raven in here?! Without adult supervision!?”

“Why do you think we got a dog into the building?!”

Said dog stuck his tongue out at him like it was just so awfully adorable.

“Ok, ok, ok, ok, ok.” He can do this. He can calm down. “I have to go back. Or call her at least.”

“You’re going back to Gotham now?!”

She said she’ll wait. But to hell with keeping her waiting. “Yes. I do. I’m going back now. As soon as I can call her and tell her I’m on my way-“

“I wouldn’t do that.”

Raven didn’t even look up from her book, legs up on the couch as seemingly relaxed as if the whole wreck of a home they lived in wasn’t a mess at all.

“Next flight to Gotham’s in an hour.” She levitated an apple to her mouth and took a bite. “And the one after that’s in two days.”

“Two days!?”

“Airline shutdown. Some strike is happening,” she pointed at the TV playing the news. “I’d hurry if I were you.”

“God fucking dammit-“

“Good luck.” Raven took another bite.

Of course. Of course, this would fucking happen.

But, fuck, he didn’t know if he should just leap out the window to keep up now that everything he’s ever wished for had finally come to be. Because, to his own beliefs up in the clouds, he could probably fly with just the flap of his measly arms.

Y/N chose him.

He left for the elevator, just before Gar stopped him for leaving his wallet, then he was sprinting his way back to the airport.

You:

“I already made up my mind,” you said to your phone as if there were anyone else on the other line. As if he was there, listening to you. And that in a few seconds, he’d respond.

“I’ll be here. It’s my turn to wait for you. As long as it takes. I love you, Dick.”

Quite haunting how easy it was for those words to just roll off your lips, because as much as you thought all this to be so complicated and difficult, it was the easiest thing you’ve ever had to say.

At four am, alone in your studio with all your lights off and your sheets in an unkempt mess. You stuck your knees so close to your chest, trying to conceal at least some kind of warmth against you. But even with it so easy, it didn’t mean it wasn’t hurting.

“I can't,” you stuck your palm to your forehead. “I know things are so hard between us… and this past year is just…”

You breathed, longer than you’d hoped, just to get enough air into your lungs just so you wouldn’t collapse.

“God, I don’t even know what to tell you anymore. It all just… It feels like it’s too late. Everything went so wrong between us and I can't stop but think maybe it’s the world saying we’re just not meant to be,” you swallowed. “And the scary thing is… I don’t even care.”

The blue rose you painted, staring back at you once so bright, but as the passing days of you still wondering if were brave enough to do this at all, it had dried up and was now blank, patronizing even, that maybe it just wasn’t right, even when you wanted it to be.

“I don’t care if it’s so complicated, I want you…”

On the bed, just by your feet, you locked your eyes onto Dick’s beautiful handwriting, some that had been smudged with the sweat from your hands with the paper now crumpled up after all those months of reading and rereading.

You closed your eyes.

“You sent me an awfully painful, heart-breaking letter,” you said. “This is my awfully painful, heart-breaking reply.”

‘I usually just say all this in my head. That’s when I get poetic. Sometimes I write it down. Most of the time, I try to paint them. I think of galaxies and meadows and skies and flowers and all that, metaphors as they are, but I’ll say everything I’ve got. Right now. Because you deserve to know that all those years of you thinking nothing could ever go how you wanted, that it could end being just that.

Dick:

“Hey.”

Hands on the counter, the attendant looked startled at the least.

“I need a ticket for the next flight to Gotham.”

“I’m sorry, sir,” she said, after taking a while to look at Dick’s handsome yet frantically uneasy face. “You just missed it-“

“I know, I know, I missed the last one.” The one that left just five minutes ago because of fucking California traffic. “But I need to get on the next one. Please.”

“All flights from San Francisco after the next hour are canceled I’m afraid.”

“Any connecting flights? Anything that leaves before that?”

“Sir, I-” she stretched her fingers. “I’ll look for something.”

His fingers, tapping onto the counter until the tip of his nails started to hurt.

“The best option’s a connecting flight to Denver, then to New York.”

“New York!?”

“Then there’s the railway transits to Gotham. I can book you a ticket for that, too.”

From a seven-hour flight to a seventeen-hour trip with layovers and a crowded train.

But as soon as he heard best option he pulled out his wallet quicker than when they told him his rent was three months overdue and that if he weren’t to pay the doorman that very instant they’d evict him.

He rushed to the first plane, closed his eyes, and prayed she hadn’t said anything in her voice message too important for him to miss out on.

‘The universe, or whatever it is out there that has a say in all this, they didn’t make it easy for us at all. If they did, we would have met long before we went too far into this mess. We were friends, sure, and you have no idea how much I value our friendship.

But I guess not even that friendship’s strong enough for us to deny what’s really going on. And that’s why it’s all so hard. I can't even look at you without thinking about kissing you, or holding you, or touching you. I can't hold your hand without wanting to never pull away. I can't even be in the same room with you and not stare, even when you’re just reading a book or talking to someone else. You are… you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, and you’re just as beautiful within, which is why it was so easy to love you, and so hard to keep it in.’

You:

Morning. Eleven am at that. You slept before the sun was up, at least. But you were up all night.

Nothing. Not a call, not even a text from him.

Everything shattered, and you were still half asleep. The next thing you did, and the next thing to do, was wrap yourself up with the thickest layer of your blanket and hide in the dark, even with it such a lovely day.

Another message wouldn’t be such a good idea if he still hadn’t opened the last five, which seemed highly unlikely with him gone for almost a day now.

A day. It had been a day.

But nothing on GCPD’s notices reported a missing person’s file of an utterly gorgeous, half-Romani hunk of a man in any of their websites. You called the manor, again. Still, there was nothing.

Twelve at noon. All you had for lunch was a bagel from three nights ago. It stuffed you, at least.

You sat at your dining table and stared at your phone.

If there was a moment for so much love to come crashing at once, it would all have been too great for that to be possible.

But the moment you realized it was there at all,

A few weeks ago. Steph’s birthday.

A party at the manor. It wasn’t much. Just a little get together with everyone at the parlor.

Everyone was talking, laughing, and frankly you wished you’d joined them. It looked like fun.

But instead, you were looking out the window, at the gardens white with melted snow and winds strong enough to knock the leaves out the branches. But you couldn’t hear any of that, which made it peaceful. It was the trees that danced, birds instead of planes that hovered over the sky, not a star above but perhaps it was because it was so full of clouds. It looked cold. Cold always looked so beautiful when you were looking out from the warmth of the inside.

Dick walked up to your side, just a reasonable distance away so he wouldn’t touch your shoulder, but close enough that you’d smell the jasmine from his neck.

“You’re just gonna stand out here and watch the glass fog up?”

You remembered laughing, probably at something else he’d said after that.

“It’s pretty when you look hard enough.”

And all the while, he didn’t pull your arm and drag you over at the crowd. He didn’t tell you to join them, to loosen up and have fun or have a drink or in any way stop you from what you were doing.

He just stood there and joined you, instead. Ditched his family. Didn’t even speak much.

He stood there because he wanted to. Because you staring out the window was more interesting to him than a whole crowd of kids doing whatever.

When he balled up his fist, covered it with his sleeve, and wiped the window right in front of you to rid it from the fog so you could see the gardens clearer, you knew you loved him.

Such a small act that was, but it was the finality of everything else that built up to that moment.

Then, you remembered what you told him last night, in a voice message that lasted way too long and sounded far too painful.

‘I don’t regret what I had with Tim… but I do regret not saying anything the past four years when I had the chance. You were there. You were there and I could never have had it any other way. When we’re not trying so hard for everything to be alright, everything’s at its best. I’m not even your girlfriend, and already I think about every minute I spend with you and laugh before I’m off to bed. I think about your jokes way too long than they should ever last. And your smile, god your smile, saying that that it’s all I could ever think about wouldn’t do it any justice. You have drawn out the ugliest laugh out of me that never should have come out of any human in existence. And frankly, I’m glad you do. Because just when I thought I could never smile again, you made me the happiest I could ever be.’

Dick:

Of all days. Of all times.

His survival rate at that point, rushing through Denver Airport with just a fifteen-minute layover period, with his shoelaces undone, probably wasn’t one he should have relied on. He was starving, but he had the appetite of a mammal in hibernation with the horrible airplane food costing a hundred dollars and everything else taking too long to prepare.

With just thirty seconds to spare, he fell to his too-narrow coach seat, shuffled along so his large ass-damn this cursed asset-would fit through the aisle and breathed just as the air hissed into the cabin after they closed the service door.

Head against the back of the seat, eyes up the ceiling, at the smoke that blew in through that gap outside the overhead locker, he ignored his dried skin, his dry mouth, his feet that were close to standing on a thousand knife tips, his eyes so close to just shutting out, his wallet painfully thin with this whole trip costing the equivalent of a round trip to Shanghai, and his whole body about to collapse. He hasn’t slept in twenty-four hours. It didn’t look like he was ever going to sleep at all.

And he hasn’t even called. God, what was she doing at home? Is she okay? Is she eating okay? Is she worried about him, staring at her phone wondering what she did wrong when she was nothing less of a perfect creation of all the gods that existed, an angel the earth didn’t deserve?

He really, really had to call.

Someone just sat next to him. A child. And next to him was his mother, who just put down her phone from a call.

“Excuse me.” Dick put on his award-winning smile, pretended he wasn’t sweating his balls off or that he was in any way close to psychological death, and hoped he looked the part as well.

“Yes?”

“Is it okay if I, uh, borrow your phone? I have to make a call. It’s sort of an emergency.”

“The plane’s about to take off.”

“It won't take long. I promise.”

He probably didn’t look as charming as he’d hoped. His hair was a mess not even a bird would settle into. The woman looked at him quizzically, up and down, and shrugged. Like it was handed to him on a silver plater, she gave him her phone.

The aircraft was about to take off. He only had so long.

He called Y/N’s number that he didn’t even know he memorized and settled back. It started ringing.

“MOM!”

The kid beside him. He was tugging on his mother’s shirt.

“MOM, I’M BORED.”

“We’re in a plane,-“

“I’M BORED. I WANNA PLAY ROBLOX-“

“Not now, we’re in a plane. Sit down.”

“GIVE ME YOUR PHONE-“

“That man has my phone.”

Fuck.

Y/N, fucking pick up.

“HEY, GIVE ME MY MOM’S PHONE BACK-“

“Kid, I hear ya. But you have to give me this one-“

“GIVE ME THE PHONE-“

That kid, a chubby one not older than six, stood up from his chair and was wild enough to grab Dick’s hand away from holding the phone up his ear. If he weren’t so desperate, he would have let him have it.

But god almighty, he’s never been as desperate as a starving man in a desert.

“Kid. Just one minute.”

“NO, GIVE ME!”

The mother put on a sleeping mask and faced the other way.

“KID-“

“GIVE ME MY PHONE-“

Back and forth, both grabbing onto the phone and the kid having the strength he did not at all expect, they ended up wrestling it out in the cramped-up economy seats until the kid was screaming out his ears.

He’s never looked so ridiculous but jokes on everyone else if they thought he could care less.

“Excuse me.”

An attendant, bags under her eyes and giving both of them, not just the kid, a dirty look.

“I’m sorry, sir, but the other passengers have complained about the noise. I’m gonna have to ask you to take your seat.”

“NO!” the kid screamed.

“DID YOU JUST BITE ME!?” Dick cried out.

“GIVE ME THE PHONE!”

“I NEED TO CALL SOMEONE!”

Dick grabbed the phone off his hands, palm to the kid’s face to stop him from reaching out to his outstretched arm. “Don’t you have some kind of coloring book you can give him?”

The attendant smiled, albeit forcefully, and walked back over to the back of the cabin. The kid did not stop trying to grab it off Dick’s arm.

She gave the kid a bag that probably had books and crayons and whatever stuffed inside. It looked so old. It had to have been in storage for the past ten years.

But as if some miracle heard him, the kid shut up, took the bag, and settled on his seat. Then he was as quiet as a mouse.

Fucking finally.

He held the phone up his ear and closed his eyes, fingers easing the tension on the nerve on his forehead.

“And sir?”

The attendant smiled at him. It didn’t look so much of a smile as it was a death threat.

“I’m gonna have to ask you to turn off your mobile device.”

To say he wanted to squeeze the life out of everyone in the whole aircraft, including himself, wouldn’t cut it.

And he didn’t even have it in him to protest.

“Hello?”

Her voice. At the other end of the line. That word was all there is to it, the only thing he heard.

Dick sighed, closed his eyes, counted to three, then ended the call after just two seconds.

The next thing he heard, for the next three hours, would be the screams of the child at his side, kicking on his seat like a fucking soccer ball.

‘That call from a year ago. The one about Kori. Fuck, I don’t even know where to begin. I overreacted. By a mile. Did some stupid shit to make up for that guilt and masked it over as another heartbreak when really, it was me refusing to have to go through all that again. I had to see you with that woman when I was in love with you for three years. Of course, it hurt. But I shouldn’t have an excuse. It was so stupid. Just thinking about it makes me want to break. I’m so sorry about that, Dick. I know we’ve already been over that months ago, but I just want to clear everything while I still can. God, I don’t even know if you’d listen to all this. I’m rambling. I’m sorry. I put all the blame on you when I had my share of mistakes. A whole lot of them. I’m sorry. I love you. And I’m sorry.’

You:

Hung up after two seconds. All you heard on the other end of the line was breathing and huffing, and nothing else. Whoever it was, they’ve been calling the past two minutes, just as you stepped out of the shower. And you almost cracked a rib flying from your bathroom to your kitchen table with just a towel around you, hoping to see his name on the screen. But alas, your luck just wasn’t at its peak.

You put your phone down, still with nothing to do, nothing else you could think of doing, than to just wait on that seat, stare at your phone, and hope Dick hadn’t hurt himself going after some goon alone the night before. Still no missing persons report. Nothing from the rest of the team, either.

Maybe just once more. You could call him. It wouldn’t annoy him too much. It had been hours since the last one.

You called, put the phone up your ear.

No ringing. It went straight to voice mail.

You opened your mouth, thinking you had something to say.

But you didn’t have anything to say. Not anymore. Not after you poured your whole heart out on the last one and now your throat was as dry as your palms were sweating.

You put your phone down, facing away from you, then you sank to your arms, burying your crumbling face away even with no one to see you.

‘That’s why I hate myself for not caring if this was difficult. Because I know, somehow, that’s it’s all still gonna be worth it. With you. Just thinking about the things we’d do, you’ve been the light of my life, the one person I look for not just because I need it, but because being with you makes so much of my day, every day that I see you. I look for you in crowds. I turn to your face when I want to look at something pleasant. I stare at doors, constantly hoping you’d be the one to walk in. I seek out for your voice, call you even when I know it’s a bother, find the most ridiculous excuses and the most stupid questions just so I’d have a reason to stand close to you, to have you talking to me, wanting all that everyday. I’ve never met anyone like you, Dick. I’ll never get used to you, and there’s no way in hell that I’d ever get tired of you. And maybe that’s the price to pay with all this being so hard. As complicated as it is, the troubles aren’t half the worth of the happiness it comes with.’

Two flights, three within the past thirty hours, jet-lagged far beyond a night’s repair, and his stomach in so many knots that even the bag of peanuts from the plane was too much to digest. And it wasn’t from poisoning or hunger or whatever it was. Everything in a whirlwind, one he can't even track.

He got to New York before it was dark, and he wanted to kiss the floor.

But he wasn’t at Gotham yet. This trip wasn’t over.

And if it weren’t for the half a million people crowded over at the airport, he would have been in Gotham right at that second.

Past the crowd, fumbling and running for whatever life he had left that wasn’t a spirit descended into something infinitely better than this, he made it over to the other side of the terminal, with his pits sweating his shirt off and his legs made of cooked chicken drumsticks and dough.

He got to the railway station, over at the attendant behind the counter.

“Excuse me,” he panted, and just like the one at the San Francisco airport, it startled her. Except now, there was no using his charm or his looks when he looked like he crawled out of a swamp.

“To Gotham,” he said.

“Ticket?”

He reached for his wallet, hands shaking so horribly it was worrying if he hadn’t known it came with his mind being as much of a mess as a wrecked ship from the 1800s.

And all the more did they tremble, down to his sorry knees, when he opened every flap there was on his wallet to find every pocket empty.

No.

No. no. no. no. no.

He searched his pockets. His jacket. His pants. His fucking shoes. If he had a hat he’d probably look into that too.

Nothing. Not a stub. A tiny stub that would have easily been blown by so much as a gust from a fan, let alone running a marathon in three airports in a single day.

“I,” he swallowed. “I seemed to have lost my ticket.”

Yeah. He wasn’t getting out of this one. The attendant looked at him and snarled like the annoyance he was.

“All the trains are sold out. And I’m afraid you can't board the train without a ticket.”

“Ma’am, I really, really, have to get to Gotham-“

“I’m afraid you’re gonna have to step out of the line.”

Like every force in the universe was out to get him.

“Do you have a phone? A payphone at least? I really need to call someone-“

“Sir, please step out of the line.”

“Please, ma’am, there has to be some way you can squeeze me into one of those trains-“

The attendant waved at someone behind him.

Two security guards were at his side before he could even turn around.

“Alright, alright, I’m leaving,” he huffed. “You guys don’t happen to have a phone I could use?”

Both guards ignored him, set him aside against a pillar.

And, with the excruciating exhaustion finally crashing into this one blow to the face, he stuck his back against the column, head up to the ceiling, then fell on his ass.

God, what does he even say to her after this?

If he actually gets to talk to her, that is.

“Final call for boarding!”

That light. One, single light. Or two, if he focused his eyes. The headlights from outside the revolving doors, from a bus that just opened its doors. It was a light, because it had GOTHAM in bold letters pasted onto its windshield.

And a line of people stepping inside. Kids and adults, old people alike.

He sat up from the floor, hungry, tired, and in pain.

But this was all going to be worth it. Every minute of this.

He just knew, that one last push, after this tormenting, inferno of a day, would all come to an end he’d dreamed about since he first laid eyes on her that day at the Wayne Manor’s library.

Dick got in line outside the bus, told the conductor he’d pay when they get inside. And after he did, he had just a quarter in his wallet to spare. No one sat beside him. The others were at the back. The one across was fast asleep. He couldn’t call her.

He’ll just have to hope, that whatever worries she had waiting for him to come up, that she’d forgive him enough for all this to end the way he hoped it would.

Three hours on a bus.

Didn’t even sound like it was remotely a long time.

The moment he took his seat, the bus doors hissed closed, and the air so silent, so did everything else calm.

He’s waited so long.

But he just had to wait for another three hours. In a bus. Then he’ll see her.

He closed his eyes.

‘I don’t even know why I rambled so much about all this being so complicated.

Because even if I had to walk up to the sky, I know there’s a galaxy waiting for me at the end. You are worth it. You are worth everything. I’ve never been so obsessed with anyone my whole life. You are, with my whole heart, my greatest love. And you are so beautiful that I never want to look at anything else ever again. And I never thought I’d get know beauty the way I do when I talk to you. You are everything I could ever want. And so much more.

And that pain, that hurt we both had to go through after all those years. That pining and waiting, and the heartbreak just because I was too stupid to understand that it didn’t have to be so hard after all, it doesn’t even matter, when at the end, I get to be with you.

I’d go through all that again if it means I can be with you.

You are the man I’ve dreamt about since I could first dream, and I’m lucky enough to have you in my reality. It’s you I want, Dick.

So I’ll wait for you. As long as I have to.

I love you so much.

Please, for the love of God, call me.’

You:

That message.

The longer you stared at your phone, the more you wondered if it was the right thing to do at all.

It was four am. You were tired. And worried.

And it was four am now, a whole day after.

Not a single call.

You’ve done it this time. You tripped at the finish line.

You were selfish enough to keep that man waiting for so long hoping he’d keep going, just as he had been for years.

And now, this is what you get.

You have yourself alone, in your apartment, one you haven’t cleaned in a week, and your heart in the same shatters as it often had been.

Your phone rang. You weren’t so excited to pick it up. Rightfully so when you saw it was just Bruce.

“Hello?” you said, your weight against the table’s surface, also surprised that it hadn’t broken.

“Y/N,” Bruce said. “I heard you were looking for Dick.”

“Mhm?”

“Sorry I haven’t called. Anyways, the last location I can point him to was at the Titans Tower in San Francisco.”

Okay.

You’ve had your heart broken before.

But it wasn’t just that that had broken right then.

Everything else, every bone, every bit of flesh there was, it was this numbing buzz you couldn’t even fight.

“What?”

Just then, someone knocked on your door.

And it wasn’t just a knock. They were pounding against the wood.

The ringing in your ears hadn’t even subsided, and you were breathless, muscles stiff. You just let the pounding go on until you heard Bruce hang up on the other line.

Life didn’t even give you so much as a second to process all that, of what he could be doing there, who he was with.

Your walked to the door, and without looking into the eyehole, you unlatched the lock and opened it.

Some glitch there was if all this were nothing but a simulation.

But it was as if the last five minutes-no-the last two days hadn’t happened at all.

Dick never looked like such a mess.

But, nonetheless, the way you stared at him was as if he was as beautiful as he ever was.

Everything that had broken, the moment you looked into his eyes, had fallen right back into place, into an entity far stronger than any quake could knock it out of.

Dick shut the door behind him.

He grabbed your face.

Then he kissed you. Without words. Without letting so much as a speck of time, however it worked now that it’d stopped, pass and waste away.

Dick:

Whatever she told him in that message he never got to hear, everything she ever had to say, the instant he felt her kiss him back, it was like every word flew out of her lips. How she wanted him. How she chose him. How in love she was with the mess of a human being he could be. How all the trials they’d been forced to go through, all the misunderstandings and the fights and the long months of this troubling, awkward place they wanted nothing more than to climb out of. He got all that with the way her lips molded so wanting and harsh, pressed so hard against his dried, chapped pair that have never witnessed anything more beautiful and so awfully perfect.

No more time to be wasted.

Not another second.

He had her. He finally had her.

He got the girl.

Not a chance that he wasted so much as another second.

He pushed her against the wall and the gasp that came out of her wasn’t at all out of pain, but at the sheer desire that had sparked at such impact that only knocked her into the same place he’d long settled in. And he could just feel, how much she wanted so badly to speak, to tell him what was raging in her head that was as much of a mess as his. But they’ll talk. Eventually. After.

All he wanted, right then, was to have her. Love her. Love her. To send her off to some paradise that long surpassed oceans and mirages and heavens that stood on clouds, to culminate that seemingly endless torture into a reward so great, that to say it would have been worth it would be so much an understatement. To play every instrument there was and let the song resonate into her body, and make it last for the rest of his life for so long as he could touch her. All that, he was going to give her tonight. Tonight. Right then and there.

Grabbing her legs up to his hips, her hands pinned to the wall above her head, it was too much of a flash for him to rush into this beautiful thing that shouldn’t be rushed at all. But he couldn’t slow down if it meant that he lives. Even if he died right after, he just couldn’t hold back.

He was pushing himself into her and the sounds that he earned out his lips were more than any songbird could cry out. After just having her against that wall, he finally got the sense to take it to the bed. It was dark. Not a light was on. And it was raining outside the one window she had near the bed and just the streetlight outside was enough to make him see her face. Dick placed her on top of his lap, on which she enjoyed herself to her own pace. Her hips were like waves, the ocean that rocked about, and the stain on his pants that she’d left behind was just as wet as so.

At that moment even she didn’t want to wait and talk any longer.

He took off her clothes, lied back.

Then he hoisted her up so the sweetest part of her body was just hovering over his mouth, her strong, beautiful legs, one of skin and the other of metal, on either sides of his head.

You:

You were made of gemstones. You were shimmering.

Of diamonds and rubies and emeralds, of the most precious rocks that could be found on every soil on earth.

Everything. That pain. That darkness. All the troubles and hardships, the disputes and every tear you’ve ever had to shed. Gone. Gone when he drew out this wonderful melody of sensations from his sweet, sweet tongue quivering you to every core. You were rocking, shaking, trembling, barely keeping yourself up. Not long after you screamed, and like the skies heard you it screamed back with a thunderous roar.

Then Dick shed his own clothes and moved inside you, rolling your hips with your two bodies now this one, beautiful entity, like you were holding his hand, just as you did right then, as you both ran through the darkness of a cave that has long haunted you, with creatures and bats and ghosts flying about, just to reach the end that was a light so close and so bright, you chased yourselves, chased that very light.

And once you reached it, that blinding, flashing white light that shone with this painful, glorious sting to every bit of your flesh, to say you found that end would be wrong. It wasn’t an end. It was this continuous, tantalizing aroma that would last a lifetime. It was beauty. You felt beauty. And it was in ripples you couldn’t see. A blur you couldn’t comprehend.

You had so much to tell him and ask him about.

But just as that wonderful night showed you, you had the rest of your life to do just that.

Epilogue

Dick:

Life could only ever be so cruel.

But life gives its niceties. Sometimes, to the people so used to it that they take it for granted.

But it’s even more so of a nicety when it’s the people who’ve long deserved it.

Not to say he deserved the world, but it was just that he’d gotten. From a world once so cruel, that never seemed to have granted them the time enough to be together, it’d never built up into anything more perfect.

Watching her from his car’s driver seat, from where he had a perfect view of her looking at the wondrous scenes flash by outside the window. It was even more beautiful, more than ever before, now that he could take just a second off his time from the steering wheel just to kiss her.

Just a little over six months together. Never has there been anything so rewarding in his life. A rainbow, ten of them at least, that filled what was once this depressingly grey sky. He always knew it’d be worth the world. But even he surprised himself.

When they parked the car, got out into this wide, orange field, a farmland just outside of Jersey with a valley at the farthest end, the only thing that battled the brightness of her smile was the sun itself.

“It’s beautiful, Dick.”

Her voice, even more so.

He set up her canvas, all her paint, and her brushes. They found a spot on the grass that was clean enough for them both to sit on. She didn’t use her easel. Instead, they both laid on this plaid red and white sheet over the grassy soil, her using her own knees to hold it up. And Dick sat beside her, watching her as the hours ticked. Without looking away, no longer ashamed when she’d catch him.

Just before the last of the sun had set, he pulled out from his pocket a ring, one with a diamond a shape of a white rose on top.

He got it a week after they got together.

Her face, her lips wide open as she realized what came in front of her, then he asked her to be his. Forever.

She said yes, just as the sun fell.

-----

MASTERLIST | 3 BIRDS 1 STONE MASTERLIST | RED | YELLOW

-----

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scarletwidowvibes · 4 years

Text

The Kitsune

10k x fem!Reader

*requested*

You had been walking on a long road when a group of survivors stopped next to you. An old man rolled down the car window and smiled,

“Hey there! You’re looking a little lonely.”

You weren’t lonely. Having spent a few hundred years moving from town to town before anyone started noticing you weren’t aging at a proper speed, you had grown to be distant from others. Of course, you would have never expected a zombie apocalypse to start in your lifetime, so maybe you could use a little human interaction.

“Uh sure,” you replied, “I haven’t seen an actual person for like four months, I think.”

The old man whistled, “yeah that is a long time to be alone. Are you going anywhere specific?”

“Nope, just following this road until I hit civilization.” You said, gesturing to the road ahead of you.

“How have you survived this long alone?” A younger man, boy?, asked.

“I’m very skilled with the katana.” You said, pulling your sword out of the hilt a little. You also had other weapons in your arsenal, but you decided to keep those to yourself so that you didn’t scare away the group.

A dark skinned woman then stepped out of the second car and walked up to you. She looked you over, staring especially hard at your eyes and the sword on your belt.

“How about you travel with us for a little while, until we find more people,” she offered, extending her hand to you, “my name is Warren.”

“I’m Y/n,” you told her, shaking her hand, “I think that would be lovely, thank you.”

“Okay. You can ride with Doc and 10k.” Warren said, motioning to the car with the old man and the young man.

You got into the backseat, introduced yourself to the two men, and then you were off with a new a group of people.

~~~~~

That had happened about ten weeks ago, and now, even though you hadn’t found more people, you decided it was about time to leave. 10k was getting a little too close to you, and you were becoming uneasy with the feelings you knew well blossoming in your chest again.

You had fallen in love a couple times before, when you were younger and naïve to the fact that you could never truly be with someone. Your mother warned you not to get too close to people because in the end you would either be forced to move on or to watch them die.

Being a kitsune definitely had its perks, but you have never felt ready to settle down with someone and watch them age away without you. Also, your mother had told you what could happen if you become too sad or angry. The fox in you would lash out and do drastic things, going as far as murdering those around you.

Because it’s been a few years since you shifted from a fox to a human you have found ways to keep the fox at bay. Playing a few tricks and pranks here and there helped to control the mischievous spirit, but you were scared that if you let someone get too close to you and then lost them -- the apocalypse would be the least of everyone’s worries.

So, when you started experiencing those feelings again, you decided it was time to leave this group behind. No one knew when someone would die in these times, and you were not ready to face that kind of despair.

It was the middle of the night and you were silently packing up your belongings. You didn’t tell anyone in the group about what you really were, and with the looming feeling of love over your heart you weren’t going to risk lashing out on them.

Telling them would be complicated and they would probably throw you out anyways, so in your mind this was the best thing to do. You would no longer be a threat to the group’s safety.

You tie your belongings together and quietly pick them up, holding them to your chest. Your plan is to run for a long distance until the campsite was gone from view.

You have nine tails, a sign to others that you carry great wisdom with you. Having nine tails also unlocks the ability to hear anything happening around the world, and it would be tempting to hear what the group would say once you were gone, but this was the right thing to do. You believed nothing could change your mind.

You glance once more over the sleeping group, your eyes settling on 10k’s form which was situated in a dark corner of the campsite. With a quiet sigh you walk by him, intending to start running once you were out of earshot, but a hand lightly grasping your ankle makes you stop short.

You gasp in surprise and look down to see 10k’s sleepy eyes looking back at you. 10k’s grip tightens and his other hand reaches up to grab yours. Once your hand is secured in his he drags you down next to him, locking his arms around your waist.

Of course, you could easily pull away from him, but the intense happiness you feel being in his arms makes you stop. You can feel your eyes stinging with unshed tears and your head starts to tingle. Your control on staying human crumbles with each passing second as you focus on this feeling within you.

10k doesn’t make a sound when your ears and tails grow out of your body. He reaches up and touches your ears, marveling at how soft the fur is. You make a sound close to a purr before settling into his embrace and curling into his touch.

One of his hands reaches down to touch one of your tails, which flicks with the unexpected feeling. He pulls you away from his hold a little so that he can look in your eyes before speaking.

“You are so amazing.” He whispers, trying to not wake the others. You give him a hesitant smile as he rests his head against your chest, listening to your heartbeat.

Any thought of leaving the group has left your mind as you focus on the warmth 10k emits. He continues to whisper compliments to you, assuming that your ears can pick them up, until you fall asleep.

Once he knows you’re secure and not going anywhere 10k lets himself drift off as well. The sound of your heartbeat keeps him asleep for the rest of the night.

~~~~~

Addy, Warren, and Murphy are the first to wake up in the morning and see your new look. They are all reasonably surprised by the nine large tails and two large ears that you seem to have grown overnight.

“She was planning on leaving.” Addy says, pointing to your discarded pile of belongings that rest next to you and 10k.

“Well, what’s one more weirdo.” Murphy says, nodding at the two of you.

Warren and Addy look at each other with a brow raised before they go back to looking at the two of you. They have to admit, you both look pretty cute all curled up together, even if you have some explaining to do.

A/N: Okay! I hope you like this and that this is what you had in mind! This was very fun to write and thank you for requesting!

Also! This is where I got all of the information on Kitsunes: http://www.mythicalcreaturesguide.com/page/Kitsune

#10k x Reader #Z Nation x Reader #x Reader #Reader Insert #Fem!Reader #10k x Fem!Reader #Z Nation x Fem!Reader #x Fem!Reader #10k Imagine #Z Nation Imagine #10k Z Nation #Z Nation #10k

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arabrot · 4 years

Text

Who Do You Love by John Doran

Who Do You Love?

We drove 5,000 miles of barbed wire.

You’d think that by travelling that distance around a country you could get the measure of it. Especially if the country was only 361 miles from top to bottom and even less from East to West. You’d be thinking reasonably but not accurately.

Despite journeying the equivalent of one fifth of the circumference of the entire Earth in 31 days, all we got to see was the road itself. England endless. What we experienced was just a percentage of a splodge, a smidge of a blotch on the coastal fringe of Europe that deserved neither the sobriquet Great, nor the title United. How did such a small area of land contain such extravagant lengths of major road? In the same way that a human body could house a tapeworm 33 metres long. Probably not comfortably but hopefully not fatally either. Undoubtedly, in May 2015 - general election month - England had beauty to spare: it’s just that none of it was visible from the motorway.

We met on the forecourt of a petrol station near an airport. Heat haze was already starting to rise from the tarmac. The Driver was dressed immaculately in a tight-fitting black suit, shades and wide-brimmed black hat. His concession to non-monochromatic decoration was silver chains carrying cocks and crosses. He looked like Asa Hawkes, the “blind” preacher from Flannery O’Connor’s Wise Blood - but much thinner. He tipped the brim of his hat hello. This was not his stage hat but his everyday hat. His stage hat, the kind of prairie Stetson featured in the opening scene of Holy Mountain was massive and kept in the kind of box that suggested it was an essential part of a drum kit. It had its own carefully allotted slot in the back of the van with the tons of amplifiers, speaker cabinets, guitars, synthesizers, boxes of books, suitcases full of clothes and bags and bags of oranges we were taking with us. There was only one way to fit all of this stuff into the vehicle, and packing it correctly was like 3-D Tetris. All it took was one giant, impractical hat in the wrong place and then everything had to be taken out again and reloaded in the correct position.

He was the colour of milk, which made the angry red scars up either side of his neck all the more vivid. He looked like the missing link between human being and some future race of Lovecraftian eel-men who would be able to breathe via gills under water.

As well as me and the Driver, there was the Passenger. She looked more like she had stepped straight from the set of Bladerunner than a Jodorowsky or John Huston movie. This was to be their last tour as boyfriend and girlfriend as they were headed straight to a deconsecrated church in rural Sweden to get married as soon as the trip ended. I was merely a temporary guest in their world. A road voyeur with a month long pass.

Within minutes of setting off we hit the M25 we became enmeshed in May Day traffic. I realised that most of the month was going to be spent looking at slow moving traffic on motorways.

But just as driving to Brighton was slow and painful, leaving it the next day was a dream. On the motorway, time stretched and contracted simultaneously in temporal doppler effect. The days seemed longer but time blistered, popped and broke apart pleasantly as the brain switched down a few gears into a near pure experiential mode. There was little to worry about. All I could do was count the pylons and pretend I had a flamethrower to aim at UKIP billboards and hoardings; to luxuriate in motorway sign typography and listen to Maggot Brain as loud as it would go. Miles Davis’ Agharta was the soundtrack to us speeding out of the south up the M1 towards the Rainy City. Al Foster’s ringing, open hi-hat was our fuel. And then it was nothing but John Coltrane, Electric Wizard and NOMEANSNO until we reached our destination. It started raining the second we hit Stoke. And then before long we were on the Mancunian Way heading for Piccadilly in torrential rain, parking the van under a tangle of flyovers. When I planned this jaunt it was a thing of beauty. I took an AA road map and unfolded it until it covered half the floor space in my tiny living room. I took a sheet of stickers from my son’s Thomas The Tank Engine magazine and created a spiral of towns and cities, first round the edges near the coast and then spiraling in toward the centre. Our proposed journey looked like an occult temporal and spatial message only discernable from the god perspective. What I planned was a perfect thing. But after you plan your perfect thing what happens is this: promoters start phoning you up or emailing you. ‘We’ve double booked you with a Stereophonics tribute act’; ‘There’s actually a bar mitzvah on that day’; ‘It’s Record Store Day.’ And then the perfect thing falls to pieces. By the time we hit the road the perfect thing looked like that terrifying film of a spider on LSD trying to spin a web. And there was only one thing worse than a spider on LSD trying to spin a web and that was a spider on caffeine trying to spin a web.

We stopped for several coffees en route to Sunderland the next day. The weather was beautiful. Fields of golden rape seed glowed under a blue sky. But I gave up counting the UKIP billboards. There were just too many. The purple pound signs zipped past in a blur. We’d been on the road for five days and I hadn’t seen a single sign for Labour. It was almost a relief when we passed a huge hoarding in an arable field next to a broken tractor which proclaimed: “Prepare to meet your Lord!” We pulled in soon after to stretch our legs in front of a petrol station that shared a forecourt with a sex shop wrapped in a large tarpaulin hoarding, proclaiming: “Under new management!” Next door was a garden centre flying a row of ten confederate flags and two Union Jacks. There was a knackered and rusty jet stream caravan serving up plastic cups of filter coffee.

It became clear early on that the Travelodge was our friend. Every Travelodge the Driver, the Passenger and I shared was identical. A family room. One double bed, one fold out couch bed, minimal decoration, very interesting mass produced art, scant furniture, tea making facilities and a portable telly, often chained to the wall. The Travelodge may have had less furniture in it than the average bail hostel and may sometimes have smelled like a suburban pet shop from 1984 but it was totally fine as we were low ranking touring musicians and writers, not visiting dignitaries from Saudi Arabia.

After Leeds, our Travelodge was situated in a motorway retail park so the following morning we walked just a few hundred yards to the Toby Carvery for breakfast. Pushing open the double swing doors we were confronted by a man in stained chef’s whites, with hair pushed under a light blue plastic turban crowning a jowly and crimson face. He was methodically and noisily applying a large cleaver to a foot long cylindrical sharpening steel with a schnick-schnick sound.

“Hello!” said the Driver cheerfully. “Are you Toby?”

The chef looked up slowly and a pendulous and translucent bead of sweat swayed under his nose. His eyes were like drill holes in gammon. Bruised udders of flesh were hanging below each of his nicotine-stained ocular orbs. He was possibly the most hungover man I had ever seen. He jawed away silently, his eyes flickering dully with rage as he started straightening up. The BPM of metal on metal increased. The three of us circled round him gingerly and headed rapidly for the breakfast counter past tables rammed full of people who looked like they were about to die. I had never seen so many morbidly obese people in one place at one time. It was like God’s waiting room with unlimited fried egg.

Oh England, you are sick.

It was only £5 per head and you could eat as much as you wanted but the choice was only bacon, sausages, roast potatoes, black pudding, fried egg, fried bread, beans and mushrooms. The thrill of the open road. Unlimited roast potatoes and bacon for breakfast.

(We spent just one night at the supposedly more upmarket Premier Inn, and it was relatively more luxurious but due to its incomprehensible automated reception machine, it took us an hour and a long conversation with two angry Premier Inn employees to gain access to our room. “Getting into this hotel was like the opening scene from a new episode of Black Mirror”, said the Driver, a recent convert to the show. “There’s nothing like waking up in some shitty English town, before eating some shitty English breakfast before driving slowly down some shitty English motorway for 12 hours before loading into some shitty English venue and playing a shitty gig to ten people before going to some shitty Travelodge just to watch a really well made English TV series which explains to you exactly why everything is so fucked”, he told me gleefully.)

Any hotel room was actually very much like home as long as you had a laptop, a handful of Nick Cave CDs, some Right Guard and a copy of Threads on DVD, which happened to be the exact contents of my overnight hotel bag.

Waking up in another identical Travelodge on another identical Motorway retail park the next day I realised finally that this was literally the worst place for a writer to be during general election month. Nowhere had wifi that worked. It was like being in a bubble of ignorance for 31 days. We had to choose these parks to minimise the chances of the splitter van getting stolen with all of our gear inside it. Every Travelodge we stayed in was essentially the same, surrounded by a handful of other outlets - a Toby Carvery or a Harvester or, if you were really unlucky, both of them. Then maybe also a Costa, a Boots and an Esso petrol station as well. They were all accessible from a motorway roundabout that wasn’t really near anything other than either an airport, a prison or an industrial estate. A vague hangover from reading JG Ballard as a schoolboy led me to believe that there would be some kind of mind-expanding nourishment to be had from this aspect of the venture but these motorway retail parks were all identical. They were the most co-opted and least free spaces of all.

After breakfast, outside, sitting on a wall drinking a cup of tea in the sunshine, I looked intently at a semicircle of rooks surrounding a single bird of their own kind. They were slowly advancing in toward it. The bird in the middle was stock still and not moving. It didn’t look like a friendly encounter. The Driver and the Passenger came out and joined me. The parliament were just about to attack the accused in order to peck it to death but just as the corvine jury bore down, they were disturbed by a loud noise from above. The Red Arrows flew over the Travelodge in formation causing them to scatter It felt almost as if the Driver existed in a bubble of weird, uncanny, apocalyptic and esoteric events that moved with him wherever he roved. But it was also as if he barely noticed any of them. I stood pointing at the sky.

“Yes, yes” he snapped irritably as if he was sick of seeing this kind of thing. “Let’s get in the van and get off otherwise we won’t get to Digbeth in time.”

That night I dreamt that the solid iron core of the Earth was about to slough us all off until the planet stood raw and bleeding in space, just roiling magma with no skin to contain it. The utter indignity of being born between waves, the scions of a pusillanimous age we were all about to be cast into the void with the filthy scab of a country we called England. A flat and unmagical land. A depressing and tawdry place. When I opened my eyes Toby was stood in the corner of the room, sharpening his cleaver, schnick, schnick, schnick, schnick. Empty eye sockets carved out of rancid, fly-blown gammon.

“We have to stop eating lunch at the Harvester!” I sprang out of my fold out bed and shouted at the Driver and the Passenger, waking them from their sleep. “The full rack of ribs is fucking killing me!”

Fuck the Harvester. Fuck Toby Carvery. All of the clothes that were hanging off me on May 1 were now snug and it was only May 12. My ears were ringing with the premonition of some future blue cheese dressing related pulmonary event.

It was easy to see how ruinous life on the road could be, even when you didn’t drink or do drugs. I felt sorry for younger bands who felt they had to go out partying every night after shows. After a couple of weeks it must end up hellish.

The road to Hull was paved with UKIP signs. Only Necrosis by Cadaver played at ear disrespecting volumes kept us sane. It was dark as we drove into town and ghosts lined Ferensway waiting to greet me. The cinema where I’d had my first date in town, the pair of us just turned 18 - watching Shirley Valentine no less, saying, “Imagine being that old” about Pauline Collins and Bernard Hill - was now a bingo hall. The war memorial that I regularly drank sherry in front of on a bench. The Welly nightclub where I saw a punter swan dive off a balcony and go headfirst through the corner of a formica table. When they took him out on a stretcher there was a blanket pulled up over his face. And then down past my old house on De Grey Street and into the car park of the Adelphi. And then the ghosts waved us back out of town.

The drive to Great Yarmouth was gruelling and 13-hours long because of traffic - we got stuck behind no less than three serious road accidents. Bodies strewn across baking tarmac. Bloodied travellers weeping in incomprehension at the hard shoulder. Slow moving the traffic might have been but at least we had plenty of long albums to listen to. Just like a mattress in a shared student house or the narrative flow of the Bayeux Tapestry - Kendrick Lamar’s To Pimp A Butterfly sagged in the middle but it was very, very long, making it ideal for the van.

Eight hours later, after the show, we flew down the A47 unimpeded like we were clinging to a rocket, listening to Slayer albums sequentially at full volume, gabbling like a bunch of four-year-olds as we went. By the last day, I felt like I was about to die and constantly on the verge of tears. I didn’t want it to end. It was the best of times. It was the worst of times. It was the worst of times. It was genuinely the worst of all times. And yet I’d crawl over broken glass to be able to do it all again right now.

You know, if you really want to get the measure of a country don’t drive round it. Take a train or walk. Maybe buy a bicycle or a skateboard or something.

We drove 5,000 miles of barbed wire and parked the splitter van by the roadside.

John Doran, Bangkok, Thailand, December 2017

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saibh29 · 5 years

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Minor Head Trauma (Part 1)

Pairing: Will Halstead x Reader

Warnings: Swearing, a little bit of medical jargon

AN: I’m not a doctor by any stretch and although a did a brief bit of googling on head trauma I’m sure i’ve made horrible mistakes so excuse me for that.

When an old friend of Ethan Choi’s ends up in Chicago Med’s ED she’s about to make life very difficult for Will Halstead.

********

“I do not need to be here” you grouched, folding your arms across your chest and glaring at Nolan who was stood smirking at you from the far corner of the ED cubicle. The junior Officer and your long term friend was finding far too much enjoyment in your misery. “I slipped. I hit my head; my skull is fairly fucking thick I’ve been told this numerous times. I’ll be fine”

That made Nolan snort in laughter. The doctor who unfortunately for him had gotten landed with you as a patient simply looked confused. He’d introduced himself earlier as Dr Halstead, when this farce of a medical drama had begun.

“British huh Miss Y/L/N?”

“Last time I checked Dr Halstead. What about you, red head, so…Irish? A while back considering the accent is fairly standard American and boring?”

“Miss Y/L/N, if you could follow the light please” apparently, he’d simply chosen to ignore your sarcasm. He held up the tiny pen torch in front of your eyes moving it back and forth. Despite your sarcastic words you did as you were told and followed the light.

“This is ridiculous and a waste of time” you muttered still doing as he asked.

The fact you were finally being a good patient was why you happened to be looking through the small gap in the curtains at exactly the moment a ghost appeared before them.

“Holy Fuck!”

“Boss?”

Nolan knew that tone and his whole body had gone on high alert, pushing off the wall he stood upright searching for whatever it was that had put that sound in your voice. You however, had gone somewhere else, entirely transported back to memories of years ago. You pushed away Dr Halstead jumping off the bed and going straight for the curtains.

“Miss Y/L/N? Miss Y/L/N…?”

You pushed the curtains entirely away and found a broad back walking away from you towards another set of curtains, staring at a chart in his right hand.

“CHOI”

He stopped as if he’d been stunned and slowly spun looking for whoever it was who had called his name in a voice he’d equally thought to never hear again. His eyes found you and he jerked like he’d been shot.

“Miss Y/L/N…” Dr Halstead had followed you out of the cubicle and almost run into your back when you’d abruptly stopped for seemingly no reason.

“Miss?” Ethan had walked over as well “You left?”

“No. I didn’t leave”

“You two know each other?” Halstead flicked his eyes between the two of you.

“I know her… Y/N what are you doing here?”

“I hit my head; Nolan dragged me here” you summarised.

Ethan went back to focusing on Dr Halstead “what are her symptoms?”

“Minor head wound, no visible sign of further trauma”

“Hah!” you looked around Halstead and back towards where Nolan was still stood “See you idiot. I told you I was fine and did not need to be in the ED. Next time fucking listen to your commanding officer”

“Commanding officer?” now poor Dr Halstead really did look completely lost.

“Oh yeah, I knew I was forgetting something, head wound and all, it’s not miss, Dr Halstead”

“It’s not Miss? So, what is it?”

“It’s Captain” Ethan answered for you. “It’s Captain Y/L/N”

That made them all look over at you once more, you shrugged. Your military rank was something you were familiar enough with to not pay attention to anymore. What you were paying attention to though was the fact that the edges of your vision had suddenly begun to blur. That was not a good sign at all, nor was the spinning that was accompanying the blurriness.

“Uh… Dr Halstead” you reached over, not really sure what you were reaching for but hoping to find something to steady yourself with. “I, um, I don’t think…”

Your hand hadn’t found anything to hold onto and you couldn’t stay up right any longer, swaying sideways you started to go over. Halstead being the closest to you grabbed you before you hit the ground and ended up with one more head wound. “Y/L/N... Y/L/N?” he was hovering over the top of you. “Captain Y/L/N? Can you hear me?”

“Y/N?”

“Boss?”

There was a lot of people all calling your name, a lot of people all wanting your attention to be on them. You however were struggling to focus on anyone or anything, the blurriness that had previously simply been around the edges was now filming over your entire eyes.

You truly did want to answer the constant questions but your body wasn’t responding in a way you wanted it to. In fact, it wasn’t responding at all and with a final random thought of just how red Halstead’s hair was you slipped into complete blackness.

***********

When you finally came too once more you were laying down in a bed, there were wires attached to your chest and a rather annoying constant beeping sound from just above the right side of your head.

Your eyes flickered open and you found Nolan sat beside you scrolling down his phone.

“Nolan?”

He jerked, head shooting up to stare at you. “Boss? You’re awake! You feel alright?”

“What happened Nolan?”

He smirked “you just went over Boss, fainted away into the good doctor’s arms”

Fuck, that was going to come back to haunt you, there was no way Nolan was going to keep that quiet and whether you were ill or not the story would be spun in such a way that had you falling into Dr Halstead’s arms like some sort of 19th century damsel.

“Great” trying to navigate the abundant wires attached to you, you got your knees pulled further up to your chest. “Any word on why I fainted?”

“Fuck if I know, I ain’t a doctor”

“Nolan, seriously…” if you hadn’t already had a headache Nolan would be giving you one right now. “Will you please be helpful for once in your life, go and find me a Doctor who does know something and do it right now” Nolan’s mouth opened and you cut him off. “Any jokes on Doctors and fainting that come out of your mouth right now will get you serious one on one time with me and a certain assault course”

Nolan flinched at that and closed his mouth, “sure thing Boss” he left to go and find a doctor.

Your head was still pounding but the blurriness had thank god started to dissipate. Your vision was back and the nausea felt more like you’d drank a whole bottle of red wine on your own rather than you were stuck in a washing machine without an exit.

“Captain Y/L/N, nice to see you awake once more” Dr Halstead was back.

“I fainted”

It was a statement not a question but Dr Halstead nodded anyway. “You did”

“Why did I faint?”

“That minor trauma to your ‘thick skulled’ head. Not so minor”

“Trying to be sarcastic Doctor?”

Halstead smiled at you coming over to stand beside your bed. “Not at all Captain Y/L/N”

You didn’t believe him for a second but were willing to let it go considering the fact that you were a little concerned about the point that he had said your ‘minor’ head trauma wasn’t exactly so minor. “So, not so minor?”

“The point of impact on your skull, here” he gently pushed your hair to one side so he could look at the small cut on the side of your head where you’d landed. “you hit it harder than anyone thought, the CT scan came back, it shows you have a subdural hematoma. A bleed on your brain”

“My brain is bleeding?” that did not sound in anyway good. “How do we stop it bleeding?”

“Most hematoma’s stop on their own, your bleed is small, localised. We’ll admit you overnight to monitor you but it should be that taking a few weeks rest will be enough for it to heal up on it’s own”

“A few weeks?”

“Maybe more”

“No” shaking your head turned out to be the wrong decision as it made your vision swim in a most unhelpful way, bringing a hand up to your head you tried to stop the spinning. “I can’t be in this bed for longer than today. I need to be back…”

“That’s not happening Captain”

“You don’t understand”

“I understand that if I let you leave here and the bleed gets worse then you’ll be looking at a lot more than a few weeks in bed. How does major Neurosurgery sound?”

“Anyone ever tell you that you have a shitty bedside manner Dr Halstead”

“It’s been mentioned”

The fact that he was keeping up with your acerbic tongue actually defused quite a lot of your frustration and actually made you smile instead. You put your hand down from your head and instead wrapped them around your still drawn up knees. You wondered how Dr Halstead was going to cope with the coming storm he’d create by keeping you in this hospital.

“I’ll need to make some calls”

“You don’t have a phone?”

“Oh, I do…” reaching over you got your hand tangled in the multitude of wires, something started beeping incessantly and you cursed in frustration.

Dr Halstead grabbed your hand to stop you pulling anymore wires out, then trying to mask his own smile at your clumsiness he carefully untangled you putting your hand safely back down on the bed.

“here” he picked up your bag and handed it over to you.

“Thanks” you rooted out your phone which was flashing angrily with what was no doubt hundreds of missed calls and messages. “What did you call this thing in my head again Doc?”

“A subdural hematoma”

“Subdural hematoma. Got it” you grinned in what you hoped was a friendly manner at the good doctor. “So, who do I say it is that’s ordering this bed rest?”

“Will Halstead”

“Will… William?”

“William”

“Good to know” you unlocked your phone as Dr Halstead continued to watch you carefully. “Dr William Halstead” the poor doctor was seriously going to regret his luck in being assigned your case this morning.

“Captain Y/L/N?”

“Y/N”

“Excuse me?”

“Its Y/N, you don’t have to keep calling me Captain Y/L/N, and before you get chance to finish that question, I'm on a short-term deployment with the rest of my unit to the Great Lakes training area. I know Ethan Choi from well before that, a previous deployment and Nolan who has vanished somewhere that I'm not to curious about right now is my junior officer. Anything I missed?”

“I think that was quite comprehensive, you did miss off one quite important point though”

“Oh? What’s that?”

“How’s your head feeling?”

You guessed that probably was quite an important question for the doctor to be asking. “Better than before. I can only see one of you again which is semi-disappointing but probably healthier”

“Oh I don’t know, even one of me can be quite interesting Captain” there was a knowing smile on his face that told you he knew exactly what he was insinuating and he’d done it on purpose.

“I don’t doubt it Doctor Halstead. I don’t doubt it at all” in your hand your phone started buzzing angrily at you once more, the name on the screen simply said General and was one you really shouldn’t ignore anymore. It was only going to make this whole situation ten times worse. “I should answer”

“I’ll be back to check on you later”

“I hope you will”

With a final smile Dr Halstead left you alone once more as you took another glance at your phone screen. You could almost feel anger and irritation coming through the small device.

Sighing you slide the button across to connect the call and held the phone to your ear.

“Captain Y/L/N where the hell are you and where is my information?”

“Nice to hear from you too Dad”

TBC.....

@clementines-x @the-chosen-one-time-lord @no-other-names-availible-blog @angelaiswriting @selldraug @angryares @thenovarose @georgiagrl1990 @punk-rock-5-sos @mindofthescattered @dontstopxx @iamabeautifulperson18 @madelinecraig03 @ka-x-in @im-hurric4ne @mesmericbell @something--awesome @weirdpotato-14 @putinontheritzz @soulslaststand @fuckthatfeeling @ember1201 @morganlb23 @kitkatbadass @tomhopperarms @fakingintrest @artprincessbree @dreamer-lover-laughter @artprincessbree @rime-warrior @captainvaneswife @jaib2-blog @kapolisradomthoughts @thingsandstuffienjoy @letsgetfuckingsuperwholocked @aya-fay @itsbubbaog @hp-hogwartsexpress @emmykinzs @thatbadassunicorn @sassywingednightmare @weirdnewbie @goyawriter @shipperfangirling @nathaliabakes @stillreadingfantasy

#chicago med #one chicago #chicago med fanfiction #chicago med imagine #will halstead #halstead #Dr Halstead #Will halstead x reader #will halstead x imagine #halstead x reader #halstead x fanfiction #imagine #fanfic

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sataniccapitalist · 4 years

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By Pam Martens and Russ Martens: June 18, 2020 ~

Sven Hendrich of Northman Trader

As corporate-friendly Republican members of the Senate Banking Committee and House Financial Services Committee engaged in effusive praise at hearings this week over the efforts of Fed Chairman Jerome Powell to quickly establish a plethora of corporate bailout facilities, the voices of Wall Street veterans have struck a different chord. These long-term market watchers are warning that the Fed has created an unprecedented stock market bubble that is destined to end badly.

Earlier this week, CNBC anchor Melissa Lee interviewed Sven Henrich, the Lead Market Strategist at Northman Trader. Henrich savaged the Fed’s recent interventions in the market, stating the following:

“The Fed really has created a massive asset bubble here in the last few months. The lender of last resort has become the lender of the entire resort. And no red line shall remain uncrossed.

“The Fed has basically created a gambling casino at this point. And all the gamblers have moved in. From my perspective, the danger here is that the Fed is overdoing it and zombifying the economy. They’re in the process of inserting itself ever deeper into markets. And that makes the Fed itself too big to fail. And the Fed losing control over the asset bubble is now the biggest risk factor to the economy. Remember Alan Greenspan mentioned if markets drop 10 percent that impacts GDP growth by 1 percent.

“So now we’ve had this massive rally, which still could be a bear market rally by the way, and after prices have reached levels that we’ve rarely ever seen. Let me give you two examples here. Specifically, one is market cap to GDP and I know Guy has mentioned this on the show before. There’ve only been two periods in history where the markets have disconnected so far from the economy that it’s reached levels of 150 percent and higher. One of those eras was the Nasdaq bubble in 2000 and the other one, ironically, was the February 2020 top – because, obviously, the Fed had already printed significant amounts of money in 2019 with their repo operations.”

Let’s pause here for a moment and talk a little about that February top. The huge rally in the market that occurred between October 8 of last year and February 19 of this year was solely built on Fed money. There was a liquidity crisis occurring in the market which would have resulted in a stock market crash, not a rally. When short-term interest rates on loans to financial firms want to skyrocket from 2 percent to 10 percent, as occurred on September 17, you’ve got a financial crisis on your hands, not the making of a new bull market. The Fed changed history by jumping with both feet into the overnight lending market, known as the repo market or repurchase agreement market, and started pumping hundreds of billions of dollars a week into the trading houses of Wall Street. According to the Fed’s December 10-11 meeting minutes, its emergency repo loans amounted to “roughly $215 billion per day” flowing at super cheap interest rates to the trading houses on Wall Street. That tallied up to approximately $6.23 trillion cumulatively in loans in a matter of a few months. By March 14, the Fed had pumped more than $9 trillion cumulatively into the trading houses of Wall Street, which it calls its “primary dealers.”

Typically, secular bear markets following a stock market bubble erase at least 50 percent of the prior bull market from peak to trough. At Wall Street On Parade, we don’t think the starting point for that retracement should be February 19 – because that rally was an artificially engineered rally by the Fed. We think the measure for a 50 percent retracement in the S&P 500 should be October 8, 2019 when the S&P 500 closed at 2893. That would put a 50 percent retracement at 1446.5 or 58 percent from where the S&P closed yesterday.

This assessment, of course, is based on a free-functioning market, which we clearly do not have today with the Fed now buying hundreds of billions of dollars of junk bonds, Exchanged Traded Funds, commercial paper, money market paper, asset-backed paper, mortgage-backed paper, Treasuries and on and on. With that as background, let’s return to the interview with Sven Henrich.

Henrich continues:

“So we ran into this COVID crisis massively extended from an economic perspective. So we’re here now and this is really fascinating: last week, June 8, we actually hit 152 percent market cap to GDP. And just to put this into perspective, typically what you see inside of a recession is that there’s a discounting process for assets. And, actually, in 2000 to 2007, we dropped to 50 percent to 75 percent market cap to GDP. So to be inside of a recession and at these extreme market valuations we’ve never seen before, congratulations, I guess the Fed just managed to do something unprecedented: manufactured the first asset bubble inside of a recession.”

You can watch the full video here.

Jeremy Grantham, Long-Term Investment Strategist, Co-Founder, GMO

On Wednesday, CNBC’s Wilfred Frost interviewed the legendary investor Jeremy Grantham, co-founder and Chief Investment Strategist at money manager Grantham, Mayo, Van Otterloo & Co., which goes by the unfortunate acronym of GMO. Grantham had correctly called out the market as being overvalued in both 2000 and 2007. On the current rapid runup in the market, Grantham had this to say:

“It is a rally without precedent. The fastest in this [amount of] time ever and the only one in the history books that takes place against a background of undeniable economic problems. All of the other ones took place at a time when the market at least believed that things were great. They may have been wrong, on occasion, but they believed at the time that everything economic and financial was terrific. And this time everyone agrees that the economics have a major problem.”

Grantham is then asked by Frost for his opinion on what has caused this giant rally. Grantham answers:

“Clearly the Fed scattering money around has created a favorable environment as it often does and with this amount of money slopping around and with the economy depressed it would be fairly traditional for some of the money to find its way into the market.”

The next question for Grantham is if the market deserves a higher price-to-earnings ratio as a result of both the Fed and other central banks’ interventions in markets. Grantham answered this way:

“No, I think the last five or ten years received pretty intense loving care from the Fed. And I don’t think it can do much better than that.”

Grantham also compared this bubble to those in past history, stating this:

“This is the really the real McCoy. This is crazy stuff. And I’m talking about not the last three or four months but the last few weeks. We’ve now reached a level where you buy bankrupt companies; you issue stock in bankrupt companies that will probably be used to pay off the bondholders; and you bid up favorite companies to ludicrous levels. This is really the real McCoy. And in that kind of event like 1929 or 2000, you want to see as much participation by screaming leaders of wild investors as you can possibly see. And that should make any bear feel better.”

As for how long this bubble can last, Grantham offered this:

“The great bubbles can go on a long time and inflict a lot of pain but at least I think we know now that we’re in one.”

Frost then asked Grantham if investors should have zero money in stocks. Grantham likely shocked a lot of viewers with this assessment:

“I think a good number in the U.S. would be zero. And less than zero might not be a bad idea if you can stand that [meaning to go short].”

Scott Minerd, Global Chief Investment Officer, Guggenheim Partners

On Tuesday, CNN interviewed Scott Minerd, Global Chief Investment Officer at Guggenheim Partners. Minerd said that the market is trading at price-to-earnings multiples reminiscent of the internet (dot.com) bubble. He said he expects the S&P 500 to drop to the 1600s level over the next month. If the market traded back to 1600, that would be a 49 percent drop from where it closed yesterday.

Minerd also said that “there’s a point where the Federal Reserve is going to have to pull out a bazooka in order to maintain credit spreads and I think the option of buying stocks on the part of the Fed is on the table.”

With so many sage market veterans warning about the Fed’s folly of trying to become the markets, should the Fed have the temerity to start buying stocks, that might actually look like the last gasp of a desperate Fed and scare sophisticated money out of the market.

In the U.S., approximately 85 percent of stocks are owned by the wealthiest 10 percent. At a time when the Fed is under pressure from Democrats in Congress to create a more level playing field in the U.S. in terms of wealth and income equality, a Fed move to buy stocks could bring out the pitchforks – something that is increasingly furrowing the brows of America’s billionaire class.

#wall street

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aggresivelyfriendly · 5 years

Text

Summer’s Child-Chapter One

Hi loves, SO this cult fic thing is happening. I have pages notes and an ending which means this book is in my head and will find its way out. Thanks to @emulateharry, @dirtystyles, and @imetherinthemorning for the looksies! Writing here is about the community for me, so leave me asks!! REBLOGS ARE LOVE! Here we go!

October 1967

"To a daydream believer and a homecoming queeeeeeen!"

"You realize singing in an enclosed space would hurt someone's ears at that volume, even if you owned a bucket to carry that tune?"

Harry wanted to keep his eyes on the road, but they kept drifting over to Jillian gleefully singing in his truck's bench seat. "How are you so up right now anyway? You just worked like 8 hours at ye olde dairy house?"

"It's not the olde dairy house!" Jillian had a musical laugh; it was the first sound Harry remembered when they moved to New York from Cheshire when his mom died; the first thing that made him smile. He was in the principal's office, about to start the first day at this new elementary school, and sulking because his whole life had changed seemingly overnight... and he was missing recess. The window was open and her lilting laugh (it hadn't changed) floated in the window. The adults were so immersed in their conversation, they didn't notice he had gone moved to the glass he looked out. It was then he got his first sight of Jillian. She was riding the swing with another girl, and when it was her turn to go backwards, she'd leaned way back, her friend's weight anchoring her to her swing, her blonde, baby fine hair trailing the ground and her laughing in a way that made him sure it would all be okay. If somebody could laugh like that here, this must be an ok place. And if the blonde girl with the magic homeplace laugh would be his friend, he could make a life here, even without a mom. It would be okay.

It was, and it wasn't, okay. But, her laugh was the same, tonight, a decade or so later in his truck. Her hair had thickened up and wasn't that tow head shade of blonde anymore, but something sandier, frutier. She had gorgeous hair. Yet, that he could ignore or simply acknowledge. But her body had changed in a way Harry really tried to ignore but couldn't, and would never acknowledge. Not out loud. Jillian was always a beauty, just recently she knocked him out with it, her changes. He was pretty sure that he loved her then, when they were in first grade. He loved her the same and different now. Same because of her unchanging laugh, and different because of the things they carried together, and that filled out form taking up half his front seat and every inch of his brain.

"It may as well be 'ye olde dairy house.' Why is a restaurant called 'dairy barn' at all appetizing? I do not want to eat with my meal's sister you know?" He glanced over expecting to see her biting her lip so she could pretend he wasn't funny and instead got a glimpse of her tonsils. "Oh, my scintillating company putting you to sleep now? You were so lively a second ago. It just hit you?"

"Yeah, and you talk so slow it makes me doze off." She gave him a lax smile that he took his eyes off the road to catch. "You could just eat the fries, when you come to see me. I was just reading this article about how people in California, in San Francisco, are giving up meat, and even cheese!"

There was her spirit and obsession. "No dairy barn in San Francisco then?" He dimpled her way. "Where will you work when you move there?"

"I dunno! Wherever! Oh! Maybe a rock venue! A coffee shop, hell, I'll wait tables at a diner. As long as I can get a bed in the Haight." She got quiet suddenly and Harry had to look at her from the way she changed the energy in the car. The way she could do that, flip the feelings around her on a dime, made him ready to give her the hundred dollar bill he got for hauling lumber that one time, every coin

"What?" He elbowed her lightly, she scooted closer. "Don't go all quiet on me now.

"You'd go with me? Right?" Her eyes were so big. And he knew their exact shade of blue green, even though he couldn't make it out on the moonless night in their small town. He was driving them out to the small house she shared mostly with her mom. They were past the streetlights now.

"Go with you where?" He was glad the road was empty as he drifted to the middle line.

"Go with me to California! Of course!" She smiled. "For the smartest boy in school you sure lose the plot sometimes Harry." He couldn't help but think there was a lining of knowledge along the curl of her lip. He lost the plot because it was her story, and he'd been thinking more about the sound of the instrument forming it than the lyrics. He loved Jillian's speaking voice, too. He loved a lot about her. Mostly everything.

Truly, he'd probably follow her anywhere. "Like tomorrow? Should I pack a bag?" He wondered why she was stuck on it tonight, thinking about leaving this place.

"No, not tomorrow," she looked forward and scooted a little bit away. Her house came into view with a new car in the drive next to her mom's. "But soon."

"Who's that?" The truck clunked to a stop when he pushed the lever to park.

She groaned. "My mom's new boyfriend, Richard. Keeps telling me to call him Rich," she leaned in with a put-upon leer and said 'Rich' in Harry's face.

He didn't like that, but knew if he asked what that meant she'd shrug and say something dismissive. Try to pretend it meant nothing, so he made a joke, so he could hear her laugh, so it would be ok. "Sounds like a right Dick, that's what you should call him!" Every once in a while he emphasized his faded britishisms because he knew she liked them. She touched him usually in response, which he liked.

Jillian leaned her whole body into him while she giggled. "He is a dick!"

"He already move in?" Harry figured. Since her dad left, three guys had moved in, then out.

Jillian nodded. "Are we going to the bonfire after the game on Friday?" She's closed the subject. He'd only get stony walls and a moat if he kept talking about it. Gate was closed on Dick.

"If you want? We can do whatever you want. I thought you worked though?" He looked down at her clutching her knees.

"I work, but I'd like to go afterwards. Can you pick me up after the game, are you, um, going?" She was picking at the threadbare area now.

"Nah, I'll probably skip the game, study for the SAT."

"Harry, you aren't supposed to study for the SAT, and you don't need to anyway. You're the smartest person I know!" She thought she was dumb, but really, she was smarter than him. She at least knew how to be comfortable in her own skin. Or that she could shed it. He worried too much about what people thought of him. His glasses, and crazy curls, and that he'd grown so fast he fell over his own feet, was rail thin no matter how much he ate.

But he was smart enough to know she didn't want to go inside, and that she wanted to go to the bonfire for the same reason. "Well, my dad says I should study. He still entirely set on me going to his college at Oxford."

"I don't want you to go to rainy England. I think you should go to Berkeley and live with me in San Francisco. Where it's sunny."

"I don't think it's actually that sunny in San Francisco, didn't Mark Twain say the coldest winter he ever spent was a summer there?"

"I have no idea what Mark Twain said," that laugh. "That's your department."

Harry tried not to, but he glanced at his watch, he thought subtlety.

"You have to go." It wasn't a whisper, but her voice sounded a little afraid of the wind.

"It's almost curfew." His dad didn't have a lot of rules, expectations, maybe, but he did set a curfew. "Do you wanna sleep over?" It was torture for him when she did, but at least they both slept then. Him less than her, but the dark shadows under her eyes other mornings gave him a clue about some nights at her own house.

She shook her head. "I don't have any clothes."

"You could borrow some of mine." He offered. He hadn't met Dick, but he already hated him. Was she afraid of a repeat offense or a possibility. What exactly had Rich done or made her afraid he would do?.

"No, it's alright Harry, I'm alright." She smiled at him. It only reached her cheeks.

"Actually, I think I have your jean shorts and the um, the...." God, just say it.

"The what Harry?" Oh wide eyed faux innocence, well at least she was laughing at him instead of the other kind of wide eyed.

"Your pants, your knickers, from when I threw you in the lake, that last week of summer."

"Not really shorts weather." She smiled at him.

"I can wash your uniform pants. In the sink, hang 'em on the line. It's Saturday, we can stay inside until they are dry."

"What if it rains."

"Why don't we worry about that then." He could hear the beg. "I can't sleep without you snoring anymore anyway!"

"I don't snore!" She crossed her arms, and dammit, she had the most perfect breasts. That was knowledge he hadn't studied but had clearly committed to memory. He'd caught sight of them this summer at the lake. Her top had come down when he had thrown her. One time she'd insisted she face away from him. And then her bum was in his face while she wiggled. He thought he might die. He was already hard as a rock from it, but her trajectory had pushed the cups off her boobs and she hadn't realized for a second. He'd got an eyeful he was never going to forget, no matter how much vocabulary he shoved in next to their curvilinear memory. It willfully swam to the top of his consciousness when he was taking care of himself. Those were weak moments, not like when he was in control of himself. Like now, so he could be around her and not look. It was harder when she crossed her arms, in defiance or self satisfaction. It pushed them up. Harry had to work on not looking. But he wasn't one of them, those guys like the ones her mom brought home. He was her safe place, best friend. So he didn't look down, but his peripheral definitely saw their jiggle. And his brain filled in the rest. It would be a long drive home thinking of derivatives. Those worked better than words at erasing her silhouette.

"You do! But I like it."

"Yeah, far out, I have a groovy snore." She huffed and kinda kicked his dashboard.

"The grooviest. And if we are gonna be roommates in San Francisco in a year, I better be really used to it."

"I thought you needed it to sleep."

"Practice makes perfect." He was already slowly reversing. Glad he hadn't shut off the engine, the idle wasn't as much of a sound footprint as the kick over. They sang Beatles tunes and Scott McKenzie on the way to his house. He made up the bed, and they didn't talk much, only in whispers to not wake his dad.

Just before he laid on the floor, she wrapped her arms around his neck and stood on her toes. His eyes closed over the feel of her. She wouldn't talk about it, but he got to guard her castle.

That night, he slept on the floor, like he had ever since the first time she slept over when they were 8. His dad knew back then. He was pretty sure his dad knew now, no matter how quiet their whispers. His dad didn't mention it, so long as there were blankets on the floor when he caught Jillian's scent in the air or laugh on the breeze. Harry was thankful. He had stopped asking questions two years ago when he'd seen Harry with red eyes for a week and a big bruise on Jillian's chin.

That was right around when her dad stopped coming off the road. Well, to the house Jillian and her mom, Karen, shared.

She slept in her own house for a long time then.

Until Ted moved in.

Then Brian.

Now Dick.

She usually didn't need the escape hatch this soon though.

Would he ever be brave enough to ask for the truth? Was there a password or key for the drawbridge.

Would she even tell him? Even if he knew the right way to ask. He'd see her just the same. Maybe love her a little more for her strength.

Jillian, well, his ideas about it were just conjecture, but when something happened, and Harry didn't know what was worse, the getting hit or feeling the other kind of threatened? She withdrew. He simmered. Both filled him with a burning rage and a feeling of helplessness he despised. Whatever was going on, with Tom, Dick, but not Harry, was making her seem hopeless and dreamy.

Harry felt helpless. Jillian lost herself in escape. Far out, unlikely escape. It had started young, and continued 'til now. He worried at times where it would go. Where it was going.

It had started innocently enough. Jillian had always talked about planes, how she'd love to get on one. "Tell me about it. What'd it feel like?" She was fascinated he'd flown there from England.

Harry had reached far back and tried to recall. "It's loud, and it hurts your ears. But they give you some food, and my dad and I played go fish. It took a really long time." He didn't have warm fuzzy feelings about flying. He couldn't manufacture them for her, he was little and his mom was gone, that's what he remembered.

"Did you feel light?" She's picked up her favorite plane toy, and made it fly. She kept hold of it though. He remembers thinking it was weird she didn't throw it to check if it was light. He would have tossed it to check the lightness, he was sure. Maybe she was afraid she wouldn't see where it landed. Jillian would miss it if it was misplaced. She liked the blue jet best.

When they were little, small enough to still play with his vehicle toys in his bedroom when she'd make the long walk into town to hang with him. Jillian always chose the planes while Harry smashed around cars and trains. They'd make whole transit systems. They'd talk about where they were going on each vehicle.

"What about the blue car Harry? Where would it take you?" Jillian would ask.

He'd make something up, New York City, London, the village he grew up near Manchester. Almost always places he had been. He wasn't a daydreamer. He liked concrete images to go with his make believe. Ones that had smells and sounds to complete them. Jillian didn't need them, her imagination was rich enough.

Jillian was a daydreamer. But her lucid hopes were full of blue skies. "What about the Pan Am jet, Jillian? Should we go to Paris?" He'd try to derail her plane of thought. Widen her map.

"No, I think Disneyland!" She'd lain back dreamily. "Dad took me to see Mary Poppins, and they had a short in the beginning of Walt Disney walking around with Mickey there. Harry, it's like a dream, they have treats and flying cars. Do you think cars will ever fly? Like birds?" He'd answered her and they'd talked about amusement park rides and which ones they'd heard about. Harry didn't like the thought of the ones he'd heard were in total darkness, like the Matterhorn. Jillian dreamed of flying through the dark like she had wings and eagle eyes. Ones that could really see, into the dark. She loved eagles.

Birds, actually, , she loved birds her whole life. Harry tried to convince his dad to get her a pet one for her tenth birthday, but he couldn't. His dad told him you couldn't give someone a pet.

When he'd apologized to her, she'd sighed happily, and hugged Harry exuberantly. They'd daydreamed all the places the bird might fly to.

"I hope my bird goes to California!" She'd been listening to The Beach Boys record they pooled their change to get. Harry wasn't sure he loved the beach boys, he preferred the Beatles, like the Englishman his voice still marked him as, but he liked that even during winter days, if they listened to The Beach Boys, the sun shone out of Jillian's face.

When it was time to go home, she'd hugged him tight, and thanked him for the bird. The one he hadn't given her, but just wanted to.

"It's better this way, they wouldn't let me keep it. My dad might kill it." That she'd said like a joke. Harry knew better. He didn't see Mr. Sweeney very often, and he was happy about it. His wife and daughter were blond with blue eyes, and maybe his dirty hair approached that coloring, you just couldn't tell from the grease. He wasn't sure about his irises. Harry couldn't see the color of his eyes, only the dark blotches around them. He might do it, kill the bird. Jillian would never recover. She was right, it was better to dream up the bird, away from their gray sky days in NY, safe and warm and with its kind. "Now I get to imagine his travels. Think he flies near the surfers?"

Surfers had been her burgeoning obsession then. She read voraciously about it afterwards. Before long, she knew all the terms, littered her speech with them in Junior High. Some phrases stuck around. She even called wipe out when she saw Harry's books fly outta his hands the first day of Sophomore year.

He knew she hadn't seen Mark Martin knock them down on the other side of the locker, she would have had a fit and rethought her opinion on Mark. Mark hated Harry, and his glasses. Told him so in sneers. He was always asking him lewd things about Jillian. Which Harry hated. It was so disrespectful. Harry hated most that he remembered them when he was alone. Made Harry hate Mark. Jillian didn't know who Mark really was. She thought he was nice. He was nice, to her. Like most of the boys who picked on Harry.

In any case, she had been saying tubular before it turned into groovy, then psychedelic. If she couldn't be in California, she'd talk like she imagined they did. Dress like they did, live her own approximation.

He'd noticed a bit of sheer fabrics and bell bottoms and crop tops she favored these days. More of her playing the part. He couldn't not notice them. No wonder she wasn't excited to wear the plain Jane summer outfit he had of hers. Or his sweats. God, she might wear his clothes. He thought about that while she snored.

And the next morning, after a mostly sleepless night where Harry worried about his friend and how he didn't always think of her like a friend, she was still there. Usually she was gone, and he worried where. Where did she go when she snuck out? He hoped to the donut shop until it was lighter. He had nightmares about her hitching home and never turning up again.

Most of his dreams were Jillian lately.

She was stirring. So Harry went to check if his dad was up, how quiet they needed to be. Make a cup of tea, for both of them if he was able to pull it off.

"Jillian still asleep?" Harry jumped a foot at his father's voice. His hand was red where he caught the cup and it spilled over the edge. Bloody hot water. He shook it off and reached for the towel before his dad could tell him to.

"Um," he had to put down the tea. They hadn't directly addressed this since his dad had told him no more when Harry's voice had deepened. Though it was long after Jillian's nipples had pushed against the fabric of her tees then disappeared. He had noticed but not noticed at the time. "Um, did you ask if Jillian was asleep?" Clueless, he'd go for that. He went to push up his glasses and for the life of him, how did he not know they were not on yet. The world was blurry.

"Yeah, you know, the beautiful young girl you call your best friend that you think I don't know sleeps in your bed weekly."

His spoon clinked loudly on the tea cup he was making. "Look, Da." How did he start.

"It's alright, son. I see the bedding in the closet, and the hollows under your eyes. She may sleep in the bed, but you don't. But I can't help but think I have been remiss."

"About what?" Harry knew where this was going, and he wished for his glasses again, so he could clean them and avoid eye contact. He settled for turning around and dunking his tea bag. His dad taught him lots of things, like thermodynamics and vectors. Not vas deferens and fertilization.

He heard his dad's throat clear. It was always as loud as a bullfrog at times like these. "You are really old for this, but I felt like I missed the right time, and then I didn't know how to bring it up, and it was so late, but now I think it's nearly too late."

If Harry was another person, he might cross his arms and ask 'too late for what?' But he knew his face was beet red and he wasn't that person, it wasn't too late. He knew anyway, from the library. Where he had spent a long afternoon the first time he had soiled his sheets, and again when he'd had to help Jillian find money for sanitary napkins. But not too late the way his dad meant. Who'd have sex with him anyway, except himself?

"Too late?" He said to the darkening tea instead.

"You know, how, um..." he swallowed that huge frog down again. "About sex, sexu, sexual intercourse, and" he blew hot air out his nose. Harry wondered if it was steamy as the air coming off his tea. "How to not get a girl, pre, preg, up the spout."

The air was dead silent, the only thing alive was their twin mortification. Harry closed his eyes and turned around. "Dad, look, Da. That's not a worry. Nobody. I'm not." He held his breath and dropped the eye contact he'd tried to be brave with. "Who's gonna let me get close enough to them to get, um, knocked up?" He swallowed those words but they were heard.

His dad's brow drew in and his lips curled. "Well, I feel I should take offense, as you resemble me pretty closely." This was true, sort of. Harry dressed like his dad and did his hair in the same fashion; his face looked like his mother's though. The big eyes behind the gLass and wide mouth framed by dimples. his coloring was someone in between his dad's fair and mum's brunette. "And a beautiful woman let me give her a child." Now it was his dad's turn to close his eyes. The air was pregnant with memory. When his dad could lift his eyes, they were as wet as Harry's. "Do you see why the pretty girl who spends all her time with you and many nights in your bed would worry me?"

Harry could only muster a shrug. He really couldn't, see.

His dad's shoulder rested against his own, Harry's slouch erased the inches he'd gained on his father. "Harry," he sighed. "I see the way you look at her. And she may not yet. But don't forget she'd be as lucky to have you as you would to have her. The time may come where you need to make a play, do it. When it does, I need to know. You understand?"

Harry wanted to laugh, but nodded. He understood little, like how this talk about sex had turned into one about how him liking Jillian was just punching above his weight. Like into the stratosphere, where her planes flew.

"I know," his Dad sighed. "I know she needs an escape, and you are it. But there will be somebody who likes you for more than that. If she's as smart as I think she is, I should be worried. But I won't kick her out. Because, well...." His dad looked exhausted, like this talk had aged him years. It was a lot of talking l for them that weren't about school or NASA. His dad was usually careful with words, he felt like they were worth more than people thought. "You'll tell me though, when I need to worry?"

Harry nodded. His beautiful, dreamy best friend was as likely to be homecoming queen as he was to need to ask his father's advice on birth control methods. That was a daydream as far away as California.

#harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #summer's Child #harry styles au #harry styles alternate universe #1970s #1970's au #chapter one #chapter 1 #sleepy jean

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the-roanoke-society · 5 years

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What's the story behind the Agents of Sass and Class tag? How did Seraphim and Succubus meet within the society even tho they were from two COMPLETELY different agent circles? P.S I love you, bitch. 💖💖💖

now you did get the initial beginning down pretty square—seraphim had heard, on the periphery, that oh, we had a new necromancer, and man, her origin story was equal parts bizarre and intriguing (with the normal touches of tragedy that seemed to paint the narratives of everyone at the estate from time time—but such is the human and non-human condition of this plane, unfortunately).

let’s talk about it.

between the emotional aftermath of enoch’s abrupt departure, the city in the hills, all on top of routine missions that she was still being handed from lilith, there was a lot that seraphim missed. it wasn’t because of apathy. it was because of exhaustion. (and then there was still the matter of agent whiskey, of statesman. she was… still working on figuring that part out. but jack loved a good chase. and a good fuck.)

a large part of that was succubus’s training and entire initiation. but even as it was, for some reason seraphim couldn’t quite discern, lilith had been very keen on the senior agent being at least a bit aware that she was around.

very keen.

“hey, it’s—clementine. right?”

those were her first words to her. she’d overheard poltergeist a few days ago, talking to wendigo and mothman about his newest recruit. that he’d done the grave test, as he’d done with other field agents in training before her.

seraphim didn’t hate him. not exactly. but he reminded her so much of john who sparked such a deep anger and hurt inside of her that it was difficult for her to physically be around him for long. and it broke her heart to see another person being spiritually shattered in this way.

she’d pivoted abruptly, leaving the lounge before any of the three had seen her. fuming.

we aren’t wild horses. this is all so goddamn unnecessary and exhausting.

it didn’t feel like they were being broken and remade into something better. it just felt like breaking.

looking back, seraphim was grateful that rae had let her carefully lead her to one of the stools by the center island, get her tissues, a wet towel for her face, and food that was actually plated. she was hardly the first person seraphim had seen weeping in an odd place in the manor, although crying in front of an open fridge was a first.

clementine wasn’t clementine for long. soon enough, she was raeanna. then rae. but a lot about her was… guarded. that first conversation in the kitchen that night was very much a weird kind of dance. seraphim had to learn where to press, where not to press. the shapes of what she was willing to share versus what she wasn’t. and succubus, for her part, had only a vague idea of who seraphim even was.

“my name’s morgan. uh, seraphim’s my handle. it’s nice to finally meet you.”

an exorcist, fine, a senior agent of apparent high regard, sure, but succubus didn’t know her and didn’t exactly relish the idea of a sleepover-tier get-to-know-you conversation in the middle of the night with the witch that poltergeist had constantly used as a standard to decimate her confidence.

the closeness and seamlessness they share as a duo on the field wasn’t formed overnight.

but it was engendered in one.

because succubus found that for the life of her, she couldn’t withstand the barrage of kindness.

they ran into each other a few times after that, always in passing. succubus still had her training to finish, and seraphim had her normal fieldwork.

but one day, shortly after succubus had finally graduated out of poltergeist’s authority to become an agent in her own right, lilith called seraphim into her office. all of her usual calm smile and gentle—if not a little suspicious—demeanor.

“morgan! there you are! i see the color’s gotten back into your face since you came home. did mr. daniels have something to do with that? … aaannnddd look, now there’s even more pink there, i’m taking that as a yes.”

“lil, please. look, did you need to ask me something? i’m assuming you called me up here for a reason.” seraphim took a seat in one of the plush armchairs on the other side of lilith’s desk, watching her superior thoughtfully twirl a red apple in the space above an open hand. it had a bite out of it.

“you know me well. i did have something that i wanted to assign you, and agent succubus.”

“agent? oh, she got through training! thank god, i was scared that adam was going to run her off, or worse, and—wait, both of us?” seraphim lifted one brow. it wasn’t that she’d been hit with dread, but she’d never worked with rae afield before. she wasn’t sure what to expect.

“yes, she’s become quite the gifted necromancer under ‘geist’s—particular brand of tutelage. … morgan, would you like an apple, or are you just jealous that you haven’t quite mastered the art of object levitation?”

seraphim sighed. “both, if i’m honest, but joe’s been teaching me energy manipulation.” she caught the apple that lilith tossed to her from a bowl on the small table behind her and eyed the manila folder she slid onto her desk towards her. “granted, it’s not like i have a separate universe at my hands. our magic doesn’t look the same. but it’s…” her voice softened. another sigh. this one was sadder. “… it’s nice to be able to explore what i can do. after everything. you never really stop learning, i guess. not really.” she poked at the folder. “but uh, i’m a little bit more curious about that, ma’am.”

lilith smiled kindly. she’d have to speak with mothman later, see what exactly they’d been up to. “we’ve had—reports,” she began, flipping open the folder. seraphim took a bite out of her apple, reaching forward to touch one of the photographs that was on top of a stack of scanned newspaper clippings. “of something interesting happening around the outsides of las vegas.”

seraphim picked the picture up, frowning at it. “uh—lil, uhm, what, what am i looking at?” she spoke around the apple bits in her mouth. the only distinct shapes she could make out in the photo were the mountains in the distance and a police cruiser. but this black blur in the middle…

whatever it was, it was massive. easily at least ten, twelve feet, comparing it to the car. big, dark, and—were those antlers?

“we’re not a hundred percent sure. but we’re afraid that given the damage its caused and an uptick in insomnia and night terrors around the part of the city where it’s been sighted, it may be something demonic.”

“which is why you’re sending me. okay, i follow you.”

“we also think it might not be completely alive in the traditional sense.”

“… it’s not what now?”

lilith rubbing her hands together. not a good sign. “we don’t think it’s—living. no mundane weapons seem to slow it down, which isn’t necessarily a huge surprise, but other members from the nevada office that were dispatched had similar misfortune. granted, their specializations aren’t quite like yours, or like rae’s, and we’re wondering if maybe we just need an approach with… let’s say a dynamic more like the one you two have.”

“lil…”

“i don’t mean anything as shallow as a game of holy versus unholy. i only mean that both of you are walking different sides of the same road, going the same way. you have a decent handle on being, as luca has said, a ‘light-bringer,’ and rae makes a weapon out of darkness. between the two of you, this thing doesn’t stand a chance, and the vegas mayor will, once again, owe me a debt.”

“uh, once again?” why was it that she consistently left lilith’s office with more questions than answers?

“it’s a long story, i’ll tell you when you get back. now go find rae, please, i’d like to speak with her. take this file with you to review. our dear darling quetzl just got back from visiting his mother, he’ll fly you out tomorrow morning at six a.m. sharp.”

“yes ma’am.” seraphim bit down on her apple, holding it in her mouth as she used both hands to shift through the file.

this would make for some interesting afternoon reading, but first, to find succubus…

* * *

“did you eat breakfast?” seraphim asked the next morning, hoping that a pair of dark capris and a light grey button-up wouldn’t end up being too hot for the desert. she couldn’t bring herself to just wear a tank-top. she didn’t like how people looked at her scars.

“… what?” succubus was rubbing sleep out of her eyes, almost tripping up the steps into the jet. almost. “oh shit—uhm, no, i opted to get as much sleep as possible. kind of regretting it.”

“what, sleeping in or not eating anything?” seraphim got up into the plane first, slinging her duffel bag upwards onto the rack over their seats.

the good witch—which seraphim thought was a fuckin’ weird name for a plane—was one of the nicer jets in roanoke’s hangar. the flight from kentucky to nevada wouldn’t be tremendously long, but it’d give them a few hours to rest, and if seraphim had her way, to be better friends.

this would be the first time they’d be stuck together for an extended period, and she wasn’t sure what to expect.

succubus laughed, and readily handed her own bag to seraphim’s outstretched hand. “both.”

“then boy do i have a surprise for you two!” seraphim and succubus both jumped at the booming voice of quetzl, who was the most intense morning person seraphim had ever met. all dark eyes, dark smiles and a demeanor that could be likened to a nuclear reactor.

before either of them could quiet react he’d already stuffed pop tarts into their hands—smores flavor into seraphim’s, strawberry into succubus’s. “you’re welcome. now please, go sit down, i’ve got to radio phoenix and get him to open the hangar up for us, but as soon as the gate’s up, we’re outta here!”

and as soon as they sat down: “dude do you want to trade? that one’s my favorite.”

“seriously? hell yeah, that one’s my favorite too.”

okay. off to a good start.

but seraphim closed her eyes as soon as they hit cruising altitude—she’d watched succubus take out a worn copy of carrie, and had to hide her smile—and when she opened them again, it was to the tune of quetzl’s voice over the p.a. system. “ladies! and—other ladies! all of the two ladies on board. we’ll be landing on the airstrip by our nevada compatriots here in like, thirty minutes. we’ll be right on the outskirts of henderson, which means around a thirty minute drive to the site that lilith wanted you to investigate first. so please return your seats to the upright position, do the thing with the tray tables, you’ve been on a plane before, just don’t run around the cabin, that’s literally it. … thank you for your patronage.”

succubus rolled her eyes. “is he always like this?”

seraphim laughed in response. “welcome to air quetzl. never boring, and sometimes just—real fuckin’ annoying.”

“better annoying than boring, though?”

the senior agent hummed, nodding. “i—yeah. better annoying than boring.”

* * *

agent tahoe met them in the hangar. blonde-haired, blue-eyed, and all six feet of her like a ray of sunshine. seraphim thought she was going to bruise her knuckles with the strength of her grip. where the hell does lilith keep finding all these morning people?

“seraphim! good to see you again, look how long your hair’s gotten! and you must be our newest crowned, agent succubus! i’m senior agent tahoe. our ah, staff’s stretched a bit thin at the moment, what with all the monster bullshit, but don’t worry, i’ll be the one making sure you get to where you need to g—“

“emilia! baaaabe! how’s it hangin’?”

“… clark.”

her tone went deadpan and succubus was trying desperately to keep some sense of professionalism.

“oh come on, you’re not still mad at me, are you?”

“if you two will follow me, our ride’s waiting in the garage juuuuust down this corridor here—“

“oh sweet, what did boss man upstairs lend us?”

“i said you two. meaning them. you are going straight inside where someone can keep an eye on you. and don’t touch anything.”

“emilia!”

“go fucking upstairs.” but all the venom in her voice disappeared when she turned back to the team at her shoulders, following close behind her. “in all seriousness, we’re really glad y’all are here. whatever this thing it, it broke jarbridge’s legs, compound fractures, too. i mean, she passed out, which is good, she says she doesn’t even remember it happening, but i’m pretty sure lovelock’s gonna have to take some kind of sabbatical, you know how squeamish he is around blood…”

succubus glanced at seraphim once. her face was a little pale.

but seraphim just put a warm hand on her shoulder, and leaned closer to her. “hey. this asshole hasn’t met us yet. we got this.”

* * *

tahoe was the kind of woman where, if you didn’t make any attempt to steer the conversation, she could talk gore and guts for literal hours (seraphim had heard her do it enough times before).

once they’d gotten into a shiny black falcon coup (that, despite how clean it looked, was straight out of 1975) seraphim watched succubus’s face become more and more drawn.

she’d survived poltergeist. that spoke volumes in and of itself. but even the confidence bred from that firewalking brand of training, well…

seraphim remembered her first mission solo, without enoch at her side. all she had to do was envision that bright yellow doorway on lincoln street and it all came flooding back, visceral but short-lived. the nervousness. the fear. and for her, at least, an acute case of being overwhelmed.

but then… poltergeist hadn’t left.

would it have been so bad if he did leave, really?

seraphim shook her head. “—emilia! emilia. uhm. look, now, you know i love a war story as much as the next agent, but ah, rae looked a little confused as to why you were being so cold to clark, and frankly, i am too, i thought you two had patched things up?”

if there was one thing tahoe liked talking about more than body horror—it was her exes.

succubus didn’t want to let on that her heart was in her throat, and she had her hands balled into fists in her lap so no one could tell they were shaking. what had she gotten herself into? double compound fractures? were her bones about to see the light of day as well? she suppressed a shudder.

she loved bones. she loved her own bones. she loved them most when they were safely under her skin like they were supposed to be.

but succubus also loved gossip, and seraphim, as it turned out, was an excellent enabler.

also turned out that quetzl was just as awful to date as succubus had judged beforehand, according to tahoe. “and okay, i’ll concede that maybe i shouldn’t have been looking through his phone but damnit, rae, it was my own sister! like, both of my sisters! who does that?”

* * *

their arrival point was hardly anything climactic—although ‘cinematic’ was still a word that seraphim would’ve used. in a very regional gothic sort of way. the sun was high by that point, not a cloud in the sky and it was so blue that it hurt her eyes. she could see roaring vegas in the distance as she stood by the front of the coup, taking a drag off of her cigarette. her usual pre-mission ritual these days.

“i didn’t know you smoked,” succubus said quietly, but even as soft as her voice was, seraphim jumped anyway, coughing. “oh shit, sorry, i didn’t mean t—“

“it’s okay! it’s okay. it’s a gross habit. i keep telling lilith i’ll quit, but…” she stared at it in the v of her fingers, shrugged, and then took one long final inhale before flicking upwards, snapping her fingers, and—where the hell did it go? “i don’t know. i don’t have a lot of motivation to stop. and anyway, that’s not why we’re here, we’re here!” with a grand flourish, she turned, motioning to the spread of desert before them. “to catch a monster.”

succubus grinned. “i do like the sound of that.”

“hell yeah you do! we are the fuckin’ veil!” tahoe had a mapped spread out over the car’s hood, covered in various markings. “shit, iiiiii am utter garbage at location work, i wish jarbridge was out of medical already—“ she laughed. “man she’s probably high as a kite right now anyway. she’d be useless. okay, look just—you two come over here.”

seraphim and succumbs watched at her shoulders as she pointed with one black-painted nail to a part of the map marked with three sharpie x’s, all in a triangle and all on the other side of a low, craggy ridge about a mile or so from where the dirt roadside where they’d parked. “based off of all the intel we’ve been able to gather, we think that it’s home base is right around here. now, it’s daytime, and this thing is one nocturnal son of a bitch, so the strategy is to get a jump on him on his home turf. catch him with pants down, or whatever.”

succubus hummed, “oh, now those are my favorite kind of missions—“

tahoe lifted her eyebrows. “remind me to ask you some questions when this is all over and we get celebratory shots on the strip or something. now!” in a few wide strides she was at the trunk, popping the lid with the wave of a hand as she walked. “these are yours.” she handed seraphim her usual pistol, and succubus a standard issue handgun marked by the roanoke insignia and a few sigils she couldn’t quite recognize.

“there’s my baby!”

“uh, morgan, what kinds of babies have you been around…?” but seraphim was too busy taking practice swings with a large wooden bat, embedded with nails, wrapped in barbed wire and prayer beads.

“rae, meet virgil. virgil, rae. most trustworthy man i’ve ever met.”

succubus lifted her eyebrows in approval. “will, uh, i get one of those—?”

seraphim had the audacity to wink. “if you make one yourself. i’ll tell you virgil’s story over all those shots tahoe said she was going to buy us here in a second.”

but tahoe was back studying the map. something about her posture was different. her back straighter, her lips in a tighter line. there was a beat before she lifted her eyes to the agents, sighing. “i wish there was something more i could give you. anything more. but this is it.” another short exhale. “we don’t know what, exactly, this is. but you two are going to be the best crack at it that we’ve taken so far. if things get hairy, just head back here. i’ll stay here with the ride. my office is a button-press away. don’t—“ she swallowed. seraphim felt nervousness tug at the base of her stomach. this wasn’t like emilia. “don’t be scared to bail out. might’ve saved jarbridge her legs. i’ll be here, okay? comm’s on. you’ve got your specs. call me beep me, whatever.”

succubus lifted a hand, reflexively tracing the frames that rested across the bridge of her nose.

“… good luck.”

seraphim had one hand on the top of the holster strapped across her thigh, the other on virgil’s base. he rested easily across the width of her shoulders. she knew where the grooves were to keep the barbs from digging into her work jacket (although a few still did anyway). succubus realized the weird straps of leather stretching across seraphim’s back were just another holster as she took one more swing, then popped the back into the curved sockets. “we won’t let you down, em. rae—stay at my shoulder.”

but she waited until they were a ways down, making their own path through the sand before she kept going: “—but when i say get behind me, get behind me.”

succubus frowned. “what, you think i can’t handle it?”

“rae—“

“no, no, please, enlighten me.” they didn’t stop walking. their path started to descend down, and succubus could see the rocky edge they’d have to hike over to get to the triangle marked on tahoe’s map. she wondered if it’d be like the monster movies she’d watched as a kid; would there be a cave? a dark, yawning maw on a hillside, looking like it’s full of nothing but pitch, like how sophie walked into the cavern in howl’s moving castle?

seraphim didn’t answer immediately, but then: “this is our first time. not to make this sound all euphemistic and shit, but i’d prefer if you didn’t, i don’t know, get a part of your neck bitten out, get your bones broken—y’know. work stuff.”

succubus blew out a breath. “right. … right. i, uh. i’m—“

“don’t.” seraphim smiled. succubus realized how easy it looked, sliding onto her countenance.

it didn’t make sense.

she’d seen this same woman look absolutely haunted when she thought no one was looking.

“i’m here to act as guardian angel. this is a part of your training.” and softer: “… and mine, too.”

“hmm?”

“nothin’. just stay close, okay?”

“‘kay.”

* * *

the rest of the walk was fairly quietly. seraphim kept singing under her breath, but succubus couldn’t make out anything familiar. she thought she heard something like “it’s rainin’ tacos…”

they came up on top of the ridge, and succubus squinted, staring down. it was a sheer drop, and while it wasn’t like they were on top of the grand canyon, she was pretty sure a fall from this height could kill someone. or at least make sure they never walked again. seraphim whistled lowly, motioning off to the left. “looks like there’s a path that goes down.” her voice was soft, but solid. “if i had to guess, we’re probably standing on top of this thing’s house. ten bucks says there’s a cave or something similar down there.”

“deal.”

and as it turned out, there was a cave.

well—‘cave’ might’ve been too kind of a descriptor.

to seraphim it looked more like a giant had straight up just clawed a huge whole into the side of the rock. the entrance was marked by sharpened, jagged stones that looked too much like teeth for her liking.

they approached painfully slowly. as soon as the ground had evened out, seraphim had drawn her pistol, and succubus mimicked the movement. but there was no sound, nothing, save for the wind whistling over the ridge.

“look like about how you expected?”

“with a bit more cacti, yeah. and the police cruiser is a surprise.”

the saguaro looked like they belonged there, but that car did not. seraphim wondered if it was the same one she’d seen in the photo lilith had shown her, but this one had definitely been through the wringer.

all the windows had been shattered. the sun caught the shards of glass that surrounded it, making it look like someone had spilled stars onto the sand. it was covered in dents, the place where the engine was had been hit downward (whatever engine there had been was now probably less engine and more just… car parts scattered underneath the cruiser), but what caught her eye the most was a set of six long lines dug along the length of one side.

claw marks? teeth marks? it was anyone’s guess.

—oh. and we’re about to find out.

succubus suppressed a shiver underneath a full sun. “what do we do?” she whispered. she could see seraphim’s jaw working, brows furrowed.

“should’ve brought a grenade…” a short sigh. “well, too late now, and this isn’t exactly joe’s last d and d campaign. i don’t think charging in there is a good idea. we have no idea of the layout, and ‘strength in numbers’ doesn’t apply to every situation, especially not ones like this.” she lifted a hand and ran it along her chin. “… okay. okay. i have an idea.”

“what’s the idea?”

“you go wait by the cruiser. i’m gonna whistle and try to draw it out.”

“… are you being serious?”

seraphim grinned and it looked borderline maniacal. “sure am. something tells me it might have a weakness to sunlight, hence why we only see it at night. if it is demonic, like lilith thinks, i’ll be able to bind it. and if it’s undead—also like lilith thinks—then you’ll just dispatch it.” she nodded to the handgun at succubus’s hip. “those bullets are holy. should do the trick. now get over there. i’m going to see if i can pull off a tom and jerry, get the jump on it from behind if we can just lure it out.”

so. succubus found herself on her knees behind the front part of the cruiser, sheltering behind the busted metal. she watched as seraphim had walked a far, wide circle, coming back to the ridge face and slowly edging her way along the rock, her spine pressed as flat against the stone as it would go. virgil, abandoned for the moment to make space, leaned against the rock some ways away. succubus was already regretting that decision.

it felt like ages passed as she side-stepped. side-stepped. side-stepped. side-stepped again.

until finally seraphim was close to the cave’s mouth. but she didn’t draw her gun again, like succubus had expected. it stayed holstered alongside her thigh. but she did roll up her sleeves to reveal—were those tattoos? where had those come from? succubus couldn’t remember seeing them before. had she found time to mark herself somehow?

but she didn’t have enough time to ponder. because seraphim met her eyes, nodded once, and turned her neck.

there it came, a whistle, low, long and, succubus reasoned if she could hear it from all the way behind the police car, loud. seraphim abruptly jerked back, flattening herself again. her palm spread wide against the stone, trying to feel the vibrations of movement, the vibrations of anything.

but an entire minute passed. then two. then five.

seraphim blew some air into her cheeks, and with trembling legs, finally began walking back towards the car. “look, rae, i think maybe the recon team got the wr—“

it came so quickly that seraphim immediately collapsed to her knees. it was a high-pitched banshee wail of a shriek, so cacophonous and blaring that even when succubus jammed the heels of her hands over the shell curves of her ears it did nothing to soften the sound. she screwed her eyes shut, and just as abruptly as it started, it was done. when she opened them, trying to remember how to breathe, how inhaling and exhaling felt, seraphim had collapsed onto her rear on the other end of the cruiser.

succubus swallowed. “what. the fuck. was that.” her voice was quiet. a jet plane would have been quiet in comparison to what they’d just heard.

seraphim had no color in her face and couldn’t immediately answer. “… okay. that’s uh. probably the target. i apologize, i completely gave in to the monkey brain flight-or-fight response there and didn’t pick the right one.”

“i don’t know if i necessarily agree.” they stared at each other for a few beats of silence. both were afraid to move. it wasn’t something either of them were trying to hide that moment. “—what do we do now?”

seraphim took a breath, her mouth moving to answer, but was interrupted by—succubus didn’t know how to describe it, not straight away. it had different parts, all moving and all happening so close together it was hard to pick them apart. the whoosh of air, the clean cut of metal on metal, that short of shink noise that a knife made up against a whetstone. succubus blinked.

she thought she’d seen sparks between them.

literal sparks, as if the side of the car had been hit with something.

her mind was trying to catch up.

… are those claws?

the fingertips—nails, talons, claws, all of them—of a hand (‘hand’ was a generous descriptor in this instance) were sticking out of the side of the car. not opening the door. they were sticking out having gone through the outer frame of the cruiser.

tap. … tap tap.

succubus was going to be sick.

taptaptaptaptaptaptap—

seraphim abruptly fell backwards as the half of the car she’d been leaning against was wrenched back, and she found herself staring upwards, right into the face of the monster of the photograph.

“jesus christ you are so much uglier up close.”

“morgan for fuck’s sake—!“

succubus was reaching, grabbing, trying to grasp her pant leg, something as this thing let out another scream. it threw the chunk of cruiser down where seraphim had been lying in partial shock just seconds earlier. the crash was deafening and before seraphim quite knew what was happening, she was sprinting across the sand with her elbow in a grip that was almost bone-crushing.

“run!”

it didn’t matter that they were armed. it was too close too fast. there was no time. no space. it was on them like–what was it poltergeist had liked to say? white on rice.

that thing didn’t have to make a noise, they could both hear the hoofbeats behind them, could see the too-long, too-prickled shadow catching up to overtake theirs on the desert ground.

“what the fuck! what the fuck! shit!” succubus wasn’t leading them back to tahoe, then there’d be three dead agents instead of just two, and she absolutely believed that there was for sure going to be two.

“—i have another idea!”

“oh fucking great!”

“no no no, this one’ll work i’m positive!”

“isn’t that what you said last time?!”

“if you remember correctly, i said no such thing! trust me, old school always works! let me go on three, okay? one—three!”

succubus hadn’t planned on turning around, but then the—demon? zombie? old forgotten demigod or someone’s bastard offspring? who knew?—started to make a new sound. she ran until its shadow wasn’t touching anything in her sight, ending up back against the ridge. only then did she turn.

… wow.

what she hadn’t seen was seraphim pulling off what she’d honestly considered a hail mary.

they couldn’t outrun it. in the time it would take them to draw their guns, it probably would’ve sliced them open at the elbows. and as any necromancer, or exorcist, or witch, or sorcerer can tell you: it’s very, very difficult to concentrate enough to do anything, let alone put up a decent defense or guard, when you’re actively being chased and doing the opposite of gaining ground.

not for seraphim, anyway.

not yet.

as soon as succubus’s grip released from her arm with a push, seraphim dropped like dead weight onto her back and prayed—prayed very, very hard, and focused, just like she’d been taught.

she forced her elbows to meet, right up to her wrists, as she was very, very narrowly missed being stepped on (which would’ve been lethal—apparently she’d missed the velociraptor feet the first go-around). and as she did so, the marks on her arms made a shape—a circle, decorated with smaller symbols, around and around and around…

a seal.

“a capite ad calcem.”

from head to heel.

freeze, motherfucker.

succubus turned in time to see the target upheld over seraphim, who was flat on her spine against the dirt, directly underneath it. it almost looked like it was being suspended by the thinnest strands of razor wire—succubus kept catching glints as it thrashed, and something black began to ooze out of it.

seraphim had some drip right onto her flushed cheeks, struggling a bit to keep the seal intact.

succubus began to understand why poltergeist had brought her up so often. for a beat, she could only stare.

and with a bit of surprise, she realized she didn’t feel envy, or any kind of spite—because that’s just what adam would have wanted, isn’t it? to break a thing before it got a chance to breathe?—she felt awe.

she felt pride.

which quickly melted into panic as soon as seraphim’s voice cut through her haze, upped a pitch in the chaos. “rae? buddy? a little help? this dude’s—oh shit, no you do not, asshole mcgee—just a smidge stronger than i first thought. show me what you’ve got! deport this fucker!”

every line blazed into a brightness that hurt her to look at for too long, and it suddenly all snapped into place. every single thing poltergeist had taught her, flooding back. perhaps her learning retention was better than she thought.

as another of the monster’s cries echoed against the ridge wall—this one perhaps a bit more pain than rage—she ran closer.

those were petrov lines—which meant that was an azrael seal. azrael was an archangel who had special dominion over retribution; his marks (and succubus understood that oh, those are what seraphim had on her arms, i just couldn’t recognize them in broken pieces—) aided in trapping demonic entities that had manifested onto the physical plane. this was one of the first seals that seraphim had been taught, and for good reason.

okay. so a demon.

but petrov lines, those only appeared for beings that were demonic just in part. something that came from some of the in-between worlds, an underworld that was a hell but not a hell.

something that succubus merely recognized as undead.

fuck, it’s both.

but succubus suddenly felt a surge of confidence at the light of the lines, and she lifted her hands, gun forgotten, darkness already beginning to twine out from her elbows, down to her wrists. she stalked, predatory, and seraphim tried to both watch her partner and keep this thing under control.

she may not have seen succubus’s hand motions, the intricate movements of her fingers in rapid succession followed by a definitive slicing motion.

but she heard her, speaking in the same tongue she had.

“ad initium—asshole!”

seraphim watched as cords of black intertwined with the lightlines, and kept watching as they found the creature’s neck.

it was both forces together that bore themselves down and quite literally razored the being into little chunks. no more black fell on seraphim’s face. it simply dissipated, as if it had turned to ash.

what was it that lilith had said?

walking different sides of the same road.

it took about a minute for it to disappear completely, and when it did, for about as long, neither agent moved. seraphim was exhausted. muscle fatigue manifested as tremors in her arms. she stared up at an empty sky as succubus slowly walked towards her, finally kneeling down by her side.

“… you good?”

“… yeah. you good?”

“yeah.”

“groovy.”

seraphim closed her eyes. she could’ve fallen asleep if she hadn’t started to hear distant yelling: “oh my god what did you two DO?!” tahoe was scrambling down towards them, yelling, looking equal parts horrified and elated. “i heard—oh my god, i—morgan, rae, you’re alive, you’re both alive, hallelujah, and no bones! morgan, what the fuck is all over your face? whose blood is that? is that blood? holy shit i can’t believe you—woah woah!” she caught succubus as she flopped off to the one side, threatening to collapse. “rae. rae, stay away. morgan. … morgan!”

she slapped the exorcist on the bicep, and the exorcist in question swore but in a much more whiney tone than she’d originally meant, to which tahoe just quipped: “oh walk it off you big baby. we’ll have a beta team come out and cleanse this area, it’s still tainted, which means if you’re gonna faint, you can’t do it here. c’mon now, up we go—“

succubus, as a newer recruit, had the luxury of tahoe’s arm around her waist, helping her to stagger to her feet. seraphim had a few false starts before she managed to first roll up onto her knees, then finally, to stand. her first few steps were shaky. but she shook her head, blinked a few times, and glanced over at succubus and tahoe walking back towards the car.

and they grew steadier, as she went.

around thirty minutes later, time found them all sitting at the bar of a classic, neon-tinged greasy spoon diner, complete with black-and-white checkered floors and a jukebox in the corner that apparently knew three songs: rocketman, dancing queen, and under pressure.

not a bad mix, honestly.

“ladies!” tahoe was the first to lift her shot glass. the three of them swirled with some cheap well tequila, given a pink sheen from the lights. “what do we want to toast to?”

“… uhm.” seraphim mumbled, staring at her glass. “weee… should toast toooo…”

“… new friendships?” succubus had spoken so softly that at first, seraphim wasn’t sure she’d heard her. but once she understood, she grinned, broadly.

“to new friendships—and to the first of many victories.” succubus smiled back at her. … i think i could really like it here.

“cheers!”

their glasses clinked to the tune of sir elton john, crooning softly: “and i think it’s gonna be a long long time… and i think it’s gonna be a long long time…”

#the roanoke society #agent succubus #agent seraphim #agents of sass & class #agent quetzl #agent tahoe #agent lovelock #lilith #agent poltergeist #once upon a time in nevada #(what's this? morgan actually created content? the madness!)

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ievenranthisfar · 5 years

Text

72 Needles In Millions of Haystacks // My First 24-Hour Orienteering Race

It’s somewhere around 3:00 in the morning. I’ve been up somewhere around 24 hours. And I’m… somewhere. I just don’t know where.

My partner Sean and I have just descended hundreds feet down a sheer rock face that’s dumped us into a pitch-black forest. Above us, a canopy of ancient pines blocks out the full moon. Below, the trunks of their fallen compatriots and an army of younger ones eager to take their place make our travel directionless and nearly impossible. And amid all this, we’re looking for a small, orange and white triangular flag with nothing more than a dot on the map, a compass, and the vague clue that it was located at a “reentrant.”

Suddenly, there at the bottom of that cliff, swallowed up by the forest, I felt very, very small. And very, very far away from anything. Forget finding the control, I think to myself. What if we can’t ever find our way out of this canyon?

Are we going to die down here?

A Little Compass Context

This was my first ever 24-hour rogaine orienteering race. I’d been introduced to orienteering a year and a half ago when my good running buddy Guillaume Calmettes invited me to a local event. He was using to sharpen his navigational skill in prep for his first run at the infamous Barkley Marathons. And he convinced me it was super fun and easy to pick up. He was correct.

In orienteering there are two basic formats. This first one I did was Classic, meaning you get handed a map of the area you’re in with little numbered dots on it. Then, you have to use your compass to find your way as you run from control to control in a pre-determined order as fast as possible. Beginner’s luck. I got second place. Guillaume got first.

The next event we went to the following month, I won.

Our compass skills were admittedly only okay. (Actually, Guillaume’s were fine. Mine, less so.) But having experience and fitness as a runner, helped us immensely. Still, we made plenty of mistakes. This year, I made some huge errors in races. It’s really humbling when it takes you 3:34 to finish a course, and the winner did it in 0:57. The beginner’s luck had run out.

Most orienteering events are relatively short, usually one or two hours long. But it’s incredibly intense. When you’re trying to find 15 different controls as fast as you can, you have your head buried in your map as you’re sprinting through parks, up and down hillsides and rooting through streams to find your controls.

Then Guillaume told me about rogaining. It’s the same thing, except it lasts for 24 hours. 🤯 I’ve run plenty of ultras that last longer than 24 hours, and I’ve done some orienteering races for a few hours, but I didn’t know you could combine the two. It sounded bonkers.

(For the record, the name rogaine comes from a portmanteau of the sport’s founding members’ names. It has zero to do with a fix for male pattern baldness.)

Guillaume and I talked wistfully about one day competing in the World Championship. Then, two months ago, I got a text. The North American Championship was taking place at the Nav-X Challenge in a month, in the Sierra National Forest. The top two teams would go to World. So we signed up.

Lake Shaver, near the course

A few days later, Sean Ranney reached out to Guillaume to see if he could join the fun. If you don’t know who Sean is, he’s an incredibly accomplished runner who holds the Tahoe Rim Trail unsupported FKT. He’s also the creator of a Barkley-style race called Euchre Bar Massacre every October. He’s legit.

Then, with just two weeks to go before Nav-X, Guillaume ran into some problems with his visa and had to return to France the day of the race. Sean and I were incredibly bummed to lose G, but we decided to go on and do the race. “Do it for Guillaume!” we said. “Or to rub it in his face!” We hadn’t decided which.

___

What To Expect When You’re Expecting

So, this is how I find myself waking up in a tent in the middle of the Sierra, waiting to be handed a map that would send me out into the forest on a very wild goose chase.

Camp/a Jeep commercial

Sunset the night before

Full moon over camp

Waiting for Sean to show...

Nine o’clock rolls around. Time to receive our maps. Sean is nowhere to be seen. Nine-thirty. Ten. I look around as other teams scurry to plot their movements and prep their gear for the next 24 hours. Time is running out. Instead of feeling stressed, I’m a little relieved. Maybe I won’t have to do this after all…

Ten-thirty. Sean’s red truck rolls into the dusty campground. I guess we’re doing this.

In a supremely ironic twist of fate, Sean had gotten lost for hours while driving to the starting area. This does not bode well for our future prospects. We exchange quick pleasantries and immediately get down to the business of plotting our moves. The High Sierra sun already beats down on us as we squat over a stump, with our highlighters and sharpies clenched in our hands. It feels oppressive already.

The second type of orienteering is called Score-O. All rogaine races are Score-O. The premise is that there are flagged controls laid out across the course, each assigned a point value based on difficulty to travel to it or find. Rather than racing for the fastest time, everyone has the same amount of time to nab as many controls/points as they can. If you’re skilled enough to get every single control, you’ve “cleared.” It’s a game of strategy. Do you go after more of the easy controls that are closer to the start but are lower value? Or do you try to go out farther and burn time to get higher-value controls further afield?

Looking at our map, we have 72 controls. The possibilities are pretty much endless as to how we can design our run. Hell, the map itself is huge. It’s over two feet tall. I’m just wondering how I’m going to carry this thing in front of me for 24 hours.

Being novices to this whole thing, Sean and I both frantically googled rogaine strategies in the week leading up to the race. Interestingly, it involves office supplies. So on drive way up the previous day, I had found myself in a Staples somewhere in the Valley buying various brightly color writing utensils.

First, we highlight all the high-value controls on the map in yellow. The locations of water drops we highlight in pink. It quickly becomes apparently that the northeast corner of the map has the highest concentration of 60, 70, 80, and 90-point controls, but they’re spread further apart, and the terrain seems to be more forested, meaning navigation and travel will be more difficult. Also, there’s more water. The southern portion of the course has the next highest concentration of points. It seems to be more exposed rock which will be faster nav and travel. No water to speak of though. The northwest sector is denser in the number of controls but they’re lower value.

The correct plan seems fairly obvious (I think). We decide we’ll make a big loop of the northwestern segment first while we’re fresh, it’s hot, and we still have sunlight. Then, we’ll loop back to the hash house (the start/finish area), resupply and head out on our second loop. This loop will take us to the south overnight, where it should theoretically be easiest to navigate and we won’t need much water. Then, we’ll head back to the hash house for another resupply and go out on our third loop to pick off as many easier, lower-point controls as we can before noon tomorrow.

(One thing to factor into strategy is the penalty for finishing late. In this case, we’d lose 10 points for every minute past 24 hours that we’re out of the course. So you also want to plan the end of your race to have points where you can call audibles towards the end.)

Marking up the map

With our basic game plan laid out, we quickly start penciling in lines of travel from control to control. Again, more strategy. This time we’re trying to make each move the shortest possible while also hitting every control and simultaneously avoiding any overly difficult moves due to a giant mountain between them, dense forest, whatever.

We check our watches. It’s just a few minutes before the noon start. We quickly draw over our lines in sharpie, shrugging to each other occasionally. “I guess this seems good, right?” “Yeah. It all feels easy right now at least.”

Slipshod plan formatted, we hurriedly stuff all our gear, clothes and food into our packs. Because, oh yeah, since you’re going to be out in the wilderness on your own pretty much the whole race, you need to carry everything with you too.

Ready to roll

Still cramming stuff in our vests, we amble up to the starting area. We are, as usual, the outliers. Like any sport, orienteering has its own mores, particularly when it comes to fashion. Pants to protect the legs while crashing through underbrush. Long-sleeved shirts to deal with fluctuating temperatures. Protective hats to block hours of sun exposure. Calf-high gaiters to keep shoes free from any debris. Big packs to carry a day’s worth of supplies. Hiking-style shoes to cover the harsh terrain. We have none of this.

No, Sean and I stand there in our bright, little running shorts. Thin, polyester shirts. Tiny packs. We have so much skin exposed, I’m sure the other races are wondering if we’ll die of exposure or blood loss first.

It’s also worth noting that Sean and I are on the young end of the age spectrum. By a lot. Looking around, the average age seems to be hovering around 55. Orienteering, for whatever reason, tends to attract a much older crowd. I suppose it’s because it’s a thinkers’ sport. As I’ve learned time and time again, a great navigator who can move slowly but efficiently can crush a fast runner who’s shitty at navigation. Skill and experience levels the playing field immensely.

It’s 11:59. Our big adventure begins soon. The race directors herd us into the starting corral and offer a few final tidbits of intel and advice. And then, it’s, “OK… go!”

“Here goes nothing…” I mutter to Sean.

___

Noob Troop Loop

Orienteering starts are funny. Because each team has chosen a different one of the millions of possible permutations of routes, everyone scatters off in totally different directions immediately.

Sean and I bound out of the campground and down the main dirt road to the first bend, where we stop and consult our maps. We line up our compasses and shoot a bearing to the east-southeast, where our first control, 307, will supposedly be. Flipping over the map, I read the description of 307 off the chart. It simply says, “Broad saddle.” We peel off and quickly find ourselves climbing up a steep hill, dodging underbrush as best as we can. Soon enough, we top out. The saddle. But where is the control? We run a few hundred feet to the right, nothing. So we backtrack and try the left. Soon, “There it is!” We see the orange and white dangling from a tree branch. We quickly insert our e-sticks (basically USB sticks attached to our hands) to record our presence and then immediately consult the map again.

Moving from the hash house (pink) to 307 to 405

Control 405. To the east-northeast, maybe half a mile away. Rather than shoot straight there, we see that there’s a road between it and us. The road connects to another road that travels within about a tenth of a mile to it. And near there, there’s a junction with a trail. So, we can travel expeditiously via road, then shoot our bearing off the trail junction so we know exactly where we are and the exact angle we have to travel to reach 405, labeled “Marsh, S end.” Or at least that’s the idea.

We make our way to the road, turn on the second road, and fairly quickly find the junction. From there, we shoot the bearing and sprint off, back into the woods. Soon enough, we find a marsh and start scanning the area. Nothing. We move along the edge, trying to stay on the south side. But as the control continues to remain elusive, we begin just running around aimlessly hoping to bump into it. Ten minutes go by. “Where the hell is this thing?” “We’re definitely at the south end of the marsh… right?”

Finally, I pull my head out of the moment. “Stop. Let’s look at the map.” That’s when I notice that the marsh isn’t just one big strip; it has a bend into it, breaking the marsh into two distinct sections. “What if we’re in this part of the marsh, not over here?” Lightbulb. We’d overshot the bearing just enough that we’d landed ourselves in the smaller, adjacent part of the marsh. We turn 180 degrees and crashed through more underbrush until, there it was. The other part of the marsh. We sprint down its south face, and sure enough, the control comes into view. Ah, I’m starting to see how this is going to go…

We dip our e-sticks and I look down at my watch. 12:40. Two controls in 40 minutes. “Spot on pace!” I announce naively but also fully aware that it’s it’s naive. With 72 controls, to clear the course, we’ll need to find a control every 20 minutes for 24 hours straight. Two things: 1) That is an insane pace, and 2) it means we can make zero mistakes, like, ever.

So, time to get going. We consult the map again. Our next objective is 706, labeled “Reentrant.” We check our compasses and take off.

For the next hour or so, we’re cranking along nicely. Our control-every-20-minutes pace holds up. At 300 (“Broad terrace, N end”), I pull my head out of the map for a moment. It’s been two hours since we’ve started. “Holy shit. I feel like I’ve been out here with you all day,” I tell Sean.

There is no down-time in orienteering. No time to turn your brain off. No time even to eat or drink really. Your head’s always buried in your map, staring off the end of your compass, or scanning your surroundings, hoping to catch a glimmer of orange out of the corner of your eye. And as soon as you do and you’ve tag the control, your heads right back at it again. Oh, and you’re also running or hiking fully cross-country, hopping over logs, running down bare rock faces, hopping over talus fields, or breaking through underbrush, trying not to fall on your face.

Remember that thing you tried to do when you were little where you’d try to pat your head and rub your belly. It’s sort of like that except you’re also juggling a soccer ball, reciting pi to the 100th decimal, cooking an omelet, and doing your taxes.

___

Needle In A Haystack

The afternoon goes off relatively without much of a hitch. We trudge up hillsides, take shortcuts on logging roads that are nowhere to be seen on the map, skip across waterlogged marshes, cross long talus fields, and refill our bottles in cold, mountain-fed streams. Most importantly, we’re picking off controls here and there with only occasional difficulty. I actually can’t believe how well we’re moving. Honestly, I came into the race feeling only OK about my compass skills. But with the repetition of doing it over and over and over, hour after hour after hour, I’m starting feel cautiously confident.

Additionally, Sean and I have a very complementary partnership emerging. Ying and yang. He seems to be better with the compass and traveling over large distances to the general area of a control. Once there, I tend to be better at reading the immediate terrain and spotting the controls at a distance. (“LASIK!” I tell him. “The best money I’ve ever spent!”) And when one of us falters in his unspoken area of expertise, the other picks up the slack and the roles reverse. I’m really liking our chances.

Our entire northern loop

Eventually, we reach the very far northwestern corner of the map. 830, “Bare rock, W foot.” We sight ourselves off a massive wall of bare rock rising almost a thousand feet to our right. We’re almost surrounded by it in fact. I suddenly start to feel a quiet terror. It’s a cross between claustrophobia and helplessness. I realize just how far away we are from everyone and everything. Civilization. Safety. And any sense of origin. It’s like riding in an airplane and suddenly thinking about the fact that you’re 30,000 feet above the Earth in a metal tube. We round a giant grouping of boulders and thankfully spot the control. Mercifully, the feeling washes away in our excitement.

We make a few more moves. We shoot a bearing from 631 (“Stream”) to 821 (“Marsh, partially treed, SW part”). The move feels fairly complicated on the map. In practice, it’s even worse. But after 25 minutes or so, we find ourselves in the general area where we think we’re supposed to be. Except, we have no idea where we actually are. Or where the marsh is. Instead, we’re on a steep, loose hillside, chockful of deadfall and chaparral. This looks nothing like a marsh. This looks like the opposite of a marsh. Sean, sure he knows where we are, shoots off up the hillside. I follow him but only half-heartedly, feeling like he’s going the wrong way. My head starts to spin. The airplane feeling comes on again.

Five minutes later. “Stop! Let’s look at the map and see where we think we are,” I implore. “I think we’re here,” Sean points with the corner of his compass. I’m not sure how he arrived at that conclusion. But, scanning the dense canopy of trees enveloping us, I have no better counter. “I think we need to go back up here,” he points. I’m at a loss so I shrug and say sure.

We fumble around for another 15-20 minutes. Then I hear Sean shout, “Found the marsh!” “You glorious son of a bitch!” I exclaim and sprint towards the sound of his voice. Sure enough, he’s located a marsh perched on a shelf on the hillside. In my excitement, I try to hop over a huge trunk, but my shoe catches a piece of bark and I ragdoll. Flipping forward, I slam into the marsh, bent at a 90-degree angle the wrong way. “Shit! Shitshitshitshitshiiiit.” I follow up with, “I’m OK!” I look down at my knee, and it’s bright red. Blood oozes down, soaking my sock below. I pop up, more embarrassed than hurt. “You alright, man?” Sean asks. I look down at my leg, wet with blood. “Yeah, the flies are just going to have a little feast,” I grin.

After all this, we can’t even find the control. We flail a bit more until we realize there are in fact several marshes on this hillside. None seem to actually be on the map. We make our way from one to another, until we finally find our “treed marsh” and the control. Finally.

After spending the last four hours totally off-trail in the middle of the wilderness, our next line of travel bisects a trail and then turns into a logging road. We make it there, and it feels surprisingly wonderful to be swaddled in civilization again. And good thing too, because night is falling fast.

We have a half dozen more controls to get us back to the hash house, but most all are near roads or trails so we cruise through them without incident. The only snafu comes on the very final control, a quarter mile from the campground. 201 (“Stream junction”). At 20 points, it should be uber easy. But somehow we find ourselves going up and down a dry stream bed, back and forth, looking for a non-existent control. Something is clearly wrong, but we can’t work it out. We both get frustrated. I rise the idea of just cutting bait—it’s only 20 points after all—and heading home. But Sean’s stubbornness is quickly joined by my own, and we refuse to give up. I know this is a poor use of our time, but I know how angry I’ll be with myself tomorrow if we don’t get every control we try for. The moment of frustration forces us to pause and regroup. Sean looks at the map and, in his amazing wisdom that I still don’t understand, decides that we must be in the wrong stream. Looking at the map, I’m not sure that we could be in any other stream. But absent a better idea, I go with it. Five minutes later and back on the road, we spot our correct stream. We instantly feel foolish. Five minutes more of fighting vegetation along the stream bed and we find the control. A short jog later and we’re back at the hash house.

It feels good to be back amongst people and lights and manmade objects. The timing tent is playing some Zeppelin, and the RD offers me soup. I greedily accept. I see a full bottle of Mrs. Butterworth syrup sitting on a table and say, “Oh. Are you guys making pancakes later?” The RD stares at me and just says, “No.” “Uh… OK.”

It’s 9:30. We tell the few people lounging around where we’ve been, and they seem impressed. It feels good; we must be doing something right. We’re a third of our way through the course, which is great. But it also means clearing the course is out of the question. No mind.

I jog back to my Jeep, grab a fresh battery pack for my headlight and shove more gels, turkey sandwiches and formerly-frozen burritos into my pack. Ready to roll. We know night will be trying, but we just don’t know how much.

___

Descent Into Darkness

Time to begin our southern loop. Drier, opener, faster (supposedly). We pop out on the road and look for the second path junction to the left. According to the map, it should come very quickly. But it doesn’t. Or it does. We can’t tell. There are so many Jeep trails and turn-offs, it’s hard for us to know which is the correct one. We choose one that seems right. But the trail isn’t bearing in the direction it is on the map. Still we follow it. Dumb. We’re going uphill now. This seems very wrong. It’s supposed to be flat. Still we follow it. Finally we both agree it’s wrong. Duh. We head back down to the road. For some reason we think the trail must be farther away from camp so we head out. We take other side trails momentarily before deciding they’re wrong. We probably run at least a mile from camp. At some point, a pickup comes rumbling down the dirt road keeping up dust in our headlamps. “Oh hey guys! Is that Andy and Sean?” Through the floating dust and the stupor in my head, I can’t really make out who it is. After a few moments, I dawns on me that it’s one of the RDs. Sean explains to him what we are—or aren’t—doing. “These roads are all fucked up, man. Just get to a control and shoot straight lines from there,” he offers as advice. As the pickup chugs off, I say to Sean, “Well no shit. That’s what we’re trying to do.” But he’s right. The area is so heavily used we can’t trust the map or anything we see. So what do we do?

We fumble around for another 20 minutes or so before we finally identify a set of cliffs off to our right. On the map, we see a symbol for cliffs. We’ve finally located ourselves. PHEW. And we’re right by a control. We shoot a bearing and head off towards 202 (“Marsh, just N of N tip”). And we find it! We curse, we laugh, we howl. But we’ve found it. And we burned 70 minutes doing it. For 20 points. Just a quarter mile from the starting line. Woof.

With a new understanding of where we are, we shoot a bearing and head off into the wilderness once more.

Earlier that afternoon I had said, “How the hell are we supposed to do this in the dark?” Now that it was dark… yeah. “Flying blind” does not begin to accurately describe what we’re doing. We just take a bearing, point ourselves in a direction and pray that we end up there. And our “easier, rockier” loop is nowhere to be seen. It’s all dense forests with zero visibility. (Fun fact! Almost all 24-hour rogaines are held as close to full moons as possible!) The one advantage the night provides is that the controls have pieces of reflective tape on them. So, if you’re scanning your surroundings, your headlight might at least catch a glimmer coming off the tape. This proved appreciably helpful in spotting controls at a great distance, ones that we probably wouldn’t have caught in daylight.

But still, it’s just really fucking hard.

After we grab a few controls, we head towards a big section of cliffs. It looks cool on the map. It looks cooler in person. We claw our way up a sheer rock face onto what turns out to be a massive, smooth granite ridge, rising hundreds of feet above the surrounding valley. We find 902 (“Spur/bare rock, access from N or S”) rather easily. There’s nothing else up there besides the control attached to a lone tree clinging stubbornly to the rock. We register our e-sticks and then sit down for a minute.

“Wow. It’s really beautiful out here.” In the full moon, we can finally see the world around us. It’s a symphony of rock and wood and water lit by the pale glow of a giant rock floating in the sky reflecting sunlight from millions of miles away. For a minute, inside all the madness, the world is perfect.

“Dude. I’m going to eat my fucking burrito,” I exclaim. I throw my pack off and dig in, finding the now-nearly-warm bean and cheese burrito that had been sitting in the bottom for 12 hours now. I bite into it and immediately start moaning. “I can feel the endorphins firing in my brain,” I gush to Sean. He laughs politely. I’m in heaven.

A few minutes later, we say goodbye to the view, take our bearings and head down off the cliffs. Rather than change back to forest, the ground beneath our feet stays sandy and open. “Finally!” I shout. “The rocky loop we were promised.” Feeling in high spirits, we cruise downhill towards 506 (“Reetrant”). At only 50 points, this one should be no problem… Right?

Forty-five minutes later, Sean and I are just flabbergasted. I’ve run out of curse words. I’m empty. I’m fully defeated. We’ve run up and down this damn stream so long looking for a junction to shoot a bearing from that I don’t even know what my name is anymore. We’re flailing. Several times, I fully lose the thread. I look down at my map, and it’s gibberish. I forget which control we’re looking for. I start trying telling Sean he’s wrong, as I’m looking at a totally different part of the map. I don’t know what we’re doing anymore.

We sweep the forest back and forth, a few dozen feet from the stream and a few dozen feet apart from each other, hoping to catch the glint of reflective tape in our headlamps. But the battery on my light is dying and has automatically dimmed itself. Even if the control is out here, I probably won’t see it. If was more coherent I’d be upset. Instead I’m just apathetic.

Somehow, we decide to sweep in the opposite direction, way downstream, which feel very wrong to us, but at this point, it’s the only thing we haven’t done. Running—mostly out of desperation—we drop into a deep forest and begin thrashing around in the undergrowth when suddenly, “Holy shit! I’ve got it!” We find it. I have no idea how that control relates to what we were looking for, but I don’t care. Desperation gives way to a rush of relief.

Here’s what it looked like on Strava. Woof.

Later, as we’re following our next bearing, Sean and I both admit to each other that we thought about suggesting we just bail on the control. But then we both realized we couldn’t.

And here’s the true challenge of rogaine. Ninety percent of the time you can’t just skip a control that’s hard to find. Because if you don’t know where the control is, then you don’t know here you are either. And if you don’t know where you are, you don’t where we’re you’re going next. So, you’re forced to find the control, even if it feels impossible, because it’s your own way out alive.

The rest of the night continues on, eventfully and uneventfully. Ironically, we seem to have the most difficulty finding the lowest-point controls while the high-value controls are relatively easy to locate. We joke about it. It’s funny. I think.

Features like “clearing” and “reentrant” continue to be the bane of my existence. What constitutes one clearing over another clearing? What the actual fuck is a reentrant anyway?

We flail in the dark some more.

We drop down a rock face to a deep dark forest where I think we’re going to die. Somehow, by sheer miracle, I get the sense that the control is much farther north than we think it is, and we sweep the edge of the forest. Four minutes later, I catch the gleam of reflective tape in my headlamp.

Another time, Sean and I are a bajillion miles away from anywhere we think we know. We’ve been running across a series of gullies towards 907 (another fucking “reentrant”). We’ve run ourselves down deep into the folds of a hillside. We’re surrounded by rocks and more rocks. We have no idea where in the world we possibly are. And then all of a sudden Sean shouts, “I see it!” There it is, two hundred feet above us. Another miracle.

The night goes on, until dawn slowly yawns on the horizon. I realize I feel better than I’ve ever felt in ant 100-miler at this point. We’ve covering a lot of ground, and it’s more full-body, but I’m not gutting myself to do it. And the necessity of focus actually makes me feel sharp. Then I realize I’ve only eaten a few hundred calories all night. I check my water bottles. Oh yeah. I’ve only drank about 20 oz of water in the last 12 hours too.

No mind. The sun comes up and navigation becomes easier again. Weirdly, I miss the reflective tape. You can’t have it all.

The next control is 623. I read the description: “Pool at base of 8m water (no access from NW).” “Oooh! That sounds delightful,” I say. We find it. It is delightful. Just as the sun has risen, we find ourselves in the midst of a smooth, rocky gully with a gently roaring waterfall surrounded by glimmering pools of cool water. “I’m really glad we did this one,” I say out loud, instantly feeling like we’re an old, married couple.

Five minutes later, I’m blowing my ass out behind a bush.

Three controls away from finishing our second loop, we hit another snafu. We burn what feels like an hour wandering aimlessly through the forest. It’s 503 (another fucking “reentrant”). It should be easy. It’s not. I shout at Sean to stop and let’s think this thing out. We orient ourselves off a giant wall to the north of us and try to think our way out of this thing. Ten minutes later, I start shouting “Hallelujah!” as the world around us is finally matching up with the world on our maps. We split up and two minutes later I shout, “Holy shit I found it!” Seriously, what is a reentrant anyway??

An hour later, we’re back at the hash house. It’s around 9:00 in the morning. The first loop took us 9.5 hours. The second one took 11.5. Clearing the map is waaaay out of the question. But as we’re milling around the food tent, we still feel plenty good. Sean and I both make a beeline for the industrial-sized can of cocktail fruit and spoon the syrup and processed pineapple into our cups and guzzle it whole. It’s heavenly.

Also, fruitcake FTW.

___

Victory Lap?

We’re closing in on two hours left. It’s getting hot again. I know Sean wants to quit. He knows I want to quit. I know he knows that I want to quit. He knows that I know that he wants to quit. But instead, we make plans to head out on our final, truncated loop. We’ll pick off a few controls that are nearby with enough time to return before noon. (Good rogaine strategy! I feel proud.)

Sean looks a little rough. I didn’t eat many calories overnight, but he ran out. Nonetheless, all night, he’d pushed the pace on hills, leaving me in the dust. I’ve been perkier on the roads and had to pull him a bit. Basically, we’re both beat. We don’t want to admit it to the other person. It’s funny that we only met about 24 hours ago.

“We leave by 22,” we agree. Translation: 10:00am. We’ll have two hours to complete our mini-loop of four controls. It’ll only be 130 points total, but it’s more to prove to ourselves that we refuse to quit. At 10:00am precisely, we meet by the port-a-potties.

In my mind, this mini-loop is a victory lap. We find the first control with ease. The second with ease. The third with ease. The fourth one pretends to be difficult but soon we wrangle it in. With most of the course under our belts and 45 minutes left, we head back home.

At the hash house, we jam our e-sticks in the control labeled “FINISH” and give each other a series of handshakes, fist-bumps and hugs. We did it.

___

“That’s A Good Thing”

When we put our e-sticks into the download terminal—basically the thing that receives all those timestamps when we punched the different controls—the printer immediately spit out a long receipt-looking thing. “Wow. That’s long. That’s a good thing,” says the volunteer working the computer.

I look at my receipt. It says we have 2,900 points. I look over at the timekeeper’s screen, and the top number of points I see from other teams is 2,630. Whoa. We might have won.

We did all that. Sheesh.

There’s still twenty minutes left—it’s 11:40am—so there’s a good chance another team could still come in and kick our asses.

Fifty minutes later we’re standing at the awards ceremony. I’m cracked out my mind. I’m dirty. Sticky. Tired. Blood-shot-eyes-y. But eventually the RD announces, “Male team, open… with 2,900 points… wow, that’s almost the whole map… Pacific Mountain Runners, Andy Pearson and Sean Ranney!”

Beginner’s luck again. We’re the North American Champions.

The best part about orienteering is how quaint it is. (And I don’t use that word pejoratively.) This award ceremony is only a few dozen people huddled around an awning trying to stay out of the sun. The awards come in dozens of flavors, across every possible permutation of age and gender divisions imaginable. And the awards themselves? A certificate declaring “2019 North American Rogaine Champion” with the name section blank—RD: “You can write your own name in” —and your choice from a variety of chocolates. As far as I can tell chocolate is the belt buckle of orienteering. The adventure has been so epic, and the reward so unassuming, it feels perfect.

What winning feels like.

What winning tastes like.

___

The Venn Diagram

Reflecting back, I’m both proud of and humbled by what we did. The experience taught me more in 24 hours than I think I’ve ever learned. From geology to map-reading to problem-solving to ultrarunning to 500 other things, orienteering requires everything from you. But it’s a constant education too.

I love ultrarunning deeply. It speaks to a deep physical and spiritual part of human existence. But orienteering adds the mental aspect as well. You have to always be on.

We ended up moving more than 60 miles in 24 hours, with probably 90-95% of that being off-trail. (Full Strava details here.) During the race, I joked with Sean that the Venn diagram of people who would actually do this is so incredibly small. You have to possess the ability to run/hike at ultramarathon distances while also calling on a deep reservoir of navigational and outdoor experience. (Or in my case, just faking it.)

___

Not The End

If any of this sounds at least mildly interesting to you, I’d encourage you to look up orienteering clubs in your city. Almost all cities have one. In LA, ours is the LAOC. They have monthly events that are usually just an hour or two in length, and they’re a great way to try your hand at it. (Also, a fun family activity for kids!) Learning these kinds of map and compass skill is deeply rewarding and can add all kinds of new dimensions to your appreciation of the outdoors.

Basically, try it! And if you have questions or want some tips, let me know. I’m happy to help.

In the end, more than being proud of what we did, I’m proud of what we learned. And I can’t wait to hack our way through the Rogaine World Championship in Lake Tahoe next August. I just hope there won’t be any fucking reentrants.

#ultrarunning #orienteering #rogaine #compass

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daisychains4 · 6 years

Text

Strings (4/16)

Chapter 4: Something Big (Masterlist)

Warnings: None

Note: Italics are song lyrics

AN: This is the Shawn Mendes x reader AU teenage heartbreak story you didn’t know you needed.

Andrew Gertler flew Shawn and his dad to New York, where Shawn signed his first record deal. With only heartbreak waiting for him back in Pickering, Shawn dove headfirst into his music.

Play the lotto you might win it.

It's like 25 to life so you bust out of prison.

Something's in the air, something's in the air.

It's like that feeling when you're just about to kill it,

Take your last shot, you know you're gonna hit it.

Something's in the air, something's in the air.

“Mercy” became an overnight sensation after Shawn recorded it in a professional studio. The official music video earned millions more hits on YouTube than the one he recorded in his bedroom.

Shawn watched his first music video for the first time in a room crowded with record executives, his mum, dad, and sister at his side. It didn’t feel real, and Shawn found himself gripping his mum’s hand tightly. She thought he was excited, but deep down, Shawn knew the moment felt incomplete. Something - someone - was missing.

He shook off the feeling, knowing that this was a moment he should enjoy. A smile spread across his face and excitement took over.

Something big I feel it happening

Out of my control

Pushing, pulling, and it's grabbing me,

Feel it in my bones like—

While “Mercy” was on the rise, Shawn was in a Toronto recording studio nonstop, working hard to write and record his first album. He was only going to school part-time, and completing some of his credits online. His parents supported his music career, but insisted he finish high school.

He loved making music, and he loved the distraction that staying busy provided. If he was constantly working and constantly on the move, it was harder to miss you. Instead, he poured all of his love and all of his heartbreak into his new songs. He couldn’t share them with you, so he would share them with the world and hope that maybe they would reach you.

It's like that feeling when you're 'bout to win the medal,

And you worked so hard that you knew you wouldn't settle,

Hands are in the air, hands are in the air.

When they hear you when you thought they wouldn't listen,

It's like an anthem that the whole world's singing.

Hands are in the air, hands are in the air.

Shawn’s EP was released in record time. It took the charts by storm and received rave reviews from critics. A rabid fanbase was born almost overnight.

Shawn had hardly had time to celebrate his early success when his newly named manager, Andrew, called him into his office for a meeting. Shawn wasn’t sure what the meeting was about, but Andrew sounded serious. Shawn fidgeted nervously next to his dad as he waited for Andrew.

Shawn jumped up when Andrew came into the room. They shook hands before Andrew walked around his desk to sit down. Shawn sat, following his manager’s lead.

“Well Shawn, I know you’re dying to know why I called you in today.”

“Yes sir,” he said politely. “I hope it’s good news,” he smiled.

Andrew smiled back mischievously. He pressed a button on his office phone and spoke into the speaker. “Are you there?”

“I’m here!” a woman’s voice replied through the phone. It sounded familiar, but Shawn couldn’t quite place who it was.

“Hi Shawn, this is Taylor Swift, how are you?”

Shawn’s jaw dropped. He was too starstruck to respond.

Andrew answered for him. “He’s good, Taylor, he’s - well, he’s speechless.”

Shawn recovered. “It’s so nice to meet you - kind of,” he said.

“You, too, Shawn! I’m hoping that one day soon we’ll meet in person,” Taylor replied.

“That would be great!” Shawn agreed. “I’m a huge fan.”

“Actually, I’m a huge fan of yours, Shawn. That’s why I called. I was thinking we could get together soon, maybe meet on stage for the 1989 Tour. What do you think about coming on the road with me?” she asked.

“Wh— Are you serious?” Shawn stammered. “I mean— what?”

Taylor laughed over the line. “I’m totally serious. I want you to open for me.”

Shawn beamed. “Yes! Are you kidding me, yes!”

Something big I feel it happening

Out of my control,

Pushing, pulling, and it's grabbing me,

Feel it in my bones like—

The 1989 Tour was an experience unlike anything else. Shawn’s fame was catapulted right along with Taylor’s megastar. Shawn played in 48 cities to stadiums filled with hundreds of thousands of people. They were there to see Taylor, but they were Mendes fans by the time his set was finished.

If we stomp our feet,

The ground will shake

If we clap our hands,

The walls will break

Yell so loud won't forget our names

'Cause something big is happening...

Shawn’s last night of the tour was more emotional than he’d expected. He was sad to see it end, and it felt like these would change again. He wasn’t ready for things to slow down; he knew that if he stood still for too long, he’d have to face his longing for you.

Taylor came looking for Shawn after her show ended. She wanted to celebrate.

“Let’s do something crazy!” she told him, grabbing his arm and pulling him out of his dressing room. Some of her dancers followed them as they headed out into the night.

“Like what?” Shawn asked. His heart was only half in it, and Taylor could tell.

“Let’s get tattoos!” one of the dancers suggested.

“Yes!” some of the other dancers agreed. “To commemorate the tour!”

“I don’t do tattoos guys,” Taylor said warningly. “But I’ll watch if you do!” she said, poking Shawn in the ribs.

Taylor’s excitement was infections, and Shawn couldn’t help but catch it.

“Ok, I’m in,” he said, shrugging. “I’ve always wanted a tattoo.”

Take this spark

And start a fire.

Raise this up,

We're feeling high.

They can't tell us anything,

'Cause something big is happening.

Shawn stood in front of a wall of tattoo designs, thinking about what he might want to get. Taylor stood behind him, throwing out meaningless suggestions, which he rejected.

“I’m not getting a tattoo of a pegacorn,” he said exasperatedly. “Or a cat, so don’t suggest that either.”

An Asian man came into the lobby of the tattoo parlour. “What’ll it be?” he asked in a voice that suggested he wasn’t someone to mess with.

Shawn pointed to a section on the wall with Sailor Jerry tattoos. “A swallow,” Shawn said.

“Ooooh, classic,” Taylor said approvingly.

“Black ink and shading; I don’t want any color.”

Shawn sat down and put his right hand on the tattoo artist’s table. Taylor sat at his side, squeezing his left hand for support.

Shawn winced when he heard the buzz of the tattoo machine, but was pleasantly surprised to find that the tattoo itself didn’t hurt as much as he’d expected.

“Why a bird?” Taylor asked curiously as she watched Shawn’s ink take shape.

“Swallow is the sign of a traveler,” the artist said gruffly. “That’s why sailors wore them.”

“And because a swallow is one of the few of its kind that remember their home,” Shawn added.

“I love that. What a great reminder of home when you’re on the road.”

What Shawn didn’t say out loud was that he hoped the symbol of a traveler returning home would somehow bring you back to him.

Something big I feel it happening

Out of my control

Pushing, pulling, and it's grabbing me,

Feel it in my bones.

#shawn mendes #shawn peter raul mendes #shawn mendes army #shawn mendes au #shawn mendes x reader #multific #shawn mendes multific #shawn mendes something big #something big #shawn mendes songfic #shawn mendes song fic #song fic #songfic

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kinsbin · 6 years

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Camera Shy

Title: Camera Shy Word Count: 2098 Ship: Lance/Alexys [Canon/Self Insert]

Summary: Lance convinces Alexys to go on her first trip with the Grave Encounters crew, not telling her that he plans to make sure she’s front and center on the show with him as his girlfriend. He’s sure she’ll get the hang of it, however.

Author’s Note: A writing comm for @bad-blue-moon-rising! They let me pick the prompt so I did a piece based off of this cute artwork by @morphinetune-art! Alexys ships are the most fun ships to write hands down I had fun! ;u;

It was nerve wracking, to say the least.

Despite their dating for a solid few months now, each one as exciting and amusing as the last one even with specific challenges completely related to Lance being...well...Lance, Alexys hadn’t actually seen the camera crew of Grave Encounters in action. Sure, she had sat down in their now shared apartment and listened to Lance talk excitedly about adventure after adventure, describing each event in the way only a true storyteller could manage. He enraptured her with his words, his smile and passion burning through like the sun each time he set up a scene for her to grow immersed in. It was like she was there half of the time, feeling the cold air of an abandoned factory on her skin or jumping at the sound of a sudden door slamming without their permission in the depths of an old mental asylum. If ghost hunting stopped working out, Alexys had mused at some point within her mind, then he could always go into story telling or authoring.

The end of one of his more intense stories crescendoed between them as they sat together on their couch, cups of warm coffee between their hands as they shared the morning together. Alexys paused to take a short sip of the sweetened beverage between her hands, relishing the warmth of it in comparison to the cold day outside. A smile wet her lips as she licked them, catching Lance’s attention as he watched her movements, always one to be fascinated by how she could look so...so beautiful by just doing simple tasks like drinking coffee. Was that a sign he was seriously in love? He was going with that it was a sign he was seriously in love.

“That sounded like such a fucking wild time,” Alexys laughed after swallowing her coffee, “I wish I could have been there and gone with you.”

The indication made Lance sit up, his eyes wide and hopeful as he forgot to think about his next words before he spoke them out loud:

“Would you like to?”

“Would I like to what?”

“Come with me next time,” He reached out to hold one of her hands in his own excitedly, “Come on the show with me! We’re exploring a six hundred year old haunted farm in the countryside. You should come and be part of the team! Add some commentary, spice it up! It’d be great!”

The excitement to his tone was infectious, helping to alleviate some of the growing anxiety in Alexys’ heart and replace it with sets of her own excitement as she sat up, blue eyes boring into her boyfriend’s with a matching smile that grew due to seeing his.

“Do you really mean it? That sounds so badass, I want to see a creepy abandoned farm. Can I actually come with you guys this time?”

“Hell yeah!” Lance laughed, putting his coffee down and leaning over to hug Alexys into his arms, bringing her into a long kiss that warmed her soul much more than the beverage in her grip ever could, “It’ll be fucking perfect. I’ll introduce you and everything! You’ll do great, babe.”

The conversation happened days ago before being followed up by a whirlwind of preparations. Lance helped talk her through what she would need. Alexys packed up a single duffle bag of overnight supplies to hold together, enough room left for in case the crew needed someone to hold extra equipment that they could not, and with her sneakers on and hoodie flung over her body she had been ready to join them in the upcoming episode.

It was only then that the nerves had started to set in. Sitting in the front seat of Lance’s car, she could feel her hands beginning to pick at one another, nails being brought up to her lips as she bit at the already shortened extensions. What if she messed up? There was a high chance that the fans of the show would react with hostility towards her or say that she was an unwelcome addition to the group as a whole. The what ifs attacked at the back of her brain, crashing together like a percussion of worry that overflowed her mind and burned at the inside of her stomach like lava. Maybe this was a bad idea, she had begun to think in terror, maybe-

A hand reached out, touching her shoulder and giving it a gentle squeeze. Alexys yelped, the soft ‘eep’ echoing in the otherwise quiet car as she turned to see what had happened. Lance’s hand rested on her shoulder. She followed it up his arm and to his face, where he gave her a soft and rather amused sort of look that sent a blush warming up her cheeks. With the sunlight of the day straining through the car window, hitting the side of his face and illuminating it, he looked incredibly handsome. A stupid, loud, handsome face she wanted to both poke and kiss all at once. She focused quickly though as he leaned over and pressed a soft kiss on her cheek before focusing back on driving.

“You’re worrying too much,” He spoke with a hum, “You’re going to do great and everyone is going to fucking love you.”

“How do you know that?”

“Well, because, I fucking love you. And I’m the host of the show, right? So whatever I say goes either way.”

“That’s now how it works!” Alexys laughed as she smacked his shoulder, earning a chuckle from the man as he reached to turn on the radio, drowning out her worries in his own stupid humor and loud blasting rock echoing bass-like against the entirety of the car. The music and his company helped to take her mind off of the previous anxieties that plagued her mind. Perhaps he was right, though she would never admit it out loud, and things would...somehow...managed to go okay. However they did go, though, she knew that he would be by her side to support her as best as he could. Perhaps that was the best thing they could get out of the trip.

They arrived at the designated site close to 4, the sun already dipping its way westward as it prepared to make way for the night. Lance hopped out of the car first, greeting his friends and crew while Alexys took her time sliding out of the passenger’s seat. When they saw her, their eyes lit up and she, too, was greeted with a series of hugs and pats on the back, welcoming her to the trip.

“It’s about time Lance brought you along,” Matt hummed jokingly as he gave her a hug, “I thought he was making you up for a while there.”

“Yeah,” T.C. chuckled as well, “How he got anyone to date him is beyond me.”

“Hey!” Lance argued with a smirk, “I have my good qualities!”

“He doesn’t,” Alexys returned the quip easily, sending the group into a fit of laughter while Lance looked on at her in mock shock before she reached out and hugged him, kissing his chin while containing her own laughter, “I’m only half kidding I promise.”

“This is what I’m supposed to put up with while we’re together,” Lance groaned, gesturing to Alexys while his crew slowly came to the consensus that, indeed, the loved this new girl easily. Sasha was the one to call everyone to attention, bringing them back into the reality of only having a little while longer to set up the equipment in the farm house and shoot the first opening scene of the show. It brought everyone scrambling to work, Alexys tagging along to help where she could when the others asked.

It ended up being mostly back and forth, fetching equipment from one person to bring to another person in a separate part of the barn. It was a lot of holding things up for people while they screwed nails into walls to secure camera pieces so that they wouldn’t fall over in the middle of production. It was also a lot of complaining (though not just from her) about how the middle of the country had the worst cellular service any of them had ever had the displeasure of experiencing.

Several struggles of getting their systems connected came and went with at least half of the cast groaning over the less than pleasant scenario before they finally had everything settled together. Cameras set up and ready to roll, Matt called Lance over from his spot sitting next to Alexys in the slowly setting sunlight of the ancient farm.

“We’re getting ready to shoot! Get over here.”

“Coming, coming,” Lance returned easily, reaching out to tuck a piece of hair behind Alexys’ ear and smile at her, “Come up with me and watch how it’s done.”

“I see you all the time on television,” Alexys snorted with a raise of her eyebrow, “Why is this going to be suddenly any more interesting than those times?”

“First of all, OW,” Lance pretended to clutch at his heart as if the words had truly wounded him, “Second of all, it makes a HUGE difference. You’ve seen me in person, sure, but never THIS way in person. Come on, I promise it’ll be worth it.”

“You’re such a liar.” Alexys groaned as she was dragged up by the hand by her boyfriend, pulled lightly on the way to the frame of the shot. She stood just outside of the frame, arms crossed over her chest as she watched Lance get into place. There was a select amount of mumbling and fumbling as the crew got ready to shoot the first shot, cameras angeled perfectly to catch all of Lance’s good sides. Though, Alexys mused, she thought all of his sides was his good sides.

“Welcome to another episode of Grave Encounters,” Lance began to speak, the charm on his voice turned up in front of the rolling camera as he smirked into the lense, “I’m your host, Lance Preston, as always. Today, we’ll be investigating the Mayville Family Farm, a nearly six hundred year old establishment that, allegedly, is the sight of not only a series of grisly murders but cannibalistic ritual practices as well. That’s no the only exciting thing this team has for you today, though.”

Alexys raised an eyebrow at Lance as he took a step back, his smile growing wryly to the camera as he continued, “Today, we have a special, and beautiful, guest that’s going to be joining our team in this adventure.”

He turned to her and her eyes widened. No, she mouthed in shock as her mind reeled. Face flushing, she couldn’t believe it was happening. Was he really going to do this? He was NOT really going to do this. He was bluffing. They were NOT going to use this take and have this entire adventure with her by his side. No. No way this was going to happen.

Alexys’ trail of thought broke with Lance’s next words, “Let me introduce you all to my beautiful girlfriend, Alexys.”

He reached out to her, his hand extended with expectancy. Alexys felt her face flush red as she thought about the situation, hesitantly offering out her own hand only to have it yanked by the man in front of her. With his grip firm on her wrist, she was dragged into the frame of the camera, pulled tightly at his side as he pressed a kiss onto her temple. The lights of the camera were bright, almost blinding as she was exposed to them, yet, the closeness of Lance and the confirmation that he would love her enough to actually introduce her in such a bold way...the smile that crept up onto her face was genuine as she laughed and hugged him back.

“You’re a fucking dork.” She wheezed as he hugged her in return, pressing another kiss onto her head while smiling at the camera.

“And that’s why I love her folks.”

The entire camera crew laughed with him as Alexys hid in his chest, the cut being called as Matt agreed that it was the perfect cold opening. “You two are too damn cute.” He mused as the group watched Alexys pop out from her hiding spot, a smile warm on her lips.

Perhaps she was a bit camera shy, but, with Lance at her side willing to do that for her...she could learn to like the spotlight.

#self ship #self insert #self shipping #kinley writes #writing commission #grave encounters #lance preston #ILU ALEXYS I HOPE THIS WAS OK <3

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moderndaydemeter · 3 years

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Carp Fishing – 2020 Park Lake, Mayhem!

This time last year, as I write this in January, I remember being critical of the constant doom and gloom coming from various media outlets about a possible ‘pandemic’ that was about to hit our shores.

Strangely for me, I had my fishing head on and actually had 3 bites during the course of that month, on a notoriously difficult lake, so you can understand the reason for my winter keenness!

Mother nature dealt a cruel blow with the river bursting its banks and going straight into the lake, colouring it up in the process and pretty much putting an end to some action that was to be had.

It wasn’t until well into March that I was to receive my next bite in the form of Mr Angry and then not long after that, we were all about to experience something that we never thought would happen in our lifetime, with the lockdown.

After the sterling efforts from the Angling Trust, I decided to not bother with the park lake and instead spend some quality fishing time at my other syndicate with my son. We spent most of that time carrying out some much-needed maintenance with a few burn ups that every kid enjoys! Throw in a couple of carp for good measure, he seemed almost as happy as he would be on his Xbox!!

Eventually, though, my thoughts were that I needed to be back at the park lake. This was to be my 3rd season on White Swan and I was determined to fish it my way, as I wasn’t really happy with how the past seasons have gone. Don’t get me wrong, I have always had my feet firmly on the ground as despite there being in excess of 200 carp swimming around the 26 acre lake, you’ll be hard pushed to actually see more than 70 of them grace the bank. I’ve fished a lot of circuit waters over the years and this is without doubt the hardest of them all. Over the past two years I was of the opinion that if the fish were showing over me and I wasn’t getting a bite, then I was getting ‘done’. I also knew that if I wasn’t creating chances after applying my watercraft, then they weren’t feeding on what I was giving them. Simple, I know, but not necessarily easy to work out when you are there doing it, it was more about reflecting on those experiences.

We’ve all done it, where we listen to others and we find out what the going method is and we try to deploy it, but the truth is, others might be better applying that method than we are, so that was my reason I wanted to apply some changes.

My rigs were the first thing I changed, together with my lead arrangement with the latter being inline and the former moving away from pop-ups to bottom bait rigs. I also went against the norm and used long hook-links as the shorter versions had been used extensively. Finally, I moved away from the ‘bits and pieces’ approach and just fished bait, but applied using a catapult or a throwing stick at night as the gulls would just get the better of you if attempted in the day.

With the new restrictions in place, we were back after the lake closed for its annual spawning break and, as you can imagine, we were all desperate to get fishing again, although it still didn’t feel right, but we were lucky to not be stuck indoors for any longer.

My first piece of action was a few weeks into June. It was one of those glorious June days, where the sky was a solid blue and the lake was slowly moving in a multitude of directions from the gentle breeze. The carp were also evidently showing and feeding in the first bay out of the car park. With no one around, I was pinching myself as to why that was the case?! Simon, the head bailiff said I’d be mad not to go into a swim called ‘Jays’! The swim had only just been vacated so I didn’t fancy dropping into it, so, with prior knowledge of a swim called the boards a few up, I moved into there.

Applying the aforementioned plan, two rods were put out against a solid weed bed, one on a very hard, well established clay spot and the other, a slightly softer silt area.

The fish remained in the area and, unlike usual with White Swan, no one moved next to me or opposite! The following day arrived with the customary overcast summer conditions. The odd bubble was popping to the surface, keeping my mind wandering together with the odd head and shoulder from a number of different carp, simply lovely!

Late that morning, the silt rod’s tip pulled down and the music to every carp anglers dream was to pierce the airwaves as the ATTS alarm screamed. My mate Ian literally walked into the swim as I was connected to a dark common rolling on the surface of the crystal clear water. At 27lb, I was delighted to get one with my new, but non-revolutionary ideas put into practice.

I had a couple more trips that month but the fish were on the move again, as is so often the case with there, so it was more a case of learning and watching rather than catching.

My drought continued well into August, although I wasn’t fishing as hard with other important things with the family to attend, so it wasn’t anything to start questioning with what I was doing, angling wise.

I found myself moving swims a lot. I suppose I was kind of chasing them, but at the same time introducing my bait with the help of a couple of mates that were also on the same stuff.

I really wanted to get the bait accepted by the fish, as do so many other anglers on there and that generally involves a bit of pain in trying to establish areas and it usually doesn’t pay its dividends until September.

I was mucking about in a swim called the beach, after seeing a couple of fish show over the subsequent trips. This swim is notoriously difficult to get a bite out of and in the past it has required a lot of preparation work in order to achieve that.

There was a large weed bed positioned in front of it, very encouraging, roughly about 30-40 yards out that made this swim far more favourable than its usually productive neighbouring swim, called the woods. The only explanation I could think of as to why the woods swim wasn’t producing was the lack of weed present in front of there as otherwise, I would have probably given the beach a steer.

I did a fair bit of weed clearing for the left hand rod. I was happy with the spot, a firm silt area, but the line lay leading up to it, not so. I was getting quite paranoid about it actually, so I decided to try out the new Mirage Platinum Fluorocarbon to somewhat ease that paranoia, which helped, as in my opinion, it is the best carp fishing mainline Gardner Tackle has produced to date. It’s versatility, sinking properties and strength were streets ahead of the nearest offering, but I still needed to do my prep work to get the best out of it and that was painful to say the least aided with the Gardner weed rake! But, they say time put in, equals reward!?

After a couple of short trips in the beach, I was on the move again, as the fish were showing in pretty much the furthest areas from where I was fishing. With my patience dwindling, I again found myself jumping from swim to swim in an attempt to be on the fish, feeling more and more detached from actually getting amongst the carp.

It was on one very sunny afternoon that I saw a group of fish in front of the beach again, in fact I was desperately looking for anything to move onto as I was so bored with what I was doing at the other end and had another night to fish at my disposal. This really was a gift, they were at multiple levels, some on the surface and some feeding on the bottom.

Another angler was fishing a swim to the right of this and out of respect, I didn’t cast a lead in the lake until the activity had settled down. He was going later that day, so that eased my conscience despite the area being the beach’s water.

The spots were easy to find and two rods with good line lay were positioned. I’d baited those spots on numerous occasions, so I was feeling confident and as the beautiful day moved into night, I pulted a good few hundred baits around the zones and then proceeded to throw the ball for Barney my lab, up and down the path behind, to wear us both out for the night!

There were still fish slopping out in front of me and the lake was quieter than usual, so I was really hoping that I would be in with a chance, overnight.

However, nothing. Where were the fish, I thought as I made the first cuppa of the day? There wasn’t a breeze on the lake. Both Barney and I took advantage of the lack of people and the tranquillity of the early dawn by standing at the edge of the swim, eyes peeled! If something was to show, we would have seen it and it wasn’t long as a very large, dark looking chunk showed a good 150 yards over the other side of the lake, which wasn’t ideal, but it was still in the middle area of the lake, which I took as a positive.

Thankfully, what seemed against the odds, the swim came alive at just after 8am. Sheets of bubbles were evident in multiple areas indicating a few fish and before long this was complemented with the signs of carp just breaking the surface with their heads.

I rang my mate Phil and said ‘it’s got to happen, they are all over me, mate!’ He was at the other end of the lake on the start of a campaign that required a healthy dose of commitment! I was now getting nervous about the whole situation, as I only had a few hours left before I needed to pack up and to leave the swim without a bite would have left me in a state of bewilderment. An opportunity like that doesn’t happen often, so you have to make it work. Eventually, the right-hand rod just ripped off and without so much as a thought, I bypassed my waders and jumped into the shallows to connect with the fish that sought sanctuary of the weed beds before finally being greeted by my net. My dog looked at me as if I’d lost the plot when I started punching the water as a show of immense satisfaction!

Phil came around to help with the photos, recognising the fish as a ‘proper’ one in the form of the 2nd Big Fully and he did a masterful job with the camera. With its heavily plated scales glimmering in the faint sun, it truly was one of the country’s stunners!

I couldn’t wait to return, and a couple of mates had said to get back into the beach as they were still showing in there, and it was free, so it was rude not to!

Sure enough, the activity was almost as frequent as when I had last had the 2nd Fully and I hadn’t ruined the chance of any action from a successful couple of casts with the weed rake and positioning of the baits.

My mate Paul was over the other side and he doesn’t miss a thing. He knew I was in with a chance and the excitement was running away from me, although, I had a niggling doubt that the fish were ‘doing’ me. I wasn’t overly happy with the hooking from the rig when I caught that last fish and the next morning, with not so much as a line twitch, one of my rigs had the hook firmly embedded into an extremely hard hook bait. That was enough, I knew that they were on the bait, but changes needed to be made. With a family holiday due the following week, it was time for some reflection.

My good pal Gary was keeping me informed with what was going on and he was doing a grand job of locating the fish and not letting on to the other anglers.

I had a couple of nights ahead of me early September and with Gary in the Oaks, he suggested I go into a swim known as number 8 as the fish were showing very close in. I found a couple of really nice clear spots in the weed, pretty much where he said they were showing. During that session, we saw a few but they were more in front of the swim to the left of me. For the first time, the area I was seeing them could be fished from the left side of the swim, because a tree had come down in the summer, giving you far greater access.

Just before setting off home, after a non-productive couple of nights, I had a good plumb about towards the zone that I kept seeing them show whilst drinking shed loads of tea with Gary and Sam that morning. I found a gem of a clay spot about 45 yards out, which was surrounded by Canadian pondweed, apart from a nice channel leading up to it that with some further work with the weed rake, I could get my line really down on the bottom. I knew that the line lay from the swim next door wouldn’t offer me anywhere near the advantage from 8 due to the really deep margin and I doubted anyone would go in there as it wasn’t popular, but in all fairness, the spot was directly in front of that swim, so I needed to be mindful of that possibility.

With no one angling around me on that late Sunday morning, I put in the remainder of my bait, consisting of chops and whole boilies via the Spomb and then just hoped I could get in there the following week.

The next week came around and with literally nothing else bar work going on in my world, I couldn’t think of much else than getting back into 8.

I knew the swim had been fished but not from where I was intending and thankfully, it was free when I arrived. At that time of year on Dinton, it helps if you’ve got a campaign you are working on, as they respond to prepared areas, however, keeping a popular swim like 8 unoccupied was never going to be easy, especially if it kicked off. I’m not traditionally one to have preconceived ideas, but I needed to stick to a plan.

I’d tweaked the rigs, keeping the long hook link, exchanging the material from tungsten ultra-sink to 25lb Mirage, coupled with size 6 spinner style Mugga’s. I still kept with the heavy inline bolt-bombs using a big loop in the hook link to ensure some movement, but I wasn’t too concerned because of the hard areas I was fishing.

With both rods positioned and ample bait applied with the pult alone in the dark, I popped down 2 swims to my right for a cuppa with Phil. I literally sat down and my remote signalled 2 beeps which had me flying up the path! The rod tip was pulled down and the bobbin was tight to the alarm as without taking any line from the spool! My initial thoughts were that the fish had already got into the weedbed behind, but I had no issues in guiding it towards Phil with the waiting net. A nice 27lb common was really the tonic I needed. The hook was exactly where I’d wanted it, in fact I needed forceps to take it out!

Nothing further happened that trip, although I was able to apply more bait to the areas, hoping that I could get in there again the following week, but as it happened, I couldn’t get down because of work commitments, so I returned nearly two weeks later. We were now into the prime back end of September and with the rain just starting to come down, I was most grateful to get the dog under the bivvy quick before he really started to pong in the confines of no8 again!

The spot felt that I’d caught the fish from my last trip felt good and with not too much effort with the weed rake, I was once again happy with the line lay.

I was persisting with the right-hand spot, but I wasn’t overall happy with this one, but moving it closer to the other rod would have been cutting my nose off to spite my face.

Keeping things the same, with rigs and tactics, everything felt good and once that rain stopped the fish showed where they were and I couldn’t have been in a better position! Almost exactly the same time as the last bite, my left-hand rod signalled a couple of beeps. Taking my time, I put the waders on and held the line with the rod still on the alarm only for it to slightly tension and then slacken off. Without hesitation I lifted into what was clearly a carp that again, was not in any weed and after a fairly disparaging tussle, it was seamlessly scooped into the net. I practised my much needed honing skills at self-takes, before returning the small common at just over 21lb. The hook hold was again perfect and, although it wasn’t cold, the bites were as if we were in the depths of winter, very strange.

Lining up the cast in the dark to the silhouetted treeline horizon and hitting the clip perfectly, the lead came down with a satisfying thud and the line was sunk beautifully.

I retired confidently for the night, although the fish could still be heard rolling on the surface with nothing else competing with the noise, making it very hard to sleep.

Like a true keen carp angler, I was up bright and early with a tea in hand and the dog sleeping on my bed as soon as I got off it, the lazy git!

Beep, beep from the left alarm and the line pulling up tight yet again, no line coming off the spool, but I was on it and before long I had a far better fish in the net that gave a much better account of itself!

Joe, an angler a few swims down from me was on his way to work early that morning, so before he carried on up the path, I gave him a quick lesson in how to use my digital SLR in ‘P’ mode before he suggested he used his own camera, which was something that the likes of Kardashian’s are used to looking at! At that point I decided he didn’t need any more of my photography training skills and I shut up and left him to do a superb job!!

The fish was another typical Dinton stunner that had put on over 5lb in a year at 35.07. They were munching all right!

sea fishing reels

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makingmoneyonlinemethod · 4 years

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Similarly, the majority of affiliate networks have such a list and exploring them once in a while, will help you to discover amazing affiliate offers.

· Check out: Top affiliate networks to find new offers

Alright, these were some of the actionable steps to increase affiliate sales and now its time to look at some of the theory sides of it. Else, practical alone has never helped many.

5. Create Keyword-list based on Affiliate Keywords:

When you do Keyword research, make sure you focus on informational, transactional and commercial keywords.

Look for these kinds of keywords:

· Best

· Cheap

· Alternatives

· Compare

· Improve

· Offer

· Discount

· Promo

· Coupon

Usually, they are inclined to give you more sales.

6. Build relation with Affiliate managers and ask for commission increment:

This is one of the most underutilized yet most powerful tricks to increase your affiliate earnings.

Here is how this works:

Most of the affiliate programs have a public page where they disclose how much commission they offer. Now, if you have an established website or YouTube channel or you are already giving decent numbers of sales every month 4-5, you can reach out to the program’s affiliate manager and ask for commission increase.

So if the affiliate program offers 20% commission, you can straight away ask for a 35-40% increment. In return, you can offer more exposure to the product on your platform.

Some of the additional ideas are:

· Review

· Social media shoutouts

· Email blast

Especially if you are planning to do a review of the product, that’s the best time to ask for a commission increase.

Here is one such email for you to get an idea on how I do it:

Even a 5-10% increment like this, makes a lot of difference in the longer run.

7. Build upon your Reputation:

Your reputation will be one of the most useful tools in your mission to make money online. It’s really just common sense. If your viewers trust you and the material you give them, then it will be easier for them to trust the products you’re selling or leading them into.

If you don’t want to sell a product yourself, then you can just lead them to other sites, and simply make money with leads. But be careful of what this does to your reputation. Always be sure that you’re leading your viewers to a reliable site.

My suggestion before promoting any product, give it a try and write about it. Write tutorials or guides on how to use it and how it changed your life, this approach will make sure that people will love your judgment and with blog post or videos, you can clear all common questions.

8. Get more Organic Traffic – Use SEO:

More traffic on your site will mean a better chance of selling more with your affiliates. It’s a rule that if you want to make money online, you’ll have to target people.

You have to build your site around the idea of attracting your target people. This is done by using keywords, good material, and such. This will result in having your site visible in search engines.

Even if you’re inexperienced with marketing affiliates, you’ll find out that more traffic will make it easier for you to make money with leads.

I would suggest you use WordPress for creating your next affiliate site and refer to this big list of best WordPress plugins for SEO and optimize your site for better ranking.

9. Base your actions on Conversion:

When marketing affiliates, you will always have to upgrade consistently every week, every day if possible. You will have to base these actions on conversion rates.

For example, you have 300 visitors a day and only 3 of them click on your link or product, then you’ll have to change the way you market. Think from the customer’s view.

Does something in your site make them want to click a link or product?

Then branch off ideas from that. Does something in your site make them not want to buy the product? Then remove and avoid these things.

These are some of the basic steps which you can follow, but I would suggest do proper research about the product which you are promoting. Promoting a product, which is a hot topic and people are buying instantly, go for viral promotion.

#affilaite marketing #make money as an affiliate #Affiliate #make money with affiliate marketing #make money 2021 #how to make money from home #make money online #how to make money #how to make money 2021

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sunflowerseedsandscience · 7 years

Text

Someday Your Child May Cry

16. Sight

It’s not all immediately sunshine and roses between them, after Arcadia, after an emotional appointment with Dr. Sabarwal, who confirms Scully’s pregnancy the week after they get back to DC. They’re still cautious and wary around one another, and occasionally, Scully still finds herself snapping at him, or questioning his judgement perhaps a bit more harshly than she might have before the Diana fiasco. The case in California with Karen Berquist, certainly, causes some of those emotions to come flooding back, but for the most part, Scully manages to deal with them. She’s getting more and more confident, lately, that things between them are going to be just fine- an impression that’s encouraged by the amount of time Mulder tries to spend kissing her.

And then comes Philip Padgett.

If it weren’t for the events of the past several months, Scully would have simply assumed that Mulder’s response to Padgett was nothing more than his usual over-protectiveness. But now, she can’t help but feel that his jealousy is almost in retribution for her own reaction to everything that has happened with Diana. It grates on her, his presumption at barging into Padgett’s apartment with his gun drawn, trying to hide his possessiveness behind concern for her well-being. When he has the nerve to actually ask her whether she had slept with Padgett or not, it takes every ounce of her self-control to keep calm, to keep her temper in check.

By the time Mulder leaves her in his apartment, struggling to pull on her boots, while he tears off to the basement in pursuit of their suspect, they’re hardly speaking to each other at all.

-------------------------

Scully lies motionless on the floor, her skin stained with blood, and for the space of a heartbeat, Mulder stands frozen in the doorway of his apartment as the world falls away around him. He steadies himself against the doorframe as lightheadedness overcomes him, the edges of his vision actually darkening… and then he’s flying across the room to her side.

She is white, so white, her already-pale skin nearly translucent, and the blood, God, there is so much blood, can she possibly be alive? Her chest isn’t moving, and in the face of the enormity of it, the very idea of her loss, like this, after everything, now….

He suddenly remembers the way he’s acted today, the things he’s insinuated about her. He’d never said that he was sorry for not trusting her, and it’s insane to be thinking about that now, to be lamenting that he’d never apologized for doubting her, as though his apology would make her any less-

No. His mind refuses to even permit the word. Not in relation to Scully.

All of this flashes through his mind in the breath of time between him arriving at her side, and his knees hitting the floor by her ribs. Dimly, he feels the blood, her blood, soaking into the knees of his jeans, as he reaches out for her.

With a shudder and a gasp, her eyes open.

For a moment, she doesn’t seem to recognize him, and she jerks her arms back against his hold, her eyes full of panic and terror, but he keeps a firm grip on her until she sees that it’s only him. She doesn’t calm, though; instead, she dissolves into the most violent sobs he’s ever heard from her, worse than when she’d been saved from Pfaster’s clutches, worse than when her mind had been tricked into thinking he had betrayed her, worse, even, than after Emily’s funeral, when she’d cried into his suit jacket outside of the church for nearly a half hour.

Mulder bends down as far as he can, even though the angle is excruciating for his back and knees, mindful of the fact that she could be gravely injured, and slides his arms carefully around her, helping her to sit up. She clutches at him with a desperation that nearly breaks his heart. Her hands scrabble at the back of his shirt, move higher, past his collar, and he suddenly feels a sharp sting as her nails dig into his neck and scalp, hard enough to draw blood.

He doesn’t care.

He thinks, dimly, of the defensive wounds murder victims leave on their killers, and it seems appropriate that she’s marking him in much the same way, because isn’t it his fault, as always, that she’s here? He had torn off to the basement without a second thought, knowing full well that Padgett’s accomplice had still been at large, that the writer’s attention had been focused tightly on Scully, that she could be at risk. He could have waited long enough for her to pull on her boots and follow him to the basement, but no, he had run on ahead, without a second thought for her. Just like always.

Scully is, at last, beginning to calm in his arms, her uncontrolled sobs subsiding into sniffles and hiccups, but she’s trembling violently, shaking against his chest, and with most of the feeling having gone from his legs and his lower back screaming, Mulder can’t remain in this position any longer. Without stopping to worry that Scully will be angry at his presumption, keeping one arm at her back, he slides the other under her knees and stands, cradling her carefully against his chest. She keeps her arms locked behind his neck and doesn’t protest. He briefly contemplates where to put her while he calls for an ambulance; the couch is closer, but she’ll be more comfortable on his bed.

She shivers violently in his arms, and he opts for comfort.

For once, Mulder is glad that he’s careless about the state of his bedroom, because the unmade bed makes things much easier, allowing him to set Scully down without first turning down the covers. He sits her on the edge of the mattress and gives the comforter a sharp yank, pulling it around her shoulders, keeping her warm while he surveys the damage. He looks, hesitantly, up at her face, and she meets his gaze.

“We need to see what he did to you,” he says, and after a moment’s hesitation, Scully nods. She reaches for the buttons at the front of her blouse, and the comforter, freed from her grasp, begins to slide back down to the bed. Mulder catches it and pulls it back up. “Let me,” he says, and Scully nods, returning her hands to anchor the blanket around her shoulders. Mulder carefully frees each button from its mooring, bracing himself for what he’ll find underneath the blood-soaked cloth… but the skin of her chest, under her ruined bra, is unbroken.

It’s far from unmarked, though. A livid bruise, at least eight inches in diameter, has bloomed on the left side of her chest, directly over her heart. Mulder sucks in his breath at the sight of it, and Scully glances down.

“I felt it happening,” she whispers. “I felt my skin tearing, I could feel my ribs separating, my heart being squeezed.” She shudders, tears threatening again, and pulls the blanket tighter. “I’ve never felt pain like that, Mulder. Never. Not even during the worst of my cancer.” She takes a deep breath, steadying herself. “Why didn’t he finish the job?” she asks. “Why am I still alive? Where did Padgett go?”

“He’s in the basement,” Mulder says, and the thought of Padgett, standing in front of the incinerator with his manuscript, is enough to remind Mulder of what he still has to do. Reluctantly, he stands.

“Where are you going?” Scully asks, trying valiantly to keep the panic from her voice. Mulder can’t blame her; there had been no sign of Naciamento anywhere in the apartment, and it’s quite possible he’s still on the prowl.

“Padgett is still in the basement,” Mulder says. “He as good as told me you were going to be the next victim, Scully. I want him back in custody before he has the chance to do any more harm.” Bending down, he takes his backup weapon from his ankle holster and hands it to her, but she shakes her head.

“Mulder, I shot at Naciamento. I emptied my magazine straight into his chest and it didn’t even slow him down.” She pushes his gun back at him. “That’s going to do you far more good in arresting Padgett than it will protecting me right now.” She’s right, of course; Mulder had heard the gunshots. Scully doesn’t miss shots at a hundred paces. There’s no possible way she could have missed her target at point-blank range. He bites his lip, weighing both courses of action: go after Padgett and leave Scully unprotected, or stay with her until the ambulance arrives, potentially letting a killer slip through his fingers?

He only has to look at Scully, really, to decide.

Mulder digs his cell phone out of his pocket and dials nine-one-one. Scully groans when she hears him requesting an ambulance, but he continues on, undeterred. He calls in for backup and to report an agent down, suspect still at large. That done, he tucks his phone away and sits on the bed beside Scully.

“The paramedics are unnecessary, Mulder,” she says. “I’m fine.”

“If that’s true, they’ll be able to tell us when they get here,” he replies.

“And what are we going to tell them?” Scully asks. “That the ghost of a psychic surgeon attempted to remove my heart from my chest and was somehow interrupted?”

“We tell them that you’ve been attacked,” says Mulder simply.

“They’re probably going to want me to go to the hospital,” she protests. “We could be there for hours, easily. Possibly even overnight.”

“Scully,” says Mulder, his voice gentle, “you need to let them check you out. You know you do. Especially now.” His gaze bores into her, and finally, with a sigh, she nods. “And if they keep you overnight, I’ll stay with you, I promise. You won’t be alone. Not for a second.”

“They won’t let you,” Scully says. “If I’m admitted, they’ll send you home, I’m sure.”

“Just let them try,” Mulder says fiercely. He wraps his arms tightly around her, and together, they wait for the paramedics to arrive.

An hour later, after a frustrating and uncomfortable question-and-answer session with a thoroughly confused ER doctor, Scully lies on her back, a sheet spread over her lap, Mulder standing at her shoulder, as an ultrasound technician slowly moves the transducer over her still-flat stomach. The tech frowns at the screen, and Scully reaches up, over her shoulder, seeking his hand, which he gladly gives. He can feel her shaking again.

“Is something wrong?” Mulder asks the technician nervously. The young woman gives them both a reassuring smile, but Scully does not relax.

“It may be too early to see the fetus this way,” the tech says. “What did you say your doctor placed you at? Nine, ten weeks?”

“About nine and a half weeks, yes,” says Scully shakily. The tech nods.

“We might have better luck with a trans-vaginal ultrasound, then,” she says, turning to a set of cabinets against the wall and removing a folded white square of cloth. “I’ll need you to remove all of your clothes below the waist and drape this over your legs, please.” Scully looks up at Mulder, her face white.

“Do you want me to leave the room?” he asks her quietly. She bites her lip and shakes her head. If the ultrasound tech finds his question strange, she doesn’t say anything. Once Scully is settled back on the table, Mulder takes her hand again, giving her what he hopes is an encouraging smile.

The tech does some maneuvering, and Mulder tries desperately not to think too hard about what, exactly, is going on down there. Scully squirms slightly in discomfort, and the tech murmurs an apology. There’s a moment of silence as all three of them watch the shifting, snowy static on the screen... and then, suddenly, there’s a strange, rhythmic flashing, an impossibly fast fluttering of white in the middle of all that grey and black. Scully’s breath catches in her throat. Mulder tries to speak, fails, and tries again.

“Is that-”

“Yup, that’s a good, strong heartbeat!” the tech says, grinning. “The doctor will be able to tell you for sure, but if I had to say, I’d guess your doc was right on the money. I’d put you at about ten weeks.”

Mulder tears his gaze away from the thrumming image on the ultrasound screen and looks down at Scully. Her blue eyes are swimming in tears, and she’s shaking again, struggling to hold in her emotions. Mulder bends down over the ultrasound table and envelops Scully in his arms, and as she begins to cry in earnest on his shoulder, he dimly hears the tech telling them she’ll give them a moment, that she’ll be right outside.

They end the evening as they began it: with Mulder bending low over Scully, clutching her against his chest as she cries- as they both cry. But this time, they’re both crying tears of joy.

#x-files fanfic #my fic #Someday Your Child May Cry

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littlehouseonthewater · 5 years

Text

“Never think that God’s delays are God’s denials.

Hold on; hold fast; hold out. Patience is genius.” ~Comte de Buffon

“Have you sold your Cruise-a-home yet?” someone with a cheerful disposition asks me. “Not yet,” I sigh, “we’re still waiting.”

Truly we could not have chosen a better boat than our Cruise-a-home to transition from foundational home to hull home. Now, at the end of 2019, our children are ages 13, 11, 9 and 6. They have grown at least twelve inches since we began our nautical lifestyle three years ago. Proud mama moment, my children are amazing. Their “bedrooms”, if you could call it that, are 29″x68″. Their bed takes up 27 1/2″x63″, leaving 5″ for knickknacks, treasures, stuffed animals and books. Like when Alice grew too big in the Wonderland home, the six of us have most literally reached capacity of our Cruise-a-home.

Keeping the dream to cruise alive, Ryan and I have looked at hundreds of sailboats online. May 2019, a dear friend of ours excitedly found the most probable sailboat candidate to be our next home. We walked aboard as a family, and felt the “yes, this seems right!” feeling in the pits of our hearts. Tripling our current living space with three state rooms, two heads (bathrooms) and a walk-in engine room for Ryan to store his tools and me to have a washing machine, how could this not happen quickly for us? We came back to our cruise-a-home and taped up a “For Sale” sign. I just knew all the puzzle pieces would click into place quickly for us.

“I’ve come to the conclusion that it’s many times about the person he calls – not about the calling itself. He’ll take anyone with an obedient spirit, no matter how green, messy or ignorant they may be. But once you sign on, he’s got to put you through basic training to get you in shape to operate with his high standards, methods and ways. Perhaps you don’t have the mental knowledge, the spiritual maturity, or the emotional depth needed to accomplish what he has in mind. Maybe you want to call the shots in how things proceed – and God knows you’ll fall flat on your face unless he’s the one in charge. He’s got to test your commitment, your endurance – to see what kind of stuff you’re made of for the long haul. Perhaps it is for you to see what you’re made of…for God already knows. This basic training always, always grows you in maturity, self-confidence, and ultimately, dependence on God.

So while we’re waiting and getting upset at God for not doing anything, could it be that we are the hold up? Is it us that he’s waiting on? To show we trust him – so he can trust us with what he’s about to do? To prepare us mentally, having thoroughly thought things through? To prepare us emotionally, with a solid resolve and conviction to move ahead? To just grow up a little? Or a lot? Spring showers can pop up in an afternoon. Hurricanes take days. I think God makes us wait because he’s got bigger ideas in mind. Plus, his timing is always perfect – he can see what’s coming down the pike in eternity, and he knows the right moment in time to get you moving.” ~ Jenny L. Cote (Now I Sea p. 29)

I wept when I read this. Waiting IS SO HARD!! But in the months of waiting, I have succumbed to the conclusion: I would rather patiently wait for God’s timing, than try to manipulate something premature and make a chaos of decisions. That being said, our life continued.

This last summer we cruised 10 days in our 27′ sailboat. It was our first long sail, overnight, cooking…anything longer than a sunset sail. Amazingly enough…our kids are crazy. It was unanimously agreed by our four (not of this world children) that they actually preferred the cramped close cockpit quarters of our 27′ sailboat to our spacious 40′ cruise-a-home (at least when cruising). They enjoyed snuggling and reading in the cockpit, taking naps in the V-birth, and never once complained.

Our kids are resilient and adaptable. We spent our first night rocking and rolling (not exceptionally pleasant), moored at Blake Island. The view of Mt Rainer to the south and Seattle to the east, were beautiful. The following morning, we walked the island and found treasure while geocaching.

Later, we met up with our friends and cruising companions from our yacht club…and then one boat was not like the others. I’ll admit, jealousy is hard to combat when I feel I’m lacking…and forced to wait. But if I remained unsatisfied with what I do have, and stubbornly put my foot down that a 27′ sailboat is just too small for me to even give it a try, how many wonderful memories my family would have missed out on. So, I put forth my best “I got this, let’s figure this out” attitude. Pleasantly, I’m amazed how well we’ve all adapted to such tiny spaces. And I thought 238 sq ft for a family of six was tiny! The memories we’re making, the experiences we’re having, and the bonding and growing we’re doing…strengthens our resolve to keep waiting for the right timing for our one-day bigger sailboat.

A few months after our summer cruise; we felt Ryan had reached all he could learn working on the ferry. Before his transition to his new job, we decided to seize the opportunity and take a road trip halfway across the United States to visit family. In typical Taisey fashion, we made this decision with two days planning. Packed into our 2007 Toyota Highlander, we realized the joy is in the journey, not just zipping to the destination. Contentedly we passed the hours and miles by listening to Focus on the Family’s radio drama of all seven Chronicles of Narnia series. Watching the changing landscape as we climbed the Rockies and drove across the Great Plains, I couldn’t help but think of the courageous pioneers, wagon trains and families traversing this ruggedly beautiful terrain so slowly. Such courageous people of long ago, willing to take the risk in search of a better life and adventure.

On our way to Illinois and Indiana, we drove I-90 and had 3 twelve-hour days to get to our final destination, Elgin, Illinois. We visited with three sets of great grandparents, made yummy cookies with my favorite Auntie and Uncle, and reconnected with a beloved cousin and her family. When our time was up, our hearts were filled to the brim with love after reconnecting with loved ones we haven’t seen in years.

On our way back west, we decided to take the meandering two lane country roads. One stop was in Arthur, Illinois where we happened to meet a very nice Amish family who kindly answered all our enthusiastic questions. They shared how they make buggies (the family business), how they function off the grid, and their fascinating way of life. We delighted spending a whole afternoon with them, ending with Arianna becoming pen pals with their youngest daughter!! Now, how cool is that!! I connected most with their love for family, enjoying the slower pace of life, and putting their whole heart into their craftsmanship and homemaking. We left with hearts full, and strangers who quickly became friends.

Another interesting stop was at Vandalia, IL. This city was Illinois’s second state capital from 1819-1839. This particular building was capital from 1836-1839, before the capital was ultimately moved to Springfield. Abraham Lincoln was a delegate here. The wood beams and floors upstairs are still original to 1836. I get so excited touching and walking where history happened!

Behind the old Vandalia Capital building was an old church turned into a historic museum with 1800 era artifacts. One reason I love homeschooling, my children naturally exhibit an intellectual curiosity to learn. In times like these, my heart swells with pride and thankfulness for the museum lady delighted in allowing our responsible children to respectfully hold and handle historical artifacts from this time period. Textbook history became multi-dimensional with weight, time and place. Experiences like this is what excite and draws us to continue to work hard toward our future voyage.

“Treading alongside the men folk, were women with dainty calloused hands who, after giving birth, would tote water from a brook, never seeking sympathy or aid; but, boldly under bonnet brim her beaming eyes looking far into the future, she’d thrust her dainty feet into sturdy books, never dreaming of the History she made…” (Written by Deloris Lynch in honor of the Madonna of the Old National Trail) Madonna of the Trail is a series of 12 identical monuments dedicated to the spirit of pioneer women in the United States. The monuments were commissioned by the National Society of Daughters of the American Revolution (NSDAR). They were installed in each of the 12 states along the National Old Trails Road, which extend from Cumberland, Maryland, to Upland, California. (Wikipedia) Wives and mothers of such high character inspire me to be a bold and courageous helpmate to my husband and example to my children.

An unseasonable blizzard hit the Dakotas, so we headed south through Missouri. We visited the Gateway Arch National Park in St. Louis. Ryan delighted in bringing our children to a place he went when he was a child. The mighty Mississippi was close to flood stage.

“The Compromise of 1850 and the Fugitive Slave Act, and the Dread Scott Decision proceeded the succession of the southern states.” We memorized this history statement from Classical Conversations. The Dread Scott case and decision was conducted at this St. Louis Courthouse. One of my favorite book series I read as a youth, which has become a favorite of my children, has its plot line about the Underground Railroad and its setting along the mighty Mississippi and the St. Louis Courthouse. I feel so privileged to be walking along the trail of our nation’s history with my children.

“We met the advance company of Oregon emigration…It is remarkable how anxious these people are to hear from the Pacific country and strange that so many…should sell out comfortable homes…pack up and start across such an immense, barren waste to settle in some new place of which they have at most so uncertain information, but this is the character of my countrymen.” James Clyman (June 24, 1846) At one museum in Independence, Missouri, we learned about one gentleman, Ezra Meeker, who traveled the Oregon trail via ox-driven wagon as a child, again along the trail via automobile as an adult, and flew over it a third time before he died. My mind was blown as I thought through the timeline in my head of all the things that transpired throughout his lifetime from 1830-1928. Incredible!

We celebrated Felicity’s 9th birthday visiting Bear Country, and Mt Rushmore. It was a bucket list item for Ryan and I. Our kids enjoy being Jr. Rangers, filling out different informational pamphlets regarding different national parks. The girls outlined our road trip route, marking our different stops along the way.

A very sobering Memorial, we visited a piece of the Berlin Wall and read its history to our children. I know this quote is regarding a different battle, but it touched my heart, and made me ponder. “The price of Liberty. Let me ask you something. Did the men of D-Day sacrifice themselves because you and I had earned it and deserved it? No. Many of us weren’t even born yet. Even so, those men realized how precious and valuable we were. Liberation is not dependent on the action of the imprisioned – it is dependent on the Value of the imprisoned in the eyes of the Liberator…” (Jenny L. Cote Now I Sea! pg 132)

Soldiers, First responders, Men and Women of Valor…my family and I, Thank You.

Continuing west, we visited Kansas’ Capital building. One of two capital buildings where you can take a free guided tour and walk up all 239 steps to the top and outside of the rotunda. This capital building held significance for our history memory sentence regarding the court case, Brown vs. Board of Education where segregation by race in public schools was deemed unconstitutional. Until the 1960s, this building was completely open to the public. Unchaperoned youth would climb throughout the highest heights of the dome and write their names and dates on the brick and steel supports. It is illegal to do so now, but has been preserved as part of the building’s history. Amazingly, there are no reports of injuries for such escapades.

The last major place we visited was the Badlands of South Dakota. What an amazing landscape!! Buffalo blocked our road. Prairie dogs played hide and seek with our kids as they ran from hole to hole as if playing Whack-a-Mole. Taking a break from listening to Chronicles of Narnia, we listened to Jenny L. Cote’s audio book, The Ark, the Reed and the Fire Cloud. This story is about Noah’s Ark. It is amazing to see the strata of the rock and read of the fossils they have uncovered in the Badlands ranging from fish and birds to rhinoceros and saber tooth tiger…all fossilized together in the Badlands.

Our spontaneous two and a half week road trip took us across eleven states, from Washington State to Indiana and back again. We indeed have a beautiful country, and we’d spontaneously do it all over again in a heartbeat!!!

“So while we’re waiting and getting upset at God for not doing anything, could it be that…he’s waiting for us to trust him – so he can trust us with what he’s about to do? To prepare us mentally, having thoroughly thought things through? To prepare us emotionally, with a solid resolve and conviction to move ahead?” ~Jenny L. Cote

The weeks have turned into months of waiting. Our living quarters are as cramped as ever. My emotions have tumbled from wanting to just give up and quit this adventure, to resolved determination that another stubbed toe will not break me and to just hang on…this waiting cannot last forever. Ryan began his new job late in October and absolutely loves it!! In November, we switched docking places with another member from our yacht club, so we could be right next door to our best friends who are another live-aboard family. What a blessing it has been to do this live-aboard life with another family with kids!!! Lastly, with the dawn of 2020 right around the corner, we have saved enough to make an offer on the sailboat we walked aboard in May 2019!! This season of waiting has been a hard season, but it has left me with a solid resolve and conviction that God’s delays are not God’s denials, and His timing will always be perfect. The future adventure is worth the pain of waiting.

Blessings,

Jacy

The Future Adventure is Worth the Pain of Waiting "Never think that God's delays are God's denials. Hold on; hold fast; hold out. Patience is genius." ~Comte de Buffon…

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andromeda---galaxy · 7 years

Text

pumpkin, cheddar and taffy

Lukas is sitting on the couch with Philip's feet in his lap when his phone starts ringing. He briefly looks at Philip, narrowing his eyes, and for a small moment he has no idea who might be calling him. It's got to be some kind of spam shit, because he literally just got off the phone with his dad, and if Helen and Gabe wanted to do some kind of secret surprise for Philip, they'd text or email.

He sees the name ANGELA flashing on his phone.

"Oh hey!" he says. "It's the nice girl from the subway!"

"Oh cool!" Philip says. "Answer!"

"Right, right," Lukas says, fumbling to press the right button before the call drops. "Hello?"

"Lukas! That you?"

"Angela, hey!" he says, grinning. He'd sorta been hoping she'd call, because they're in desperate need of some real friends. He's been texting with her a good amount since the subway incident, and he actually genuinely likes her. Mark has completely fallen to the wayside since he found out Lukas wasn't looking for a way out of his relationship, and everyone in their study groups seems way too into studying to actually go out and do something fun. "We keep missing each other for lunch!” Lukas says, smiling over at Philip, who smiles back.

"I know, sweetie, but life has been getting in the damn way," Angela says. "Listen, I hate to be calling with a favor the first time I call, but I figure our six hour experience brought us a little closer than a normal first meetin', and everybody else just ain't reliable or ain't coming through. And absolutely tell me if this ain't something that's not gonna work for you—"

"What is it?" Lukas asks, looking at Philip again. Philip cocks his head and Lukas shrugs, listening.

"I've got this emergency job thing in Long Island—it's basically an opportunity I've been waitin' for but it came a lot quicker than expected. Everybody I've asked is either unavailable or untrustworthy. I didn't wanna bother you but, well—"

"I'm listening," he says, trying to recall all the things she's mentioned to him for the month they've been texting.

"Remember those puppies I told you I adopted?" she asks.

"Yeah..." Lukas says, slowly. It was a little bit after they first met and something she'd wanted to do for a long time. He'd gotten caught up in a group text with some of her friends from California, but when he showed Philip the picture of the three Australian shepherd puppies he'd shrieked and nearly clawed off his own face.

"Well, they need someone to look after 'em," she says. "I’m stayin’ overnight, it'd be this Friday through Sunday, one day for each little lunatic, and no one else is steppin' up. You can obviously say no—"

"Once sec," Lukas says, pressing mute on his phone.

"What is it?" Philip asks. "Am I finally gonna get to meet her?"

"She wants us to watch those three—"

Philip's eyes light up and he swings his feet down to hit the floor, almost instantly closing the distance between them. He grabs Lukas's knee. "The puppies? She wants us to watch the puppies?"

Lukas laughs, taking in the pure joy on Philip's face. "I take it that means yes?"

"Yes, I'll skip class," Philip says, nodding. "When?"

"I love that you said you'd skip class not even knowing which class you'd be skipping," Lukas says, smiling fondly at him.

"I'd rob a bank for those puppies, Lukas," Philip says, seriously.

"Definitely a yes," Lukas says, taking the phone off mute and bringing it back to his ear. "Yeah, Angela?"

"You askin' Philip?"

"Yeah, which didn't take much. He's excited. We're gonna do it."

"Oh my God," she says, sighing loudly. "Boy, you two are doing me a big favor here. Never thought I'd be thankful that subway stopped on us."

Lukas snorts. "When do you think you'll be over on Friday?"

"How's eleven sound?" she asks. "I gotta haul up all their supplies, I hope it doesn't make you rethink—"

"We're not gonna back out," Lukas says, glancing at Philip's excited face in his peripheral. "You don't yet understand how much Philip likes dogs."

Lukas watches Philip run around the apartment, picking up the smallest goddamn feather off the ground and putting it in the trash. He rearranges the blankets on the couch about a hundred times and stands there staring at it, like there has to be something wrong.

"Philip," Lukas says, walking over and rubbing his back. "They're puppies. They're not going to judge you."

"I want it to be comfortable," Philip says.

"It's perfect," Lukas says, kissing him on the cheek. “They’re going to love it.”

"Anyways, an actual human that isn't the two of us is coming by too," Philip says, leaning into him. "Your friend I've been wanting to meet!"

"Hopefully we can hang out with her more when she gets back," Lukas says. "Maybe we'll hang out with her and the puppies."

"The most ideal situation," Philip says, and then there's a knock at the door.

They walk over and open the door, revealing Angela standing there with a big grin on her face. She's got one big carrying case, along with two bags full of God knows what. She's just as pretty as Lukas remembers and he's a little startled when she sits everything down, stepping forward and wrapping her arms around both of them at the same time.

"Thank you thank you thank you!" she chants, jumping up and down a little bit. She pulls back and Lukas can vaguely hear Philip gasp when they hear a little bark come from the carrier. "Lukas, it's amazing to see you above ground."

"Right back at you," Lukas says, watching her hone in on Philip.

"And here he is," she says, beaming at him. "You're just a little doll. You should have seen how much your boy wanted to get back to you. It was the cutest thing."

"I heard about it," Philip says, making eye contact with Lukas.

Angela hums, widening her eyes. "Sounds like your night turned out better than mine did," she says.

Lukas laughs and sees Philip go red.

There's another set of barks and Philip looks about fit to burst, clenching his hands in front of him.

Angela looks down, starting to kneel. Lukas kicks the door closed behind her. "Well, let’s meet the little monsters," she says, opening the cage door.

Both Lukas and Philip crouch down next to her and Philip has to muffle his exclamation when the puppies come marching out. They're all different colors, so distinctive and different, and the one that's mostly white immediately makes for Philip, nudging its little face into his hand to make him pet it.

"Oh my God," Philip whispers, his voice breaking.

"That's little Pumpkin, always gettin' into everybody's business," Angela says, clicking her tongue.

The other two briefly look at Lukas before moving past him and into the living room. "They have food names too, right?" Lukas asks, looking at Angela.

"Cheddar and Taffy," Angela says. "Taffy's the chunkier one. Loves her treats, little nasty thing. Won't eat no normal food if she ain't got treats to go along with it."

"Noted," Lukas says, watching Philip pick Pumpkin up. He holds her in his hands so delicately, nuzzling their noses together. Lukas’s stomach does a little flip as he watches the display, and he clears his throat when he looks back at Angela.

"I've got all their food for the weekend, they sleep inside the carrier because they're still interested in cuddling."

Philip whines a little bit from high in his throat, looking over his shoulder at Taffy and Cheddar.

"And they're potty trained?" Lukas asks, wincing a little bit at how stupid that sounds coming out of his mouth.

"Yep, they love their walks," Angela says, patting the floor in front of her. Cheddar turns around as soon as he hears the sound, toddling back over to slide down in front of her.

"So Pumpkin and Taffy are girls?" Philip asks, holding Pumpkin against his chest.

"Yep, and Cheddar's the little boy troublemaker," Angela says. She sighs, smiling at Philip and Pumpkin. "You two sure this ain't too much of an imposition? Lukas, I mean, we met once and now I'm dumping three children on you and your boyfriend. Not the usual way the situation goes down—"

Lukas snorts, watching Philip laugh. He leans back and scoops Cheddar up too, leaving Lukas to scoot across the floor and block Taffy off from marching into their laundry room. Her little chocolate brown eyes bore into his own, and he knows that if he's falling in love with these puppies that Philip is definitely already gone.

"It's gonna be great," Lukas says, nodding at Angela. "We're gonna have an amazing time."

Once Angela is gone Lukas feels like the puppies can sense his nervousness. Taffy has the little gold marks above her eyes that make her look angry, and he constantly feels like she's judging him. It doesn't help that she follows him everywhere he goes, including into the bathroom.

Philip sets out their dishes on the kitchen floor, giggling when he sees them watching him. "They look apprehensive," he says, looking up at Lukas.

"Just make sure to give Taffy the treats or we're gonna have a testy puppy on our hands," Lukas says, watching her. She's set back a little from Cheddar and Pumpkin, who are sitting close to Philip's foot and staring up at him.

"They're so well behaved," Philip says, pouring what looks like an inordinate amount of food into the bowls.

"Don't go crazy, we don't want them ballooning up over the three days she's gone," Lukas says. "And you're gonna jinx it with this well behaved talk. Later on Cheddar is gonna tear something up."

"Why are you preemptively blaming Cheddar?" Philip asks, sitting down in front of the bowls after the puppies walk over and start eating.

"He's a boy," Lukas says, shrugging. "The boys are always the more difficult ones."

"True," Philip says, scoffing. He pets Pumpkin's head lightly as they eat, smiling down at them.

Lukas feels his chest going warm. "You already have a favorite, babe."

"I do not," Philip says, looking up at him. "All puppies are my favorites."

"Mmhm." Lukas watches him gaze down at them, watches Cheddar stumble a little bit and knock into Taffy. Philip and Lukas both laugh, shaking their heads.

They take them for a walk and Philip is so paranoid about them getting into the street, despite being on leashes and being distracted by every blade of grass. Once they do their business Philip takes to carrying them around in his arms, looking half panicked, like someone is going to steal them. Lukas keeps staring at him with the three whining puppies in his arms and his stomach twists as they start back home.

"I need a picture of you," Lukas says, walking backwards and pulling his phone out of his pocket.

"They want to get down," Philip says, kissing the top of Pumpkin's head. "But I'm afraid. They're precious cargo."

"You're precious cargo," Lukas says, taking about ten pictures in a quick sequence so he can pick his favorite later.

Around six that night Lukas is making tacos, listening to the insistent squeak of one of the hundred toys Angela left with them. He hears his phone buzzing on the counter, looks over to see a text from Angela.

Those munchkins harassed you to death yet?

Lukas chuckles, quickly typing his reply. They're too cute for their own good. Philip is gonna want a dog after this.

"Lukas, I want a dog," Philip calls, and then there's the sound of a squeaker toy being hurled across the living room, twelve little feet rushing after it.

Lukas snorts, looking over his shoulder. "I knew you were going to say that," he says. The puppies all latch on to the toy, which looks like it used to be a lobster before three sets of teeth got to it, and they all growl at each other, tugging it back and forth. Philip is pointing his phone at them, the camera sound going off over and over.

"You sending pictures to Helen and Gabe?" Lukas asks, looking back to the beef on the burner.

"Yeah," Philip says. "Prepare for not so subtle messages about getting your boyfriend a new puppy."

"I'm already ready," Lukas says.

"Philip, they like to be crated," Lukas says, but he knows it's not helping that he's holding Taffy and Cheddar, the two of them lolling and falling asleep in his arms. Cheddar keeps making little yipping sounds in his sleep and Lukas is nearly dying of cute.

Philip looks horrified, sitting with Pumpkin in his lap on the bed.

"I even brought the carrier in here," Lukas says, gesturing to it in the corner by their bed. "So they'll be close."

"Did you put water in there?" Philip asks, holding Pumpkin possessively. "And their blankets?"

That brings on an unexpected vision into Lukas's mind's eye. The two of them and a baby. It's not that much more than that, just an image, a brief feeling, but it hits him so hard that he nearly passes out. He shakes his head and remembers he's holding two puppies. "Yeah," he says, his voice breaking. He walks over, depositing Taffy and Cheddar into the carrier, making sure to fluff the blankets around them.

"Okay," Philip says, kissing the top of Pumpkin's head five or six times before walking over and putting her in the carrier with her siblings. Lukas closes the door and walks over to turn off the light. The whole room is quickly bathed in darkness, only the streetlights sending strips of gold in through their window.

"Come on," Lukas says, finding Philip among the shadows and tugging him to bed.

Philip groans a little bit but follows him without a word. Lukas pulls the sheets back and gets under them, feeling the bed dip when Philip climbs in after him. They turn onto their sides and Lukas wraps his arms around him, kissing the spot under Philip's ear.

"You're so cute with these puppies," Lukas whispers. "I can't stand it."

"They're our children for three days," Philip says back, pressing a dry kiss to Lukas's throat. "Our little, furry, precious children."

"Guess we're glad that subway stopped, huh?" Lukas asks, his mind wandering a bit.

"I mean, if I had known puppies would be part of the deal I wouldn't have been so worried," Philip says, nudging closer to him.

Lukas laughs, shaking his head. "Goodnight, baby. I love you."

"I love you too," Philip says, and Lukas can already tell he's drifting to sleep.

When Lukas wakes up he's alone in the bed. He's had nightmares like that before and the reality of it startles him awake.

"Babe?" he asks, his voice raspy as he sits up on his elbows. And as soon as he does he can see him—Philip is goddamn sleeping on the floor in front of the puppy carrier. His hand is hanging on the door and all three puppies are huddled up against it. The four of them are sleeping soundly and Lukas just stares for a few moments, a soft smile forming on his face. He wonders how long he's been down there, and he's a little annoyed at himself for sleeping through it.

He starts to get up when he realizes he needs to capture this moment before waking Philip up, so he grabs his phone from the bedside table and leans over the side of the bed. He takes a couple pictures from multiple angles and then realizes that he's just standing there staring at him again, a goofy idiot smile on his face. Philip is breathing softly through his mouth and Lukas knows it's impossible to measure how much he loves him.

He kneels next to him and touches his shoulder. "Hey, Sleeping Beauty," he whispers, running the backs of his fingers down Philip's cheek.

Philip stirs a little, groaning.

"What in the hell made you sleep down here?" Lukas says, watching him wince as he sits up.

"They were crying," Philip says, and Lukas sits down all the way so Philip can lean against him. "And you were so dead asleep that I had to take care of it."

Lukas scoffs. "You know you can wake me up."

Philip smiles, shifting to wrap his arms around Lukas's middle. "I'm kidding. I didn't exactly plan on falling asleep on the floor but they were all nuzzling my hand and passing out on top of each other—"

"Hard to resist," Lukas says, kissing Philip's forehead. "Now you know how I feel when you get all drunk and cuddly."

Philip laughs, shaking his head.

"You just nudge at me and collapse on top of me and it's the cutest goddamn thing in the world," Lukas says, rubbing his shoulder.

"Not as cute as puppies," Philip says.

"Let me be the judge of that," Lukas says. "And anyway, you and puppies, as I've been noticing, is the ultimate combination."

Philip beams up at him. "Kiss me."

"Mmm, good idea," Lukas says, and does just that.

"Lukas!" he hears Philip yelling. "Lukas, Lukas!"

There's loud music playing in the bedroom and Lukas nearly drops the knife he's making them sandwiches with.

"What?" he yells, running out of the kitchen and towards his voice, and when he turns the corner he sees Philip sitting in the middle of the bed with all three puppies. Philip looks absolutely enamored and Lukas can see why—the puppies are all three howling, their heads thrown back to the ceiling.

"They like Troye Sivan," Philip says, his eyes bright. "Did you know they could do this? Did she mention this?"

Lukas finds himself grinning and he shakes his head. "How long have they been at it?"

"They started with Fools so I've been playing it on repeat," Philip says.

"Lemme get my phone," Lukas says, and he rushes out of the room, nearly skidding and slamming into the kitchen counter when he grabs it. He rushes back and starts filming right away when he sees they're still doing it. Philip sings along, holding his hands out in front of the puppies. Lukas stops filming when they stop howling, Taffy stepping forward and toppling over onto her back. Philip rubs her tummy, grinning.

"That's gonna go viral," Lukas says, watching it back on his phone as Philip turns the music down. "You think Angela would be mad we put her babies on the internet?"

"Ask first, but I doubt it," Philip says, putting Pumpkin on one knee and Cheddar on the other. "Everyone wants their animals to be famous."

Lukas finds out Pumpkin's favorite toy is a pink flamingo that's bigger than she is, and she runs away from him whenever he tries to get it from her. She backs Lukas up against the wall at one point when he has it, climbing up his chest and attacking his neck to try and get it back from him.

"She's attacking me, Philip!" Lukas says, putting his hand around her little body. She growls and nips at his shirt, shaking it back and forth.

"Serves you right, taking her flamingo," Philip says, handing Taffy a treat.

"You're not helping!" Lukas says, his eyes closed tight. He lowers the flamingo a little bit and feels her lunge for it, yipping and sliding down his chest. He hears the camera go off and he opens his eyes. Philip is aiming his phone at them, Cheddar looking up expectantly. "We're gonna have a whole album of puppy pictures," Lukas says. "Angela is gonna think we're insane."

"No, more like she's gonna want us to babysit again," Philip says, taking a few more pictures, handing Cheddar a treat too. "I wish I could take Polaroids of them but I know they'd just turn out like little blurs."

"It'd look like an alien attack," Lukas says, dropping the flamingo and watching Taffy make for it. Pumpkin barks, loud for a puppy her size, and tries to run over and get there first. Lukas looks over and sees Cheddar give up on Philip's attention, moving to a pizza toy and flopping down on top of it. "Look," Lukas says. "Cheddar pizza."

Philip snorts. "Cute."

Philip tries to teach them things after dinner, like sit and roll over. It fails spectacularly but Lukas revels in watching the whole thing go down, sitting by silently and enjoying how much fun Philip is having. The puppies watch his animated hand gestures, follow him with their eyes but never do what he says, and Lukas knows he and Philip have fun here, all the day, all the time, but he doesn't think he's seen Philip look this happy in a while. The puppies seem to love him, and eventually stop sitting and waiting for him to give up the treats, tromping forward and diving into his outstretched hands. Philip laughs and Lukas's heart soars.

The puppies fall asleep early that night after their eventful day, and Angela texts Lukas a couple more times saying how thankful she is, and how well everything is going in Long Island, how she’s probably gonna get the job and do the commute every day, but it’ll be worth it. Lukas is genuinely happy for her, thinking for a moment what things will be like when he starts on a motocross circuit and Philip starts taking photography jobs. They put the puppies away in the carrier, and Philip puts the pink flamingo in as an afterthought.

"Are you gonna wind up on the floor again?" Lukas asks, watching Philip peel his shirt off.

"I don't know what the future holds," Philip says, smirking.

"We gotta let them grow up," Lukas says, walking over to him. "We can't cater to their every whim."

"Yes we can," Philip says, narrowing his eyes. "They're puppies. I'd die for them."

"Die for them, rob a bank," Lukas says, sliding his hands across Philip's hips. "I don't know what kinda stuff they're asking you to do when I'm not around. They sound like little gangsters."

"Fluffy and lovable is just their cover," Philip says, humming a little bit when Lukas presses him back against the bed. "We can't have sex, baby."

Lukas whines a little bit, splaying his hand out on Philip's lower back. "Why not?"

"There are children in the room, Lukas," Philip says, his eyes wide, a little pout on his lips. "There's no way."

Lukas shakes his head, knows he probably won't change his mind, but leans in to kiss him anyway. They sway back and forth a little bit and Philip shakes his head, groaning.

"No, babe," Philip says. "We can't be obscene."

"We can go under the covers."

Philip snorts, kissing him again. "When they're gone, Sunday night. It's a date."

"This worries me," Lukas says, teasing in his voice as he leans in to kiss Philip's cheek. "If we get a dog..."

"Different situation," Philip says, his voice wavering a little bit when Lukas starts to kiss his neck. "These guys could report back to Angela and then they'll never visit again."

"Report back," Lukas says, smirking.

"Oh, they'll know," Philip says. "But our dog will be our dog. He'll probably sleep like a log. Like you. Snoring included."

"Philip, stop lying to yourself, I don't snore," Lukas says, looking into his eyes.

"Mmhm, sure."

"Let's just kiss then," Lukas says, touching his face. "They can't be offended by kissing."

"Okay," Philip says. They get into bed and under the covers and Philip is on him fast, bringing their mouths together. Lukas lets his hands roam up and down Philip's body, tangling his fingers in his hair.

"You don't care that we're not having sex?" Philip asks against his mouth.

"Of course not," Lukas whispers. "Baby, if you only let me hold you for the rest of your life I'd be good with it. I just wanna be near you."

Philip leans back a little bit, and even in the darkness Lukas can tell he's blushing. "That's really..." He scoffs, dipping his head down.

"I know, I'm really romantic," Lukas says, shrugging. Philip looks up again, with his beautiful eyes, and Lukas shakes his head. "You really got a hold on me," Lukas whispers. Sometimes he's still shocked at how vulnerable Philip makes him feel, but other times it feels like the most commonplace thing there is.

"I'm not gonna let go," Philip whispers, tugging him down so they can kiss again.

The next day Philip is moping around, knowing that Angela is gonna come back and the puppies are gonna be gone. He sits in front of them as they eat, and Cheddar makes little noises as he plows through his food, almost sounds like a dinosaur.

Lukas looks up and sees the expression on Philip's face. He's shifting his mouth to the side, chewing on the inside of his cheek, and Lukas knows the dam is about to break.

"You guys are so cute," Philip says. "And you're gonna be gone and we have to go back to class and..." He trails off with a sigh. He pets the tops of their heads, lingering a little with Pumpkin, and before Lukas can say anything Philip gets up and leaves the room.

"Baby," Lukas says, getting up to follow him, but when he turns the corner he sees Philip is right there, laying on the carpet. He's staring at the ceiling and Lukas sighs, laying down next to him. He reaches down and links their hands together. "Angela is our buddy," he says.

"I know," Philip says.

“Even if she gets the job she’s not moving to Long Island,” Lukas says. “She’s gonna do the commute.”

“Yeah, you said,” Philip says.

"We're gonna see the puppies again," Lukas says, watching Philip's throat bob.

"I believe you," Philip says.

"Then what's wrong, huh?" Lukas asks, squeezing his hand.

"I'm just being...dramatic," Philip says, reaching up to wipe at his eyes. "I'm sad they're leaving but I'm just getting weirdly...emotional."

"About what?" Lukas asks, brushing his fingers over Philip's cheek.

"Just us," Philip says. "These past days with the puppies have felt so...I don't know. Just like a life I never thought I'd have. I feel that all the time with you but with them here too it just feels so..."

"Domestic?" Lukas asks.

"Yeah," Philip says, turning his head. "Sometimes I worry you'll get sick of me."

"I won't, ever," Lukas says, fast. "I'm in love with you. I'll never....I'll never stop being in love with you."

Philip looks like he's fighting a smile and he nods. "I know. I know and this weekend...with these puppies, stupid as it sounds....I could really, really see our future. Like it felt really, really solid—" His voice breaks and he covers his face with his hand. "Nothing has ever felt so...solid in my life but you...you and me..."

"We're solid as a rock, Philip," Lukas says, and as he's saying it he feels the puppies marching between them, Pumpkin yipping and stumbling into Philip.

"Oh my God," Philip says, craning his neck to look down at them. Cheddar hops up onto Philip's chest and Philip laughs, grabbing Pumpkin and putting her onto his far shoulder.

Taffy growls at Lukas as she attempts to climb up his leg and he laughs, scooping her up and putting her in the center of his chest.

"I need to get a picture of this," Lukas says, shifting a little to pull his phone out of his pocket. The puppies all whine and make little noises, Pumpkin licking Philip's jaw while Cheddar is getting himself comfortable on his chest. Lukas scoots closer and holds out his phone above them, kissing Philip's cheek and taking the picture.

"That's adorable," Philip says, the two of them looking at it.

"New phone wallpaper," Lukas says, his chest going warm. He holds Taffy so she doesn't tumble away and kisses Philip's cheek again, three times in quick succession. "We're gonna have as many dogs as you want, babe."

"When we get out of school?" Philip asks.

"Whenever you want," Lukas says, kissing his temple. “And we’re gonna stay solid. Always.”

He knows Angela will be here in about two hours. But his mind keeps flashing to their future, all the possibilities that once could have felt scary and strange, now feel warm and incredible. And it's all because of Philip, and how goddamn much Lukas loves him. This love feels like gold, like something so deep and full that he could never explore every aspect of it. But he knows he's gonna try. Take all the years they can scrounge up to do every single thing in the world together.

"Tell Angela we can babysit these nerds any time she wants," Philip says, rubbing Cheddar's belly.

"Oh, I think she realizes they have two new gay uncles," Lukas says, making Philip laugh. "Maybe we can hide the flamingo here. Make them have to come back."

Philip meets his eyes, grinning wide. "Good idea," he says.

"C'mere," Lukas whispers. They meet in the middle, bringing their mouths together, puppies close and in hand.

#philkas #eyewitness #philip shea #lukas waldenbeck #my writing #the boys being cute with puppies #pure fluff

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