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foxghost · 3 years

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Joyful Reunion, Chapter 56

Translator: foxghost @foxghost tumblr/ko-fi1 Beta: meet-me-in-oblivion @meet-me-in-oblivion tumblr Original by 非天夜翔 Fei Tian Ye Xiang Masterpost | Characters, Maps & Other Reference Index

Book 2, Chapter 14 (Part 1)

By the next morning, the rain has stopped, and Duan Ling has spent the night only half asleep with a slew of thoughts making a mess in his head, somehow managing to smoothly and peacefully live to see dawn.

Everything that had happened the night prior feels like nothing more than a lifetime lived in a great long dream, and now he begins to think about how he will guarantee his own safety from now on. Lang Junxia is one of the four great assassins; in other words, he must have a martial artist of Wu Du or Chang Liujun’s calibre or higher by his side at all times. He may not be able to stay within arm’s reach, but he has to be at least within their sights.

What about when he’s at his lessons? Duan Ling’s mind quickly runs through all the possible scenarios once he starts thinking. Lang Junxia probably won’t make a move during the day; infiltrating the chancellor’s estate in broad daylight is too lofty of a goal. He’ll probably be fine as long as he’s with Wu Du at night. Then during the day, should he study with Mu Qing as before? It may be a bit risky still, but living will always involve some degree of risk.

After breakfast, Wu Du takes out a new wooden box and heads for the door. Duan Ling hurries after him.

Wu Du looks Duan Ling from the top of his head down to his toes speechlessly, and comes to realise that he’s still scared about that thing from last night.

“Where are you going? I’ll go with you.” Duan Ling takes the wooden box from Wu Du, holds it up with both hands, and looks at him expectantly.

Wu Du can only take Duan Ling along, his mind wandering as they enter the chancellor’s estate. Soon afterwards, he says quietly to Duan Ling, “You heard everything Wuluohou Mu said last night, right?”

Last night Duan Ling’s mind was entirely elsewhere, and none of his attention was on Lang Junxia’s words, but now that he thinks about it, it suddenly occurs to him that something doesn’t feel right.

“He said that a carriage from the chancellor’s estate was stopped outside,” Duan Ling says with a frown.

“Shh. If Chancellor Mu brings it up later, you don’t have to say anything. Let me explain.”

Mu Kuangda is having breakfast, and as though he knew Wu Du was going to come first thing in the morning, he bids the servants serve Wu Du and Duan Ling each a cup of tea, while Chang Liujun sits nearby polishing his sword.

Wu Du takes the box and puts it down in front of Mu Kuangda, opening it towards him. The inside is separated into nine compartments arranged in a three by three grid with a different kind of medicinal ingredient in each. Then he unfolds a sheet of yellow paper and puts that in front of Mu Kuangda also.

“Lord chancellor, the formula you gave me previously used clashing ‘cold’ and ‘heat’ ingredients, and the combination of the ingredients was bizarre. It would have been easy for any ordinary doctor to realise that it’s poisonous, thus drawing unnecessary attention. I’ve revised the formula thrice, swapping seven of the ingredients for four, and then added two others that are usually used in supplements to come up with this. I’ve given it a name — ‘Soup of Nine Souls’.”

“Very good.” Mu Kuangda asks, “What does it do?”

"It looks like it’s for placating frequent dreams, to supplement for a lack of yang energy, and beneficial to overall health. Once it’s taken, the patient will have less dreams. However, it will gradually trigger an imbalance in the heart meridian during the day. You can see the effects after three doses. The patient will be anxious all the time, plagued with worries, and in the long run it’ll wreak havoc on their ability to think clearly for years to come.

“If they in turn take medicinal decoctions for calming the mind, or heart supplements, instead of helping, it’ll give rise to drowsiness, leading to the patient wanting to sleep all the time. And if they keep doing that, it’ll gradually lead to the failure of the heart meridian. If they try to take tonics made of ingredients that trend ‘great heat’ or ‘great dryness’ such as ginseng and cistanche, their body will start to fail after a single dose. Several more of that and it’ll cause haemorrhaging from the eyes, the ears, the nose, and the mouth, leading to death.”

“Very good.” Mu Kuangda is more than satisfied. “Is there an antidote?”

“Castings of the ice silk worm and essence of the snow snake. One can make an antidote out of those two things. The steps to make such an antidote is written on the reverse side of the page.”2

Mu Kuangda reads the formula over several times, a hint of approval plain in his eyes. He nods slowly. “You really do live up to your reputation.”

Wu Du doesn’t say anything and finishes the tea.

Mu Kuangda continues, “Last night the wind was strong and the rain came violent and swift. Did you sleep well, perchance?”

Duan Ling listens between the lines and realises Mu Kuangda must already know. Lang Junxia was able to guess that Mu Kuangda would know, Wu Du also knows that Mu Kuangda knows, only Mu Kuangda himself doesn’t know that they know he knows …

All these twists and turns are truly hard on the brain, but thankfully Lang Junxia has given them that particular reminder so now they’ve gone from a passive position to a place where they can take the initiative. Though whether that’s a good thing or a bad thing is still up for debate.

Chang Liujun watches Duan Ling with smiling eyes. Duan Ling hasn’t come back from his thoughts yet, and assumes that Chang Liujun is likely just rejoicing in Wu Du’s misfortune again.

“I went to the Blossoms Pavilion last night,” Wu Du says casually, “brought the little one to broaden his horizons.”

“Oh?” But Mu Kuangda is smiling already. “Well you must have enjoyed yourselves.”

Duan Ling apprehensively recalls what Lang Junxia told them: If Mu Kuangda brings it up, just tell him the truth. And instantly several ideas flash through his head and it all becomes clear. Lang Junxia is extremely smart, actually; this way, he’s handed the initiative entirely to Wu Du. The fake crown prince wants to bring Wu Du to his side, yet Wu Du is in the enemy’s camp. So what he can do is sell this information to Mu Kuangda in exchange for his trust first, then lie in wait. He’ll be Mu Kuangda’s retainer in name, but in reality he’ll be on the crown prince and Lang Junxia’s side, becoming a double agent — a far more beneficial result.

Of course, such an arrangement is only applicable to Wu Du — because he’s true to his feelings.

“We didn’t really enjoy ourselves.” Wu Du replies, “A lot has happened in the past, and after some thinking I believe I need to give you an explanation, Lord Chancellor.”

Mu Kuangda is quiet for a moment before he nods. Smart people know exactly when to speak and when to stop. Clearly he does not need to say more.

“Lord Chancellor, I can never forget the kindness you showed me by asking for mercy on my behalf.” Wu Du says, finally, “If there’s nothing else, then please excuse me.”

But Mu Kuangda is saying. “Please wait.”

Wu Du is about to get up, but Mu Kuangda is giving Chang Liujun a glance, and Chang Liujun produces a letter.

“I may need to ask you to do something else for me,” Mu Kuangda continues, “First take a look at this letter.”

Duan Ling wants to see it, but he doesn’t dare peek — even though he’s extremely curious.

Mu Kuangda turns to him. “Wang Shan, since you’re with the young master everyday, even if you haven’t become one of my aides, your position is not far from one. There’s no need to act like you’re treading on eggshells. A young man should say what he ought to say, and not act too far beyond his years.”

Duan Ling knows that Mu Kuangda is clearly treating him as one of his own because Wu Du has declared where he stands. Duan Ling hasten to answer respectfully, “Certainly.”

Wu Du opens the letter and finds an army dispatch. There’s no address, and no signature; it contains some proof of military spending as well as weaponry held in reserve, training plans over the winter, as well as an account of using fourteen thousand and eight hundred taels of silver to purchase Ferghana3 warhorses from Xiliang.

“Can you tell whose handwriting this is?” Mu Kuangda asks.

“It’s Bian Lingbai’s handwriting.” Wu Du says, “A general stationed in Tongguan. Pacification Commissioner of Guanxi.”4

“Correct.”

Duan Ling doesn’t know who that is, so he doesn’t say anything. Why is Mu Kuangda suddenly showing Wu Du a letter? Does he want to send him to kill someone?

“Bian Lingbai has served in the army thirteen years.” Mu Kuangda says, “He started his career in Shandong5, and he’s had more than twenty military engagements with Liao, both big and small, with a mixed record of wins and losses. When the Yelüs seized Shangzi, Bian Lingbai attacked the Khitan army’s rear formation by surprise and was decorated for his service. After the capital was relocated to Xichuan, he was made Commander-in-Chief of the Shandong army. Seven years ago, he joined hands with the General of Tiger’s Might6 Han Bin, and turned against the late emperor at Mount Jiangjun to seize the military from him.”

“Kill him?” Wu Du says offhandedly.

Mu Kuangda doesn’t say anything, and takes another sip of tea. Sunlight slants though the window panes at his back.

“While the late emperor did not bother to punish those under Zhao Kui’s command,” Mu Kuangda says, “I cannot afford to do the same. This man has been colluding with Xiliang for a long time — buying horses, reinforcing his troops, increasing the size of his army without explicit approval. The proof is the letter in your hand. It’s a record of his secretly stockpiling armaments and embezzling military funds to buy warhorses from the Tangut.”

“If we don’t put an end to him now, given enough time he may prove a challenge to the central government, and become hard to control.”

When lives are involved, Mu Kuangda has always been exceedingly prudent.

“I got it. I’ll head out over the next few days.”

Duan Ling thinks, that’s not good. If you’re heading out, what am I supposed to do?

Mu Kuangda says, “In addition to killing him you must also gather proof that he’s attempting to seek independence.”

Wu Du furrows his brows slightly, and does not answer.

“Wu Du.” Mu Kuangda says, “Killing cannot be the only thing you know how to do.”

Mu Kuangda gets up and paces to the veranda. A soft summer breeze brushes by, setting the wind chimes to a light clinking.

Wu Du says, “I’ve met Bian Lingbai once. He’s a highly ambitious man. I share at least part of the blame in General Zhao’s death; he’s not about to have a pleasant conversation with me — he’s liable to pull a knife on me before we even get the chance to sit down.”

“You know how to disguise yourself, no?” Chang Liujun interjects suddenly.

"A disguise is only good for lying low. If I want to collect evidence that he’s colluding with Tangut and seeking independence, then I’ll have to talk to him. Speech, mannerisms — these are hard things to imitate for long.”

Mu Kuangda falls into a thoughtful silence.

“There is another way.” Wu Du says, “I can arrest him, interrogate the details out of him, and then hand him over to you, Lord Chancellor. Whether the testimony turns out to be a confession under duress or the truth, well that isn’t any of my business.”

“That won’t do.” Mu Kuangda shakes his head slowly. “His Majesty will spare this man’s life, that’s for certain. Even if we have conclusive evidence, he’ll be banished to a remote army post and exiled at most, leaving him the chance to make a comeback. What I want is for him to die beneath Tongguan without making a splash — not to have him killed with great fanfare, giving his army a chance to mutiny.”

“What if I go?” Duan Ling says suddenly.

The room falls quiet at once. Duan Ling knows that what he said is utterly absurd, but he has no other alternative. As soon as Wu Du leaves, his own insignificant little life may as well be a slice of meat on a chopping board, and Lang Junxia can slice him up however he likes.

“You?” Wu Du sounds like he’s just heard the most fantastical story in the world, and he says to Duan Ling, “I’m going there to kill someone!”

Mu Kuangda though, seems rather surprised. He gives Duan Ling a glance and says, “Truly, you never cease to amaze. Let him speak. See what he comes up with.”

“Um … I don’t have any concrete ideas, for now. I’ll have to get there first. It’s outside Tongguan, right? If Wu Du pretends he’s part of my … household? Maybe General Bian wouldn’t suspect me if I’m the one to approach him?”

Mu Kuangda falls quiet once more. A furrow appears between Wu Du’s brows and he’s about to speak up to stop Duan Ling, but he catches Duan Ling staring at him imploringly.

“That’s feasible.” With that reminder from Duan Ling, Mu Kuangda seems to have figured out something. “Last year, Bian Lingbai was transferred back to Tongguan from Mount Jiangjun, and it’s getting close to the anniversary of Zhao Kui’s death. What identity can you use to see him with though?”

Speaking, Mu Kuangda turns to Duan Ling, who grows somewhat fearful beneath his gaze lest he gets a eureka moment at some point and notices a hint in his features and grows suspicious. But right now he has no other option but to make this gamble, knowing that Mu Kuangda is only scrutinising him because he’s trying to come up with a suitable identity.

“You can’t be Zhao Kui’s son.” Mu Kuangda mumbles to himself. “Zhao Kui had three sons and one daughter, and they were all beheaded. What about an adoptive son? Wu Du, what do you think? Would baiting him into committing treason fish out what we want?”

Baiting him into committing treason is truly an extremely shrewd move.

“But how are we going to explain why Wu Du’s going there?” Duan Ling asks.

“That won’t be a problem. All I have to do is write a letter appointing Wu Du to investigate the whereabouts of the sword of the realm, the Zhenshanhe. Meanwhile Wu Du will use this as an opportunity to meet with Bian Lingbai. That’s all it’ll take for Bian Lingbai to believe it.”

Wu Du says, “Zhao Kui has a nephew named Zhao Rong, and his father Zhao Pu was a deputy captain of the coast guard under the Shandong jurisdiction. Zhao Pu was shot and killed by an arrow during a pirate7 raid four years ago, and Zhao Rong was captured and drowned. But not many people know that, as Zhao Kui was the only one who received news of his nephew’s death, so we can get in contact with Bian Lingbai under this name.”

“That will work.” Mu Kuangda says, “Let me think about this some more, and see if I can come up with a way that can accomplish all of our goals in one fell swoop. Go home for now, and wait for me to get everything ready.”

I do not monetise my hobby translations, but if you’d like to support my work generally or support my light novel habit, you can either buy me a coffee or commission me. This is also to note that if you see this message anywhere else than on tumblr, do come to my tumblr. It’s ad-free. ↩︎

The ingredients mentioned before these ‘ice silk worm’ and ‘snow snake’ stuff are real ingredients. The worm and snake stuff is fictional, though not new, in wuxia. ↩︎

Ferghana horse. ↩︎

Guanxi means “areas west of the gates/passes”, or areas west of Tongguan, along the western border. ↩︎

The original text used Guandong, which meant “east of the gates”, those gates being the major gates along the Great Wall such as Yubiguan. But since that’s a meaningless location that can’t be found on a map, I changed it to Shandong as that’s the area they’re referring to. ↩︎

Incidentally, this was also Zhao Yun’s nickname under Liu Bei. Historically there were three Generals of Tiger’s Might during the three kingdoms period. ↩︎

The Chinese word Wokou were often translated to Japanese pirates, and the word itself literally meant “dwarf pirates”, but the ethnicity of these pirates varied over time. You can basically think of the word wokou as simply “pirate”, in the same way that typhoon is just a word for hurricanes when they happen in the Pacific/Indian Ocean. ↩︎

#相見歡 #fei tian ye xiang #joyful reunion #xiang jian huan #fox translates things

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tuellertrails · 3 years

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Why the PCT?

When I was 18, my coworker and I traded books for fun. I don’t even remember what book I gave her, but she gave me a copy of Wild by Cheryl Strayed, about a woman who hiked the Pacific Crest Trail in the 90′s. I loved the book because not only was it about this great adventure of the solitary trek that she took, but it was also a story of healing, a search for meaning and the strength to move forward after losing someone that she loved.

The author lost her mom to cancer when she was 18 or 19 years old, and it came on very suddenly. Within a month of being diagnosed, her mom had died, and the suddenness of the event really wrecked her and her siblings and step father. For years afterwards, she struggled with a drug and a sex addiction, got married and divorced, and just felt lost (The quoted sections ahead are all shared from her book).

“I was a terrible believer in things, but I was also a terrible nonbeliever in things. I was as searching as I was skeptical. I didn't know where to put my faith, or if there was such a place, or even what the word faith meant, in all of it's complexity. Everything seemed to be possibly potent and possibly fake.”

Randomly, she comes across a guidebook all about the PCT, and on a whim decides that she needs to do something different with her life. So she sells everything that she owns, goes to REI and buys a bunch of backpacking gear, and sets out to hike this trail with absolutely no backpacking experience. At the beginning her pack was so heavy that she called it “Monster” and could barely lift it. But she set out and hiked 1,100 miles in 94 days, reading, journaling and taking in this brutally hard experience. She conquered her fears and achieved this incredible thing that most people don’t even imagine doing.

“Fear begets fear. Power begets power. I willed myself to beget power. And it wasn't long before I actually wasn't afraid.”

It was this incredible journey that she undertook that actually helped her move on with her life and deal with her Mom’s death, perhaps in a way that almost nothing else could have. I loved it. It’s an incredible story with so much beauty and wisdom, and it inspired me like nothing else ever has. After reading it, I knew that I wanted to have my own experience and hike the PCT for myself.

“I had diverged, digressed, wandered, and become wild. I didn't embrace the word as my new name because it defined negative aspects of my circumstances or life, but because even in my darkest days—those very days in which I was naming myself—I saw the power of the darkness. Saw that, in fact, I had strayed and that I was a stray and that from the wild places my straying had brought me, I knew things I couldn't have known before.”

I had briefly mentioned this “wild” ambition to Landon, but we didn’t start seriously talking about it until Spring of 2018 when I was finishing up nursing school. I told Landon that before we had kids, i wanted to hike the PCT. Always down for an adventure (especially of the outdoor variety) and being the supportive husband that he is, he enthusiastically replied “Ok, lets do it!”

So we sat down and started researching what it would take to turn this dream into a reality. We watched Youtube videos (we reccommend Darwin on The Trail and Homemade Wanderlust) and read blog posts of hikers who had hiked the trail. We looked up all of the different options for backpacking gear and decided which pieces we wanted for our own kits, and opened up a savings account to start socking away money for the excursion.

Our original plan was to hike in 2020, and though we had saved up enough money and had all of our gear, we ended up cancelling our thru hike that year due to the Covid-19 Pandemic. Things were very uncertain in April of 2020, and many of the small communities that are along the PCT came out with statements asking for hikers to please cancel their hikes to eliminate the spread of the virus, especially in those trail communities whose residents are primarily elderly and do not have access to much healthcare close by. Shortly after, the Pacfiic Crest Trail Association also came out with a statement parroting the same sentiments and asking hikers to respect the wishes of the trail communities and please cancel their hikes, which the majority of hikers did. Even though we were bummed, we felt like cancelling our thru hike was the right thing to do, and we were able to spend a lot of time doing self supported backpacking trips that summer and continue practicing on those trips and dialing in our gear choices.

Fortunately for us, we have one more window of opportunity to hike the PCT this year in 2021. Landon is in between his Bachelor’s and Master’s degree programs, and doesn’t have any obligations until Fall semester of this year, at which point we anticipate him having to leave the trail a little bit early to go to graduate school in Colorado, where I will join him shortly after completing the trail. I have been working as a travel nurse over the last year and completed my most recent assignment in March, which gave us about a month to travel home, see our friends and family, pack up for grad school, and prepare our resupply boxes for the trail this year. We are both very fortunate to have received both doses of the Pfizer vaccine and we are feeling much more optimistic about the safety of hiking the PCT this year, though we will still continue to wear masks in towns. As I write this, I’m sitting at the table in Landon’s Aunt and Uncle’s house in San Diego, where we’ve been resting for a week before we start our thru hike on Monday, April 19th (they’ve been kind enough to host us while Landon recovers from running 62 miles from his latest ultra marathon endeavor).

We are so happy to finally be taking this journey together and to be realizing a goal and a dream of mine for the past 10 years! It’s going to be an amazing adventure and we can’t wait to start. I’ll be posting here at least once a week writing about our experiences, and Landon might be convinced to write an occasional post here too. Feel free to comment below or ask us any questions at the bottom of this post! And thanks for reading and supporting us. Just 2,653 miles to go!

#PCT #PCT2021 #Hikertrash #optoutside #tuellertrails #wild

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beyoncesdragon · 4 years

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The Sin pt. 2

The confession

Pariring: Tommy Shelby x Reader

Warnings: some making out bc I want that and lots and lots of swearing

Summary: It’s an invite that went missing and feelings that got returned. Just a little late, a little unfortunate and a little unholy. In this part: Where Tommy confesses something to the reader and Grace plays a different part in it than imagined.

Here: Where Tommy finally comes home.

a/n: first of all: I am so so so so so sorry for taking ages to write this. believe me I have around 4 different versions of this, all over 3k words long. I struggled greatly with this, and it’s my own fockin fault. I think I have never, and I mean never struggled more and I hateeeee this. but it just doesn't seem to get better. I am sorry. I hope you still read and enjoy🥺

Just because I can remember @soleil-dor asking specifically...this for u. I am so SORRY fuck

My Masterlist

My doorbell ringed at the same time the church bells stroke midnight and it scared me half to death. I’d fallen asleep on the couch, only dressed in my flowy nightgown and a light blanket over my shoulders, the book had already slipped from my grip. I sat up, pulling the blanket tighter around my shoulders, carefully approaching the door. I heard a rumble from upstairs, probably Elise jumping out of her bed. I sighed, deciding that I would just open the door myself.

The last man I had expected to stand in front of my door, soaked to the bone and with pale face and tousled hair was him. Not that I had expected anyone, but especially not him.

My eyes flickered over his silhouette and back to his face. There was something strange in his eyes, something broken from the inside, almost. His posture remained as always, proud, upright and unbothered but his eyes…I remember how Polly had once mentioned to him that the eyes were the doors to the soul. Tommy had just blankly stared at her, given her an unfazed look before lowly explaining that he, in fact, must’ve lost his soul in France then, because nobody would ever read him through his eyes. And I had almost believed him. Almost.

I snapped out of my thoughts and tilted my head. I wasn’t entirely sure if I wanted another Shelby around at that time of the day.

The white light of a lightning flared across the dark night and made me flinch. To hell with this, I was not letting anyone stand outside my door during weather like this. With a small sigh I stepped aside, letting him pass me to come in. Elise, my loyal handmaiden who had peaked from behind my back, quickly shuffled aside, the worry still haven’t left her face. Usually it would’ve been her opening up, but I had allowed her to go to sleep already because I really wanted to finish that book...so she’s been freed from that duty. However, it didn’t stop her from come running when she heard the doorbell ring.

My eyes fell on a gun in her hand, as it suited the only handmaiden in an unprotected house. Yet I still always chuckled seeing her like this: wearing a light green nightshirt which reached down over her knees, backless slippers and a nightcap to protect her light brown curls. And then a bloody gun. I supressed a grin.

“Madam…?” she whispered as I closed the door shut, giving him a suspicious look. “It’s fine Elise. It’s just Tommy he…he’s okay. You can go to bed again. Or maybe if you would just prepare a the kettle with some hot water for tea…” I suggested, eyes trailing over Tommy. This man needed tea, urgently.

She nodded almost reluctantly before hinting a curtesy. Almost secretive she however handed me the gun, as if to make sure I could still shoot him if in need. I bit back a smile and nodded at her, before looking back at Tommy.

He had his eyes locked on me, a strong unbroken gaze. He didn’t even blink. His black coat was dripping down onto the carpet, his hands held his hat tightly. His eyes left me to follow the young frame of Elise leaving the kitchen with a nod into our direction and tiredly climbing up the stairs.

“She’s handed you a gun.” Those were the first words he had said to me since that phone call, around two weeks ago. His eyes now fell to my hands before I could place the gun down or hide it…so I wouldn’t offend him. But he’s seen it, obviously.

“She has. People are not scared enough of women to leave us alone.” I explained with a shrug, looking down at the shimmering weapon in my hand. “Y’gonna use it?” I looked up surprised. “Against who? You?” he shrugged, face blank and impossible to read. I could only chuckle at that, shaking my head and placing it down. “Obviously not?” he nodded in a matter-of-factly before suddenly grabbing my hips and shoving me against the wall behind me. His hand were everywhere and his lips left burning kisses all over my neck and jaw.

“T-Tommy…?” I could only stutter, completely taken aback by his eagerness, his neediness and his want. His cloak was still wet and cold and I could feel it soak through my thin silky nightgown as he pressed his body against mine.

“Wet.” I could only mumble against his lips before he bit down on my lower lip, urging me to stop talking. He however did start to shrug the jacket off of his shoulders, getting frustrated when it wouldn’t work. I pushed him away gently, helping him slipping out of the wet coat. it took me about ten seconds but I already missed his touch like an addict craved a line of coke. He let the probably completely overpriced coat fall to the ground and instead of picking it up he was back on my lips in no time. His hands were roaming over my body, pulling me tighter every now and then. His tongue urged me to open up my lips to let him deepen the kiss. I did, not hesitating a second. The sharp whistle of a teapot made us snap apart. His breathing was heavy, just like mine.

He stepped back in silence, letting me pass in an almost awkward silence. Tension lied heavy between the two of us, so thick and noticeable it made me dizzy. He made me dizzy.

“Is Earl Grey fine? No wait, camomile is actually better…or lime blossom…” I coughed, trying my hardest to overcome the husk of my own voice as my fingers traced along the carefully stacked tins filled with the best herbs and mixtures.

“Whisky does the job.” His husk voice caught me off guard since it was way closer than I had expected. “Lime blossom it is then. Fuck off with whisky, do you know what time it is?” he said nothing after that, his eyes silently following my every move as I set up the teapot to pour the boiling water into. There wasn’t another word spoken during the time the lime blossom soaked in, we kind of just stood there, watching the steam from the teapot and each other.

He looked worn out in the dim light of my kitchen. His skin was paler than usual, his hair a tad messier than I was used to (which could theoretically also be my fault though), his eyes less deep and colder.

Now, where he had removed his dripping coat he looked a bit less buff. Still a hunk of a man, still towering me. Especially because I wasn’t wearing heels, which was a thing I usually did, especially around men. Their ego was often big enough to treat me more like a servant and less like a business partner simply because I was a woman and they were taller. It was ridiculous really. Tommy had never treated me like this, I had never feared to be treated like an underdog. Sure, he was sly and witty, he knew how to bargain and twist everything to his profit. But that wasn’t done in a condescend manner at all. Maybe that was why I was drawn to him the way I was. The second he stepped out of his car and walked towards me, proud and seemingly uncaring of all the stares he was receiving from my workers. It had been truly stunned when he stopped, eyes wandering over my stable lad and me, before approaching me. Usually people tended to approach Gregory first, a thing I watched with great amusement. Not so Tommy, he’d approached me from the beginning. And he ended up buying one of my best horses immediately, Yastra, a horse I had never planned to sell in the first place. She wasn’t even named properly for the race tracks. Tommy couldn’t care less. He’d given the proud sand coloured steep a long look before offering his deal. Yastra still lived on my property and I still trained her, just like the two other horses he’d bought later on. Only one, a brown mare by the name of Pacific Princess II stood in his stables.

The strong and sweet taste of the lime blossom made me shake my head and snap out of my thoughts. Tea was ready and if I would leave it too long without serving, it would turn bitter. “Get me a stand from in there.” I turned to reach for the honey when I suddenly felt his presence behind me. I turned around, almost bumping into him. He had his lips on mine before I could even say something, picking off the unsaid words from my lips and swallowing them down. His tongue urged me to open up my lips to let him deepen the kiss. I did, not hesitating a second.

It wasn’t a sweet kiss, not at all. It was more like a violent, unrestrained kiss, a kiss with teeth nipping on swollen lips. He was devouring me, drinking all of my being in with one kiss, and I felt like he was sucking the air straight from my lungs.

Tommy kissed so hard it was like he was trying to leave the memory of the imprints of his lips in my mind forever. And he probably accomplished just that by now.

His hands were roaming over my body, pulling me tighter every now and then. He pushed me back against the countertop, lifting me up to place me down on it immediately.

He let out a throaty groan, splitting my legs with his body to come even closer. He tasted sweet, kissed filthy as ever and set my skin on fire. My mind was blank, all I could I think was Tommy, his hand on my back, the other one trailing shakily from my waist up, over my breast before halting at my collar bone. He brought it up to my neck, deepening the kiss even more, making it just a tad more desperate.

In moments like these it was when I realised once again how I would never ever get over Tommy Shelby, not in this life and probably not in another one. He just swept me off my feet every time. He did it when we had kissed first, needy and thrilling, in the stables a few years ago. It had been the third time we had met, this time for inspecting one of his race horses because of breeding options. Monaghan boy, a black stallion with a beautiful neck. As always, tension had lingered between the two of us like a thick fog, but he had been the first to give in. He had this thing where he liked to back me up against the wall, preferably dominant and always in charge. It had made my knees weak in an instant and it didn’t help that he had a tongue to sin with. From that day on, our meetings consisted of either heated discussions about horses and life or sex. Or both, most of the time…then he had met Grace and whatever we had, stopped. And it stopped in an ugly way, rather. I could’ve understood if he had come to me and told me that he now considered a serious relationship with someone who was not me. I would’ve let him go, heartbroken but at peace. But he had not had the decency to do so, oh no. he had rather left in a hurry with a few stuttered words about “This can’t happen anymore…I’m sorry.”

And yet here he was, for the second time since he said that and ran. And I was letting it happen again, like the fool I was. We parted swiftly to catch out breaths again before Tommy connected his lips with my neck again. He sucked lightly at my skin and left a trail of burning marks down to my shoulders. I moaned quietly as he bit down on my sweet spot right above my collar bone, and pushed his face up to mine again. Instead of kissing me again, he just looked at me, an unreadable expression on his face.

“Regretting this already?” I pushed out, almost in spite since he still waited. He quirked an eyebrow, eyes growing dark again. “Why do you always try to piss me off?” good question actually, on the other hand, who the fuck was he to ask anything. “Because you’re hot when you are angry.” He growled lowly, bringing his lips to mine again.

I don’t know what it was that broke the spell and made a weird form of panic flood my bones. Something in my brain switched when he suddenly picked me up, his hungry lips still on mine. This was a married man with a son and a wife at home. What the hell was I doing here? But before I could say something, Tommy had carried me into the livingroom and placed me on one of the couches. He was over me in an instant, pressing me down gently.

“Tommy…Tommy what are you doing?” I asked breathlessly, panting for air. He stopped, eyes flickering over my face, dark with lust.

“What does it look like.” He was equally out of breath, his voice just a tad throatier than before. I said nothing, just brushed a strand of hair out of his face. A whirlwind of emotions flickered through his eyes, like a thunderstorm of realisation, lust, angst, regret, maybe? It was quiet in the room for quite a while, only the crackling fire and wind hitting the windows could be heard. Then Tommy did something I had not expected at all: he let his head rest on my chest, arms around me, unmoving like a heavy organic blanket. My fingers found their way up to his hair, carefully brushing through the longer curls. I was still a bit taken aback by the sudden switch of attitude and mood.

“What’s troubling you, Tommy?” I asked softly, still stroking through his hair. The raw and vulnerable energy that surrounded us now, almost took my breath away. Tommy just shook his head swiftly. He wasn’t ready to talk about it, or so it seemed.

“Do y’ever wear it?”

I was confused first. Wear what? Then…my hand wandered up to my neck, as if searching for the green emerald. But there was nothing, just hot skin.

“I do. I took it off for bed.” I explained, almost physically feeling the weight of the precious stone on my collar. “Why did you even send it back?” I asked carefully, that question had lingered in the back of my mind for quite some time now. Tommy sighed deeply. “I took an envelope and…” I snorted quickly, cutting him off. “Stop bullshitting me Tommy. I gave her the necklace. Did she not like it?” He sat up, looking down at my lying frame beneath him. There was almost a sly glint in his blue eyes as his gaze met mine again.

“Someone convinced her that the heart was cursed. Gipsy magic.” I gasped in outrage. “Excuse me? Someone?” Tommy just leaned back, the ghost of a smile on his lips. “Someone.” He confirmed, still that mischievous glint in his eyes. “Fuck off Tommy. She probably hates me now. Good job, this is one way of keeping me away from your parties.” He let out a snort, almost a chuckle.

“That won’t be a problem anymore. You can come whenever you like.” I rose my eyebrows surprised. I felt like we were slowly getting to the reason why he appeared on my doorstep at twelve thirty in the night.

“She’s…well…she’s left.” I sucked in a startled breath. “Left? As in…ran away? Divorced?” Tommy had his face turned away from me, his eyes watching the fire in the fireplace crackle. “Left.” I gulped, not knowing what to say or do. “I am sorry…really sorry.” I only stuttered, watching the flames reflect red in his eyes. They seemed glossier than before…Jesus Christ I really had no idea how to deal with this situation as a whole. Only hesitantly I placed my hand on his arm. It was weird how I now felt so…shy touching him, when only minutes ago we were making out like our lives depended on it.

“Is it because…because of me?” I whispered, scared of his answer. He snapped back to me, eyes then trailing over my hand.

“No…she’s been married before me, you know. Only she told me that her man had killed herself after she left him.” it made sense now to me, her purple dress. A dress symbolizing that one was still mourning…and I had wondered over who, at a wedding after all.

“Turns out that he’s very much alive.” His voice was bitter and heavy of anger and I traced small circles into arm. “We’ve had an argument you know…about horses and who trains them.” My interest peaked up some more. “I don’t know if you’ve ever heard of May Carleton…” I nodded swiftly. Of course I did, she was a mutual in every way after all.

“Suppose you had something going on with that one too?” Tommy hesitated a moment before nodding quickly.

“I never loved her. It was just…sex?” he almost asked me that and I chuckled softly. “Who am I to judge Tommy. I don’t know if you had feelings for her. After all, you shouldn’t degrade what the two of you did…are we not the same?” that made him snap around to me. “We? Just sex?” his eyes narrowed and it seemed like a new fire ignited them. I waved it off, drawing another circle in his arm. He shook his head, continuing.

“It stopped when Grace came back from New York.” I hummed before waiting for him to continue. “She trained my horses…” I gave him a pointed look. “I can sense betrayal.” He gave me a pointed look.

“What?” I couldn’t help but grin. “Training your horses by another woman…I am hurt. You coward.” He shook his head slowly. “You don’t know how difficult you are sometimes.” I chuckled softly, giving him a wink.

“You love me.” He said nothing, his face falling a bit. I frowned, wanting to assure him that I was only joking but he cut me off. “Do you have whisky?” I nodded, getting up swiftly and walking over to a cabinet. “What would you like?” I asked, stepping aside for him to see the dusty bottles. He got up and walked closer, eyes wandering over the labels.

My eyes wandered over his face, that worn out but handsome face, a face that haunted me and basically ruined all other men for me. My thoughts flickered to the expression on his face when I made the joke about him loving me. I had meant to read something like guilt in his features, but why? Sure, love was a strong word and I wasn’t entirely sure if I could ever expect love from someone like Tommy Shelby, especially after he just broke up with Grace…no, after she just broke up with him. Or called off the engagement, or whatever.

“That one.” I snapped out of my thoughts and grabbed the bottle he chose. I prepared two glass of the orange brown liquor carrying them over to the couch again.

I sat down whilst Tommy kept pacing around the room, his glass in his hands. I noticed the absence of a ring and it almost felt…relieving. But then again…it didn’t. because I couldn’t help but feel guilty for all I’d done.

“She took the boy with her. To fucking New York.” He suddenly pressed out, necking the whisky in a swift move. My mouth parted in surprise and I could only stutter my words of condolence. “I’m sorry to hear that…” I started, silenced by his angry glare immediately.

“Stop lying.” I rose my eyebrows. “Lying? Why should I lie?” he shrugged, visibly frustrated now. “Can I smoke?” I shrugged, watching him light up a cigarette before turning back to me. “Because that’s what you…I don’t fucking know!” he then started, not even daring to finish his thoughts. And maybe it was that what finally ticked me off.

“You wanted to say, because that’s what I wanted? Is it that? Finish your damn sentences!” his eyes flashed up in irritation, but I went on before he could even reply to anything.

“By the way Tommy, what I want is something that should be entirely unknown by you, since you’re not me! And, just to clarify, before you use that…thing that there was on that party two weeks ago: you kissed me! I only turned up because of…I don’t know, spite, anger, whatnot. But I never intended to do anything like…what we did.” He laughed dryly. “You wanna say, you regret it?” I tilted my head, leaning back a bit. “I never said that.” He hummed, an angry glint in his eyes again. Or rather, still.

“Maybe you shouldn’t’ve turned up then, and sure as hell not given her that damn necklace…” I shook my head.

“I think we both know that this is not about you and not being able to handle her wearing some green, glittery rock.” He took a sharp breath. “By the way, do you even realise how dangerous a rumour like this is for my reputation? That I jinx stuff? Curse chains and…jewellery? There is a legit possibility of my name being ruinedbecause of your little lie.” he said no word, his eyes fixed on the ceiling, grey smoke passing through his lips.

“Are you done?” his voice wasn’t as calm and collected as usually, instead is was heavy with anger and maybe hurt. His icy eyes snapped back to mine, piercing through them as if to strip me off of all of my dignity and leave my soul linger nakedly in front of him.

“Am I done?” I repeated quietly, anger making my voice hoarse. He’d always had a special talent for pissing me off, but this was topping anything. I didn’t even knew what to respond I was so angry. “Yes, are you done. Done, because then I can tell you why the fuck I decided to send that goddamn thing away, back to you.” he took another pull from his smoke before flicking it into the fire. “Can you remember why I gave you this necklace? When I gave it to you?” of course I could, clear as day. It had been a promise, a small, weak promise to care for each other. We had been out, a lovely and peaceful walk with the horses he had just bought, the stars bright and the night cold. He’d been nervous the moment he presented the beautiful stone to me, an almost angsty flicker in his eyes, as if waiting for a rejection.

I had not rejected, obviously, and Tommy had slipped the necklace around my neck whilst pressing butterfly kisses to my neck. But still: the one who ran and broke his own promise had not been me, but him. I crossed my arms over my chest, shaking my head slowly.

“Of course I can. But it still explains nothing.” He grunted angrily. “Not, eh? Maybe that I don’t need a reminder of us around me every day?” I laughed softly, shaking my head. “You mean, you are selfish Tommy? You mean that the fact that you broke your own fucking promise, is making you regret certain decisions from your past? And I am not talking about marrying another woman, I am talking about that hit and run number you pulled there, and then not inviting me to you bloody wedding-celebration…” he slammed his fist down on the chair back, me regret my decision to jump up immediately. But I couldn’t just sit down again, I wouldn’t back off now.

“Do I look like I need a bloody reminder that I fucked up, eh? Do I really look like that to you? And you come and have the fucking nerve to…blame it on my selfishness? My selfishness? When you knew ex-fucking-sactly, what would do to me, if you gave her this necklace?” I was robbed of words to shoot back at him, stumbling back at the force of his words. He followed up, it felt like I was back in his office again.

“You don’t leave my head, my thoughts, my mind, not at night and not at day. You’re there constantly, alright? And I am…was fucking married, alright? I have a bloody kid with that woman, a life, a house, a business. I don’t need a reminder of you on my spouses neck. Fuck!” his eyes were wild and full of emotion, his breath quick and hot and grazing my lips, he was so close.

“I’m sorry.” Was all I pressed out, not exactly knowing what else to say. Tommy just shook his head. “I am sorry. I think I just…” his whole attitude changed all of a sudden, again as if all the anger and hurt left his body and left him behind tired and worn out.

“I think I just missed you.”

I carefully linked my fingers with his before pulling him into a hug. “I missed you too, Tommy. A lot, y’know?” he just buried his face in the crook of my neck and took a deep breath. After a few second he let go of me, stepping back a bit. Not far, and never fully letting go of me. “Let’s go to bed, yeah? You can have the guestroom if you need space…” he just tilted his head. “or you can sleep in my bed. With me present of course.” A shy smile played around his lips as he nodded softly. “I am comfortable if you are.” I just pulled him upstairs.

It felt different when Tommy slipped under the covers now, as if we’d never spent a night in the same bed. Which was close to ridiculous because that wasn’t the case at all. The energy just had never been so honest and so…vulnerable. I could hear him take a deep breath, before I felt his arm wrap around me. I turned around to him, glimpsing up at his face. The dark almost swallowed him whole, but I could make out a soft shimmer where his eyes were and the light from the window illuminated his silhouette.

“Are you okay?” I asked carefully, tangling my leg with his.

“Can I kiss you?” I chuckled softly, arms resting on his shoulders. “Have you not already? Like, when you ruined my nightgown, not that long ago?” I could almost hear his little smirk when he hummed, but I could definitely feel it when he brought his lips down to mine. His arms tightened around me when we parted and he let out a soft sigh.

“Goodnight.”

“Goodnight Tommy.” I whispered, leaning into his arms. He mumbled something, words so quiet I couldn’t quite catch them. I raised my head back up.

“Hm?”

“I just…I said that I’m back home.”

#tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby #tommy shelby imagine #the sin #the peaky blinders #the peaky fookin blinders #tommy shelby x you #peaky blinder imagine #peaky fookin blinders #michael gray #arthur shelby #john shelby #Birmingham #cillian murphy

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creativeashproductions · 6 years

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Thanksgiving Brings New Dawns // Noah Centineo

Summary: Meeting someone at their worsts brings both pain and some positives. Meeting an actor who lost himself in his new world isn’t what you like but apparently the universe sees it as a necessity.

Characters: Noah Centineo x Reader, and Centineo Family

Words: 2.8k

Disclaimer: This is part of @thewackywriter‘s Fall Writing Challenge! I’m Canadian so our thanksgiving is in October but I thought I’ll get it earlier! I’m also very sorry for not posting fics because I had slammed into writer’s block but this challenge helped!

Warnings: Swearing, mention of drugs and alcohol, mention of illicit sex (no smut), angst (I mean it is expected from me) and a lot of fluff!

A/N: We are now taking requests for Noah Centineo and To All The Boys I’ve Loved Before. Do post our work anywhere else without our explicit approval

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If you had been told you would be married by twenty-one years old following a harsh breakup when you were just discovering boys you would have sighed longingly at the mere thought. What girl didn't want to be married young and have a handsome husband until you were in high school. The years of awkward puberty, changing voices and developing cliques from the moment you were at high school orientation.

In freshmen year you found your best friend who you would share secrets, makeup, and clothes with until somehow you both couldn't fit into the other's clothing. The joys of having different cup sizes and different shaped curves; that was okay because you shared the other things instead. Her name was Allison with gorgeous long dark hair and glittering brown eyes, well they were until she started eating on the bleachers with her boyfriend. The boyfriend that carefully and slowly separated Lis from her friends and family. Over the months you would try to speak, but Lis would walk away to her boyfriend's side with sadness etched into her form. The entirety of Sophomore year was spent with a new group of friends, and a boyfriend on the football team, a cliche of course, with big blue eyes and hair you swore was spun by angels.

He was your everything. Until one day he wasn't. Apparently, he needed tutoring for his English Lit class where you couldn't help him in as he took the AP class. It was Allison that found you staring in disgust in the tutoring center on her way to the bathroom. The same Allison that knew you needed her more than anything.

It was Allison who brought you to the police station to report that a teacher was having illicit relations with her student. The same Allison who protected you from your seething ex-boyfriend screaming profanity and threats on his way out to stalk the police station the teacher was awaiting bail. The teacher who was teaching him the Kamasutra's many sex positions as if it was one of the assigned books in class.

Allison would soon explain precisely why she closed off from everyone and you wouldn't take her to the police station instead. You swore off relationships together. That was it you believed.

Until you met him.

It was your favourite time of the year when the leaves started turning different colours just before they would start falling off the tree branches. God, you loved the fall and what it would bring each year with the pumpkin patches and candy on every shelf in the stores. It was also the most significant time to lay in the park on one of the last days that would be warm enough to avoid layers but not cold enough to need thick leggings and a sweater.

You were reading among the children running around the lush green grass with footballs, baseballs with gloves and a few frisbees. You were in the middle of some novel you had been recommended a while back when you were still finding yourself as a soon to be senior in high school. Brushing the threshold of adulthood. It was a book about finding yourself again in dark times as a memoir by Cheryl Strayed.

"Hey."

"Hi." You spoke without really thinking about it. Your eyes still glued to the words written in the battered book from the many times you had read it since you first picked up.

"What are you reading?"

"How to convince someone to leave them alone without murdering them." You spoke once more humming as you found your favourite sentence of the chapter.

"Who is it by?"

"A wonderful author named 'Screw Off'."

"I've heard of them." Dog-earing the page you looked up to see the shadow casting down on your blanket.

"Who are you?"

"Noah." He spoke sitting down on the edge of the blanket showcasing a pair of black jeans worn beyond belief with the skin of his knees showing through the frayed holes, you saw it wasn't bought worn either.

"You look like shit." You spoke when you finally looked up to see his face. There were bags under his eyes that looked as if they were permanent. You could smell the cigarette smoke on his clothes, and a stain you believed was some form of alcohol on his shirt.

"Thanks. Really awesome to hear a stranger say that." Noah snarked uncomfortably, "Can I just sit here? You seem cool."

"Are you hungover? It's Monday morning man." You spoke giving him your full attention.

"I'm avoiding the third degree from my sister." He sighed throwing himself down to look up at the sky, "She was blowing up my phone all night and until it went dead a few minutes ago. I love her, but she needs to back off."

"She's doing it because she loves you. Be happy about that. Be happy she cares enough to do something about it."

"What's your name?"

“Y/N" You merely spoke once more turning your attention to the clear blue sky.

"Well Yn you don't know the reasons behind my irritation." Noah snarked once more, "What are you reading?"

"A memoir of a woman that almost lost everything and decided to do something about it. She went on this great crazy adventure hiking the Pacific Crest Trail. She didn't have any guidance or experience, but she did-"

"She sounds stupid to go out without any training." Noah interrupted.

"She needed to do it to find herself."

"She could do that anywhere."

"Look man. Just because your life is shit doesn't make you an expert on how people should deal with their issues. How can you discover yourself in a society that has the internet at the simplest touch on their screens? She hiked because it gave her time to think without the disease of social media." You swiftly started gathering things up, "I don't know why you're drowning your demons in drugs, alcohol and partying in some typical teenage angst but honestly sounds like you need to find yourself."

"No, I-"

"Turn your phone off, talk with your sister and for god sake stop the self-medicating bullshit of drugs your 'friends' give you and the alcohol to numb the pain." You spat, "I don't understand people. You should find healthy alternatives. Gave a wonderful day you shitty person."

That was it. The toxicity of the 21st generation officially shattered your beliefs in humankind. Apparently, you were among the few handfuls of people that didn't judge and be terrible people in general. You wished you never met Noah even if you only interacted for a few minutes at most.

Noah stared after you quietly until you were a speck in the distant parking lot dragging a blanket and book in hand. It was then that Noah started the metamorphosis that would save him even if he wouldn't know for another few years. He began by buying "Wild" by Cheryl Strayed in the nearest bookstore. However, he would toss it in the back of his closet when his girlfriend Angeline texted about a party.

Two years later Noah would be trying to find his old iPod after his current one broke when he saw the sharp corner of something. Buried under clothing, near ancient scripts and unless items sat the book from two years back when he met that girl in the park who tore him a new one.

Despite the massive rager, his friend was throwing that included strippers, drugs, and a shit ton of alcohol of every kind something switched inside him. He forgot the iPod and sat down on the bed in his room to crack open the unread book. By the second chapter, he had texted his friends explaining he was done living the way he was before blocking the numbers and deleting the contacts. He took up healthy alternatives while finally opening up to his sister.tearfully.

September of that year you were picking up a few candles before you wandered over to the aisles of books you had always loved. You immediately went to the spiritual aisle where you perused the rows until a tan hand reached around you.

"This one is amazing." The hand gently removed a book as if it was an injured bird in dire need of help. You took the book from the person, "It's one of my favourites by far."

"'The Celestine Prophecy' by James Redfield ." You mumbled turning to face the person. There standing with a fresh complexion and calmness in his eyes was the boy from years before. The guy standing in front of you was the pessimistic asshole from the park.

"What the hell are you doing here?" You snapped.

"So you remember me." Noah spoke shoving his hands into his pants pockets, "I'm really sorry about that. I was a complete insensitive dick. I want to thank you though. Without you, I might be dead or on the cusp."

"How did I help you."

"You tore into me about self-medicating with drugs and alcohol. I ended up buying that book twenty minutes after you left the park. I didn't read it until I found it two months ago in the back of my closest. I swore off alcohol and partying." Noah quickly spoke as he blocked your path of escaping, "I'm completely sober now. I stopped smoking, drugs, alcohol and everything bad. I changed from relying on anxiety medication to working out routinely and doing yoga."

"You did?"

"In the four months I've been sober I've never felt so refreshed, awake and inspired." Noah grinned, "I have you to thank you for that. I'd think to take you out as a thank you."

You decided on the spot that Fall was definitely your favourite season, and Noah was the first person to crack your guarded heart. He was the first boy that awakened feelings you had felt since you first started dating your first boyfriend in high school.

By Thanksgiving, you were so in love with each other even if it seemed impossible in such a short amount of time. You spent as much time together as you could with his acting career and your school work and most nights you traded books on so many topics.

November was the official month Noah would blame the weather for the amount of cuddling he demanded. You didn't mind even when he tried to bribe you into coming to his family's Thanksgiving. He won.

By twenty-one you were engaged and married during October, you were adamant with your love of Fall and the season you got together with Noah. The first handful of months you were utterly wrapped in your love bubble surrounded by your animals in your house with your husband. You lived in blissed from the wedding until that fateful day you discovered you were pregnant.

Was it the most convenient time to be having a baby with Noah's exploding career? No, but when was it ever convenient to have a baby. You loved Dot from the pregnancy test you took.

Thanksgiving 2018

You hated your body while simultaneously adoring the bump you had grown over the months. The problem was trying to find clothing that flattered you was impossible. To the point, you stood in front of the full-length mirror in a bright orange cable knit sweater and maternity jeans.

"You look good in Orange.” Your husband spoke from the entrance of the ensuite.

"I look like a pumpkin Noah." You huffed crossing your arms.

"Pumpkin is the best part of Thanksgiving! You know that." Noah exclaimed pulling you into his chest. He was completely over the moon feeling the firm bump on his abdomen.

"I'm allergic to pumpkin." You emotionlessly spoke staring at the tiny stain on his lazy day shirt. The blue one that brought more vibrancy to the colour in his eyes with the minimal holes in the material. The sweater that mysteriously would reappear in the wash every time you tried to throw it out.

"Okay, gloom and doom we have places to be," Noah spoke yanking his shirt off by the neck of it. Your eyes scanning his excellent form that never failed you arouse you, especially with the pregnancy hormones, to his amusement.

"You know you can't do that!" You whined stomping your foot.

"Sweetheart we really don't have time for-"

"You say, and we won't be leaving until I've had my fill of you." You warned him as he gripped your hand to sit you down on the chair in the foyer.

He kneeled in front of you with your boots, once that fit your swollen ankles, to carefully place them up for you while grabbing the backpack he had lovingly filled with everything he read a pregnancy may need. A pair of flats that were black, a couple of dressy slippers along with some personal hygiene wipes explicitly made for pregnancy to be safe for baby. A few pairs of underwear just in case along with natural lotion and scrunchies.

"I love you." You mumbled looking down at the man that had ruined you for anyone else. All he did was grin up at you with his hands settled on your baby bump to press a lingering kiss to your unborn child.

"God I love you both so much." Noah breathlessly spoke all the while resting his nose against your belly, "I'm going to raise you to know you don't have to be a boy to be a knight in shining armour to save someone. Your Momma was my knight, she saved me from myself when I didn't know I needed to be saved."

"We're going to be late." You choked out as your emotions got the best of you.

Noah helped you get settled in the passenger seat of the SUV he bought mere weeks after learning about your pregnancy. The baby's room had been set up for months now with the door closed permanently to keep the baby's existence a secret. There was something about surprising your family with a joining member that had you keeping your lips sealed.

You were really early at Noah's parents, you traded locations each year for holidays, where they were still out for a while. As you waited in the car, he grabbed the box holding the high chair to set it up at the long dining room table. By the time he finished, you were waddling to the front door intent on getting to the bathroom. You struggled the whole time before coming out to find your in-laws just coming through the entrance.

"Noah!" Kellee exclaimed rushing to pull him into her arms, "I missed you!"

"Mom! You're squeezing too tight." Noah spoke squirming in her arms, "We had lunch a few days ago!"

"Well sorry for missing you." She sighed pushing back, "I still can't believe you bought a house here!"

"Hey, son," Greg spoke pulling him into a quick hug.

"Hey, Dad. We have a question, do you think we have enough room for another person to join us?"

"I guess. We can make room." Your mother-in-law spoke already trying to plan it out, "When are they arriving?"

It was that moment your immediate family walked into the room just hearing the end of her sentence. It seemed no one had noticed the high chair just yet.

"They're here already," Noah spoke with a half smile. You came around the couch that had hidden your stomach just as Taylor's eyes settled on the paper resting against your bump, 'Mommy ate a pumpkin seed'.

"Oh my god."

"Are you?"

"Seven months. Noah thought it would be funny to wear orange and be a pumpkin to announce it."

"Congratulations!" Mom exclaimed yanking you into her arms tightly. She leaned back to gaze down, "How did you keep it from us?!"

"By keeping busy and strategically already sitting in any cafe and the weather is great for baggy sweaters of Noah's." You answered swiftly. They all blinked in shock before crowding closer to ask more questions on the pregnancy.

"When are you due?" Taylor asked sitting on the couch near you. Kellee and your mom barred you from the kitchen with Taylor moving between rooms. Noah was watching some sports game with the rest of the people.

"Mid January." You grinned, "Your brother is best. He had this bag packed of everything. He researched brands of baby clothing and sheets that are the best for baby's skin. The nursery is set up with a bassinet in our room for the first two or three months."

"You're good for him," Tay spoke with a small grin.

"He's good to us." You breathed staring at his glowing complexion. Without knowing the rest of the world believed he was perfect and fought tooth and nail to defend your little family against the haters.

With a gleaming smile, Noah looked over to you holding his phone in his hand as your own pinged in your pocket. Glaring on the screen was simple from Twitter.

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duckbeater · 6 years

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Duck Beater at Ten; or, The Orphans

[Editor’s Note: I started this blog a decade ago—occasion enough, I thought, for me to reflect on what it’s meant to contribute (in my extraordinarily untimely and narrow way) to a log that has tried (and more often failed) at recording where I’m at and how I’m doing and what I’m thinking and where I’m going. Having this space has not unreasonably kept me in it—I mean, its persistence has kept me reflecting more or less on the period of its inception. I think a lot about who I was at 23, which is idiotic and costly. I read more books back then. I had no money. My best friend was my brother. I thought I would write a novel.]

Years ago, my brother’s friend offended him when she asked me why I didn’t prefer one brand of paint over another. I was probably in my apartment's kitchen, working on a canvas, and they were probably behind me, eating my boyfriend's food.

I painted then because I was very poor. One way of thinking through your poverty—if you haven't drugs or sex or a brain injury—is to create pointless tasks for yourself, which is what art-making very often is. It's like Vicodin. It's very lovely, costly, addicting, transporting and makes your stomach hurt if you're not full-up already on something else (say, mashed potatoes). I was painting a truly hideous “family portrait”—globs of white and green paint shaped like cast-off “Sesame Street” creatures—and I was painting, besides, for myself. To hold the brush and to fold the colors and to smell the Turpenoid. A.J. had the money for food (our dying grandfather had cosigned on a student loan) and yet there he was with Victoria, in my apartment, peeling back the silvery foil of a Pop-Tart, making crinkling sounds.

I shouldn't say “my apartment” because it was really Cole’s: I had decamped there when we fell hard in love. This was on the corner of Union and Greenwich, across from an intramural field, and beyond that the law school. It was low-income housing: most has been destroyed; and now that I'm on Google I find the places I walked by, the porch I painted bright blue, the rooms I cherished (orange, annoyingly), they've all disappeared. There's odd grassy lots where there were once old, three-apartment houses, their interiors mangled to accommodate the crying fits of off-campus seniors. In the decade since their vanishment, even the indentations of walkways, of their foundations are invisible, and the lawns are as serene and flat and verdant as well-maintained graves. I recall coming off work one night that October, and finding Cole in the stairwell to the second-floor flat. He was crumpled in a ball, on the phone, arguing with his father: I should visit for Thanksgiving; I should be considered family. He was so angry he was bawling, and he hated me to touch him, and I left him in a daze which is also how I finally left him—in a daze, hating me to touch him. (But on better terms with his father.) Well, that stairwell is gone.

A.J. and Victoria, and in fact many of A.J.’s other law school friends, they regularly came into this apartment. (I have written about them before and realized only in editing this piece that the following brief description is a paraphrase of that missive.) They played Mario Kart on the GameCube, recited Moot Court speeches and ate take-out on the sofas. They gossiped incessantly because a small law school is a high school (it even had lockers), and the attendees are as reckless and dispirited and status-hungry as freshmen in a high school. He was a first year then and I was a fifth year finishing my undergrad, and so I saw all of A.J.'s new friends more than I ever saw my old ones because my old friends had moved on. (They went to Austin, Texas. They stayed at most three years and then relocated to either Los Angeles or the Pacific Northwest.)

I want to try to remember Victoria without resorting to her Instagram account. Back then, she took great pains to distinguish herself as a sophisticated New Englander. I see: high socks, long “piecey” hair, a face white-powdered to pore-less perfection. Perhaps because she was changing her life at twenty-eight and not at twenty-three, as other law students were, her look inclined toward the transformative, toward the gothic and the chic-severe. (Why am I describing her as a later-day Wednesday Addams? She was not a Wednesday Addams. She wore colors. She drank Pimm’s with grape fruit slices and soda water. We took day trips to places like Gary, Indiana, listening to Sam Amidon on the Camry’s stereo.) What I think is, she was alarmed and depressed to be at a “fourth-tier law school in the middle of an ugly corner in uglier Indiana,” and so rebelled against the smallness of her new life by having outsized opinions on luxury goods and fine foods and exotic locales. The worst was that no one knew what she was talking about. She felt this and compensated by hosting foreign film nights. She preferred “the scene,” knew of a scene (there was a music one close by, apparently, in Chicago), and she called herself, sometimes guffawing, a “scenester,” but also wanted us to know she was down with whatever. Just, whatever. She nettled everyone but mostly everyone pitied her, so on balance, her gloom and her snobbery were tolerated.

Victoria made mysterious, indelible gestures. Their performances were somehow less memorable than their obscure resonances, and those resonances affected us obscurely, too. An example. She once loaned A.J. a copy of A Wild Sheep Chase, wanting to hook him on Murakami. When he gave it back unread at the end of term, she insisted it was a replacement copy, that he had lost her original. “If I lost your book,” he told her flatly (and not at all to his credit), “I would not have bothered replacing it.” She said, “No, no—you would. And this is proof.” She told exasperated classmates that A.J. had lost her beloved Murakami paperback and tried to replace it with an exact copy, a conviction seemingly borrowed from the phantasmagorical worlds of Murakami. She used this as a wedge issue about trust, about fidelity. “You’re a coward who couldn’t tell me the truth,” she said, slipping comfortably into a Whit Stillman role. “You’re a deceiver.” To this day, A.J. accepts loaned books graciously while maintaining (not, I think, aloud), “If I lose this, I won’t replace it.” He has never replaced a book I loaned and then he re-loaned again, and there have been more than a dozen. Victoria gave him that.

Another example. When A.J. proposed to his wife, Victoria emailed soon after, advising against the marriage. Incredibly, she sent an email to A.J.’s fiancée too, her reasons for either party diametrically proposed. She was not certain A.J. harbored a strong enough attachment to commit to what she thought would be a lifelong and life-destroying folly. And to Tayler, she said that the two did not know each other enough; that, although they met and dated in high school, and all through college, had not found themselves as adults and might try living longer, in other relationships, before settling down. The emails were cruel, stupid, and strange. Their audience did the generous thing: blamed them on the performer's romantic illusions and then dismissed them as curiosities. Yet sometimes A.J. wishes he had kept his “receipts”—that he’d printed out Victoria’s appeals to him and Tayler, to have at hand such shining examples of sincerity. I’ve heard him rueful about it. “I’m not trying to be an asshole,” he’s said, “but I wish I had these things to point to and say, ‘Here is someone who believes she is doing the right thing.’” But all those emails are gone. The law school closed last year—rather spectacularly, given the coverage in the Times. He doesn’t even have an alumni vanity mailing address.

Victoria adopted this business about oil paints from someone else, her “friend who shows in Chelsea,” a factor that compounded A.J.'s ire. “He uses exclusively, I think, Windsor and Newton,” she said. “Mixing from other labels creates inconsistencies, sometimes chemical clashes?” She opened the fridge and A.J., after scrubbing it with a towel, sat atop the counter. Bluish light came in through bay windows. The law students appeared not only chronically under-slept (they were) but also ethereal, and perhaps very ill. Victoria helped herself to milk. The cords in A.J.'s neck strained as he gazed at the ceiling, lips pursed, white-knuckling the countertop. Some of this was histrionics and some of this was my brother holding onto his sanity.

I said I didn’t I have a preference—or rather, I just didn’t think about it. I had inherited some desiccated oils from my grandma, raided other buttery leftovers from the art building, had bought cheap, thin student sets in the last full years of school—and I got by on what I had. I got by beautifully, actually, elbow-deep in half-tubes and tubes splayed open at the ends, and tubes coaxed open with needle-nose pliers. The mineral reek and vegetal reek from these paints necessitated full days of airing out the apartment. The solvents and extenders smelled of clove cigarettes smoked indoors. I left canvases to dry outside, where they collected tree fluff and tiny, delicate dead bugs. My images were neither hurt nor helped by these environmental additions. I said I was paying down student loan debt, and would practice brand loyalty when I was solvent again. Victoria said, “Oh, but you really should.” I thought to myself, perhaps for the first time, Why did my brother befriend this orphan?

“I really should,” I say to myself, most days on my drive. Wasn't there a performance art piece—a woman, saying 1,000 things she should do, into a tape-recorder? “I really should recycle. I really should call my mother. I really should pay my parking tickets.” I really should honor ritual and superstition, and my gut instincts. I really should read what I buy or at least attend more assiduously to reviews, so as to refrain from buying disappointments. I really should do my part to cut back on carbon emissions, clean the seas, and vote. Everything is in reach. The way Victoria said it—breezy, condescending, hopeful—is the way I hear most advice, particularly the advice I give myself: spoken in the tones of unconvincing conviction. I drank much less then (somehow), still I had a bottle of Bombay Sapphire at hand (somehow), and peered at Victoria and A.J. through its blue glass, tripling their blue-hued bodies.

Much later I wrote a play where a character unhappy in love does the same thing. In the stage directions, the young man “goes to the wine cooler, pulls out a beautiful champagne magnum, studies it, puts it back and takes out another. Every bottle dazzles his countenance with jewel-like light—emerald and sapphire; amethyst and ruby; garnet and topaz lights, they sparkle across his bare chest and face as he inspects the bottles. He decides on a blue bottle of Prosecco, lavishly foiled, and brings it to his eyes like binoculars and for a moment considers his open hand, his surroundings, even his audience through the dark blue glass, and the stage glows beautifully blue, too. With great delicacy he unwraps and unwires the Prosecco, and uncorks it in a kitchen towel, and pours himself a glass. He drinks alone, picking at his phone, while the stage goes dark.” It was well past midnight in the second act. The kitchen was empty.

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goldddustdreams · 6 years

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knowing my intentions

being the sensitive person that i am, it’s more than easy for me to absorb someone’s desire as my own. my truths leave me, one by one, until none of my original intent is there. that’s why it’s integral that i check myself. am i being bombarded and told what i should want? what i should look like? what i should buy? who i should admire?

when Courtney and i went to San Diego, it was one of those trips where everything fell into place because we had fabricated it as such. our airbnb in La Jolla was NEEDED. not because it was stylish or beautiful, but because of the woman living inside of it, on the second floor in a two-bedroom apartment by herself with her two cats Yin and Yang (Yang was a real charmer and my cat soulmate without a doubt). she had hand selected that life for herself. Terri is a stay at home programmer, who lives ten minutes away from the Pacific Ocean. a woman who thoughtfully places rye bread on the 2nd floor patio for birds while her wind chimes sing her building songs. her warmth is astounding and her home evoked the same.

while there, Terri asked us if something she was designing on her Mac looked okay. she had asked about the font on a cover of a book that she had WRITTEN. she asked us if we read much and if we believed in the idea that we could materialize our own dreams out of thin air. reviews are something i do often (i’m not kidding - i review everything) - and she asked if that was something i enjoyed and i let out a resounding YES! i love to write about how places, objects, and people make me feel! she gave us each a copy of her book, Blessed n Lucky, in hopes that we’d review and share it. the book is Terri’s story about how she manifested the life she always wanted just by seeking out her equal parts in the universe. things that were meant for HER and her alone. had she manifested us coming that weekend? it felt like it.

fast forward, i got sun poisoning and i came home feeling like a toasted marshmallow - completely sick and overwhelmed by everything that had happened that weekend at Terri’s. i’ve since been reading Blessed n Lucky and recognizing parts of my life that run parallel to the words i’m reading. ever have a book soften your edges? i felt that while scanning the pages of a woman who had encountered miracles because she and others were brave enough to ASK for them and knew their intentions were pure and specific. you could have anything you wanted as long as it was meant for you!

Terri warns in this book that your manifestations come to you every day and sometimes in ways you won’t expect. intentions are huge part of receiving gifts from the universe and so is your AUTHENTIC DESIRE. if it’s not meant for you and you ask for it - it will NEVER bring you the peace you are seeking. i’m slowly learning this after being raised in a home that only garnered me bad news, negative thought loops, and traumas - in excess. but i had to realize, i had already created so much, even with that kind of background looming! i was/am destined for greatness. if great to no one else - for me! i manifested my life in Arizona by asking angels to guide me (Claire), found someone who loves me after years of thinking i’d be alone forever! how amazing right? and the more you recognize your blessings, the more you’ll have to encounter. i’m looking toward my blessings. dropping my anger - and i can’t wait to love what the universe has coming to me.

#manifestation #blessed n lucky #san diego #la jolla #pacific ocean #ask and it is given #what you want is seeking you #positive intentions #blessings #prayers #positivity #light #warmth #yin #yang #yinyang

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beyondlimitsonfoot · 5 years

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**Originally hiked: October 18, 2018**

Trail Data

Mileage: 9.9 miles Elevation Gain: 2,100 feet Location: Angeles National Forest Type: Out-and-back Difficulty: Moderate

What to Expect in this Guide

Aside from the road being closed to the trailhead we planned on doing, we ended up doing a tougher hike and a little bit longer.

As those of you know who usually read my posts, I have areas to which you can get a lot of more information about the hike we did. All in all, I put this area on here so that you can forward over to whichever area you would like to know more about.

Background – If you’re interested a little more about the area and some facts about the hike.

Map & Directions – See our hike on the map and directions on how to get to the trailhead below.

Weather – Definitely something you need to check before you go out on the trail.

Adventure Pass – Just a quick rundown of what pass you will need before you head out on the trail. *Pass is required to hike in this area.

Trail Camp & Water – The area has a trail camp with a water source nearby.

Maps, Books and Gear Recommendations – A great source for what maps or books to have before going out.

Hike Stats – I like to know points of interest on the trail, here are some for you to follow along when you go for the hike.

My Ramblings – This is my favorite part mostly because the pictures. Check this section out of my recollection of the hike and some photos.

Background

Mt. Hawkins sits in the Angeles National Forest (covering around 700,000 acres just outside of Los Angeles). Much of the trail from Islip Saddle up to Mt. Hawkins (8,850 ft.) is via the PCT (Pacific Crest Trail). Islip Saddle has a parking lot across the street from the trailhead.

Some nearby notable peaks that can be done in conjunction are Mount Islip, South Mount Hawkins, Middle Hawkins and Throop Peak. Have any of you done this hike with multiple peaks in the area? Let me know how in the comments below.

Map & Directions

To get to the trailhead:

Trailhead is at Islip Saddle, mile marker 64.1 on the Angeles Crest Highway. The drive is about an hour/an hour and a half away from the Los Angeles area. From downtown LA, take 110 North and merge onto I-5 North. About 7 miles later, take CA-2 N (Angeles Crest Highway) toward Glendale. Merge onto CA-2 E/I-210 E. In .4 miles take CA-2 toward La Canada Flintridge. Turn left onto Angeles Crest Hwy and drive 39.6 miles until you see a parking lot on the left at Islip Saddle. The trailhead is directly across the street.

Weather

Mt. Hawkins ~8,041 ft –> Weather.gov

Throop Peak ~ 9,138 ft –> mountain-forecast.com

Adventure Pass

There are no permits required to hike this trail.

To park your vehicle in this area, you will however need an Adventure Pass. To obtain an Adventure pass find the closest Forest Service location or go to any major sporting goods store. The fees are $5 per day or $30 annual. If you’d like to know more about the pass, read on the Forest Service Recreation Passes & Permits Website.

The Shell Station right off I-210 and CA-2 exit sells the Adventure Pass.

Trail Camp & Water

Little Jimmy Trail Camp/Little Jimmy Springs

Along this trail the only established trail camp is Little Jimmy Trail Camp. If you feel like an extra night in the area, Little Jimmy sits just 2 miles off Angeles Crest Highway. There are 16 established first-come, first-serve sites with fire rings. The campground includes vault toilets, backcountry ovens and bear boxes. The place is very popular with Boy Scout and Girl Scout troops, the two times I hiked in this area in the fall we passed by a few groups of scouts.

Angeles National Forest: Little Jimmy Trail Camp Information

Little Jimmy Springs is about a .2 miles walk away from the campground. The water usually runs year round and is super cold. This is a great spot to take a break quickly and fill up with water if you are running low on a longer hike. Always make sure you take enough water either way. We took about 3 liters of water each for 9 mile hike.

Maps, Books and Gear Recommendations

Topographic Map of Area: Trail Map Angeles High Country Map Book of Hikes in the Area: Trails of the Angeles: 100 Hikes in the San Gabriels

Gear Recommendations:

Obviously this isn’t everything I take on our hikes, check out What’s in My Backpack? for a compilation of some of the gear I have now. Some of the items I would recommend for this hike, especially colder weather:

Hiking Poles: BLACK DIAMOND Alpine Carbon Cork Trekking Poles

Headband: Adidas Woman’s Tech Headband

Fleece Gloves: Columbia Sportswear Women’s Thermarator Glove

Down Jacket: Patagonia Down Sweater

Wind Breaker: REI Co-op Rainier Rain Jacket

Some food we took on the hike:

Protein: Starkist Salmon Creations Lemon & Dill and Tuna Creations Thai Chili Style

Mayonnaise for our tuna and salmon packets: Hellmann’s Food Real-Vraie Mayonnaise – We bought a pack of 75 so that every time we go we can just pick a couple out from our hiking food bin

Soup: Lipton Soup Secrets – Chicken Noodle Soup Mix with Diced White Chicken Meat

Bars: CLIF Bar Chocolate Chip and Crunchy Peanut Butter

Bananas mmmmm

*FYI the salmon and tuna packets, Lipton soup, CLIF bars are all available at local supermarkets. I usually just buy on amazon in bulk since we go a lot and have hiking food bin. What do you keep in your hiking food bin?

Interested in gear and food ideas? See posts below for more.

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Hike Stats

Trailhead 0 miles 6,800 feet Little Jimmy Trail Camp 2.1 miles 7,450 feet Little Jimmy Springs 2.3 miles 7,500 feet Windy Gap 2.4 miles 7,588 feet Mt. South Hawkins Turnoff 4.0 miles 8,390 feet Mt. Hawkins Turnoff 4.6 miles 8,730 feet Mt. Hawkins Summit 4.8 miles 8,850 feet

My Ramblings

I used to just write this portion of the blog, but decided since I do so much research why not create some guides of the information that I gather before I go out for these hikes. Should I put my ramblings and photos first or should I keep them here at the end? You guys let me know.

Alright, let’s move on and talk about this hike. My sister and I haven’t been on a hike alone in a while; we’ve been with groups, but alone I think our last hike together was Peanut Lake, back in 2016. Is that right? I think so. Either way I was blessed to have a hike together with my sister alone in our backyard mountains up in the San Gabriel’s.

We awoke early and left the house by 6:00am. We were not much more than 10 minutes into the drive when I had to turn around to pick up the water bladder (Osprey Hydraulics Reservoir – 3 L). If we were already to far into the drive we would have just picked up 3 L of water at the store nearby. This wasn’t the only thing we forgot on the hike, just wait for it.

Arriving to the Trailhead

After exiting I-210 road to Angeles Crest highway, I remember I left my annual Adventure Pass in my car back at home. So another thing I forgot, we stopped at the Shell station to pick a day pass up ($5.00). As we were driving to go do Mt. Baden-Powell from Dawson Saddle, we arrived at a Road that was closed at Islip Saddle. Not sure how we could have avoided not knowing, but they do post road closures on the county or forest websites. Plan B, open my Angeles High Country Trail Map and find a new hike.

There are a few options at Islip Saddle, so we geared up and decided to go hike Mt. Hawkins. I remember doing it a long time ago by myself, but thought it would be nice to check out the trail again with my sister and it was a little harder hike than we had planned, huge plus there we wanted a good workout. We started up the trail around 9:00am which would give us ample time to take our time up the mountain and hang out at the top.

The first mile or two was more vertical than the rest of the trail. We passed a lot of Boys & Girls Scout groups on our way up, probably stayed at Little Jimmy Trail Camp as it’s popular for the Scout groups to camp there on weekends. Little Jimmy Camp is only about 2 miles up the trail and the trail flattens out on this portion of the hike. We continued up towards Windy Gap making good time; Windy Gap sits at about 7,588 feet and offers 360 degree views of the surround mountains and valleys. Here there are a few options, you could turn back, head up to Mt. Islip, head towards Crystal Lake Campground or head on the Mt. Hawkins Ridge Trail to summit Mt. Hawkins or even further to Throop, Burnham and Baden-Powell.

Summiting Mt. Hawkins

Our choice was to hike up to Mt. Hawkins which would make for a 2,050 foot climb total; I liked the sound of that. 11:30am we reached the summit of Mt. Hawkins. We almost missed the turnoff; stay alert there is no sign for the turnoff to Mt. Hawkins. I’m glad I was taking note of the mileage on the Garmin. Did you know Mt. Hawkins is in the 11th highest peak in the San Gabriel’s? We didn’t make the top 10 list, but that’s ok it’s a peak above 8,000 feet very good training hike for the bigger mountains. I believe I just made a challenge for myself to knock off the top 10 in the San Gabriel’s. What those are I’ll probably post later as I already have the 10,000 Feet Peaks in Southern California Challenge ahead of me.

Had to put on some warmer clothes as we were going to hang out on Mt. Hawkins for a little. We wanted to make some soup and when I opened my bag I realized that I did not pack a fuel canister into my jetboil. I usually keep one in there but since our last trip to Havasupai Falls we flew, I took it out and never put a new one in when I got back home. Are you surprised yet? That’s 3 things and counting so far that were forgotten on this hike. Instead of a warm Lipton Soup Secrets we ended up having a couple mozzarella sticks and the Starkist Creations Lemon Dill and Thai Chili Style.

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Down we went around 12:30pm so that we could hit the Newcomb’s Ranch for a snack before heading back home. We didn’t pass too many people on the way down except a couple who was doing one night up at Baden-Powell. About 1 mile from the trailhead my knee began to hurt, thanks to my sister who brought a brace I made it down in one piece. It looks like I forgot one other thing, that makes for 4 things we forgot on this hike. I should be wearing a brace every time I hike anyway so that will be added to my hiking checklist as a permanent item.

Reaching the Cars

It was about 2:30pm when we reached the cars and we changed quickly and headed down the mountain to go grab a quick bite to eat. Newcomb’s Ranch closes pretty early, so this is the first time I could actually sit inside and have a nice relaxing refreshing drink and a snack. Usually we get here as they are closing or already closed. My sister and I love these kinds of places; little gems hidden up in the mountains. Lots of motorcyclists like to end up here on their rides on the Angeles Crest Highway; we even saw some bicyclists who were brave enough to do that long ride in.

Well, I hope you enjoyed the write-up. What is the most common thing that you think most hikers (newbies or avid) forget on hikes? Let me know in the comments below. If you’ve done this hike before go ahead and comment below and let me know your experiences; I hope we can share more on here together.

Happy Adventures,

Annette – Beyond Limits on Foot

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Mt. Hawkins (8,850') in the Angeles National Forest. From Islip Saddle, 9.6 miles round trip, 2050' elevation gain. 11th highest peak in the San Gabriels. **Originally hiked: October 18, 2018** Trail Data

#Angeles National Forest #Hike #hiking #Mountains #mt. hawkins #National Forest #nature #optoutside #Outdoors #peaks #san gabriel #San Gabriel Mountains #Southern California #Wilderness

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greatpacificbooks · 2 years

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Book FOR SALE! Rudyard Kipling * IF * Miniature Book * Poem Encouragement Memento * Alan Chiara ~ #poetry #kipling #personal #journey #sendoff #being #living #true #poem #encouragement #gift

In my shop https://www.ebay.com/itm/384548040629

Inspiration for sending a loved one or friend out into the world on a new adventure. Marriage, graduation, service, travel or any sort of time you want to give the gift of encouragement to someone.

Paperback / soft cover reprint edition in very good condition.

We believe in reading books you can hold in your hands and turn the pages! Read More real books! ~~~ > Great Pacific Books !! ~ Buy books, read, your personal library, book shop, reader, book buyers, bookseller, rare books, ephemeral, collectible, collector, book finders, shopping, hunting, have a great day to all our fellow book lovers,

Support independent booksellers today!!

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max-rainet · 3 years

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Still one of my favorite books.

I've got this wonderful copy in my shop for the Holiday giving season ~ The Giving Tree 1964 SHEL SILVERSTEIN * True 1st Ed * Original DJ * Harper & Row ~ What a rare find.

Find it here: https://www.ebay.com/itm/383446005627

#vintagebooks #read #reading #givingtree #silverstein #classic #top100 #vintageART #illustration #art #boy #trees #childrensbooks #nurturing #baby #nursery #nature

We believe in reading! Read More! -- > Great Pacific Books !! Buy books, read, your personal library, book shop, reader, book buyers, bookseller, rare books, ephemeral, collectible, collector, book finders, shopping, hunting, have a great day to all fellow book lovers !

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alliebruns-blog · 6 years

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To Live A Life Less Ordinary.....

So here’s something a little bit different. This week there was discussion in the Bad Boy Running group on Facebook about adventures. My pal Lorna posed the following question “On a scale of 1 to 10 how much do the adventure podcasts such as Sean Conway, Anna Mcnuff etc make you feel inadequate?! 10 for me! If you had no responsibilities and could just up and leave for an epic adventure what would you do?” Much discussion ensued over this - head over to the Facebook post to take a look, but something about it really got to me.

That post.....

For some time now, there has been something not right about how I am living. I haven’t been running as much as I would like - down to a little bit of my mojo being sapped by the Thames Path, the arrival of Pickle the very nervous but totally wonderful rescue dog, and my crippling anxiety about the thing that enables me to run. My job.

As some of you know I have worked for many years in the music industry, marketing bands and making you buy music you don’t want. Living the glamorous life that you all read about. Parties and festivals and famous people. I am partially responsible for Ed Sheeran. But please don’t hate me (I love him, he’s great). I am so lucky. Or so I was constantly told.

When we were young - in the years PR (Pre Running)

Two years ago I decided that I didn’t want to do it anymore. Or I thought I didn’t. I was fucked, to be frank. Tired out, abused, taken for granted, under paid, miserable, on the receiving end of some pretty #metoo behaviour. So I went and started my own business as a freelance marketing consultant. To the music industry. And it’s gone well. I had good clients and the money was coming in. I was making a profit. I was doing things on my terms most of the time and I had time for the running adventures and the money to pay for them. Then I lost my biggest client. My bread and butter. And I haven't been able to replace them as yet. And I don't think I want to. And I have had a lot of time to think and worry. When Lorna posed this question in the group, it came at a time when I had agreed to take part in a reccee of a race across Namibia and then one across Panama in November/December of this year. A reccee that was not only going to cost me about five thousand pounds, but was also going to put me out of work action for 3 weeks. It was OK though - I had my big client and I had money coming in. And then I lost them. What the fuck am I supposed to do now?

That’s there to be run......the Namib desert

So is that - The Panamanian jungle

I read through people arguments on Lorna’s post, looking for some answers. Should I cancel the trip? How was I going to afford it? Was I being spectacularly stupid? How was I going to get a client when I had 3 weeks of ‘holiday’? There were a lot of people saying if it wasn't for job/kids/partner etc they would do something epic. Some people even said they wished they could go back in time and get these things done before they had “settled”. I have never settled. I did for a while (the married years pre running) but I never really settled.

People like to tell you how to live or how you ought to live, especially on the internet. Good education, stable career, pension, husband, wife, children, save, mortgage, sensible, safety, plan. Saving it all up for a rainy day. But what if every day is a rainy day? What if it’s raining from day one and it only stops occasionally to allow a glimpse of sunlight into the otherwise black room of your brain? What if everything that you have been told you want is wrong? What if the things YOU thought you wanted are wrong? What if the thing you love starts to destroy you? Was that part of the plan?

Losing my biggest client was not part of the plan. The plan was long term. I want to make a living from my running. Something that is NOT the done thing. I am told by people that I am inspiring and clever and engaging and funny. I do not necessarily believe this, but the proof is in the pudding and I do know people that have gone out and done their first 10k, marathon, ultra because I have talked them into it - whether that is inspiring or whether I am a good sales person, I don’t know but there it is. I have done some pretty great adventure runs and I love to talk about them, I love to see people finish their first marathon or ultra and I love to be able to help with advice that I believe is contrary to most of the stuff you get from magazines or online. The CEO of The National Running Show recently referred to me as the first of the “Rock and Roll runners” - a description I totally love. Running is my passion. It has changed my life. Even if I don't get out and do it every day like the shiny people on instagram, I am always thinking about it. What sort of races I could do, where I could go and how I can help other people make their races and race companies great. How to makes things accessible and brilliant. how to make people glorious.

Before I lost my client, I was branching out and doing all the extra curricular I could around running - going out to Mongolia with Rat Race - the ultimate adventure, becoming their only female ambassador, doing the various bits of press etc. Running all the White Star Races, bringing the White Star community into the Bad Boy Running community to make it the most glorious and dangerous group of all time. Working with the National Running Show to secure a partnership with Bad Boy Running, becoming and ambassador for them and being lucky enough to be asked to speak at their event. I was running races most weekend - winning some of them - and triumphing in all my A game races for the year which I am very proud of (SDW100 sub 24 hour, winner and now course record holder of the TP184 and winning the Ox Epic 2018). Everything I wanted to do with regards to running this year I have achieved, and that to me is amazing. So why have I managed to achieve these things but NOT managed to secure another music client? Maybe it’s because I don't actually want to. Music and me, I think we are finally done. The long drawn out process of splitting up and getting back together is over.

From when I did a win.

I woke up in the middle of the night last night, petrified and afraid. I cannot afford Namibia and Panama. I can’t afford the flights or the time off. I have very little money coming in and no savings. I have no 9-5 bread and butter money. I am fucked. So, so fucked. I am going to have to cancel it. And then I thought of Lorna’s post again. I thought about the people that I admire and look up to - the Sean Conway’s and the Anna McNuff’s. I thought about Mongolia and how much that experience can NEVER be taken away from me. I think about my own mantras - see the world through your eyes not your phone. Relentless forward progress. You have more in you. I think about being old and the regrets I may have. I can’t go - I have a dog and I need to make money. I need to be sensible and grown up. I am going to have to email Jim and cancel it. I am going to have to do what society tells me I should do.

I think about when I am most happy. I think about the Crafty Fox marathon at the weekend and how much I am looking forward to seeing the White Star lot and how much I am looking forward to running. I think about how kind Jim and Rat Race have been to me. I think about how happy I am when I give a talk to a bunch of people that think they could never run a marathon or a 10k or an ultra and how, when some of them email me months later to tell me they have done it, I feel like doing a little cry. I think about my breakdown. I think about the death of my dear friend Scott. I think about my future. I can’t see further than tomorrow. I call my sister, my most wonderful sister, and talk to her. And I make a decision. Based entirely on gut. Based on my sister being spectacularly supportive and kind and talking to me from her heart.

Fuck it. Fuck it all. I know what I want to do. I want to inspire people, I want to live a positive life, and give back the joy running has given me to people. I want to make people believe in themselves. I want to show people they are capable of so much more than they think. I want to write a book. I want to run all over the world. I want to be an extraordinary, ordinary person. And I want to be happy doing it. I don't want to be rich, or famous or the best or the fastest. I want to be the kindest and the most honest and the most accessable. I need money to live, but there has to be a better way. I don't have children. I have Pickle the dog, but she will be well looked after. I have nothing left to lose, and even the tiny bits I do have to lose mean nothing. I want to live a life less ordinary.

So I am going. I am going to run 300km across the Namib Desert to the Skeleton coast. Then I am going to run 200km across Panama from the Pacific to the Atlantic coast. I will be poor. I will have to move out of London. I want to move out of London, so this is not a problem. I will have to work hard to secure talks and part time work. I will have to scale back my whole life. But I will do it. And I will do it fucking well.

Normal service will be resumed next week after the inaugural Crafty Fox marathon. Now go and sign up for something extraordinary.

#running ultrarunning runner trailrunning 2Xu inov8 garmin bovington whitestarrunning runners marathon ultramarathon training

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cathygeha · 3 years

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REVIEW

Sailor Proof by Annabeth Albert

Shore Leave #1

What fun this book proved to be! I fell in love with Derrick and Arthur but also with Arthur’s family and the look into what it must be like to be involved with someone in the Navy. I knew that the men on the LST that evacuated us from Lebanon were missing their families, appreciated the effort they made to keep us safe, and thought of them again today while reading this book and realized even more the sacrifices they and their families make every day to do the jobs they do.

What I liked:

* Derrick Fox: Petty Naval Chief working with sonar in a submarine, orphaned as a youth, raised by his grandmother, the Navy is his career, and he is focused, sweet, kind, gentle, confident, and perfect for Arthur.

* Arthur Euler: musician, different from other family members, fun loving, lives for himself, kind, generous, interesting, perfect for Derrick.

* The Euler family: large, loving, boisterous, competitive, do-gooders, there for on another.

* The look into part of what it might be like to be in the Navy and/or to fall for someone in the Navy.

* The growth of the relationship between Arthur and Derrick

* That the obstacles to overcome were dealt with honestly

* The communication between the couple

* The support of Arthur’s mother

* That the relationship between Derrick and Arthur was healthy and normal and believable

* The family reunion and the activities and situations that occurred there

* All of it really!

What I didn’t like:

* Can’t think of anything except maybe the undervaluing of Arthur by some of his family.

Did I enjoy this book? Yes

Would I read more in this series? Yes

Thank you to NetGalley and Carina Adores for the ARC – This is my honest review.

5 Stars

Sailor Proof by Annabeth Albert is available in trade paperback, eBook and audiobook on September 28th!

The sexy Navy chief and his best friend’s adorkable little brother…

It’s petty, but Naval Chief Derrick Fox wishes he could exact a little revenge on his ex by showing off a rebound fling. His submarine is due to return to its Bremerton, Washington, home base soon and Derrick knows all too well there won't be anyone waiting with a big, showy welcome.

Enter one ill-advised plan…

Arthur Euler is the guy you go to in a pinch—he's excellent at out-of-the-box solutions. It's what the genius music-slash-computer nerd is known for. So when he finds out Derrick needs a favor, he’s happy to help. He can muster the sort of welcome a Naval Chief deserves, no problem at all.

Except it is a problem. A very big problem.

When Arthur’s homecoming welcome is a little too convincing, when a video of their gangplank smooch goes enormously viral, they're caught between a dock and a hard place. Neither of them ever expected a temporary fake relationship to look—or feel—so real. And Arthur certainly never considered he'd be fighting for a very much not-fake forever with a military man.

Add Sailor Proof to your Goodreads!

Carina Adores is home to highly romantic contemporary love stories featuring beloved romance tropes, where LGBTQ+ characters find their happily-ever-afters.

Discover a new Carina Adores book every month!

Meet Me in Madrid by Verity Lowell (coming October 26)

The Life Revamp by Kris Ripper (coming November 30)

If You Love Something by Jayce Ellis (coming December 28)

D’Vaughn and Kris Plan a Wedding by Chencia C. Higgins (coming January 25)

Sink or Swim by Annabeth Albert (coming February 22)

Buy Sailor Proof by Annabeth albert

https://www.harlequin.com/shop/books/9781335984920_sailor-proof.html

EXCERPT

Derrick

Arthur turned out hot. That was my first thought when I spotted him after I heard my name called. Derrick. My actual name, not Fox, not Chief, and outside of Calder a couple of times, I hadn’t heard that name in months. And definitely not like that, all eager and excited and happy. On the sub, hearing my name inevitably meant that someone needed something right that minute, but the way Arthur said it didn’t inspire dread at all.

I’d already been caught up in the energy of the day. Homecoming day was always exciting, even if I didn’t usually have someone waiting. The whole crew was jostling about, getting into our dress whites, making sure everything from our cover to the chest candy of ribbons and medals to the gig line was perfectly straight. Getting chosen to be on deck as we came into port was an honor, one that I usually let others, especially those with kids, fight over, since there was still plenty to do belowdecks in preparation and support. As the chief sonar tech, I was responsible for working with the A-gangers from engineering and the operations department to help navigate us in. Adrenaline was contagious, and by the time my department was cleared to disembark, I had enough energy to rival the reactor that powered the sub.

And then I heard my name.

I recognized Arthur’s red hair right away. But the rest…

Wow. Arthur had grown hot. Still shorter than me and skinnier, but wiry now, each lean muscle defined under a thin white shirt and tight jeans. No signs of his ever-present too-big nerd-humor tees. Same startling green eyes as before, though, and a new, more chiseled jaw sporting the perfect amount of fuzz. He’d grown into his long regal nose, and the hair that had seemed to have a life of its own when he’d been a teen was sculpted now, this perfectly styled wave that made me want to mess it up. His hands, which had always seemed too big for the rest of him, were clutching a giant sign.

For me.

And for a second—a literal instant when our eyes met and time stopped—I forgot it wasn’t real. And in that moment, I wanted it to be. Someone smiling that broadly for me. Had Steve ever been so happy to see me? Hell, I wasn’t even sure the poodle my grandmother had let me keep had been that happy. Arthur just radiated pure joy. The kid was one hell of an actor.

“Welcome home.” Even his voice was different. Deeper. Sexier.

“Hey,” I said because I was simply that brilliant at conversation. I reached an arm out, instinctively going for a handshake, but Arthur shifted his sign and met me partway, coming in for a hug.

A really tight hug.

Damn, he felt good. Amazing really. Solid muscle against me, hair tickling my nose, exactly as silky as it looked, strong arms able to haul me in and hold me tight. He smelled like mint and green tea, two things in short supply on a boat that tended to smell like old socks on a good day. Sweet. I inhaled deeply as his lips brushed my ear.

“Calder said to kiss you,” he whispered. “And I want to. But you gotta tell me you’re good with that first.”

Was I good with that? Hot guy who smelled like a concoction I wanted to drink every day for a month wanted to kiss me. And ordinarily, the friendship code would put Arthur far, far off-limits, but here was Calder telling us to kiss. It was a free pass, the sort I’d be a fool to turn down.

I wasn’t a fool.

And what harm could a peck do?

“Yeah.” My voice was a rough whisper, and I didn’t have a chance to brace myself before Arthur was sliding his mouth over from my ear to mouth. A double shot of tequila would have had less punch than the first brush of contact.

And okay, not a peck.

We were kissing. Arthur and I, which should have been weird but somehow wasn’t. At all. Someone whooped behind us, but almost all of my attention was riveted on Arthur, like I was on watch and every sense was heightened lest I miss something vital.

Like how soft his lips were. Full too. Or the bristle of his scruff against my cheek. I’d done a submarine shave that morning, not my best job, but close enough that the rasp of beard felt electric. Our chests were pressed so tightly that I could feel his heart pounding. Or maybe that was mine, blood zooming to places that had been in deep freeze for months.

“Wow.” Arthur pulled back, leaving me dazed and still clinging to him.

“Damn.” The statuesque purple-haired woman he’d been standing with laughed loudly and thumped Arthur’s shoulder. “Is that the best you can do? Your man has been at sea how many months?”

Your man. If only. If he were actually mine, we’d be racing across base, a mad dash to find a room with a door. But he wasn’t and all we’d ever have was this moment. A potent mix of want and resolve raced through me as suddenly I was determined to make this count.

I pulled him back to me, and this time when our mouths collided, I was ready. Ready to taste. Ready to absorb every single detail. Ready to seize control and kiss like the world might be ending.

And it could have. Not sure I would have noticed. Everything faded away. The crowd. The docks. The balloons Arthur had been clutching and his sign both as his strong hands clung to my shoulders as we kissed in earnest. He tasted like he smelled, sweet and minty, and his tongue against mine was like floodlights coming on.

“Welcome home,” Arthur breathed against my mouth as the sound of applause gradually pulled me back into awareness of our surroundings. Applause. Whoops of laughter. Clicking cameras. But still I couldn’t seem to look away from him.

About Annabeth Albert

Annabeth Albert grew up sneaking romance novels under the bed covers. Now, she devours all subgenres of romance out in the open—no flashlights required! When she’s not adding to her keeper shelf, she’s a Pacific Northwest romance writer of many critically acclaimed and fan-favorite LGBTQ romance series. To find out more, check out: www.annabethalbert.com. The fan group, Annabeth’s Angels, on Facebook is also a great place for bonus content.

Connect with Annabeth Albert

Website: https://www.annabethalbert.com/

Facebook Fan Group: https://www.facebook.com/groups/annabethsangels

Twitter: https://twitter.com/AnnabethAlbert

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/annabeth_albert/

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6477494.Annabeth_Albert

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Annabeth-Albert/e/B00LYFFAZK

#Harlequin #Carina Adores #NetGalley #Annabeth Albert #Shore Leave 1 #Navy Romance #LGBTQIA Romance #romance #fiction

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girlsinthestars · 6 years

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Tagged by the ever lovely @inkwillstain, also I’m gonna chuck a keep reading in bc this got pretty long

Would you rather have your favourite character all to yourself or as much money as you want?

First off I would have to work out which character is my one favourite character which is a struggle, but, ok, Jadzia was the first to pop into my head so lets just go with her for arguments sake. In which case I would love to have her ‘all to myself’ (???) I feel like she would really challenge me and help me be more confident and comfortable in myself. So my answer would probably be favourite character over money, because I honestly have no idea what to do with money other than buy more books I probably won’t read.

Do you want the ability to eat anything without the food affecting your body or not getting hungry ever/not needing food?

100% eat anything, I eat when I’m bored just like impulsively I want to eat so it’d be great if that didn’t harm my body in the process.

If you could speak any of the fictional languages, what would it be?

…I just have always wanted to speak Tolkien Elvish like literally since I read lord of the rings as a kid.

You favourite outfit ideas.

This is a very vague question, in fact it’s not even a question, but look, at any given moment you can garuntee I wish I was wearing a full cape.

Do you have any pets?

Yes, two adorable cats called McGonagall and Crookshanks.

Do you like makeup?

I like the way it makes my face look but I hate the way it feels on my face and how much effort it takes to put on and get off.

What’s the last movie you watched?

Probably bits and pieces of Pacific Rim, but the last whole movie I watched was Tomb Raider

Describe your current hairstyle.

A curly bob

What makes you go crazy and into full-blown fangirl mode?

I don’t really know? But the last time it happened was when the Panto/Silas clip came out last October

What do you love about yourself the most?

This is not something I think about but I guess I’m pretty proud of my hair sometimes

Do you believe in luck/fate?

I guess I would say I like to believe that everything happens for a reason, that theres some bigger picture. I just feel like in a world full of tragedy you need to believe that bad things happen for a reason, that somehow everything will fall into place, despite everything. So yeah I guess in a way I believe in fate.

What are you currently reading?

A Darker Shade of Magic, which is a really good book, but if I’m being honest the only books I can read without forcing it these days is Patrick Ness books.

What is your favourite way to spend the weekend?

Honestly just watching netflix, but I usually go see my grandma with my dad which is fun.

One book you can read over and over again?

Well the books I’ve reread most are Harry Potter but there are very few books I have the energy to reread now so actually at the moment probably The Marvels by Brian Selznick, the fact that it’s half pictures really helps and also it’s just generally a really moving story.

Favourite poem?

Ngl I’m not a big poetry fan, but we did poetry in literature last term and I actually really loved the poems I did, Valkyriur Song and The Last Song of Sappho both by Felicia Hemans

What was the best thing that happened to you today?

Like nothing happened to me today, but yesterday I hung out with my old best friend who I haven’t seen in like a year so that was really nice so I’m just gonna say that counts.

When is your birthday? 26th October

Which country do you live in?

Australia

Do you like listening to music? What’s your favourite song?

I love listening to music, and at the moment probably Rainbow by Kesha

Best memory of you as a child?

Well I have the worst memory, but honestly probably all the weird stuff me and my childhood best friend did together, she was the best, one time we spent a whole afternoon setting up a spy mystery before we remembered we actually didn’t really have anyone to do it.

How would you describe yourself in 5 words?

I hate these types of things I don’t know what my personality is god. Ok. Um. Tired, kind, nerdy, trying, and confused

Top 5 favourite characters (need not be from the same fandom)?

Damn ok umm I’m gonna be honest these aren’t in order

Jadzia Dax

Geordi Laforge

Kira Nerys

Tina Tevetino (this is more about the fact that she was the first character I’d ever seen say out loud that she was bi and I cried a lot about it)

Farah Black

No look I just need to add more I love so many characters so 5 honorable mentions:

Julian Bashir

Data

Inej Ghafa

Enjolras

Nymphadora Tonks

Ok I tag anyone who wants to do this bc I suck at tagging people and I’m always worried I’ll annoy my mutuals

#get to know me #??? idk how to tag this #shut up cc #gtkm

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bewitchingbooktours · 3 years

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Mind Fields by David-Matthew Barnes #MMRomance #GayRomance #Suspense #Thriller

Mind Fields

David-Matthew Barnes

Genre: New Adult, M/M Romance,

Suspense Thriller

Publisher: Blue Dasher Press

Date of Publication: May 18, 2021

ISBN: TBD

ASIN: TBD

Word Count: 48,500

Cover Artist: Darn Good Covers

Book Description:

Sometimes love can blow you away.

When struggling college student Adam Parsh accepts a tutoring position, he is lured into the unknown world of a wealthy family.

Fighting off the sexual advances of Dario Vassalo, a Greek tycoon and patriarch, Adam finds himself the object of the dangerous desires of one of the most powerful men in the world—his married employer.Torn between his attraction to Dario and his deepening love for his best friend, Victor Maldonado, Adam is forced to choose between right and wrong.

Surrounded by lust, glamour, and greed, Adam uncovers dark secrets strong enough to destroy many lives, including his own.

Excerpt

Although the schedule at the Ravenswood Metra station said the commute was only 54 minutes, the ride felt much longer. Adam was seated with a window view, heading north on the Union Pacific line towards Great Lakes, to the wealthy shore side suburb of Lake Bluff, a place he’d only read about and heard others mention.

It was early but Adam had made a point of buying a large cup of coffee at 7-Eleven before jumping on the commuter train. The coffee warmed a chill inside of him he hadn’t been able to shake since waking up.

While Stacey was still passed out, Adam had stumbled around the tiny apartment, half asleep and full of lingering concerns. He showered, got dressed, ate a bowl of instant oatmeal, and headed to the train station. He checked his phone more times than usual. No voice mail or text from Victor.

Maybe I should’ve let him stay last night. I could’ve woken up in his arms, next to his warm body. We could’ve made love for hours.

Adam barely took notice of the sights as the train continued on its snow-filled journey to the North Shore. Instead, he sipped his coffee, listened to overly sentimental love songs on his iPod, and tried to imagine what life would be like if he and Victor made a commitment to each other. He knew, more than ever, that’s what he wanted. Being with Victor made sense. Like so many people had said before, they made a great pair.

Questions and fears heightened Adam’s anxiety, racing through his mind at the same speed of the train. Were they too young to be so serious? To be exclusive? What if Victor decided he was bored and restless and wanted to date other people? What if he was tempted and unfaithful? That would leave Adam hurt and damaged beyond repair.

His phone buzzed.

Finally.

False alarm. It was Stacey. I can’t wear my new shoes today because it’s snowing outside. I hate February. But I love you. Where you be?

He texted back. On a train heading north.

She responded within seconds. I hope you’re not running away from home just because the rent is due.

He smiled and texted back. Job interview. Wish me luck. Otherwise it’s noodles and tap water for us until March.

The train was nearly empty now. A young woman wearing a red knitted scarf and matching cap was sitting a few seats away. A business man in a gray suit was reading a newspaper he’d folded in half. He was balancing a leather briefcase on his lap. His black-framed reading glasses looked as if they’d slip off the tip of his nose at any second.

I wonder what their lives are like. Is she in love with someone she can’t have? Is he unhappy in his marriage? Are they terrified of dying alone someday?

Adam glanced down at the pleated slacks, button-up Oxford, black pea coat, and Italian leather shoes he was wearing. He was dressed like a preppy boarding school student. He felt like an impostor. He’d assumed someone else’s identity in Chicago and was now on his way to fool a rich family into believing he was one of them.

They’ll see right through me.

Adam wondered why Dario Vassalo had extended the invitation to him. Given they’d only spent a few minutes together in Becca’s new office and their conversation had been brief, Adam tried to figure out what it was he’d said or done to inspire the wealthy man to consider him for the tutoring position. Was he replacing someone who’d been fired or quit? Were ulterior motives at work? Was the position created just for Adam as a way for Dario to see him again?

Adam shook his head, silently dismissing his absurd theories. Yet, in the back of his mind, he knew there was a thread of truth to them. He’d felt an instant heat for Dario. It was powerful and intense. He was almost certain the attraction was mutual.

Get that ridiculous idea right out of your head. He’s a married man. You have Victor now. And, you love him. You need the job. If you have to flirt a little to get it and keep it, you’re only doing what needs to be done. You can make this situation work for you until graduation.

Even if the train ride is forever and these stupid shoes are already killing your feet.

Adam finished his coffee. He looked out the window at the passing neighborhoods, wondering what was happening inside the houses and apartments within eye line of the tracks. Was someone brewing coffee, cracking open eggs, pouring pancake batter over a buttered grill? Was a child running late for school, worried they were going to miss the bus? Did someone decide to call in sick for the day, add another log to the fire, and curl back into bed with a good book and a cup of peppermint tea? Maybe a car wouldn’t start. An alarm didn’t go off. A husband didn’t come home.

The train pulled into the quaint, historic Lake Bluff station. Adam said a silent prayer, stood, and exited. Outside, the biting morning air was even colder than it had been in the city. There was a thin mist, floating and mingling with the falling snow flurries like a tentative ghost trying to decide whether or not to make an appearance.

Adam slid both hands into the pocket of his pea coat, cursing himself for not remembering to wear gloves or a scarf. He moved around the crowd of Chicago-bound commuters waiting to board a southbound train and made his way to the front of the train station.

Adam checked his phone and reread the instructions his mother had texted him.

A cab will be waiting for you at the station. Don’t be late.

On the train, Adam worried there’d be too many taxis to figure out which one was for him. He was relieved when there was only one idling at the curb.

There was an older woman standing next to the cab. She was short and squat. She was wearing a purple windbreaker, powder blue polyester slacks, and a pair of blinding white sneakers. The strange ensemble was completed with a white visor she wore low, just above her eyes. Her hair was short and tightly permed. It had an Easter blue tint to it.

She looks like an over groomed, mean poodle.

She glanced him up and down, cracked a sunflower seed between her front teeth, and spit the shell out on the sidewalk. “You Adam?” she asked. Her voice was nicotine stained and coated with a thick New York accent. At once, she gave off a strong vibe that even though she was short and could’ve been someone’s grandmother, she was tough and shouldn’t be messed with.

Adam was hesitant with his answer. “Yes. That’s me.”

“Name’s Myrtle,” she said.

“Myrtle?” Adam repeated, trying to hide his amusement.

No one is really named Myrtle, are they?

“Myrtle Brubaker,” she said. “You heard of me before?”

Adam couldn’t tell if she was joking. Was she a gangster or a cab driver?

Myrtle Brubaker had been through some hard times. It showed on her face. She looked weathered like someone had left her outside for too long in the snow. Beneath her haggard appearance and red, blotchy cheeks there was just a sliver of the attractive young girl she probably once was. Yet, it was clear Myrtle had never been a debutante. Adam imagined she spent her nights on a bar stool, shooting the breeze, chain-smoking, and killing off a bottle of bourbon. Or two.

“Get in,” she instructed. “You don’t wanna keep the missus waiting. She’s got a busy schedule.”

Adam complied. He slid into the backseat of the cab. It was like sitting in a closed box of sweet-smelling cigars. He rubbed his eyes, coughed a little, and asked, “What does she do?”

Myrtle found his eyes in the rearview mirror. “Who?”

“The missus,” he said, already speaking Myrtle’s language. “Mr. Vassalo’s wife.”

“Name’s Evangelina.”

“That’s pretty,” he said.

“Doesn’t even do her justice, if you ask me. She’s a knock out. You’d think her husband would pay more attention to her, but whadda I know?”

Adam grinned. “You seem to know a lot, Myrtle.”

“I love three things in this world,” she said.

“Is one of them bourbon?” Adam guessed.

“As a matter of fact it is,” she said. “I love bourbon, a good horse race, and Nancy Sinatra.”

About the Author:

David-Matthew Barnes is an award-winning author, playwright, poet, and screenwriter. He writes in multiple genres, primarily young adult, romance, thriller, and horror. He is the bestselling author of twelve novels, five produced screenplays, three collections of poetry, seven short stories, and more than sixty stage plays. He graduated with honors from Oglethorpe University in Atlanta with a Bachelor of Arts in Communications and English. He earned a Master of Fine Arts in Creative Writing at Queens University of Charlotte in North Carolina. He attended the Professional Program in Screenwriting at UCLA. David-Matthew divides his time between Denver and Los Angeles. He is represented by Hoop Earrings Entertainment.

Website: http://www.dmatthewb.com

Twitter: https://twitter.com/dmatthewbarnes

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/DMatthewB

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/dmatthewbarnes/

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/David-Matthew-Barnes/e/B003YJ87IG

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