#Windows Trailhead

[rabbitcruiser]

Garden of Eden/North Window Arch, Arches National Park 

The Windows Section is considered by some to be the beating heart of Arches National Park. The area contains a large concentration of arches and is one of the most scenic locations in the park. North Window, Turret Arch, and Double Arch are just a few of the awe-inspiring expanses you’ll find in just over two square miles. Other named features in this area include Garden of Eden, Elephant Butte, and Parade of Elephants.

In the words of Frank Bethwick, leader of a 1933-34 scientific expedition, “These arches are of thrilling beauty. Caused by the cutting action of wind-blown sand (not stream erosion), one marvels at the intricacies of nature.” This section of the park offers both beauty and variety—hiking, sightseeing, stargazing, photography, and enjoyment for the whole family.

Source

[emilybeemartin]

Inktober Days 25-27

Day 25: Dangerous

I don’t like this prompt. Every national park can be dangerous, and the deadliest places in parks, hands-down, are the roads, where drivers are distracted by wildlife and scenery. But if we’re going with pure statistics, excluding automobile accidents, then the most dangerous park, according to Backpacker Magazine, is Denali. The main cause of death is exposure, followed by falls. Despite what many folks might assume, there has only been one fatality caused by a bear in the park’s entire hundred-year-plus history.

National parks, overall, are pretty safe places. Park rangers work hard to keep them that way, trying to balance the wilderness experience with the health and safety of the visiting public. We implore folks to follow common safety measures in the backcountry and along the roadways, and there’s a whole facet of rangering called “PSAR”—preventative search and rescue. These folks are usually stationed at popular trailheads, checking that people have the proper gear, water, and footwear to successfully complete the hike. PSARs are your friends! Listen to the PSARs!

Day 26: Remove

When seasonals sit down for ranger training at the beginning of the summer, there’s one topic that we know we’re going to hear about, no matter which unit in the system we’re in. Invasive species. From lionfish to kudzu to emerald ash borers to toadflax, every park has its problem species that are taking over native ecosystems. Removal is a tricky, labor-intensive process—if they can be removed at all.

The Everglades are a prime spot for invasive species—they’re considered one of the most severely-infested parks in the system in terms of nonnative plants. The subtropical environment, combined with the famous issues of humans releasing exotic pets into the wild and planting exotic gardens, mean that some of these species can multiply rapidly with no natural checks and balances. Rangers work hard to keep invasives from destroying habitat needed by native plants and animals, but the truth is, in many cases the damage is done, and exotics are simply here to stay.

Day 27: Beast

How fortunate are we to share a continent with bison? Is there any animal more iconic of rolling American wilderness, or more representative of the sins and triumphs of our history? The bison is our national mammal, and the symbol on our ranger patch to represent the wildlife protected by the National Park Service.

Working in parks with bison, like Theodore Roosevelt, always creates an extra layer of excitement to the job. I’ve been late to work because of bison jams along roadways and had to physically move programs because bison were hanging out in the amphitheater. I once couldn’t take my trash out because a bison had bedded down just steps from my door. As a ranger, it’s easy to start thinking of bison as giant, bullheaded nuisances, but then you lock eyes with one outside your car window, and you remember—oh, this beast is the heartbeat of this landscape, my elder and my companion, and I’m dead privileged to wear her image on my chest.

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There's still a few more days left to preorder Thirty-One Days of National Parks: The Artbook!

[kingsofeverything]

Ten Lines (even though it’s not) Tuesday

The lively @lululawrence tagged me to post 10 lines, and then @reminiscingintherain and @jacaranda-bloom tagged me in the last line challenge, so I’m combining and posting the last 10 lines i wrote which are the first 10 lines of a new fic:

The most difficult thing about visiting a park or hiking trail for the first time is finding the right parking spot. Shady is best, but not always possible, because those areas tend to fill up fast, so Harry invested in a set of sun shades years ago. So when he drives through the lot and the only uncrowded area is on the far side where the sun shines down unfiltered, he simply shrugs and pulls into the space at the very end of the line.

With the car still running, Harry sets up the front sun shades in the windshield, passenger and driver side windows, then climbs over the center console into the back seat. Once he’s set up the shades in the three rear windows, Harry stretches out his legs, sparks up a joint, and takes a few hits.

There’s nothing quite like hiking high. Harry's always liked weed, but mix it with working up a sweat surrounded by trees and leaves and fresh air and sunshine and it’s the perfect combination of his favorite things. With a good buzz going, Harry folds the roach into a tiny square of foil, chugs a bottle of water, checks that he’s got everything he needs in his pack, and climbs out of his smoke-filled car.

The seven mile out-and-back hike should challenge him, but Harry's up for it, accustomed to long trails and elevation changes. Adjusting his hat, Harry starts off towards the trailhead kiosk to register and begin his hike.

Tagging y’all back and tagging @homosociallyyours @louandhazaf @juliusschmidt @karamelised @becomeawendybird @bananaheathen @crinkle-eyed-boo @disgruntledkittenface @greenfeelings @louisandtheaquarian @jaerie @mediawhorefics @absoloutenonsense to post either a line or 10 from your WIP 🩷

[rosemaidenvixen]

Leaf Peeping

Ao3

Vee peeked her head into the kitchen, watching mo– Camila packing bags into a cooler.

Now that she knew the truth it felt weird to still call her mom. Sure she’d done it for months while pretending to be Luz. But doing it now, now that Camila knew she was a basilisk, that meant something…

Camila noticed her watching and smiled “Hi Vee, are you up for going somewhere fun?”

Vee cautiously stepped the rest of the way into the room “But…what about Luz and the others, they’re still out exploring the town?”

They’d offered to let Vee come with them but she’d declined, not wanting to be a sixth wheel. It wasn’t like Luz and the others were mean or anything, all of them were very nice, but the five of them clearly had their own thing figured out. And whenever they invited Vee to join them, which they did quite frequently, it was clear that she was the tacked-on extra. Inside jokes sailed over her head and relaxed casualness was replaced with awkward politeness. She knew that with time they’d get closer and things would get easier, but today Vee didn’t just couldn’t take feeling like the odd one out again.

“It’s fine I already talked to Luz,” Camila finished packing the cooler and zipped up the top “We’re going to be scouting for a good location today, and next week we’ll all go,”

Scouting, scouting for what, what did Camila want her to do?

She slung the handle of the cooler over her shoulder and shot Vee a grin “So what do you say, are you up for an adventure today?”

Camila’s expression was sunny, but Vee couldn’t help but feel a little twist in her belly.

But after Camila took her in, took care of her, let her stay even after learning the truth, how could Vee refuse her anything.

“Sure,” she did her best to smile with enough brightness to match Camila “Let’s go,”

A short while later the two of them were sitting in the car heading out of town, having passed the ‘Now Leaving Gravesfield’ sign five minutes ago.

Vee leaned against the glass of the window, watching the trees rush by in a flame colored blur. What were they doing this far out of town? From what she understood there really wasn’t much outside Gravesfield until you got to Springfield, but Camila said the drive wasn’t that far. 

Abruptly Camila turned and pulled off onto a small side street, driving a little further before coming to a stop in a small parking lot nestled deep inside the trees. 

Camila stepped out of the car and moved around back to grab the cooler, slinging it over her shoulder, Vee cautiously followed her “What is this place?”

“It’s a trailhead for a lot of local hiking trails, it’s really popular for leaf peeping this time of year,”

Vee trailed after her as Camila walked across the parking lot towards where a small dirt trail led into the trees “What’s…leaf peeping?”

“People come and look at the leaves changing colors,” as they stepped into the shady shelter of the trees, heading deeper into the forest, Camila turned back and flashed her a grin “I thought that the two of us could come and find a nice spot for a picnic today and next weekend we can all come out and enjoy the fall colors together,”

Vee’s gaze scrolled around the trees “Fall colors….”

She knew that leaves on trees in the human realm changed color, the same way she knew that the sky was blue and rain was cold. It just wasn’t something she’d given much thought.

But being out here, with nothing around but Camila and trees, she really started to take in the colors. Orange and yellow, red and gold. Each in every possible shade surrounding her in a whirl of warm color.

“Do you have a favorite tree?” the question tumbled out of her without thinking.

“Yes my favorite is Maple, like that one over there, it has the bright red leaves with the three points,”

“Those are where we get maple syrup, right?”

“Yup, now how about you, do you have a favorite tree?”

Vee had to think about it for a second before pointing towards a thin tree with brilliant yellow, fan shaped leaves “I like that one,” 

“A ginko tree! Those are lovely, and ginkos are one of the oldest tree species that exists. They’ve been around for at least 200 million years,”

“Whoa…”

A canopy of copper and gold covered them as they stepped through the shadow of a massive that smelled faintly spicy, Camila pausing mid step to glance at it “Oh, this is the sassafras where I saw a family of foxes,”

“Foxes?” Vee glanced around, glee bubbling up in her chest. She knew what foxes were from watching nature documentaries. They were wild animals that you shouldn’t try to touch, but not super dangerous as long as you didn’t bother them. They were so cute and she always wanted to see them in real life “Do you think there might be more around?”

“I’m sure there are, maybe we’ll see one today, but they are pretty shy, but we’ll see some birds for sure,”

From there Vee kept a careful watch, eagerly looking to spot any human realm animals. They didn’t see any foxes, but she did see some crows, a few blue jays, and even a cardinal. After a while they came to a stop at a wide open spot in the trees, numerous smaller trails leading away to various metal picnic tables. 

“Alright Vee, which one do you think is best?”

She looked around for a few moments before making her choice “That one,” Vee pointed to a table tucked away near a grove of maples.

“Excellent choice!” Camila stretched out her arm, palm open and fingers spread wide “Lead the way brave explorer of the human realm,”

Unable to help the giddy smile that spread across her face, or the giggle that bubbled out of her chest, Vee darted ahead, Camila right behind her as she rushed to the table and took a seat.

Camila plunked down the cooler on the table, unzipping the top and reaching inside “Ok I’m still figuring out what the best human food for demons is, so let me know what you–”

“Are those anchovies!” Vee all but shot out of her seat when she saw Camila pull out the small can.

“They most certainly are. I also packed pickled eggs and dulce de leche squares, and  turkey sandwiches if you’re still hungry,”

The joy inside Vee’s chest bubbled over “This all looks amazing! Thanks mo–”

She froze, the word halfway out of her mouth.

Camila didn’t so much as twitch, watching her from across the table, her gaze gentle.

Vee swallowed and reached inside to find her voice again “Thanks…mom,”

“You’re welcome,” Camila said with a soft smile “Now I think I have some anchovies with your name on them,”

Smiling back, Vee reached out and accepted the can, heart so full it was nearly bursting.

[kristannafever]

The Hike

Kristanna Modern AU - oneshot Rated: T WC: 2374

~I totally saw something adorable on the interwebs. Headline read as follows; "She sent an office email about a weekend hike and ended up in love with the only guy who responded". So of course I thought this is a adorable meetcute and wanted to write it :D

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Anna sat at her computer, furiously typing away.   She had only been at her job for about two weeks and she was itching to meet more people.  The small building had two floors, and having not much reason to go up to the second floor, or the warehouse for that matter, she wanted to send an invite to everyone to join her for a weekend hike.

And being the new receptionist – the lowest level position – didn’t discourage her from sending the memo to everyone, her bosses included. 

It read;

Hello Rolling Rock Inc.,

I hope this memo finds you well.  I am Anna, the new receptionist.  I would like to extend an invitation to meet me for a hike this Saturday!  I would love to meet everyone and we can have a wonderful time enjoying the gorgeous weather forecast for this weekend. 

There is an easy trail up North Mountain (just forty-five-minute drive out of town).   It has a big parking lot at the trail base and great views when you get to the top.  You can google the directions or come ask me directly!

Meet up time is 7 a.m..  Bring a lunch and plenty of water! 

Hope to see you there!

Anna Arendelle -Reception

Anna read it over two more times and sent it out with a smile on her face. 

~   ~   ~   ~   ~

Anna woke bright an early on Saturday morning.  No one had asked her for directions so she assumed Google did its job to guide people where they needed to go. 

She’d asked around of the people she already knew if they were going to come, and about half of them said that they would probably see her there.  It sounded to Anna like they were going to have a good group for the hike. 

She got up extra early and packed a big lunch; sandwiches, enough trail mix to share, an apple, an orange, and a carefully packed cupcake.  Excited, she placed everything in her car, grabbed her hiking boots and hit the road.

The drive was refreshing with the sunrise at her back, casting its golden light on the pointed peaks of the mountains.  Anna sung along to every song on the radio, huge smile on her face, excited to meet some more people and have a wonderful day outdoors. 

*****

Kristoff drove with the windows of his truck cracked.  It was a little chilly, but the early morning air was fragrant and rejuvenating. 

He loved the mountains.  There was hardly a weekend in the summer and fall that he wasn’t in them.  At first he’d been a little apprehensive about the memo, not knowing who the hell the new receptionist was, then he asked some of the people in the warehouse and they said they were thinking about going.  He decided to commit his Saturday to it, even though it meant leaving his best friend hanging at the bar the night before so he could go home and get a good sleep.

He saw the sign for the parking lot and turned left, crossing the other side of the highway which was unbusy at the early hour.  He glanced at the clock in his truck, noting he was a little late.  There was construction by his house getting out of town that had held him up nearly fifteen minutes.   Even if they’d taken off up the trail, he was sure he could catch them quickly. 

Navigating his truck through the treed entryway, he soon turned right into the large parking lot.  At first he wasn’t sure he knew what he was looking at, then it all started to click into place as he slowly made his way to the trailhead sign. 

There were three cars off to the left, no one in sight around them, and a lonely car off to the right with a copper headed woman sideways in the front seat with her feet on the pavement looking highly disappointed. 

“Shit,” he muttered.  Either he had the wrong day and that was some rando woman, or he was the only asshole from their whole company that had shown up for this hike. 

He took a calming breath and parked beside her.  It wasn’t like he was going to turn around.  That would be such a dick move.  And he really did want to hike. 

He rolled up his windows and hopped out of the truck.  No sooner were his boots on the asphalt and she as beside him, smiling up at him.  He was taken aback by her big blue eyes, and they nearly took his breath away. 

“Hi,” she said tentatively.  “Are you from Rolling Rock?”

Kristoff swallowed, still flustered by her beauty.  “Uh, yeah.  You’re Anna?”

Her face lit up with a brilliant smile.  “I am!”  She held out her hand.  “It’s so nice to meet you.”

He shook her hand.  “You too.  I’m Kristoff.”

“I’m so glad you showed up, Kristoff,” she said, dropping his hand. 

He immediately missed her touch.  “Not many takers, huh?”

Anna put on an exaggerated pouty face and crossed her arms.  “It appears not.”  She smiled again.  “But that’s okay!  You showed up, so I guess the two of us get to enjoy this beautiful sunny day in the mountains.”

Kristoff smiled, his stomach fluttering with butterflies.  “Their loss,” he agreed. 

*****

Anna’s legs were sore by the time they got back down to their vehicles in the late afternoon.  They’d hiked to the top rather quickly, being just the two of them, then decided to take another trail to take them a little closer to the peak where they would have their lunch.  It proved to be more difficult, and the incline left Anna’s leg muscles burning by the time they reached the top.  It was worth it though, looking out over the valley and the sparking glacier-fed lake nestled below them.

And Anna had an absolutely amazing time talking to Kristoff.  He worked in the warehouse, which was why she’d never seen him before, and he was a wonderful person.  Not only had he been the only one to actually show up, he’d entertained her rambling stories with actual interest, and she was rewarded by hearing his gorgeous laugh a couple of times.  And that was not the only gorgeous thing about him. 

If she had known there was such a looker lurking in the depths of the warehouse, she would have made a point to go in there more often.  He was tall, broad, blond, and hunky as hell.  His soulful brown eyes were nothing like she’d ever seen, and as they ate lunch perched on the outcropping of a rock, she found herself mesmerized by them. 

They stopped when they reached their vehicles – the only ones left in the parking lot now – and Kristoff took a moment to stretch out his back.  Anna was unable to tear her eyes way, watching how every one of those muscles of his moved under his clothing.  When he was done and looked back at her, she had to catch herself and cover for the fact that she was ogling him. 

“Thanks for the invite for the hike, Anna,” he said, sliding his pack back off his shoulders to dig out his truck keys.  “I’ve never been up this trail and I had a great time.”

Anna found herself nodding.  “I’m glad.  I did too.  Thank you for showing up.”

He chuckled.  “I can’t believe none of those other assholes did.  They sure missed out on a nice day.”

She nodded absentmindedly, focused on every movement as he unlocked his truck and threw his backpack in the back seat and turned back to her.    

“I mean it,” she said quietly.  “It was a pretty shitty feeling sitting in my car and realizing that no one showed up.  Then you pulled in and it was like… I don’t even know.  I just felt…” She shrugged, looking down.

It’s okay, Anna.  I get it.”

Her eyes came up to his.  “You do?”

“Sure.”  He shrugged.  “It’s like throwing a party and no one shows up.  Although I guess an early Saturday hike is a little different.”

Anna smiled at him.  “Maybe it was too early?”

Kristoff laughed.  “Maybe.  But like I said, their loss.”

She nodded slowly, unable to stop her eyes roaming over every inch of his face.    “Their loss indeed,” she agreed. 

~   ~   ~   ~   ~

Anna was head over heels in love.  Kristoff was the one.

They’d left the mountain that day with plans for just the two of them to meet up again the next weekend on another trail in the area.  By the end of that second wonderful hike, Kristoff had asked her if she had any dinner plans, and they ended up driving home and meeting later at a Pub near his house, which was coincidentally incredibly close to Anna’s own apartment. 

That dinner had changed everything.  Or rather, it was the chaste kiss he’d given her at the end of it that changed everything.  From then on, Anna knew she was a goner.  While dating wasn’t even on her radar after moving to a new town and starting a new job, Kristoff was without a doubt, the love of her life.  She felt that spark of love as soon as their lips met for that first beautiful kiss. 

After that their love blossomed.  They are their lunch together at work, they hung out every chance they had, the went on many other hikes and adventures in the mountains.  Kristoff introduced her to camping and fishing and Anna had no idea she could have so much fun sleeping in a camper on the back of a truck with only his body for warmth.

It was on one such camping trip that he first told he that he loved her.  Anna’s response had been quick and heartfelt that she was head over heels in love with him too.   Her sincerity must have been so profound that Kristoff suddenly asked her to move in with him as well.  Anna, of course, was thrilled, and they spent the rest of the evening by the fire talking about how excited they were to live together. 

Never in a million years did Anna think she was going to fall in love so quickly and thoroughly.  To think, if more people had shown up for that hike, she might not have talked to Kristoff.  Perhaps he didn’t show up either.  But however you sliced it, they were the only two ones on the mountain that day, which meant to Anna that it was destiny.   Kristoff was her soulmate and no one could change her mind on that.  

15 YEARS LATER

Kristoff’s smile got wider the closer they got to the mountains.  He looked over to his beautiful wife in the passenger seat, nodding her head along to the song on the radio and singing under her breath while she scrolled her phone looking for things to do around the new campground they were going to try.  Glancing in the rear-view mirror, he saw that his daughter was listening to her own music and staring out the window, while his son was playing on his Switch with his headphones to pass the time for the drive.

His heart was full.  Never in a million years did he think attending a hike sent out in a memo from the receptionist would get him everything he had ever wanted in life, and here he was, relishing in the happiness that his family brought him every day. 

Their daughter and son, twelve and ten respectively, adored the mountains as much as him and Anna.  It was special to Kristoff that they got to spend time as a family having fun in the outdoors without the distractions of screens for the entirety of the weekend.  A lot of the places they went to didn’t even have cell reception.

Suddenly, Anna’s hand shot towards him and gripped his bicep. 

“There’s some falls we can hike to!” she said, excitement all over her face.

“Yeah?” he chuckled.  “That sounds awesome.”

“I love waterfalls,” their daughter piped up from the back.

“Me too!” Anna agreed.  “Bud, you want to hike to some falls?”

Silence from their son. 

Kristoff kept his eyes on the road but turned his face towards the rear seat.   “Dude, headphones,” he said loud enough to be heard. 

His son slipped them off his head.  “Huh?”

“You want to hike to some falls?” Anna asked. 

His face lit up in a smile.  “Oh, yeah for sure.”  With that done he slipped the headphones back onto his head and resumed his game, knowing the only time he was allowed to play it over the weekend was to and from camping. 

Anna shook her head and looked at Kristoff with a smile on her face.  He knew that smile very well.  Their kids were typical kids of course, but they were both damn fine kids.  Him and Anna were beyond proud of the amazing people they were raising. 

Kristoff glanced in the mirrors again to check their rig.  They had come a long way from the little camper he had on the back of his dad’s old ’78 Super-Cab.  Now he hauled a modest travel trailer with his newer truck; a small queen in the front, little kitchen and table, and bathroom and bunk beds in the back.  Perfect for the four of them.  They had the little fridge stocked, the cooler full of ice and drinks, their fishing gear, and the bicycles in the bed of his truck.  The perfect combination for a fun filled weekend with gorgeous weather in the forecast. 

Anna heaved a very happy sounding sigh, setting her phone down in the console between them.  “I can’t wait to get there, set up, and crack a cold one.”

Kristoff grinned.  Damn this woman was without a doubt the love and light of his life.  “Same, baby.”

They glanced at each other with smiles that were only meant for each other.   Kristoff thought back to that hike all those years ago often because he had met his soulmate, and he was thankful for that every day of his life since. 

[wavelikewhat]

If The Shoe Fits

Pairing: Seventeen Vernon x reader (any pronouns) Summary: You and Vernon are reluctant friends after Seungkwan and his girlfriend invite you everywhere in their attempt to help you get over a breakup. But everything changes when you and Vernon get caught in the rain. Wordcount: 2.8k Content notes: Very fluffy. Reader has a recent breakup (ex-girlfriend left them). Seungkwan is dating an original character (she/her pronouns). No smut but Vernon is shirtless (this should happen more anyway). Genres/themes/appearances: Strangers to friends to lovers. Vernon's bi wife energy. Seungkwan and his gf are meddling in everyone’s lives. Several hikes where everyone wears sunscreen and drinks water. Could be read as idol AU or just AU.  A/N: tysm for reading and loving Heartstrings (Woozi) and Bend It Like Mingyu (Mingyu), I really appreciate all the notes and reblogs!! Here is more adorable svt fluff if you enjoyed those :)

Vernon checked the time on his phone. It was only 7:30. Seungkwan said they would pick him up at 7:45, but Vernon didn’t mind being ready early. He sat on the stoop outside his apartment building and watched his neighborhood come to life. A few neighbors said good morning to him or nodded in acknowledgement as they passed. 

Finally, a small white car parked in front of him and he saw Seungkwan and his girlfriend Yuna waving enthusiastically from the front.

Behind Yuna, you watched Vernon through the window as he walked toward the car without much of an expression on his face. You raised an eyebrow and looked him over skeptically as he entered the back seat beside you. So this was the person Seungkwan assigned as your chaperone on the hike today?

Yuna passed Vernon a coffee after he buckled his seat belt. He introduced himself to you and you introduced yourself to him, then Yuna took over and chatted with him a bit, thanking him for joining on short notice. This gave you a chance to examine Vernon surreptitiously. You hadn’t met him before and all you knew was he was Seungkwan’s close friend. 

You wondered if Yuna or Seungkwan had mentioned the real reason they thought you needed a chaperone: your girlfriend broke up with you a week ago and Yuna did not think you were coping well. But weren’t you supposed to sit at home crying and eating ice cream and binging anime after your girlfriend told you they didn’t want to be with you anymore?? 

You and your ex-girlfriend had planned this hike with Seungkwan and Yuna ages ago, and instead of canceling Seungkwan found what he believed to be a suitable replacement. You had no idea what to expect from Vernon because all his friends seemed wildly different from each other.

Seungkwan focused on the tricky roads while Yuna talked to Vernon. The reason he called Vernon a few days ago asking him to join the hike was very simple in his eyes: Vernon was quiet companionship when that’s what you needed, and he was a good conversationalist if that’s what you wanted instead. Seungkwan wasn’t sure what you would need today, but for him a strenuous hike with zero discussions was sometimes the best thing to get his mind off things.

Vernon did not know about your breakup. Seungkwan had only said they planned to go as four and now they were three, so could he come join? Vernon didn’t have other plans and he agreed. He liked Yuna and always made time for Seungkwan.

Eventually, Seungkwan parked at the trailhead and everyone gathered their belongings, strapping into backpacks and making sure everyone had sunscreen and water. The trail was medium difficulty that culminated in a view of the mountains, and it wasn’t a very well known trail so you were looking forward to not seeing many people.

Seungkwan and Yuna pulled ahead early on, but both of them looked back frequently to keep you and Vernon in their line of sight. Vernon was behind you and he climbed in silence, which was perfectly fine with you. You didn’t really feel like making small talk with a stranger today so you focused on your footing to avoid tree roots and large rocks.

Whenever you stopped for water, Vernon stopped and drank some water too. You appreciated that he didn’t push past you or ask you to move faster after “wasting time to drink water,” like your ex did. Suddenly, the memory of her saying that to you made you irate.

“Have you ever had someone tell you that drinking water on the trail was a waste of time?”

“Me?” Vernon asked. He was surprised you were starting a conversation after hiking in silence for half an hour, and he was doubly surprised by the emotion in your voice. 

“My ex-girlfriend used to say that to me. That’s why I liked planning hikes with Yuna and Seungkwan. They always take pictures when we stop. Were they doing that because of her…?” you wondered aloud, looking up ahead at the duo. At that moment, Yuna glanced back and saw you had stopped. You heard her call out to Seungkwan, and she pulled out her phone to take a photo of you and Vernon. 

Vernon laughed. “I think you might be right. She’s a good friend.”

“She really is,” you agreed with a smile. 

“How long have you known her?” Vernon asked as you started climbing again.

“Since we were teenagers.”

“That’s like me and Seungkwan.”

“Really? You two seem so different.” You glanced back and nearly tripped on a tree root. The way he was smiling as he talked about Seungkwan was unbelievable. It totally transformed his face.

“We’re different and we’re similar. I’m sure it’s the same with you and Yuna.”

“True. I’m glad she made me come to the trail today. Don’t tell her,” you warned.

“She made you come on the hike? Seungkwan just told me someone had to drop out.”

You laughed bitterly. “Yeah, my ex. She broke up with me a few days ago.”

“Ahh. I’m sorry.”

You hummed in response. You weren’t really sure how you were feeling about everything. The two of you climbed the rest of the way in silence, and the view at the top was definitely worth the sore muscles you would feel tomorrow morning. 

Before dropping you off at your apartment later that day, Yuna AirDropped all her photos from the day to everyone in the car. You scrolled through them as you walked up the steps, grinning at all the cute and funny pictures she and Seungkwan had taken on the way up. But Yuna had also caught the moment you asked Vernon about his friendship with Seungkwan. You zoomed in on his incandescent smile, visible just past the back of your head as you looked back at him. All of Seungkwan’s friends definitely had something magnetic about them.

…

Over the next few months, Seungkwan and Yuna started inviting you and Vernon to more things together. You found yourself invited to dinners, random museum outings, and one memorable camping trip where Seungkwan managed to spill soju on all his belongings and had to assemble a truly hilarious outfit out of Vernon and Yuna’s spare clothes. His revenge was to pull on Vernon’s beanie and imitate him randomly over the rest of the evening, leaving everyone crying with laughter well into the night, especially Vernon.

You wondered how Seungkwan had decided that of all his friends Vernon was the one he would pull into this little group. You were starting to appreciate that Vernon left you alone when you weren’t really feeling up to a lot of conversation, yet somehow his brain waves aligned with your weird sense of humor. Every time the four of you were together, you and Vernon ended up cracking up in laughter while Seungkwan stared at the two of you in confusion wondering what could possibly be so funny.

One night, after dinner with you and Vernon, Yuna turned to Seungkwan as he drove her home. “I think Vernon has been really good for Y/N,” she said.

“What do you mean?” Seungkwan asked.

“I think it’s been good for Y/N to get to know someone who didn’t know what they were like as a couple… Someone who doesn’t know their ex.”

Seungkwan nodded understandingly. “Vernon doesn’t make assumptions about people.”

“Y/N said they told Vernon about the breakup.”

“Really?!” Seungkwan exclaimed in shock. “I only know what happened because you told me!”

“Y/N must be really comfortable around him.”

“Do you think…” Seungkwan started, then trailed off.

“What do I think?” Yuna asked.

“Maybe they might be a good match?”

Yuna hadn’t thought about it before, but your personalities and interests did align more often than not. After a few minutes of silence, Seungkwan spoke.

“Do you think Y/N is interested in dating someone new?”

“I don’t know,” Yuna admitted. Her eyes sparkled as she continued, “But I can find out.”

…

“That dinner was so good!” Yuna exclaimed as you all walked into your rental house on Jeju Island. Seungkwan and Yuna had invited you and Vernon to join their weekend getaway, and his family had treated everyone to a huge homemade feast on the first night.

“It was amazing! And your sisters are so funny,” you added.

Seungkwan rolled his eyes. “They’ll never change!” 

Yuna laughed and wrapped her arm around his waist. “It was good to see your family again,” she said, looking up at him. She turned to you and Vernon. “I think I’m going to get ready for bed. Good night!” Seungkwan agreed and wished you a good night, following Yuna to their room. 

“It’s been a long day,” Vernon said, yawning. “I’m going to shower and go to bed. Is that okay with you?” The two of you were sharing a bathroom for the weekend.

“Sure, I’ll finish up after you’re done.” You settled down on the couch with your phone. Yuna and Seungkwan had plans for the next day and you wanted to look up some things to do. You hadn’t asked Vernon what his plans were, but from getting to know him over the last few months you found he was a pretty agreeable guy who seemed equally content hanging out by himself or out doing an activity with people.

“Bathroom’s all yours,” Vernon called out to you as he stepped through the door.

“Thanks! Hey, what are your plans for tomorrow?” you asked quickly before he could go into his room.

“I was thinking of doing a hike, but I didn’t decide which one. What are your plans?”

“I was just looking up things to do. Do you want to do a hike together?”

“Sure. Want to decide over coffee? I saw a cafe nearby when we drove back tonight.”

“Sounds good.” It wasn’t until this moment that you registered the only thing he had on his body was a towel wrapped around his hips. You found your eyes zipping across the muscles outlining his torso. There was a lot more to take in than you expected.

“Alright, good night,” Vernon interrupted, and he walked into his bedroom and shut the door. You blinked, surprised at how quickly he disappeared.

After he closed the door, Vernon let out a big sigh. When he caught you checking him out, he did not expect his body to respond. But over the past few months, he found himself thinking about you a lot, and he had even wondered if you might be interested in going on a date with him and getting to know him one-on-one, especially since 100% of your encounters had included Seungkwan, Yuna, and now Seungkwan’s entire family. That moment in the hallway was making him start to think you might be as interested in him as he was in you.

That night, you dreamed about your first encounter with Vernon. Everything about that first hike came back to you in vivid detail, especially the moment when his smile had taken your breath away. As you walked to the cafe with Vernon the next morning while making small talk about whether the weather would hold up for a hike, you felt an urge to figure out how to make him smile at you that way he smiled when he talked about Seungkwan.

At the cafe, Vernon pulled up the trails he had been considering and the two of you agreed on a short one-hour hike to the top of one of the mountains on the island. You checked the weather as you walked back to the house. 

“It might rain later today,” you said, scrolling through the precipitation report.

“Soon?” Vernon asked, pulling out his phone to look up the weather himself.

“It says 2-3 hours from now, so we’re probably okay.”

“We should probably bring some extra clothes in our backpacks,” Vernon suggested. “I got caught in the rain on a trail a few years ago and I was so annoyed I had to drive in my wet clothes.”

You laughed. “I will definitely pack extra clothes. That must have been miserable!” Vernon told you a few stories from that trip with Seungkwan and some of their friends, and by the time you reached the house you were laughing hard at hearing about their antics.

After a pleasant drive to the center of Jeju Island, you and Vernon started up the mountain. The trail was well maintained, and you saw a few other people climbing as well since it offered a great view of the island from the top. As you recalled, hiking with Vernon was pleasant because he let you set the pace and he stopped without comment whenever you took a break. Unfortunately, after twenty pleasant minutes passed in silence, you found yourself pelted by huge raindrops. 

“Let’s turn around?” Vernon suggested from behind you. You nodded and began following him down. It was only drizzling, but it was much safer to go back to the car in case it started raining heavily. Just as you spotted the car in the parking lot, you saw a flash of lightning and heard the rumble of thunder. Suddenly, the skies opened up, and you and Vernon started running to the car through crazy rain that seemed to be coming at you sideways.

“Get in the back seat!” Vernon shouted, holding up the car keys to unlock the car. You followed his instructions without thinking until you both scrambled into the back seat of the rental car, gasping for air and laughing at how wet your clothes had become in the last few minutes.

“Why did you tell me to get in the back?” you asked after catching your breath and drinking some water.

“After I got caught in the rain on that other trip, I had to drive to the airport later that night and the seat was still soaking wet from my wet clothes. It was honestly one of the worst experiences of my life,” he laughed. 

“Can you please tell me everything that has gone wrong in your life so I can learn from all your mistakes?” you joked. A huge grin stretched across Vernon’s face and he laughed harder than you had ever seen him laugh before. You felt a rush of pride in your chest for making him laugh that way. It melted into a rush of heat as your eyes drew down from his face and took in the wet shirt plastered across the muscles on his chest and arms.

Vernon calmed himself down rather forcefully (you definitely heard him mutter to himself, “Okay Vernon, calm down”) and handed you your backpack from under the passenger seat where you had hidden it from view. He pulled his bag out from under the driver's seat and combed through its contents to find his dry clothes.

Then he pulled off his shirt, right in front of you.

You froze in the middle of unzipping your bag, totally incapable of fine motor skills while your eyes were graced by the beauty of that body. That body! What?! He looked amazing last night after his shower, but it was even better up close.

Vernon looked up at you at that moment and caught you staring. You had nothing to say for yourself. You had been paying more attention to him and to his attentiveness over the last few weeks. There were a lot of things about him you had started to like a lot. Now you had to add his chest to that list of things.

“I have a question for you,” he said suddenly. “Wait, I can’t say this without a shirt on.” He tugged a dry shirt over himself, and a tiny part of you (okay it was a very major part of you) was disappointed at no longer having access to the abs before you.

Satisfied his shirt was on correctly, Vernon looked back into your eyes and seemed very serious. Your heart raced. “Do you want to go out with me sometime? Just me, I mean. Don’t get me wrong, I love Seungkwan and Yuna. But on the off chance you feel ready to date someone new, I was hoping that could be me.”

You felt a grin spread across your face, and a moment later you saw that same grin mirrored on Vernon’s face. “Yes, definitely,” you replied, and you put your wet arms around his dry shirt and kissed him, pulling him against your rain soaked clothing. Guess he'd have to drive back shirtless after all.

[chip-and-ironicus]

Have You Ever Seen Anything So Blue?

[Reposted from Grant's Cohost page]

This August, as I walked a gravel trail toward Au Sable point, I thought about the change in the people of northern Michigan. We drove to the trailhead along a county road that dips in and out of the jagged border of Pictured Rocks National Lakeshore. The inhabited parts outside show the pivot of an economy based on mining and fishing to one based on selling lunches and renting kayaks to people curious about historic mining and fishing. And for a second, I fell into the romantic thought that no matter how life changes, it's the same rocks and the same trees.

This is false. As I discovered on last year's trip, the vital thing to remember is how everything is constantly changing. The composition of the now-protected forest is permanently changed by the logging industry. And without that logging industry, the dune at Log Slide Overlook continues to grow taller and forever cover the spot where logs were slid to the lake. The people, the rocks, and the trees are all changing, all the time. The hope is that they change together, and can support one another. The National Park service is something I believe in.

But the lake, god willing, is forever. I remember last year, sitting in the cabin my aunt rented, watching the sky dim out the window, as the lake grew darker and darker. The waves seemed to spread in every direction. The biggest thing I've ever seen and it was growing, pushing beyond the boundary of the shore. I was a few dozen feet away, up a small hill, behind a window, and there are moments I thought I might fall in from my seat on the couch. I've lived on the Great Lakes and the waterways that connect them most of my life, but Superior is somehow different.

There is no center and no end. None you can perceive. There is only breadth and depth and expanse and blue. It's commerce and wilderness and ecosystem and postcards. Storms and harbors. Constant sound in variable volume. To see, every day, an accident of glacial geology that bore a wonder of creation, to know it supported centuries of history, and eat its fish fried in the back of a truck. Have you ever seen anything so blue?

[heartbreak-sandwich]

☠️Full Circle Warnings☠️

A/N: This fic is inspired by always wanting to do some cave exploration with my friends. Starting a beautiful day exploring the caves near Skull Rock with your friends quickly turns into mayhem and terror as you go against your friends' advice and converse with a friendly stranger in the depths. I hope you guys like this one! Finally featuring the loveliest Eddie Munson 💕 This is my first ever thriller/horror fic, so hopefully it's okay!

TW: Blood mention, altered reality, smoking.

MAY 2023

The weather was fair and mild that May, so you and your friends decided it would be the perfect time to scope out the caves near Skull Rock. You sat in the passenger seat of Kyla’s Toyota 4Runner while she sped along the dusty, winding roads to the trailhead. Looking down at your phone, you noticed you had lost service, so you set it to airplane mode and secured it in Kyla’s glovebox, knowing there was no need to bring it into a cave where you could possibly lose it forever.

Over the booming of the music, you could hear Brent checking everyone’s flashlights and reminding the group to all bring extra batteries, extra water, and what to look for if you want to take home some natural quartz. Lelia was listening intently as Brent explained how certain rocks and crystals formed in caves, her ginger hair flowing in the wind as Aliya held a cigarette out the window. You and Kyla were singing along to the music when Aliya leaned forward between your seats, almost startling you.

“Just remember,” she piped up loud enough to be heard over the song. “If you see a person down in those caves, no you don’t.”

“What does that mean?” Kyla grimaced in confusion and laughed.

“It means they’re probably not real, especially if they try to lead you further in. Don’t listen, don’t follow, and don’t get separated from the group. Caves are like liminal spaces or some shit. They don’t play.” Aliya was smiling, so you couldn’t tell how serious she was, but goosebumps perked up on your arms anyway.

“Oh, slay,” Kyla replied nonchalantly, both of them bursting into a fit of laughter at her deadpan reaction. You were lost in your thoughts as the trees started to thin on your trail, and you felt the car slowing to a stop. Pulling off into a quarry, your group exited the vehicle and secured your packs for the trip.

“Remember, try to stick together. The map to these caves is really old, but as far as the websites have said, only these two tunnels have caved in,” Brent instructed, marking two areas on the map. You examined the tunnels, names, and distances marked on the cave map, and you took mental note of the areas to avoid just in case you got lost in the dark.

“Everyone have extra batteries?” Kyla held up the pack of D batteries as everyone double checked their packs, a resounding “Yep!” signaling the beginning of your group’s journey. You stacked an extra water bottle in your pack, zipped it up, and slung it over your shoulder, following the single file line uphill to an opening in the side of the mountain, glancing back one more time to see Skull Rock resting at the base of the quarry where the car was parked.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Arriving at the mouth of the cave, everyone turned on their flashlights and gathered around Brent to take another look at the map. He explained the three paths you could take through the tunnels, where the arrows on the walls should be, and which places to keep a lookout for quartz. After everyone agreed they were ready, the five of you entered the cave and started down the long tunnel.

“Mind the grade!” Brent’s voice echoed through the dark as you felt the ground start to slant downward. You jumped with a gasp when you felt a hand grasp your sleeve.

“Sorry, buddy.” It was just Aliya. “Trying not to fall on my ass.” She giggled, and you smiled back, both of you helping each other down the hill, slow and steady, as the light behind you swiftly disappeared, leaving all of you in total darkness except for the spots of your flashlights darting around.

The grade leveled out after a few minutes of careful walking, and you could see three branches of tunnels off of the main chamber you all stood in.

“This way is the easiest,” Brent pointed his flashlight down the path to the right. Everyone started in that direction, pointing their flashlights at the walls, the ground, the ceiling, taking in the scenery as best as they could in the vast darkness. Pointing your flashlight at the wall, you noticed a blue arrow spray painted on the stone.

“Is this a safe arrow?” Brent approached where you were standing and shone his flashlight on the arrow.

“Yep,” he said simply. “Blue means go, green means slow, red means no.” You nodded, repeating the phrase quietly to yourself for future reference as the five of you continued the path.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You all enjoyed exploring the first couple of tunnels you came across, and you had found yourselves in a wide chamber with a bit of water dripping into one corner, making a small pool. Brent explained that this chamber was consistent with the map, and it was a great place to look for quartz formations, so everyone had chosen a corner and started searching the rocks around the floor and walls for signs of crystal growth. Everyone was laughing, joking, and talking amongst themselves when you noticed a strange, familiar smell.

“Is someone smoking in here?” You pointed your flashlight at your friends one by one, each of them holding up a hand and squinting their eyes in turn.

“No. We’re not that fucking stupid,” Aliya scoffed and giggled.

“I know.  I just – I smell smoke.” You sniffed the air, looking around, swearing you detected the scent of cigarette smoke thick in the air.

“Nope. That’s just cave smell,” Brent said confidently.

“Cave smell?” Kyla asked skeptically.

“Yeah. Cave smell,” Brent continued. “A mix of chemicals, probably gas, old water, and bacteria trapped in the cave. The only way for it to go is up and out the entrance. It’s normal.” You didn’t have any counter for his explanation, so you tried to let it put your mind at ease. Your friends went back to talking amongst themselves while you examined a few rocks at the mouth of a tunnel off to the left of the chamber, everyone’s voices fading into the background as you focused on your task at hand.

Crunch, crunch, crunch, clink. You heard footsteps followed by what sounded like a small object falling on the floor. You stood up, pointing your flashlight down the tunnel, finding nothing but an empty path. Weird. You figured it was probably just the echoes of your friends ricocheting off the cave walls. You busied yourself with the rocks and tried to put the thought out of your mind.

Crunch, crunch, crunch, crunch. There it was again. The footsteps were fading farther down the tunnel. You stood up and stared down the stone hallway again, your flashlight finding nothing in sight as you slowly crossed the threshold from the chamber into the long pathway. You took tentative steps, glancing back one more time to see your friends not far from you, still mingling and paying attention to their rock formations. You continued down the path, pointing your flashlight straight ahead until you spotted a small object on the ground.

You picked up your pace, approaching the object and shining your flashlight on it – a small, shiny rectangle. Picking up the object, you turned it over in your hand. A Zippo lighter? You fumbled the lighter and dropped it, hearing it land with a familiar clink. That was the sound you had heard along with the footsteps. Someone dropped this only moments ago – you were sure of it. Looking behind you again, you could see your friends’ flashlights moving around in the distance. You were confident you wouldn’t get lost if you continued in this tunnel and went straight back after investigating.

As you continued forward, you noticed the cigarette smoke smell again. It grew stronger with each step you took down the tunnel, so you followed it. Coming to a fork in the road, you decided one turn wouldn’t hurt. You took a sharp left and continued onto a new path, your flashlight gliding over the walls and ceiling, searching for arrows. You froze in your tracks when you finally found them – a string of red arrows pointing in the opposite direction you were going.

“Red means no,” you muttered to yourself as you looked ahead, shining your flashlight down the empty stone hallway. You reasoned you’d be able to see any unsafe terrain or pools of water before you got to them, so, against your friend’s advice, you persisted. A few more steps in, your flashlight started to flicker. You gave it a smack, a shake, turned if off and back on again…nothing worked. It flickered, buzzed, and flashed until it finally turned off. You were completely alone in the dark. You couldn’t hear your friends anymore.

Crunch, crunch, crunch. Hearing the footsteps approaching from behind you, you panicked. Without thinking, you broke into a sprint. The tunnel was long, but you kept a hand outstretched in front of you just in case so you didn’t hit a wall. You ran without looking back.

“Kyla! Brent! Anyone!” You yelled hoping your friends could hear you, wherever they were. They would notice you were missing and come looking for you, right? You ran until your chest was burning and you could hardly suck in another breath. You looked behind you and saw only darkness.

“Ugh!” You ran into something – someone – and screamed, your flashlight bursting back to life, illuminating the stranger you had collided with.

“Woah, hey! Hey, hey, it’s okay! Are you all right?.” A man stood before you, holding your shoulders steady and looking at you with concern in his big, brown doe eyes. His dark, wavy hair dusted his shoulders, bangs resting on his lashes, and he wore a denim vest adorned in patches over a leather jacket and a homemade cotton shirt that said Hellfire Club on the front in big, bold letters. “It’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you.” You stepped back away from him, and he held up his hands.

“Where the fuck did you come from?” Your voice was shaking as you looked the man up and down. He obviously hadn’t been in these caves for long. He looked clean, his high top shoes still white, and he didn’t seem to be in any distress.

“I should ask you the same question.” He smiled and chuckled a little. He could sense your fear, so he offered, “It’s really okay. I won’t even touch you, I promise. Just trying to help.” He smiled again, softer this time, and you smelled it – the cigarette smoke.

“Were you smoking down here?” He snickered, clasping his hands behind his back and kicking a small rock with his foot.

“Yeah, you caught me,” he said, pretending to be sheepish. “Do you need a smoke?” He patted his pockets and furrowed his brows. “I guess I lost my lighter. Damn. It was a nice one, too.” You remembered the lighter you collected from the previous tunnel earlier.

“Is – is this it?” You held out the Zippo and shined your flashlight on it.

“Hey, yeah! That’s the one. Where’d you find it?” He took the lighter from your hand, gave it a toss, catching it again and flicking the top open.

“I found it in the tunnel back there.” You pointed behind you with your thumb, and the man flicked the lighter to life.

“Huh. Well, thanks for bringing her back to me.” The man smiled again, closing the lighter and holding out his hand for you to shake. “Eddie Munson.” You stared at his eyes as your hand met his, giving it a firm shake.

“Nice to meet you, I think,” you answered, still feeling cautious. “Do you know these caves at all? I kind of wandered off and lost my group.” Eddie sighed and patted your shoulder.

“Like the back of my hand, sweetheart.” He smiled and gestured into the dark in front of him. “Follow me.” You nodded, walking alongside Eddie, pointing your flashlight ahead of the two of you, the sound of both of your footsteps the only thing reverberating in the long hallway as you continued on. You noticed his bandana sticking out of his back pocket flowing behind him, the silver rings that adorned his fingers, and the large image on the back of his vest: DIO.

“You like Dio?” You offered some conversation to soothe the beating of your own heart.

“Worship him,” Eddie replied, smiling proudly. “Dio, Metallica, Motorhead, Iron Maiden, W.A.S.P., Ozzy…I like music.” Eddie smiled wide and skipped forward a bit, dancing in place with his air guitar. “And I play guitar,” he said, still committing to his theatrics. You giggled at his display, and the two of you kept walking. You noticed he didn’t keep still very well, but he seemed to be enjoying making you laugh.

“Oh, yeah? You in a band or something?” Eddies eyes lit up, a devilish smile growing on his face.

“I thought you’d never ask,” he said. “Corroded Coffin. You can catch us Tuesday nights at The Hideout.” You heard crinkling as Eddie unfolded a flier from his vest pocket and handed it to you. THE HIDEOUT BAR PRESENTS: CORRODED COFFIN; TUES 9PM; 4462 CORNWALLIS AVE, HAWKINS, INDIANA.

“Hawkins?” Your mouth fell into a frown, and your eyes grew wide as you noted the address on the flier. Hawkins had been a ghost town for decades after a mysterious earthquake tragedy annihilated most of the population and made the entire town uninhabitable. You were willing to bet The Hideout didn’t exist anymore. Something was very wrong. Eddie’s face fell at your reaction, and you looked into his eyes again, shining your flashlight in his face. He put a hand up to block some of the light from his eyes and grimaced. Your breathing became ragged, and you started to shake again.

“What? What’s wrong?” Eddie craned his neck, trying to avoid the light in his eyes as he questioned you, putting both of his hands up to block out the glare.

“Where did you come from?” Your voice was stern, low, and deliberate. You dropped the flashlight slightly, surveying Eddie’s form once more. He looked like he was from a different time.

“I don’t know what you’re asking me,” he replied impatiently, his hands out in front of him, shoulders shrugged. “I need you to be more specific. Where did I come from? I was born. What more do you want to know?” You could tell Eddie was trying to stay calm in the heat of your panic, but he was struggling.

“How did you get down here in the caves?”

“I walked.” Eddie scoffed. “At least I think I did.” He turned and looked at the cave wall, touching it lightly. He seemed confused all of a sudden. “I had to have walked, right?” He turned to face you, his eyes filled with anxiety. “How did you get here?”

“My friends and I drove here, and we walked in from the entrance next to Skull Rock,” you said, backing away from him slightly.

“Skull Rock,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “That’s where…we are.” The hand holding your flashlight started to tremble.

“You didn’t know where you were?” Your eyes stung as you felt your tears welling up, and each breath caught in your chest as you felt fear rising in your throat.

“No, I – I did. I just…forgot.” Eddie’s face contorted into confusion, and he brought a hand to his mouth, chewing on the skin around his fingernails as he seemed like he was concentrating very hard on trying to remember something. He started muttering to himself about Steve, Dustin, Wheeler, the lake, the trailer, and the bats.

“Eddie?” Your voice shook violently as you trembled from head to toe. Eddie’s chocolate brown eyes met yours, and you could see they were wrought with terror all of a sudden.

“I have to get back,” he said, his eyes filling with tears as he lunged for you, gripping you by the shoulders and shaking you. “I have to get back to them. You know Steve?” You shook your head no. “STEVE! DO YOU KNOW STEVE!” Eddie was yelling now, his panic too much for him to contain anymore.

“I don’t know Steve! What are you talking about?!” You gripped him by the wrist and tried to pry his hands from your shoulders, but his fingers only dug in deeper as tears streamed down his face.

“Dustin! Where’s Dustin! The bats!” Nothing he was saying was making any sense, and your own tears started to spill over, and you were pulling away, trying your best to writhe out of Eddie’s grip, but it was iron strong.

“I don’t know, Eddie! I DON’T KNOW!” He was yelling over you, talking gibberish almost, and your flashlight started to flicker again. You swore you saw blood start to drip from his mouth and soak through spots in his white cotton shirt as he continued to bellow with despair in his voice.

“I stayed, and I fought, and I LOST! I LOST! I need to warn them. My friends, I NEED TO WARN THEM!” You dropped your flashlight and used your now free hand to take a downward strike to one of Eddie’s hands on your shoulder, and you were freed from his grasp. You turned in the opposite direction and ran for your life.

“HOW DID I GET HERE?! COME BACK! HELP ME, PLEASE!” Eddie’s voice ricocheted over the tunnel walls, growing farther and farther behind you, but never going quiet. You ran harder than you ever had before, taking every turn you came across until you tripped over a lip in a chamber and hit the ground, knocking the remaining wind from your chest. You scrambled backwards until you found a wall, hugging your knees to your chest, breathing ragged as you cried silently. What the hell was that? After pulling yourself together as much as you could, you decided that if you were doomed to die in these caves, the least you could do was give yourself a chance by trying to find a way out.

You unzipped your pack, took a long drink from your water bottle, and used some extra water to wet your hands, face, and hair. After packing everything back up, you slung your belongings over your shoulder and started wandering aimlessly in the darkness. You wandered for what must have been hours. It felt more like days, but it couldn’t have been because you never slept. And you never saw Eddie in the tunnels again.

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Just as you were about to give up hope, you were grazing your hand along a wall in the darkness when you heard voices.

“Skull Rock! In your face, man. In your stupid, cocky little face.” The voices weren’t echoing. They must be coming from outside. You followed the sound, keeping your hand along the wall.

“It doesn’t make sense.” Another voice. You kept going.

“Yeah, yeah. Even when it’s staring you right in the face, you can’t admit it. You just can’t admit that you’re wrong, you little butthead.”

“I concur.” A third voice. “You, Dustin Henderson, are a total butthead.” Dustin? The third voice almost sounded familiar.

“Jesus, man, we thought you were a goner.” You picked up your pace, the three boys’ words becoming louder with every step. The ground turned swiftly uphill, and you were running again. You broke into a sprint when you saw the light coming down through an opening. You burst through the opening and out into fresh air to the alarm of six strangers who stared at you like they had never seen anything like you before.

“Holy shit! Are you okay?” A young teen girl with ginger hair, bright blue eyes, and a pair of headphones around her neck was the first to speak to you. All you could do was breathe heavily and stare in terror at the people before you. An older boy in a yellow sweater put his hands up, eyebrows raised, and spoke next.

“How long were you down there?” You still couldn’t answer them. Another girl looking about the same age as Yellow Sweater Guy took a step forward, her shoulder length brown curls bouncing as she reached out a hand toward you.

“Are you hurt?” You searched for words as you scanned over the strangers. Each one of them looked like they were from a different time. The ginger haired girl’s headphones were plugged into a walkman attached to her hip that was playing a cassette tape. You couldn’t make out the song, but it sounded like 80’s music. The dark skinned boy with a flat top haircut looked completely bewildered as he side eyed the ginger haired girl, stepping slightly in front of her.

“What year is it?” It seemed like the only sensible question for you to ask. You had no clue how long you had been down in the caves, and everything you had seen in the last day made you feel like you were losing your mind.

“What?” A boy holding a compass with curly hair poking out of his hat looked at you like you were an idiot.

“What year is it?” You asked the question again through gritted teeth, your hands balling up into fists at your sides. You were starting to panic again, and anger was the only emotional response you had left. The last of the three girls present tilted her head to the side a bit, her blonde, chin length bob swaying with her.

“It’s 1986,” she finally answered. Your eyes widened as you turned around to face the cave you emerged from. That’s when you saw him. He was squatted on the ground, elbows on his knees, holding a canteen as he stared, mouth agape. It was Eddie.

“YOU!” You pointed at him, your entire body trembling furiously as he pointed to himself in disbelief.

“Me? Who the hell are you?”

“EDDIE.” You snarled his name, and his eyes grew wide with fear.

“How do you know me? Are you one of Carver’s little henchmen?!” He jumped to his feet and backed away from you, both hands outstretched defensively.

“No, dude! She’s covered in dirt and blood, and she just came out of a random cave in the woods. Who knows how long she’s been down there! She obviously needs help,” Yellow Sweater Guy reasoned.

“Where am I?” You yelled loudly at them, backing a couple of steps away. Seeing Eddie had your terror ramping up again, and nothing felt real anymore. The boy with the hat put his hands out, gesturing calmly and speaking in a low, kind tone.

“You’re in Hawkins. Everything’s going to be okay. We can help you.”

“HAWKINS?!” You were almost screaming, tears building up again. You looked around at the six strangers and Eddie and could do nothing more than sit down in your place, stare into the distance, and let yourself cry. Stuck in a different time, in a different world, you regret now more than ever not heeding the words of your friend. “If you see a person down in those caves, no you don’t.”

[satans-helper]

Smother the Flame in Your Heart - Part XVII

Read previous parts here or read on Ao3 // Playlist

Pairing: Danny Wagner x Sam Kiszka

Word Count: ~2400

Warnings: none, but this is another Jake chapter

---

“Sam hasn’t been home in four days.”

Jake sighed fiercely at Josh’s unnecessary statement. He ignored it, burying his nose in a new book, a book devoid of romance and vampires and blood. It was a book that he couldn’t get invested in. His twin kicked him from the other side of the couch; Jake huffed and tossed the book down into his lap with a coarse, “What?”

“I know you were hoping that conversation at Danny’s resolved everything,” Josh said, stretching his legs out, invading Jake’s space even more. “But clearly, that’s not the case. What are you going to do to fix it?”

“What is there to do?” came Jake’s despondent-sounding reply, but his heart wrenched as he spoke. “I should just leave both of them alone.”

Josh sighed and leaned forward, tucking his legs underneath himself. “That’s not a good solution. Sam is your brother and Danny is your friend and he’s a significant part of Sam’s life.”

Jake picked the book back up. “So what do you think I should do?” 

“Talk to him. Talk to Sam. Be friends with Danny without crossing boundaries. You have to rebuild some trust there, Jakey.”

Jake knew his twin was right. He just didn’t have it in himself to explain why that couldn’t be done–he didn’t even trust himself to not cross those boundaries, to not further break trust with his brother and further damage his friendship with Danny. It felt entirely impossible so long as he felt such an intense pull into that innocently charming, silly, sexy vampire that Sam had found first, and with Sam having found Danny first, there was a bitterness that festered in Jake’s own heart. It wasn’t something he wanted to feel. He’d tear it out if he could. But he couldn’t, and he felt the only actual, tangible solution was to let the distance linger. 

Instead of saying all or any of that, Jake just said, “I’ll try.”

Well, Jake concluded later on, when the spring sun was still bright despite the hour growing later and later, Sam still hadn’t come home, so he couldn’t try quite yet. So he headed out, at first just driving somewhat aimlessly with the window down and a cigarette in one hand while the other manned the wheel, music loud but still not drowning out his thoughts. 

Two cigarettes and most of an album later, he ended up at a trailhead south of home–the gravel and dirt parking lot was empty and the trees shimmied outside with the languid breeze, calling him to actually step out, breathe the clear air, and get moving to try and quiet his thoughts. But when Jake actually began walking, sneakers crunching over that gravel and kicking up dry, dusty dirt before he was able to tread over soft, wispy grass, all of his thoughts only seemed to get louder.

He was a little mad at himself that he’d let his act fall to the wayside. Jake felt confident that he hadn’t been showing any feelings toward Danny, always just being supportive of him and Sam, no matter what he actually felt when he found himself alone with Danny. He’d never given himself inflated credit–even when Danny found him and let the two of them linger alone, Jake knew it wasn’t out of anything beyond normal, innocent friendship. Nevertheless, it was titillating each time it happened–Jake could be there with just Danny and for the fleeting minutes, it felt like what they had was still profound, even if it wasn’t entirely what Jake wanted. 

The wide, flat trail walled in by long grass and wildflowers eventually narrowed, leaving Jake to walk down a thin dirt trail curving into the woods. The sunlight slanted and shimmered over leaves and branches, and he blinked at it and up into the sky, briefly wondering what Sam and Danny were up to. The guilt of pushing Sam away from his own home, from his own brothers, pained Jake’s heart–but then he thought more about what Sam and Danny were, in fact, up to and jealousy wound itself tightly around his heart instead, its rancor seeming to mirror the deeper, darker stretch of woods he found himself walking into.

The late spring–summer was just around the corner, Jake realized–may have been in full force with the blooming, bright flowers; creamy bloodroot and white trillium dotted the forest floor he walked across, along with tiny, golden buttercups and frequent patches of bold violets. Nonetheless he felt as though winter still kept an icy hold on him. Stepping carefully over thick, tangled roots that dared to trip him, Jake reflected on when he actually spent real time with Danny for the first time, during their Christmas party. 

He’d been drunk, of course, and it had been apparent that Danny had been drunk as well. And when they’d encountered each other in the house, with Danny free of Sam and Jake free of Josh and anyone else, his heart had skipped quick and steady in his chest. It had been an opportunity, but Jake had been wise and kind enough to not take what he wanted then, not anything close. Back then, he hadn’t even been sure Danny was a vampire–there still wasn’t enough to point to that. Just that Danny was a bit of a recluse at times, as Jake was too–quiet, reserved, observant. But Danny had a fire beneath the surface that could compliment Sam’s own wildness. It was no wonder they were immediately attracted to one another.

But Jake had been immediately attracted to Danny too. How could he not be? The gentle, subdued and methodical parts of Danny bewitched Jake in how significantly they resonated with him, and the fire beneath the surface only drew him in further. The depth of Danny’s mystery was alluring in and of itself but, on the literal surface, physically, Danny was just plain alluring as a whole. Dark and handsome in his own wild way, with those piercing eyes and uniquely crafted face; tall and just the right amount of strong, all long-limbed, able to carry himself in a way Jake never could. Jake had never seen anyone who looked like Danny, never heard anyone who talked like him, laughed like him–Danny had been all on his own in the world until Sam, that lucky Sam, had found his way into his universe. 

Another thing that really hurt, Jake thought as the path through the woods led back out into open sky and around a small pond where ducks idled and frogs croaked, is that he was sure that even if he’d gotten to Danny first, Danny would have ended up with Sam anyway. Danny just didn’t feel the same about him. He’d heard Sam use the word “soulmate” more than once in reference to Danny, a word Jake had pondered so many times in his life but never said about anyone else. He envied that alone, that experience, and now he was worried he was going to become too bitter to have that with anyone else. 

Not that Jake could currently picture having that with anyone. He really couldn’t. All he could see was Danny, the person he wanted so desperately and could never have, and not being able to have him probably made the desperation worse. Would it really be any better even if, for some reason, Sam and Danny both agreed that Danny could indulge himself with Jake one time? Just to see what it’s really like? Or would that too make Jake’s feeling more visceral, more painful?

Right now, Jake concluded that that was a risk he was willing to take if ever he got the opportunity. But he knew that it would never come. 

Just as he was lingering in front of the pond, considering sitting himself down atop one of those flat-topped rocks along the edge and watching the ducks and waiting for frogs, the image of Danny drawing Sam into his lap and bringing his mouth to his neck assaulted his mind. He scoffed out loud into the air and began walking again, faster now, horrified. He didn’t want to think about his brother with Danny; he didn’t want to think about anyone with Danny, but that image was there, and more kept coming as he passed by reeds and cattails, now sweating from the early evening sun and his own aggravation. 

What was Danny actually like, intimately? Did he say sweet things? Did he caress lovingly or did he pull and push? Instead of beckoning gently, did he grab demandingly? Was he mindful of his sharp canines when he kissed or did he bite freely, playfully? Did all the fire beneath the surface, the animalistic side that every man and certainly every vampire had, break free when the lights were off and he was consuming another person? 

Jake could only imagine, and he’d imagined hundreds of times since meeting Danny. Above all else, no matter how Danny and Sam both attempted to demean the vampire status, Jake couldn’t imagine being with Danny as even slightly ordinary. 

Skirting the pond’s edge, occasionally glancing from the trail beneath his feet to the water to look for fish and frogs, the air felt warmer again as Jake’s journey led him west into the sun that was beginning to set. How long until this “crush” passed, until this fascination ended? Or would it be a long journey of its own making, one of emotional torment and the dissolution of brotherhood and friendship? He couldn’t handle that. Besides, Josh would never accept their group being irreparably damaged–if only Josh could break the spell himself somehow. If only anyone could, Jake thought, because he wasn’t sure how to do it himself and Danny couldn’t either if his mere existence created that spell. 

When he returned home, Sam was actually there too. Jake found him in his bedroom, gathering more clothes to bring to Danny’s, and Jake leaned in the doorway, nervous energy bubbling up inside himself once more. Sam’s fury was no joke. He’d faced it many times over their lives together. Not that Jake was always a peach either, but age had mellowed him out to an extent, whereas Sam’s inner flames seemed forever ignited. 

Risky as it was, Jake invited himself to sit down on Sam’s bed. “Sam. Can we talk?” 

Sam turned to look at him, though Jake knew his presence had been noted moments before the acknowledgement. “About what?”

“I don’t want you to feel like you can’t be home. Like you can’t even be around me,” Jake said, actually vocalizing that thought that made the ache in his chest worse. “We’re brothers.”

“Jake,” Sam said, then sighed as he stuffed a pair of shorts into a duffel bag. “I didn’t even talk to Danny for almost a week. We’re just making up for lost time.”

Two things could be true at once, but all Jake said was, “Okay.” He watched Sam pack away a few more pieces of clothing in tense silence, then his brother suddenly slammed the open drawer of his dresser shut and whirled back around to stare Jake down.

“What did you think you were doing with him really, Jake?” Sam asked, his eyes furious, dangerous. “Keeping it all quiet so you could make a move on him? You’d really betray me like that?”

“No!” Jake quickly protested, raising his hands as if to ward off incoming blows, but Sam stayed where he was, which was somehow more threatening. “I never planned to do that. I never even seriously thought about making a move or anything–”

Sam’s jaw visibly tightened before he said, “But you did think about it.”

Jake felt like a child in grave trouble, not the older brother in this situation. “I couldn’t help it,” he said quietly, averting his eyes. “No one can help thinking about that, Sam.”

Sam scoffed so harshly that it sort of felt like a slap to Jake’s face. “Okay, well, talking about this only makes me more fucking mad at you, Jake. So why don’t we just stop?”

“We have to talk about it. We have to repair things–”

“No, we don’t have to! My anger had mostly fucked off until you brought it up just now,” Sam said, looking as though it was difficult for him to keep himself from actually wailing on Jake. “You think I want a reminder that you, my own brother, wants to fuck my boyfriend? That you kept a secret from me because you had some fucking agenda? I just wanna fucking forget about it.”

Jake swallowed, his throat dry and tight. “But you can’t just ignore me. You can’t ignore that Danny and I are friends either.”

Sam let out a mocking laugh. “Good luck with that.” He shoved Jake’s shoulder with one hand. “Now get the fuck out of my room.”

Jake wanted to fight back. But he felt he had no real right to and it would be futile anyway–Sam’s wrath was nothing to mess with and not easily challenged even in the most advantageous circumstances, and right now, Jake had no leg to stand on. So he did what he was told, skulking out of Sam’s room like a wounded animal.

Josh only approached him again after Sam was gone, the front door of the house slamming and announcing his departure. He met Jake out back, on the deck where so many words had been exchanged between Jake and Danny, and said, “He just needs some more time then. It’ll be alright, Jake.”

“He hates me,” Jake said, slumping back in the deck chair, not even getting high or smoking a cigarette or drinking. He’d just been looking up at the stars, thinking even more about Danny than his current familial crisis, which prompted him to add, “He has every right to hate me.”

---

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[tl-os]

There was a well-worn path in the kitchen floor leading from the sink to the refrigerator where she used to pace every morning before she walked out the door to school. There was a well-worn path from her bed to her parents’ bedroom where she stood in the doorway calling, “Mother! Mother!” in the middle of the night. And there was a well-worn path from the tall hedges outside her bedroom window which anybody, any stranger (she, herself, was she a stranger?) could squeeze through and walk catty-corner from one end of the backyard (A backyard. And a backyard implies boundaries, implies security, does it not?) to the other and then, past the avocado tree, past the big wooden spools and the statue of Rebecca, past the swampy pond, just to the point where if you look left you’ll see the lagoon and skyline full of beautiful homes. Look right and you’ll find the trailhead that led to the quarry where the children ran wild all day in the hot sunshine, out in the desert that should have been five or six hundred miles away. By the old hotel where they found that girl stabbed to death in that bloody room.

But the well-worn path, I mean. The one I am talking about. It is the one that makes a circuit inside the house. There is no start or finish for the house is a perfect oval. Like a track she glides along, pausing to check the windows because she knows he is out there in the black night. Because she has been taught that he is the Predator and she is Prey and it is only a matter of time.

[cchapsticck]

This is so belated but Happy Birthday @bettiebloodshed! They gave me a prompt a while back and and I wanted it to be for your birthday birthday but. You know how I get.

---

It was funny before; when the cult leader allegations were more of an implication than an outright condemnation, and then, honestly, it was kind of funny after when he was Actually The Prince Of Darkness Apparently that he was born on the longest day of the year. Prince of Darkness born on the day with the least amount of darkness. 

Amazing. 

Failing upward since birth. 

Anyway, that said, he spends his first birthday as the undead under too much daylight still laid up Good Samaritan Bloomington, still sticky with skin grafts and trying not to itch at his stitches - both hands being once again available for his use - mourning the partial loss of at least 3 of his tattoos, bored out of his mind, and a kind of miserable that he’s still not sure he’s managed to scrub off him yet. 

Wayne kept making those drives up to Bloomington like he wasn’t missing shifts on the regular and running his sick time into the red but Wayne still comes that June, when he’s finally out of his fun little coma, like they’re gonna do anything. Like he can stand and support his own weight for more than minutes at a time, like he’s still not bleeding into his bedsheets now that he’s moving around at all. 

But he does, doesn’t say that’s why. Wayne’s not necessarily a festive guy but it’s not that he doesn’t care a whole hell of a lot so he shows up and they both know why and they don’t say much about that. Feels a little fragile. Made it another year but like. Just fuckin’ barely, asshole. 

So All That Shit is still a little too close to feel like doing much beyond watching daytime soaps on the pink wavy picture’d 10” TV bolted to the wall, eating saltless hospital cafeteria food in irregular silence. Wayne sneaks him a shitty black coffee that makes him feel like there are knives in his guts an hour later from the machine in the lounge but it definitely feels worth lying to the nurse later, and brings him one of his books from the house that survived the collapse. He doesn’t look at which one. Not sure he can stand it, knowing where it came from.

It's not awful, all things considered. 

When he was a kid, living with Wayne, he wasn’t so much a birthday guy. Didn’t have a lot of friends growing up, too weirdkid for that. And the date of note being in the armpit of June and the window unit AC at the trailer doing its damndest at doing not much at all making the house inhospitable for human life even on full blast - even if he had the friends to make a whole typical thing of it he wasn’t so much in the position to host. (Story of his adult life too honestly ha ha fucking ha) Not unless anyone cared to deal with a not insignificant selection of sweaty pre-teens in the already a little cramped for two single wide for a few hours at a time - and having now experienced that in, at least, an adjacent capacity since being released from the hospital and various criminal investigations he wouldn’t retroactively wish that on Wayne. 

Anyway he’s never been much of an outside cat but Wayne used to take him out to Yellowood or Hoosier or Interlake just to get out of the house and they’d get up to what the fuck ever. He’d hop out of Wayne’s old Chevy, roll his ankle in the gravel parking lot at a trailhead tripping over his own ass running full tilt out of there and just. Release the beast. 

Honestly it was probably like letting the dog run around the yard off leash until it tires itself out, for Wayne. Only with like. A 13 year old human. 

He’d jump in weed tangled, freezing cold lakes too murky to see the bottom of, he’d get bit to shit by mosquitos running through long grass with burrs all stuck in his socks and shoelaces, waste a shitload of bait sitting on a bulwark at a reservoir while Wayne fished and he threw hotdog chunks at turtles. 

They’d drive back just as the sun starts to go down, stop at whatever roadside diner they find first on the surface roads eat burgers and undercooked, limp, fries and whatever desert special the place has - places like those always have one - while Eddie would rip the paper napkins and straw wrappers into little shreds and dumping 6 little plastic containers of creamer and however many packets of sugar he could pinch between his fingers from the cramped little dish on the table into his essentially white, by that point, annual cup of coffee (as his stimulants problem started early, apparently) while he’d tell Wayne about whatever book he was reading at great incoherent length and Wayne smoked in the corner booth. Always a corner booth. Get back for Forest Hills after dark, his adolescent ass valiantly trying to fight off sleep out on the porch with the fireflies and crickets and Wayne’s last silent cigarette of the night. That was just. Kind of always how it went for them. Just him and Wayne and another year.  

So Steve doesn’t know any of this, so far as he knows. 

But Steve’s wailing on the goddam horn out front at the unholiest hour of 7am and he’s just standing on his stoop and gives him the universal arms out stretched what the fuck, people live here jackass look and Steve just gives a him winning smile and the finger out the open driver’s side window. 

Fucker. 

He’s got nowhere to be and no one to notice if he’s gone and Steve didn’t say what they were doing, just that it was gonna be a long drive and he was picking him up early. 

And it's not, like, Steve doesn’t know. Like he knows what day it is. He knows what this is about. 

And it's cute and all, whatever it is, he just figured he wouldn’t be 22 and not-dead and doing this kind of shit. Like the cutsey-surprise-make a day of it-whatever. Like there’s diminishing returns with getting older and the days that denote it - old enough to drive, old enough to die in a war, old enough to vote, old enough to drink, end of list, exciting birthdays over - not that he’s got a lot of room to talk re: time spent maturely, considering his hobbies largely consisting of a very elaborate game of pretend but like you grow out of this particular kind of thing eventually, right? Just like, one day you’re gonna stop feeling no different than you did when you were 17, right? Like some threshold of adulthood achieved surely exists, and there’s some point when you know you’ve crossed it? 

Right?

But Steve’s got a plan and he’s not really the greatest at keeping things to himself, transparent and careless to a very measurable fault, as evidenced by the paper grocery bag sitting on the floor of the passenger side. Top wide open, something soft and pale wadded up in there barely obscuring six of something else, and Steve sort of hurriedly going, like, shit don’t look in the bag once he negotiates his legs around the obstacle on the floor of Steve’s car. 

And, like, sure, he’s kind of a dick before the hour of 11 am but he has at least a shred of a capacity for restraint so he just rolls his eyes a little and shoves the bag further up the floor under the dashboard and something glass clinks together in there and keeps his shittier thoughts to himself about how precisely bad Steve is at his little birthday subterfuge since Steve’s bothered to even like. Give a shit. 

“So is this an official kidnapping or do I get to know where we’re going?”

“This is, at best, a consensual kidnapping.” Steve says, a little distracted, arm around the back of Eddie’s seat fingers kind of tapping against the leather headrest as he waits, the heat of his wrist inches from Eddie neck, absolutely blistering with proximity - twisted at the waist to look out the back windshield as he backs out of the little square of gravel out front of the trailer and he tries not to feel like a giggling maniac about it. Like, he’s never had a deep well of dignity but Christ Almighty. 

Steve throws the BMW into drive with a fully unnecessary flourish, car kinda clunks into gear with the lack of finesse in the showmanship of it all, and Steve kinda swings around to look at him all excited about fuckin’ something, arm still behind the passenger headrest. “And no.”

He’s so fuckin’ smug. Actually, y’know what? Actually, fuck this guy. He doesn’t really love having shit held over his head and Steve thinks this is really cute and Eddie’s not gonna let him just have that for free, even if it's been exactly whatever this is for months now. Him and Steve and their weird flirting to cope they’ve been doing now that the life or death adrenaline has worn off. 

He can fuck all the way off at 7 in the goddamn morning so he just digs through Steve’s glove box through the like - fuck, only like 3 tapes in there, what the fuck. Born to Run. Rumors. And huh. Parallel Lines. 

Smart money’s that’s Buckley’s. 

“Looking for something?” Steve asks all conversationally, not really looking at whatever state he’s making of the glove compartment as he turns on to 69 North. 

“Yeah, music.” because he’s gotta be a dick about something.

“Okay. No? Shotgun does not pick the music?” He is appalled, his sensibilities assailed, his most holiest of held beliefs blasphemed. “Who raised you?”

Eddie flips the compartment closed, it catches with an instant and satisfying click. Not like his van. His van, his shitheap van. You kind of have to slam it closed a couple times, hard enough until it sticks. Which is an arbitrary number of slams. Just until it goes. For a split second he feels like Steve’s showing off then he reminds himself he’s insane. 

“Not the wolves that raised you, apparently.” Steve laughs, it's dry and it’s skeptical, but he laughs “Shotgun absolutely picks the music. Shotgun is Sentinel, man. Shotgun’s watching traffic, shotgun’s calling out shit in the road, shotgun is distraction proof. Shotgun’s Navigator, shotgun knows the exits, shotgun’s on the maps, shotgun is destination oriented. Shotgun is getting us there. Shotgun is the Gatekeeper, shotgun is keeping the driver free of distraction, shotgun is running interference from the backseat fuckery. Shotgun is indispensable. Shotgun is doing so much for you, the least they can have is a pick of the fuckin’ music, man.”

“Yeah but I’m driving.” it comes out of Steve all unimpressed and that’s final and also obvious but also Steve’s just fucking laughing at him now, and honestly he can’t imagine why. Not a joke. 

“Steven, they let 16 year olds drive cars, whose responsibility is really greater here?” and to punctuate the moment he jams Rumors right into the deck. Like checkmate. The defense rests. Take that.

Guess it wasn’t rewound before it got tossed into the compartment because it picks up in the middle of Songbird, Christine McVie and the softest-soft rock piano so sweetly proclaiming some avian conspiracy that:

Like they know the score And I love you, I love you, I love you

And that sort of hangs weirdly in the sudden silence of the cab because Steve’s not laughing anymore he’s just biting his lip looking straight ahead into the Sunday morning church traffic because he’s maybe embarrassed, maybe being caught out at some arbitrary point in the album, like it's anything more than a coincidence, or its shock that Eddie’s considers this music at all. 

He could make up less and less plausible expositions for the look on Steve’s face all goddamn day but instead he just pulls and pushes the door lock up and down like a clunky loud asshole until The Chain saves them both from themselves and whatever emotional complication Fleetwood Mac committed to audio engineered eternity.

He hums along a bit (metal gods may ye be merciful upon his hellbound soul but, like. C’mon) punctuated by idle stunted small talk (how’s Wayne doing? - fine - how’s running your dork game again going? - clandestinely organized in various local basements but also fine) until he ends up falling asleep with his head against the window for the better part of the ride. It is, after all, well outside his personal hours of operation. The fact that he’s made it even this long is commendable. Everyone clap.

For the better part of the drive and despite his whole manifesto on the responsibilities of shotgun, apparently, Steve doesn’t wake him up, just lets him sleep and subsequently wake up on his own with a cramp in his neck, shoved down low into the passenger side with a numb hand shoved between the seat and the door, and the vibration of the wheels against pavement resonating in his teeth. So, whatever little surprise Steve’s got that takes 4 hours to drive to gets to remain a surprise after all because he wakes up disoriented and sore and all there is to see out the window is the high noon sunshine through some green trees surrounding some rumbly, chewed up, lineless, backroad and The Carpenters playing low on the radio. 

“What part of the kidnapping are we on?” He manages to get out, his tongue thick in his mouth and his skull still vibrating minutely off the window, after indulging in seconds of being unseen, unnoticed, to just watch Steve look to the road ahead, restlessly fidgeting with the stitching on the wheel. Exactly where he left him.

Steve flashes him a look - quick - to him and then back to the road - like he hadn’t expected him to be awake so soon. Like he’s been checking in and just missed. Like maybe he’s surprised, or he was caught out at. Something.

“Dismemberment.” Is what he says instead of whatever soft thing seemed to be behind his teeth. 

Eddie hums at him, still a little groggy. Cool. 

“Oh you can just, uh, cut on the dotted lines.” he says, shoving himself up the seat a bit, kicking whatever is glass and clinking at his feet with a mumbled shit as he gestures towards his chest and sides, vaguely. “Pre-portioned.”

“Or you could just ask ‘Are we there yet?’ like a regular person.” Like Steve didn’t just commit to the bit, like, instantly. 

But anyway, he absolutely will not be doing that.

“Thought I’d spare you the flashbacks - afternoon amongst peers and all.”

“Gee thanks.”  

“Don’t mention it.”

Steve snorts, smiles a little, looking straight ahead to the raggedy backroad while Eddie’s still kind of crammed between the shoulder of the seat and the passenger door. Steve’s sunglasses are pushed up on top of his head, the front of his hair sticking up in all directions over and under the frames, brushing against the upholstered headliner of the BMW.  It’s not cute. 

He’s so fucking fucked.

“I won’t.” 

Shithead.

So eventually they park, they get out of the car, and Steve’s looking at him expectantly, presentationally, like he’s supposed to know what he’s looking at. And what he’s looking at is mostly the sand logged scrubby low reeds edging the cracked, sun warped asphalt he’s parked on. He snatches Steve’s coolguy wayfarers off his head, in part to spare himself his ongoing private humiliation of whatever’s going on in his chest and brain watching Steve squint into the sunlight and, in similar not unrelated part, to spare himself from the reflection off all the sand blasting his eyes into little shrunken raisins. 

Steve doesn’t even fight him. Doesn’t even bitch at him a little. Just pulls the bag out off the passenger side floor, didn’t even ask him to grab it when he got out - circled the car to pick it up like he was going to get the door for him. Like he forgot who he was with for a minute. And the something-glass clinks together again in the bag. It's bright. The sound. The sun. Whatever. Something inside him cracks a little. 

There’s a path that goes down, a steep decline that seems to just drop off into nothing from where he stands. Grey bleached wood slats with sand and tufts of spiky grass oozing up between the boards and pooled in the knotholes and Steve kind of gives him an after you kind of hand/arm gesture like there’s something just waiting for him just out of sight.

And there is. Sort of. In the way that it would have been there whether they were standing at the crest of this hill or not is waiting for anything. Something he sort of guessed at. Had enough of the information to guess at. 

He has this kind of puzzle pieced memory of being in elementary school, like third or fourth grade - the pre-Wayne times - and there was this whole week or month or whatever of lessons that were just kind of about the place they were, the place they were all growing up. And y’know, it’s like, industry and shit, its invention and innovation. Gary, Chicago, Dearborn. Capitalists’ wet dreams sold to third graders. And the rest of it was lakes, like why wouldn’t it be? What else is there? 

Some of it was industry, again, things ingenuity learned to make on the lake and the feats of it. Some of it was science, how cold, how deep, how old. Some of it was spooky shit, ghost ships and storms and whatever Gordon Lightfoot had going on about lakes that don’t give up their dead. But he remembers a story - because of course that’s the part that stuck with him - a story that isn’t really his to tell about loss and love and weathering the storm of grief and the passage of time to wait forever that made the dunes. 

And it kind of does. Have a kind of forever, that is, and a going on forever. The lake is there, a steep slope from where they stand at the crumbling edge of the asphalt down right into the water but the reedy clumps of greenery get fewer and farther between and every direction he looks up that lakeshore edge is rolling hills with sharp and soft edges, millions of years of grains of sand and the sun beating down. 

There are a few people up the beach, sliding down the hills of sand, standing in the surf, digging around in the muck for sea glass or shells or beach garbage or who knows - not close enough to make out any kind of meaningful detail. And so they are, for the most part, alone. And the sun beats down on them and the sand and the lake the same. 

He skids down the dune, shoes filling with sand as he tries to look like he’s any kind of control over the descent. Like all present parties don’t have a pretty good grasp on exactly what control looks like to him in various applications. Not like Steve and his casual confidence he just gets to, like. Have. Apparently. 

Steve whose ex swim team lifeguard years never really seemed all that distant - in surprising and nightmareish contexts the last few years; how strong a swimmer are you? bottom of a lake strong enough? not sure if he remembered how hard it really is to administer CPR but apparently it came back to him, if his own bruised ribs were any indication. 

Anyway he does eat shit about two thirds the way down, ass right into the sand and skids a few feet down, and he’s never been so glad to be one of those jeans all summer morons because his shoes are flooded and tight around his feet with the sand pouring in and he knows he’d be in a similar situation elsewhere less dignified were it not for the barrier and he’s suffered enough indignity in the last 27 seconds, thanks. 

And also anyway Steve holds a hand out to him, one foot braced up the hill to keep balance, the brown paper bag from the car balanced on his hip, where the bare, soft, skin above the inside of his knee is right near Eddie’s shoulder and he isn’t even looking, he’s looking out to the lake but he knows - knows it's not the embarrassment that’s making his face burn. He knows. 

“Seems like the kidnapping is going great, like, congrats man, I’ll break my legs on my own at this rate.” 

And Steve gives him this amused look with his outstretched hand that for sure isn’t denial or anything resembling dismissing any of the embarrassment he might be feeling about the situation. The fall. The proximity. Whichever. 

Sometimes he thinks Steve likes watching him squirm. It's not like he’s ever been like. Subtle. About anything. At any point in his life but probably about this specifically. So even if Steve’s entirely clueless, it's at least, apparently, fun for him. Something about it. It, whatever this is. Whatever it's been since he came back to life and they don’t talk about.

Anyway he takes Steve’s hand and it’s warm and it's broad and he already knew that because he’s thought a lot about it. 

He wins the remaining battle with gravity and momentum and sits to dump his shoes off and see if there’s any saving his socks from grit filled sensory nightmares in a few hours time and he’s pretty sure he’s already out of luck there with even the most cursory of assessments while Steve digs this white folded thing out of the paper bag. And as he sort of shakes it out he sees its scalloped edges, the eyelet delicately embroidered around the edges, the yellowing cream color of it all, and it occurs to him this is a tablecloth. An old one. 

Steve seems to notice that he’s sort of taken stock of what Steve’s laying out and how, if one were so inclined to take a lot of Steve Harrington at face value, it almost looks like his affluent upbringing has him so out of touch that these are the choices he made with confidence about beachside protocol so he clears the air with a;

“Biggest thing I could find in the house.” 

“Seems uh. Heirloom adjacent.”

Steve just shrugs and rolls his eyes. Like that means anything at all. 

There was a time he could, and maybe still can sort of, imagine Steve in one of those white pristine lake houses. The kind people go Up North for, the sweaters over shoulders, shoes without socks kind, catama-whatever sailboat-with-extra-steps dickheads. The country club Cape Cod wannabes of Midwestern lakefront property. The places that aren’t here. 

People don’t really live in the dunes, sand too high and malleable to put foundations down. Millions of years of shifting pushed out anything beyond the temporary, everything but themselves. And he thinks that, remembers that thought, and then has it instantly obliterated while Steve lays out what is almost certainly an antique that holds value to fuckin’ someone, digs the corners in with his bare feet - can’t even be bothered to treat it gently or with anything resembling differential respect - so he doesn’t get sand in his asscrack and just rolls his eyes about it.

Huh.

Steve reaches for the bag, something glass clinks together again, and he pulls something out, kind of clutched in his fist and because Eddie’s still mostly preoccupied with his socks because if he looks directly at Steve he might as well be looking directly at the sun he doesn’t really see Steve coming, hitting him in the arm with something solid but inconsequentially heavy. 

He looks up.

It's some trashy dimestore pulp paperback. Second hand. The cover sort of water warped and still damp from the company it’s been keeping in the paper bag. The binding is cracked and creased whited out on the edges where the printing has worn thin, pages yellowed and dogeared. The cover art is in that overly sexed painterly style meant to appeal to a very particular audience that he doesn’t as neatly fit into as one might assume. Devices of Archeron in yellowed white text across the top in some curly serif font meant to denote the medieval-adjacent legitimacy of whatever fantasy schlock is contained between its covers. 

It’s got these swirling green clouds revealing the shape of black eyes and a skeletal void of a nose, that yellowgreen lighting shoots through like a scar behind where, in the foreground, the overly muscular ostensibly sweaty looking one-would-assume hero of the novel stands. Feet apart, shoulder width, standing in power, dark shoulder length hair blown to one side in a presumed illustrative invisible breeze. Spear and shield in hand as he looks into the far distance off the cover into the realm of reality.

“It's not much, but it reminded me of you.” Steve says softly with no amount of shame. Like saying it out loud is embarrassing enough. Like thinking of him at all is embarrassing. Which it probably objectively is and Steve’s done it anyway and there’s physical proof now.

His skin feels all tight and tingly and he knows it’s not just the sunburn he definitely has. 

But it's funny that Steve says it isn’t much. Like he hadn’t driven for 4 hours while Eddie slept against the window, like he hadn’t made the trip, like he isn’t prepared to spend a whole 17 hours in his company because he had the time or made the time, like that alone isn’t anything and this little bargain bin find is the only something Steve has to offer. 

Fucking.

Fuck.

“I thought about, like, drawing a bandana on it but I can’t draw for shit so…” is what Steve says when Eddie realizes he hasn’t said dick or shit for way too long and this is actually Steve’s nerves talking.

“Shit, man.” is what Eddie says which is actually his own nerves talking. “Fuck, thanks.” 

“It probably sucks.” is what Steve says, not that he’s necessarily a connoisseur of the genre, but he’s also probably not wrong. 

“Here’s hoping!” and he actually means it. 

There’s no shade, not until the sun goes down and the dunes are behind them and the lake in front and the sun still rises in the east. So that’s just a geopositional loss for them. The longest day of the year in broad, cloudless, daylight and Steve pulls still sort of cold gas station sandwiches, fetched while Eddie slept uninterrupted against the window in some parking lot somewhere, apparently, and room temperature beer in the noisy glass bottles. Made the trip all the way from Hawkins for the occasion as the apparent primary concern, their sweaty lack of refrigeration clearly a misstep as Steve kind of grimaces at the soggy, drooping labels. 

And they sit in the sun and he can feel his skin peeling off in the future. It's different from feeling his skin peel off in the past. Having, now, a certain. Uh. Perspective. On that.

Having not been informed of their destination he did not come properly prepared for lakefront activities but dignity has no power here when he’s stripping down to his boxers and making a break for the shallows, sitting in the chilly shallow water - Lake Michigan is never really warm - to escape some of the brutality of the heat even with the sun dipping lower. Cross legged on the sandy bottom, Steve across from him better prepared and opening the beer with his keys, all muscle memory of Cool Guy of yore as he squints into the sun reflected off the lake. Like he’s thinking. 

And what he comes up with is:

“Did we ever. Talk? At school?” 

He knows what he means. He doesn’t mean talk and maybe doesn’t feel good enough or past it enough to call the spade a spade. Like he’s hoping for the best but expecting the worst. It's the growing pains. The getting older and thinking about other versions of yourself and who they were and who they did. Maybe it's just the spirit of the season, for Steve. 

“There he is, there’s old King Steve! This guy thinks I’ve cataloged every interaction I’ve ever had with him.” reaching through the water to snap his knuckles against Steve’s knee. His skin is slick under the water, the hair on his knee rasps against his knuckles and Steve is warm even in the cold water.

And he says it like a joke, because it is, a little. Mostly. Steve chokes on his beer a little, drools down his chin while he mumbles a fuck you through his messy indignity. Almost like Steve had been ready to be properly serious and penitent about whatever answer he was going to come up with and the joke startled the tension out of him. 

Like, he doesn’t actually want Steve to feel like shit about this, to be shamed for a momentary resurgence in self importance, or feel shamed for the answer they already both know, he knows he doesn’t actually mean it like that. 

But, y’know, despite the answer, it's also not a completely insane question to ask. The answer isn’t a hard and fast how the hell should I know. Steve Harrington had, and maybe still has but matters less, a reputation. A Hawkins Institution Of A Certain Age. Like, you could have been disdainful and disinterested as humanly possible - and oh boy he sure did try to hit that particular metric - but the pipeline of gossip and social worth isn’t something you just get to opt out of. Not when Steve Harrington’s got a reputation, and there on the other undesirable end of that particular spectrum is Eddie Munson’s reputation. So like, yeah. They. Interacted. 

Like maybe a little bit in a punching down way, like in an easy target way because that’s how order’s maintained. But mostly in a there is no conceivable common ground way. A way that mostly just had them existing in proximity to each other like two like poles of a magnet constantly shoving each other apart. There is no possible adhesion. Rulers of their own social orders. It is a law of nature. They cannot and will not make contact unless enacted upon by incredible force.

(Fuck.)

He’s got one clear memory of Steve before the identical maimings and end of the world averting, and they don’t talk in it. 

Sold weed to Carol Whats-Her-Ass in the driveway of some suburban house party because she clearly thought flirting might get her a deal over Hagan’s typical noxious personality - like the hair around the finger twirl big blink blink babydoll eyes fake as hell pretty girl attention surely has mileage with the insufferable dork virgin. (He let her think it worked. They always think it works.) Steve was there, looking bored leaning on the same BMW that’s baking in the sun just out of sight, Hagan just hanging off his shoulder, already trashed. And at the end of it Eddie says, all shitty to them “don’t do anything I wouldn’t do” and Carol throws her head back and crows with laughter at the implication, while Hagan gives him the finger over his retreating shoulder and Steve doesn’t say anything at all. 

“We talk now.” is what he says instead of, ultimately, answering Steve’s question.

Steve snorts, unimpressed. Knows he’s been deflected. 

“Sure.” 

“Look. It. Doesn’t really matter, man.” he doesn’t say the now. It dosen’t matter now. 

It's suffocating how All That Shit hangs over everything, colors every way they all interact with each other and the world. And probably will forever. The way they all don’t trust any of it, that nothing can possibly be the way they remember when all of their memories up to that point of particular damnation were always incomplete. Just a corner of a whole picture. And the frame’s all zoomed out now. Too far, honestly. He’ll look at a lake and he’ll always see, at least a little bit, a crumpled body crashing through the blackened surface and feel the pressure of water on his ears swimming towards something he doesn’t understand but knows now is death in his mindseye. And it's not all that hard to see that Steve’s made whatever version of that is true for him into a whole redemption road trip he’s put himself on. He’s started to see it a lot, how Steve’s always apologizing for something, even when he isn’t saying sorry. It's with Wheeler, it's with Byers, it's with Mad Max, it's with Robin and now, sometimes - it's him too. 

And it's always like, things are okay, Steve’s doing okay he’s like. Happy or having a good time or something and he’ll realize it - aware that life goes on even when it shouldn’t - and then need to twist that little knife he’s left in himself. Bring it all back. All this shit he hasn’t let go of. Like he can’t trust it's all over. So, he feels like now, with the sun beating down on them in a moment of ostensible celebration, that he has something to apologize for.

“I think I remember hearing about you more than I remember you.” Steve says, like he’s still got a few bones to pick with this dead horse but then he’ll be on his way. “Which is weird…” and like, y’know, the joke tells itself. Weird that I didn’t remember you then, what with how loud and annoying you are just like everyone’s said. Weird that I didn’t remember you when you were such an unrepentant unhumbled jackass. Weird that I didn’t remember you when I would watch you die later. “…’cause I don’t really remember anything anyone ever said about you either.”

And it's not over, not for him anyway. The shit Steve’s talking about but not saying. Maybe the supernatural and unexplained aren’t opening rifts through his late stage childhood home anymore but he’s still not well liked by the town he can’t leave. He was one thing to a nebulous Them for a long time, and that was a thing he was used to being - embraced being, if he’s honest with himself, which he hasn’t loved being lately but alas. 

But this new thing is worse. It's not something he wants, but it's not something he has any power to refuse. 

Long story short, skipping the pity party part (which he would be entitled to, honestly, it's his party and he can - quote - be a miserable little piece of shit if he wants to); people have always said things about him, had their opinions, and maybe it's worse now, but it's always been pretty much the same. 

“Well then let me fill you in: I’m bad news. Headline bad news.”

“Sure, but I like you.” 

Sure, like he agrees. But, like it doesn’t matter. 

He fucking cackles. Spooks some seagulls loitering around for the hope of leftovers tossed their way. 

“How unfortunate for you.”

“Not really.” he doesn’t even hesitate.

And he can’t take this, he can’t even try. What’s he gonna do? Smile right in Steve’s face about it? Blush? Look fucking touched? Fuck right off. So instead of anything productive or honest he just bolts. He flops backwards, bare back and upper shoulders making a cold, stinging, slap against the softly rolling waves in their little kiddy pool area of the lake. Pushes the air out of his lungs and sinks slowly to the bottom, but he keeps his eyes open, even though the sand he kicked up from his histrionics clouds the water hanging just inches above his upturned face. He can see the sun, an abstract and constantly moving yellowwhite and the little wrinkles the shape of it. Can see his hair floating in front of his face just as his chest starts to burn from keeping his gut and his lungs sucked in. 

And like. He knows. He knows how close Steve’s knees are to his own, he knows that Steve’s probably leaning forward to look down at Eddie’s retreat - he can feel the cold hover of his shadow over his chest even if he can’t see Steve from his perspective from across their little aquatic embarrassment buffer. 

He knows if he sits up exactly where he will be and exactly where Steve will be and his eyes are starting to sting from the sand in the water and his heart is starting to seize from the lack of oxygen and he’s died and wanted to be dead again and he’s been patched back together with foreign parts and he’s lasted another year past his expiration date and he just keeps coming back to the lake - any lake - and maybe that’s a sign, maybe that says something about something but there are little black floaters in his vision now and he knows that Steve’s always been exactly where he expects him, in his memories where they don’t talk exactly where he expects him, standing at the end of the world shoulder to shoulder exactly where he expects him, sitting in his car outside his uncle’s trailer just like he said he would be, leaning over him at the cold bottom of the lake maybe exactly where he expects him and his ears are ringing and he flings himself upright. 

There’s air, cold, and flooding back into his collapsing lungs and there’s water in his ears and his hair clings to his face, his neck, like the weeds they’ve been brushing away as they float to shore in the waves and with his hands outstretched like Karloff off the slab, like the Creature from the lagoon and his hands find Steve right where he knew he would be, his hands find his hair and his mouth finds his skin warm and dry from the sun and the sand when misses a little because he’s dizzy and maybe that’s the lack of air or maybe it’s exactly this now. 

Steve lets out this, soft, indignant grunt. Which, even in the euphoria of oxygen returning to his brain he has the brainwaves to concede that he’s earned that. His vision is swimming and he feels wrung out and boneless and he feels Steve’s teeth against his closed mouth - he’s smiling, he realizes in a daze. Smiling against his closed lips. Steve’s hand finds his wet tangled hair, sightlessly, plastered to his cheeks and neck with the cold lake water - drags them away with a firm press of his blunt fingers against his cheek, through stubble and scar tissue to clear the way, pushes his chin up into him instead, noses the juncture of his cheek and presses an open mouthed kiss to his jaw. Eddie shivers.

He’s never been to the ocean before, never really been farther than a state or two in either direction, and despite the fact that The Lakes fall within that geographical range he somehow hasn’t done this either. So he’s got nothing to compare it to necessarily but there is something arresting about something so big. 

He has seen and looked into a hellish forever. Red skies and ashen rain and a ruination that stretches for all of reality. The water here stretches to the horizon, a grey blue and points of light out to a cloudless sun bright sky. There is color here. There is green water and lavender sky and yellow sand and an orange sun and Steve’s pink mouth and another year in full color. 

[slippinmickeys]

Three Part Harmony (5/?)

They only found the place by chance, passing it on a county road about 40 minutes outside of Boise. The house on the property was a double-wide on maybe five acres, and it was fairly well taken care of — it had a graying brush pile and an old hoop house with a torn roof — but there were flower boxes in the windows with flourishing geraniums, and Mulder had made a good point about the cars.

“How do you know any of them even run?” Scully asked, warily eying three vehicles in the yard that had For Sale signs in the windows.

“Because there’s no grass growing under any of them,” Mulder pointed out, and he was right. Each of the three cars — a black late 80’s TransAm, a truck only few years younger than the one they were driving, and an early 90’s black Grand Prix — were parked on the lawn (lawn was a generous term, being made up of mainly field grasses and weeds) near the road and the grass under each one was the same length as the rest of the yard, freshly shorn in neat rows no more than a week ago.

“The Grand Prix, do you think?” Scully asked as they drove by a second time, this time slowing marginally to get a better look.

“That was my thought, yeah,” Mulder said, lowering his head to see out Scully’s window.

“It’s going to be a pain, getting him in and out of a car seat in a coupe,” Scully pointed out.

“It’ll also be a lot harder to see him,” Mulder answered, finally pressing the gas and rumbling further down the road.

A mile on, he pulled into a river access site with a small empty parking lot and a mint green porta potty. About forty feet from the lot, past some trampled down grass and a sign that marked a trailhead, was a graying picnic table set up under the lofty pine to which it was chained. Mulder nodded in its direction.

“I’m thinking I should probably go alone,” he said, throwing the truck into park, but letting the engine idle. “You guys can hang out here?”

Scully looked out the window of the truck. The rain had stopped, but the weather was still overcast, and it was nearing nightfall. She had changed William into a dry diaper and some of the clothes that Mulder had picked up, but it was October in the mountains.

“Looks chilly out there,” she said.

When they’d left for the Van De Kamp farm that morning, it had only been for the day. That quick drive-by and an hour or so of casing the place. They’d left everything they owned – an admittedly meager collection – back in the room they rented over the diner where Scully waited tables. She’d only worn a light jacket that morning and had no other clothes. Let alone warmer things for the baby.

“Stay in the truck then,” Mulder said, “I’ll walk.” He leaned forward to aim one of the air vents in the dash at her. The warmth it eked out was meager at best and tinged with the sharp scent of burning oil. In her lap, William was getting bored and trying to stand, his footing awkward on the springy vinyl seat.

“Okay,” she said, holding out a hand behind the baby as he pulled himself up by the seatback to look out the flat rear window.

Mulder gave her a reassuring smile. “I’ll be back with new wheels,” he said, and leaned forward to press a quick kiss to her cheek. Then, after a slight hesitation, he leaned toward the baby and pressed a kiss to the top of William’s felty head. The driver’s side door opened with a creak and he rolled out as a cool piney breeze rolled in. The door closed and he was gone, trotting down the small turnout before disappearing behind the trees that lined the road.

“Dah,” William said, watching him go.

Scully brightened somewhat.

“That’s right, William, that’s Dada.”

Several looks came over William’s face at the same moment. Confusion, perhaps a look of exhaustion, and then, dawning realization.

“Dada?” he said, looking around the cab of the truck. “Dada?” he said with increasing urgency.

Scully immediately realized her error. Though they’d entered a tenuous detente with their child, bringing up probably the only parents that the boy remembered made him remember them. And look for them. And cry for them with rising panic.

“Dada?” he called one last time before succumbing to snotty tears. “Mamaaaa!” The last word was said with a kind of depressed agony. The child had likely seen his adoptive mother killed before his eyes only that morning.

Scully began to make shushing noises, trying to calm him, but he only howled louder, squatting his little froggy legs and then rising up in a fit of agitation. The boy’s face was red and he was having none of the comfort Scully was offering, his crying screams echoing off the old windows of the truck.

She could feel tears prick her own eyes – the stress of the day surging back up, the agony of the last few months without him, her guilt at all he’d had to witness and endure in his brief life.

“Oh baby, I’m so sorry,” she whispered, her words turning into a sharp sob.

If only she’d been able to protect him. If only they weren’t on the run from a myriad of sources all looming with dark intent.

William seemed to lose steam after a few minutes, not exactly calming, but his screams ratcheted down until they were more fussy whines and he dropped down onto his bottom on the bench seat and looked at her with beseeching eyes. She reached forward and brushed away a few of his tears.

If only he knew who she was.

At that moment, she felt a kind of desperation from deep in her chest. This child was hers now. Hers to protect. Hers to raise. Hers to comfort. She looked into his eyes, the feeling inside of her fit to burst. Please remember me , she thought, please . And then William stopped fussing, canted his head to the side and gave her a long look. Scully held her breath.

“Bah mah,” he said, his expression quite serious.

“Bah mah,” she whispered back, and the desperation she felt turned into a warmth that spread through her like a quick shot of whiskey. The little boy in front of her reached up and patted her cheek. She covered his hand with her own and then brought his little palm to her lips and pressed a kiss there. And made him a promise.

Never again.

Xx

Mulder knocked ineffectually at the flimsy screen door to the house. It was made of aluminum and had a screen on only the top half, the scalloped edges bordering the mesh beginning to rust. He was about to unlatch it to knock on the inside door when it was quickly pulled open.

A man stood in the doorway. He was wearing a red t-shirt, stained with any number of things over the belly and was a few inches taller than Mulder. Where Mulder was lean, the man was bulky, carrying most of his weight in his middle, which sagged over the waist of ill-fitting jeans. He looked either angry or mean and grumbled something that Mulder couldn’t make out.

Not one to shy away from a challenge, Mulder still had the urge to simply apologize and walk away, but he instead stood his ground and hooked a thumb at the cars that were marked for sale out by the road.

“I’m interested in buying one of your cars out there,” he said, standing his ground.

The man’s face softened a bit and he grunted, nodding at Mulder so that he stepped off the cement blocks that served as the house’s front steps.

“Which one?” the man asked, coming down the steps with a bit of a limp.

“I was thinking the Pontiac,” Mulder said.

“Which one ?” the man asked, a tinge of impatience in his tone.

“Sorry,” Mulder said. “The Grand Prix. Does it run okay?”

“Runs great,” the man said, and started making his way across the lawn toward the red car. Mulder followed in his wake.

The man said nothing else as he walked and opened the door when he got to the coupe, reaching down to pop the hood. From there he circled around to lift the hood the rest of the way, propping it open with the strut. Mulder joined him in front of the car, both of the men staring at the engine compartment.

The gentleman looked to Mulder expectantly.

Mulder cleared his throat. “I don’t know much about cars,” he admitted.

The man sighed and started pointing. “I rebuilt the engine and the transmission,” he explained. “Tranny didn’t need it yet, but this model’s famous for it conking out. She’ll do one-ten on the highway, easy. Got about sixty thousand miles on her, but her tires are new and so’s her battery. Oil life’s at about eighty percent right now. Driver’s side tail light can be hinky sometimes, but she’ll run for ya.”

“The tail light,” Mulder said, a bit of unease creeping into his voice. “I’m uh, not too keen to get pulled over.”

The man took half a step back to give Mulder a thorough once-over and then held out a hand. “Name’s Ken.”

Mulder reached forward tentatively and shook the man’s hand. His grip was strong and the skin of his palm was rough from years of working with his hands.

“Steve,” Mulder said. Ken pumped his hand once and then released it.

“You give that back fender a pop with your fist before you start her,” with this he made a punching motion with his hand, “and you got nothing to worry about.”

Mulder nodded, thoughtful and maybe a little skeptical.

“That said,” Ken went on, “the police,” he pronounced the word POE-lees, and at the word he spit on the ground with irritated fervor, “try’n pull you over, well… She can outrun ‘em.” He crossed his hands in front of his chest confidently.

Mulder wasn’t entirely sure about the prospect of punching a fender to get the tail light to turn on (or attempting to outrun the poe-lees), but they needed a car so that they could safely transport William. And, at the very least, he was somewhat confident that if any kind of authority tracked them this far and knocked on Ken’s door, the big man would keep his peace.

“How much you want?” Mulder asked.

“Five grand,” Ken said, tilting his head back like he was expecting Mulder to barter.

Mulder reached into his back pocket where he’d pushed seven thousand dollars worth of one hundred dollar bills. “Cash okay?”

“Better’n okay,” Ken said.

Mulder turned slightly away to count out the money. He handed it over, pressing it into Ken’s meaty palm, who rolled it up and shoved it into a front pocket without counting it.

“Keys are in it,” the man said. “Let me get you the pink slip.”

[rabbitcruiser]

Devils Garden, Arches National Park (No. 2)

In the early 1920s, an immigrant prospector from Hungary named Alexander Ringhoffer came across the Klondike Bluffs, a similar area with fins and arches to the west of Salt Valley, which he named Devil's Garden. Ringhoffer contacted officials at the Denver and Rio Grande Western Railroad to determine whether the land could become a tourist attraction. The railroad company realized the lucrative potential of the area and contacted the National Park Service to consider making it a national monument. President Herbert Hoover signed an executive order on April 12, 1929 that created Arches National Monument. The monument originally consisted of two parts: the Windows and Devils Garden, with the latter name being taken from Ringhoffer's name for the Klondike Bluffs, an area not initially included in the park. Arches remained a national monument until 1971 when Congress passed a bill that re-designated it as a national park.

The Devils Garden trailhead and campground are located 18 mi (29 km) from the park's entrance station at the end of the main park road. The trail through the Devils Garden, including the primitive loop section and spurs, has a total length of 7.2 mi (11.6 km). The primary trail to Landscape Arch is a graded gravel path, while the primitive loop trail, which begins and ends at Landscape Arch, is more challenging with steep, sloping surfaces and close proximity to drop-offs. Landscape Arch, with the longest span of any natural arch in North America, is reached after a 0.8 mi (1.3 km) outbound hike, while Tunnel Arch and Pine Tree Arch can be seen on short spur trails located along the trail to Landscape Arch. Several other arches, including Partition, Navajo, Double O, and Private Arch, as well as the Dark Angel monolith and Fin Canyon, are accessed via the primitive loop trail and its spurs. Wall Arch, before its collapse in 2008, was also located in Devils Garden just north of Landscape Arch.

Source: Wikipedia  

[writinglittlebeasts]

The Lurch - a short horror story

in 2021, i wrote a horror story from the perspective of a paranormal magazine journalist (think, like, an online publication) chasing down an urban legend in made-up town, pennsylvania and getting a bit too close for comfort

without further ado (under the cut): the lurch (i took a screenshot of the title in my document because i love this font, sorry lmao)

content warnings for animal death (mentioned and implied) and personal injury

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You come by a lot of stories about monsters in the mountains. It’s hard to avoid them, honestly, when the light from any given street or home seems almost snuffed out at the treeline. Forests so thick that you can’t see the neighbors. As these things go, it’s often children who tell these stories; shapes in the dark, noises they haven’t yet familiarized themselves with and can’t place, and on. The rumor mill of the elementary school playground works quick and constant, and there are always new stories to go around. If you look hard enough between the lines you’ll find glimmers of real fear inside. In between the boogeymen and the bullshit there are things that your cleverest parents can’t explain. If schoolchildren make the most monsters-- and if stories of this nature so often trickle down --then it follows that to get to the root of the truth and the source of the story, you need to look to the teenagers. 

My introduction to Trailhead, Pennsylvania was idyllic, in a word. When you look at it, it feels very clean; touristy. The taxi stood on the curb before a small park, a bubbling fountain in the center and trimmed hedges in neat rows at neat intervals between cobbled footpaths. There were three motels, catty-corner to each-other and almost ringing the park, their parking lots deserted in the off-season. The street was quiet, several shops were closed while others hosted one or two employees that I could see through their large front windows. It was very centralized, as these places often are, waiting to shake off the last dredges of winter and open their arms to waves of transients. Waves pouring out the doors of these three motels, one of which I would call my home while I researched idyllic Trailhead’s darker tales. 

One tale in particular had caught my eye. 

Schoolyards work the same way in every town. Mine is no exception, and my niece regales me with rumors while I pack her lunch in the morning and while I help her tidy her room before bed. On one such evening, poring over her homework, she told me a story that one of her classmates had told her, one he himself was told on a family trip to Trailhead, Pennsylvania in the fall. To hear her tell it, somewhere in the woods, up the mountain, is a monster made of sagging skin and limp hair which drags itself over the ground by its boney fingernails. She explained to me that it eats small animals and leaves traces of itself where it passes, though she was unsure what these traces might be. Between her mother’s scolding and her pencil etching short lines into her workbook she told me that its name is The Lurch, and that it was all the rage in Pennsylvania. 

The nature of my work means that I didn’t immediately dismiss this story. I was interested in its origins, how much I could find. Whether it was local to Trailhead or was more widespread, like your jackalope or your killer clown. I found nothing online. Other lurches exist, but not of the sort that my niece described. On the heels of my last article, I brought this curious story to my editor. They agreed that it was interesting, but had no contacts in Pennsylvania who might know more. I had my own, but the fact that I made the trip to Pennsylvania in person might tell you that they knew nothing at all. 

Setting my bag on the floor and turning back to look out over the parking lot, over the park and quiet street, I couldn’t help but feel that I knew nothing at all. It was hard to look at these little brick buildings with their white roofs and pristine surroundings and imagine that it could birth a monster like The Lurch my niece had told me about. The next day I would venture into town and the suburb that sprawls around it, and if I was lucky I would find out just how it might have. 

In the morning the sun woke me even through the dark motel curtains. I thought, quite optimistically as I hadn’t come out of sleep and to my senses and likewise hadn’t been in town for very long, that the sun itself wanted me to start my investigation. 

I started it in the donut shop where I ate my breakfast. I say donut shop, but it felt like a waystation. There were no tables or chairs, only a long room with a door at one end and a counter packed with toppings at the other. They fried your donuts fresh, just behind the counter and to order. While my donut-- a large, advertised as they were by size on a menu board over the workstation --fried, I spoke to the baker. When I asked him if he had ever heard of The Lurch he set his gloved hands on the counter between us and looked up at the ceiling for a long moment, only the sound of dough fighting oil filling the air until he finally shook his head. 

“Can’t say that I have,” he said, and turned back to his fryer. Tonging my donut out of the oil he continued, “But I don’t think you have to worry about it, you know?” 

After assuring him that I did and collecting my donut, I thanked him for his time and ventured back out onto the street. Shops that had been dark and empty yesterday were now cheerfully lit and their employees bustled about inside like they were waiting for me to come in. They probably were. It seemed like I was the first new face they’d seen in weeks. 

I toured through every store on the main street, exchanging polite greetings and answering the same questions about where I’d come from and how I was enjoying the town. Asking these shopkeepers my questions was somewhat less predictable. A few didn’t want to be interviewed at all, which I had to accept though it frustrated me. Most of them knew a little of the story, second or third-hand from one of their children, but could only nod along with my retelling, offering no details of their own. 

One shop’s register was tended by a young individual who couldn’t have been more than a year out of college who was intrigued by my article and offered a similar outline of The Lurch’s story to that of my niece. The Lurch was a monster made of misshapen flesh that ate small animals and dragged itself along the ground. They did add one detail that my niece had missed, however: that The Lurch would eat any animal that it came across, including human beings. It was a small victory, but any information is useful information when the story seems so small itself. I thanked the individual and left their shop, knowing that I would need to go deeper to learn what I wanted to know. I would need to go to the source. 

My interviews with the teenagers were informal. The town of Trailhead is small and amusements are largely expensive, but in posting myself up at a diner close to the high school I was confident that I would get to speak to many of its students, and I was right. They poured in in groups of two or more and sat around large baskets of french fries, some milling from table to table when they would recognize friends who arrived after or before and escaped notice. I approached them in their larger groups with my notebook in hand. Of course, the table quieted when I appeared beside it. It was only after I explained myself and told them what I was hoping to learn that they started to open up to me, some students even waiting expectantly for their turn at my ear. I found it refreshing, in a way, after the enthusiastic but dry interviews I’d conducted that morning. 

Before I name any names, I want to make it clear that all of those names have been changed to protect the identities of both the minors who have assisted me and of other individuals who would rather not be associated with my article or larger publication. I make this clear because I have to, but I word it in this way because Andrew (which is not his name) didn’t believe that I would and threatened to read my article to ensure that I had. The fiend. I hope that you enjoyed the lengthy passage above, Andrew (which is not his name), which I’m assuming that you had to read to find this disclaimer, and that the disclaimer itself met your expectations. 

The first student to answer me, I will call Josephine. They were bracketed on either side by school friends and soft drinks, and the longer we talked, the more of their friends joined in to add details or contradictions, the more enthusiastic they became. Josephine told me that The Lurch was a local legend, a so-called cryptid that the teenagers used to scare younger kids around town. I asked if that meant that they didn’t believe in The Lurch, but they shook their head and told me that they did. Rather, they told me that they did, almost. They wanted to believe in a flesh-eating monster living in the woods outside their town, but it was hard without any proof. When the story was so fantastic. I asked which parts of the story seemed fantastic, and a second student answered: “All of it.” 

Different students chimed in, some from adjacent booths. One said that The Lurch had arms but no legs, and I nodded. As there were no known species of animal with only one or the other, I took it down in my notebook. One said that The Lurch had no mouth and was shouted down by everyone at his table, who then insisted that eating small animals was a tenet of the legend and therefore it had to have a mouth. Nothing could survive without a mouth, they said, and he was forced to concede. I took it down in my notes regardless, interested in any variations to the story. You really can’t help but wonder how a creature might eat small animals without one, even if it is irrelevant. Others told me that my investigation was a waste of time, as The Lurch couldn’t have been real. When I asked what they meant, one of the students told me very matter-of-factly that if pets were going missing with any real frequency then they would have heard about it by now. I had to agree. I made a note of it. 

I next asked if any of them had stories of encounters with The Lurch. None present had personal experience, but I heard six stories in that diner. The rough outline of each, with variations only on minor details, involved someone (whose name was a topic of debate among the group) stumbling upon a creature which dragged itself along the ground in the middle of a meal. The observer would hide themselves, and in the disgusting fashion of any good story about a monster they would hear the blood-curdling screams of The Lurch’s victim. Of the six stories, five took place at night. The sixth wasn’t popular with the students, who insisted that if someone had seen The Lurch in a gas station parking lot during regular business hours then it would have been all over the news. 

I asked before I left if any of the students had ever heard of The Lurch eating humans. Every one of them had, but they assured me that somebody at school must have made that up to scare elementary schoolers. They couldn’t answer when I asked who had done it. I wasn’t about to try to interview elementary schoolers, either. That lead was a bust, but I didn’t cross the note off of my list. It was part of the greater story, and I hadn’t gotten to the bottom of it yet. 

I spent the next morning interviewing employees at the Trailhead ecology center. It was small, and it was closed when I arrived. Both employees had jobs at a university out of town, but lived in Trailhead and maintained the center for local outreach and coordination with the Trailhead school district. I was interested in animals that could be found locally, more specifically local predators. How they could have impressed themselves into the local consciousness as a monster. The employees were very helpful, but I couldn’t make any determinations based on what they told me about local carnivorans. Hoping to make any progress at all I inquired after any animals that may have only forelegs, but they had no knowledge of any animals like that in the area. I thanked them and returned to my last haunt: the diner.

It took some convincing, and then a little more convincing by way of a cash bribe, but I found a group of teenagers willing to take me up the mountain. On my insistence, Josephine’s older brother agreed to come along. His name is not Andrew, and he used to frequent trails up the mountain before he settled into his career at the local auto repair. He was skeptical of my motivations until I reminded him that I was a strange woman paying a handful of teenagers to follow me into the woods, and agreed very quickly after that. 

There were five of us in all when we met for our first leg of the search; myself, Andrew, Josephine, Charlotte, and Nathan. None claimed to have seen The Lurch themselves, but the students wanted to see what I found-- if I found anything --and were more familiar with the woods than I. Josephine and Nathan alternated leading the charge, conferring with one-another before deciding which forking path to take or how far to stray off of it. Saturday and Sunday we found nothing at all, picking our way up the trails with our eyes on the ground for any evidence of a body crashing through the undergrowth or of animals that body might have eaten. We managed three trails in one afternoon, turning back when we deemed we’d gone too far. 

It’s poor investigation, but our determination of ‘too far’ was arbitrary. I am no woodsman, and while the trails were beautiful they were also very boring and offered little by way of tracking a monster which may or may not have existed based on very little evidence of behavior. Charlotte shared my opinion, and on the third day of our search she decided to discontinue her involvement with the investigation. I racked my brain for information that might prove more forthcoming but came up empty-handed. 

The students had a test on Thursday for which they needed to prepare, so on Wednesday I languished in my motel room and tried to make sense of my findings. I don’t go into these situations expecting to find a monster or a creature; it’s even rare for me to arrive expecting an animal. After all of my interviews and days in the woods I still had little evidence. The stories were consistent, but was this a hint of fact or a story that had been concentrated by time and tale? I didn’t want to admit that there was nothing to find, even though all of the signs seemed to be telling me so. Like something stuck in my teeth I couldn’t help but think about The Lurch. It was possible that someone had made it up, passed it around until it became a local legend, but something as absurd as a creature of flesh, subsisting on any meat it could find and dragging itself along the ground, with very few, relatively plain second-hand accounts of encounters hardly had so much sticking power in the public consciousness as The Lurch seemed to have in Trailhead. Even children grow bored of tall tales eventually, but The Lurch persisted like it were being told in a round. I left the motel to perform more interviews. If I went further from the motel, if I could find a grocery store or a neighborhood park, maybe I might find someone who knew more. 

I didn’t make it to the grocery store, but I found myself passing an auto repair shop. Directionless and curious, I paid a visit to Andrew. He was in the middle of something when I let myself into the open garage, elbows-deep in someone’s chassis. 

I asked Andrew if he knew of anyone who might know more about The Lurch, its habits or its diet or its location. I explained my fruitless research at the ecology center and I told him that I was ready to branch out-- that perhaps there were parents who knew more, or otherwise older members of the community. 

Andrew seemed uncertain for a moment, but he admitted that he hadn’t been entirely honest with me. Now that I write it down, I wonder if my comment about students’ families seemed accusatory. I was frustrated, but I wasn’t angry; often in my line of work people will withhold information out of fear of looking foolish, or superstitious. I don’t mean to sound proud when I tell you that I know I am embarrassing company to keep. He didn’t need additional prompting to begin his story, which I dutifully took down in my notebook. 

He was in high school at the time, senior year, with finals preparation in full swing. He told me that he would regularly be awake past midnight to study or whittle away at essays for his college applications, and that if he recalled correctly this occurred at just past one in the morning. From his parents’ kitchen he could see out the wide front window and onto the lawns of his neighbors across the street. He told me that he wouldn’t have seen it at all if the bulb of a streetlamp hadn’t burst while he stood at the refrigerator. After the initial flash and the sudden flood of darkness in its wake, leaning in against the glass of the window Andrew could see something on the ground. It could have been a trash bag, or it could have been a person. A darker lump in a dark space. 

He told me that what he did next was stupid, and I’m inclined to agree. Andrew opened the front door. 

He recalled a wave of heat, not moist like the air in the late spring that it would have been but dry and thready like the heat of an oven. It came over him on the breeze and died down again when the air stilled, but he could still feel it radiating from yards away. As his eyes adjusted Andrew stepped further out of the house and down the lawn. The lump he’d seen from the window was taking on no clearer shape the more the moonlight fell across it or how much closer he came to it, but he could hear the scratch of something moving over the grass and feel the same strange heat on his face and arms. 

The closer to the creature he came, the more unbearable that heat became. He described a choking feeling, the hot air uncomfortable in his nose and mouth. There was a point where he could move no closer, and I’m thankful that he didn’t. What he next described I have taken down word-for-word so that I don’t twist the events to fit my own perception.

Andrew said: “I couldn’t step onto the sidewalk because it was too hot to approach. I could feel the heat burning my toes through my shoes. It just didn’t seem safe. Instead I walked further down the street, kind of, I guess, parallel to the sidewalk. It was making that rustling, like it was dragging itself, and I heard something smacking into the ground. It was moving so slowly I didn’t notice at first, but it really was dragging itself forward. I could see thin shadows where I thought it must have arms-- or legs. Limbs. I think that it was pulling itself by its fingers. I didn’t have a long time to think about it, because all of a sudden the thing shot across two lawns like it was nothing. It moved so fast that I almost lost it, but I didn’t try to follow it. Something yowled, like a cat-- it was a cat --and it hissed and it screamed, and I could hear something like a release of steam. I didn’t even get a good look at the thing, but I went back inside.”

After locking his front door, Andrew returned to the halo of light in his kitchen. He told me that his skin was red, like a sunburn, and felt warm to the touch. The next day Andrew walked to school with a friend who lived down the street, and as they passed the lawns crossed by The Lurch he noticed that the grass was scorched and blackened in an uneven trail, fish-hooking onto the street and disappearing. Andrew finished his story by admitting that one of his friends at the time, another student at Trailhead Public High School, had shared the story behind his back. 

It wasn’t a long story, but it was a first-hand account of a creature that, until that point, I had only glimpsed through hearsay. As these stories often do, it rippled out from the high school and into the middle school, the elementary school, into children’s homes. His encounter had been scrubbed clean out of the story over the years, iterations replacing him with anything from the school janitor to a friend’s younger sister, the cat with any imaginable animal, and the location was lost in the same way. The suffocating heat, though, was a detail I hadn’t heard before.

“Unless it wasn’t,” I said, implying that the stories of other encounters may have come out following his own, and that in the natural way of things they had twined together. I don’t know if he caught my meaning, but I didn’t give him the time to ask if he did not. 

Something about Andrew’s words had struck a chord with something else I had noticed about the town of Trailhead, Pennsylvania. It was something easy to shrug off until that point, an aesthetic choice, maybe, or a practical one for the sake of maintaining aesthetics. I wrote while I was speaking, brain on fire with possibility. “There are a lot of bricks in Trailhead, for a tourist town whose draw is nature trails.” He seemed to be realizing it for the first time, himself. Even after speculation we don’t know what this means for the town, but we can guess. You can’t see a smoldering trail in the grass if there is no grass to burn. Unsure of where to proceed, I said my farewell to Andrew and returned to my motel room. If I could take him at his word, who was to say that The Lurch was in the forest at all? Maybe I was on the wrong trail. Maybe I needed to reconsider my understanding of the story. 

It snowed overnight. Not an incredible amount, but surely enough to obscure whatever trail we might find based on what Andrew had told me the night before. The snow would cover everything I’d thought to look for, in fact, and so it was no surprise when our group reconvened at the edge of the forest that everyone seemed a bit chafed. They’d had the same reservations as myself, but after some convincing we began our search again. Our next trail would be half-way up one which we’d already explored, a branch we hadn’t had time to follow on Tuesday. 

Even the trails themselves were harder to follow in the snow, light as it was. The trail was marked at its head by a colored tree marker, but past that point only the footpath led hikers on. Nathan and Josephine occupied themselves by scouting ahead, looking for landmarks that would naturally lead hikers around the path. Andrew walked between myself and the students, as I lingered occasionally to theorize in my notebook. The next hour passed in much the same way that every previous search had, with no clear evidence and no clear trail to follow. However, in the next hour, Nathan pulled our small group to a halt. 

Some ways off the trail, the soft blanket of snow simply stopped. In a small enough patch this would have meant very little to us, but for as far as we could see the ground was brown and dry. We approached and eventually stepped into this patch of leaves. I exchanged a glance with Andrew. It was warm enough here to melt the snow. 

I led the group, now, trying to measure every change in temperature. The air was warming the further we walked, something I was tracking to the best of my ability in my notebook. The air wasn’t humid, but flat and dry; without wind. The dead leaves, which had until this point been soaked underfoot by the snow, were now curling in on themselves as they were leached of moisture. I told Andrew that the radius of heat was much larger than I anticipated, but didn’t share any more of his story with the students nearby. The rest of the walk was under a heavy air of excitement and a blanket of worsening heat. The hotter it got, the harder it was to avoid tearing off my winter coat, the closer we got to The Lurch. 

Walking ahead, I saw the creature first. It was a mass of solid flesh, emanating heat without disrupting the air around it. I stood in its scorched trail, surrounded by the unburning, blackened detritus it had pulled itself over. I moved closer to examine it.

You’ll forgive me, but from this point on I can hardly read my shorthand. The carefully constructed narrative ends here, and I’ll be supplementing what I can not read from my memory. I’ve done my best to lay everything out as objectively as I can, but my words will doubtlessly be tinged by the effect that these events had on me as a participant. As a journalist my words and meaning are always a point of contention, the fingers of an agenda never far from mine on the keyboard, but I want you to understand that everything I write here is true and to the best of my recollection. 

It was much larger than I imagined it to be. Its size was contested in every iteration of the story, and in Andrew’s it had been no larger than a person. In front of me, its flat body could have been the length of a school bus and the width of two. As Andrew had told me the night before, the air was almost suffocatingly hot this close to the mass. It moved and churned but I could see no musculature underneath. Across what I must call its back for the sake of clarity it bubbled like it were boiling, the skin popping without breaking, only disturbing the long wefts of hair that were pulled underneath the surface, or else pushed through it. Closest to me on the ground I could see the ends of the grass and the crusting of dead leaves blackening. In its center, the mass roiling around the trunks of trees singed them without settling light to them. I was focused both on watching this creature for every detail my eyes could absorb and on scribbling down my notes-- its physical features but also the smokeless, hot air, the way it unsettled physics itself --and so I did not notice its slow roll towards the toe of my boot. I was very close to it, and it pulled in and pressed out over the ground as it moved. Andrew took my shoulder to pull me back before it could touch me. I started. 

It’s strange to break objectivity so late into the story, or even so far into my career, but at that moment I felt that The Lurch was looking at me. It recognized that I was standing there and it turned its eyeless gaze onto me. It may have been fear clouding my senses, so you can choose to read on and disregard me, but I felt like I was in its headlights. My throat felt like it had caught fire and I couldn’t tear my dry eyes away, nor could I move anything else. The mass jolted over the ground, and from its far edge I could see thin, boney arms pull into view. Its fingers dug into the leaf litter and it heaved itself towards me. Too close to its now rioting body, I was already in its grip. 

I didn’t see what happened, but I could feel its flesh closing over my foot and squeezing. Through my shoe my foot started to burn. The sensation climbed up my ankle and it started to pull on me, strong and fast though it had no momentum to draw on. 

Andrew pulled me out of the mass. It took him some time, which I know because it was only his hard grip around my shoulders and waist that grounded me in space. I had nothing outside of physical sensation: just the stifling of my breath, the heat and pressure as The Lurch tried to absorb my foot, and the rough tug that pulled me free. 

I was not carried down the mountain. We didn’t have the time. For minutes we ran-- Andrew and myself bringing up the rear while Nathan and Josephine crashed down the trail some feet ahead of us. We stopped at one point, realizing that the oppressive heat was gone. All was quiet in the woods around us, and we’d re-emerged into the brisk cold of the snow, the typical Pennsylvania winter. There was no way to know if The Lurch was still following, or if it even could at this distance. We descended more slowly after that, one or the other of the group supporting me as I hobbled down the trail, but we didn’t stop again. The threat of what was behind us hung heavy in our memories and we didn’t want answers to our questions.

As I write this my ankle is elevated, wrapped in a bag of ice which is itself wrapped in a towel. I’m unsure whether or not I’ll take it to the hospital. It’s painful, and red as anything and sure to bruise, but I managed the walk to my motel the same way that Andrew presumably managed to drive himself and the children home. I look at it, propped in a nest of motel pillows that I can see cresting over the edge of my laptop, and I have to wonder how I feel about knowing without a shadow of doubt that The Lurch exists. My life has been dedicated to the origins of local legends for so long, but it must be years since I’ve thought about the reality of monsters. Am I excited? Perhaps I will be once the shock of my encounter has worn off. Perhaps I won’t be, when the reality of what The Lurch will mean for Trailhead and its surroundings sets in.

I’ve contacted the local news network-- I’ve emailed them. I even emailed the networks of the towns surrounding Trailhead. It’s very late at night, and even if they do respond in the morning I am not hopeful that they’ll be receptive to what I have to say. Regardless, I must get the word out. The Lurch is coming down the mountain and it is crawling towards Trailhead, Pennsylvania. Its progress is slow but it will arrive. I don’t know what, if anything, can be done to stop it. I implore you to begin making plans to leave Trailhead before it is too late.

[letsbenditlikebennett]

TIMING: Before the allgoods party because time isn't real PARTIES: @magmahearts & @letsbenditlikebennett SUMMARY: After chatting online, Alex and Cass decide to go spelunking in the Emerald Oasis. CONTENT: Parental Death mentioned

Despite all the time she spent at the forest between her internship and her free time, Alex had never actually gone spelunking before. It wasn’t for a lack of interest, but it wasn’t the kind of thing she wanted to do for the first time alone. Better than most, she knew the dangers, both natural and supernatural, that hid away in the forests and caves of Wicked’s Rest. The buddy system was always the way to go, so now that she seemingly had a buddy to go with who was just as enthused, if not more so, than she was, it seemed like the perfect time. 

From what she could tell from Cass’ profile, they were about the same age and the other girl seemed cute in her pictures. Alex found the eagerness she’d shown for different rock formations only compounded that notion. She found she was a little nervous as she headed to the makeshift trailhead that led to the Emerald Oasis. On a very surface level, she was good enough at making conversation with people her own age, she just found she had a hard time connecting, though she supposed that was the case across the board. She put on her best face for her instructors, but they didn’t know her, not really. She didn’t want them to. She didn’t like herself so why would anyone else want a window into who she really was, or rather what. 

Alex stood under a shady tree and waited for her partner in crime for the afternoon to arrive. She heard the footsteps approaching before she saw the figure approaching. When Cass was in sight and it wouldn’t raise suspicion, she raised her hand to wave. “Hey,” she greeted with a smile she hoped was warm, “Cass, right? I’m Alex.” The vague scent of fire and stone in the air around Cass was unlike anything she’d ever come across before. She found she liked the scent, it reminded her of nights huddled around a fire with Andy filled with silly stories her sister would tell to distract from the fact the chill in the air was far from comfortable. She extended her hand to politely shake Cass’ and found herself blurting, “Has anyone ever told you that you smell really good?” Well, so much for a good first impression.

She was trying to distract herself and she knew it. It was a bad habit she’d developed, a way of trying to fool herself into being okay when she wasn’t, when she didn’t deserve to be. Her foster mother dropped her off on the mainland with a couple dollars and a warning to stay away from the island and she’d hopped from group to group to avoid thinking about it. Kuma died in a way she knew was tied directly to the promise she’d bound her to and she’d become a superhero so she could pretend she was still a good person. Debbie’s body was rotting in a pit where Cass and four other girls had thrown it and she was going spelunking with a stranger. This was a familiar pattern. She knew it probably wasn’t a good one.

But what else was she supposed to do? If she stayed up in her cave alone, she’d never be able to think of anything but Debbie’s face as the light left her eyes, never be able to smell anything beyond the burnt flesh where her hands had landed on Debbie’s shoulders, the way hurting someone smelled exactly the same as helping them had when she’d cauterized everyone’s wounds. And maybe she deserved to be stuck with those thoughts, but she didn’t want to be. She wanted to go spelunking with a cute girl who seemed nice. Was that so bad? Did it make her unforgivable? 

The smile she plastered onto her face as she approached the Emerald Oasis was only mostly fake, because even if it was just a distraction she really was excited to hang out with Alex. It was rare she met someone who cared about rocks even half as much as she did, rarer still that they actually wanted to talk about the shared interest. Most people found rocks boring, like the grumpy guy who’d told her there was ‘no difference’ between them. Alex was different. And much, much cooler. “That’s me,” she confirmed with a bright smile. Alex thinking she smelled good was a pleasant surprise, given the fact that the Magmacave didn’t exactly come equipped with a shower. Cass’s smile widened a little at the compliment. “You smell pretty good, too!” Cass had no concept of how Alex smelled — whatever soap she used wasn’t strong enough to cut through the scent that had settled over the town — but it seemed like a nice thing to say, anyway. And it wasn’t a lie; whatever Alex smelled like couldn’t be worse than the Wicked’s Rest stink. “All right, are we ready? It’s so cool in here.” She hadn’t been back in a while, but she had explored the Emerald Oasis plenty before settling in the Magmacave. 

Thankfully, the comment about her spelunking partner for the afternoon smelling good went over well. Alex figured it was worse than telling a girl they smelled like shit, but it still was far from smooth. There was no use in overthinking it though, she’d only further make an ass of herself if she chose to harp on one thought over and over. That was decidedly the last thing she wanted to do. It wasn’t like Alex was exactly killing in the friends department. She went on dates here and there, had flings, went to occasional social outings, but every single one was short-lived. She could tell Andy worried about her making friends and wanted her to have a full and happy life. Even if Alex wasn’t sure that would ever be possible for her, she could at least try so that Andy had one less thing to worry about. 

“Good to meet you in person, Cass,” Alex said with a smile that was much more confident than she felt, “Can’t wait for you to teach me about all of the rocks.” A sly wink was thrown in at the end, one that further painted the picture of a confident young woman that might as well have been more curated than one of the girlboss insta influencers. “I’ve actually never been down there,” she added, “I’ve heard it’s really cool, just hadn’t ventured there yet. Glad to have someone who knows it well to lead the way.”

She motioned an arm forward, indicating to Cass that she’d follow along. Alex knew approximately where the Emerald Oasis was, and could honestly probably try to sniff it out, but that would raise more than a few questions. With the stink hanging heavy in the air from whatever was going on in town now, it was hard to do much in the way of directional sniffing anyway. So she stuck close to Cass as they wove through trees and mountain edges to reach the cave. “Do you do a lot of spelunking,” she asked, genuinely curious. 

In spite of the years she’d spent away from her aos si, Cass’s experience with humanity was… limited, to say the least. She’d had a few groups she’d run with over the years, but it had always been temporary and she had always existed on the outskirts of them despite her best efforts. She did everything she could do to fit in, and it still wasn’t enough. People liked her until she was no longer useful, and then they stopped liking her at all. And she wanted it to be different here. She wanted everything she’d been through to mean something. So what if the first thing Alex said to her was that she smelled good? Maybe that was just how people greeted each other in Wicked’s Rest. At least… people who didn’t then go on to kill a girl together and dump her body in a pit.

No. Not thinking about that. 

“It’s good to meet you in person, too, Alex! I like your hair.” Red and fiery, like a volcano. She’d known a girl with red hair in Oregon once. She hadn’t stuck around, had left when the rest of the group she’d run with had, but she’d at least told Cass goodbye. She was one of the few who ever had. She’d been nice, and Alex seemed nice, too. Anyone who was willing to listen to Cass go on and on about rocks the way Alex had online and still invite her to hang out in person was someone Cass thought she could probably get along with pretty well. 

With a nod, Cass began to lead the way towards the cave. She listened to make sure Alex was following behind her, not wanting the other girl to leave while her back was turned. “It’s a pretty cool cave,” she said. “Maybe not the coolest one in town, but totally worth seeing.” The coolest cave in town was, of course, Cass’s cave, but… She wasn’t quite ready to show Alex that just yet. The only person she’d shown it to was Metzli, and evidently they’d told their friend and stirred up enough concern that she was offering to let Cass live in her shop instead. That wasn’t what Cass wanted. Pity was never something she’d been after. “I guess it’s kind of like a hobby. I like the Earth, and caves are a good way to see different parts of her, you know? Rocks and dirt, but plants and animals, too. What about you? You seem like you know your way around the outdoors and stuff.” 

There was a small grin on her face as Alex ran a seemingly nonchalant hand through her fiery locks. Even though her parents had scoffed at things like beauty and fashion, she had always liked her hair. Despite her mother not “caring” for these things, there were nights when she’d spend longer brushing Alex’s hair and gently patting her head in a way that was almost affectionate. Almost normal. But that was the thing, her mom liked to sometimes tease them with the smallest shred of normalcy only to rip it away just as quickly. Not that the young werewolf could fault her mother when she still looked at both her parents through rose-tinted lenses. 

“Thanks,” Alex responded, “Grew it myself.” The last part came with a joking lilt that almost made her sound like Andy who was undoubtedly the person she learned humor from. Girls liked people who could make them laugh or something, though the attempt at a joke was hardly funny, but Cass hadn’t run ahead and left her in the dust yet, so Alex figured she couldn’t be making too bad of an impression. It seemed like they had enough in common, as it was. They both appreciated the earth in a way that so many seemed to overlook. The explanation of why Cass enjoyed rocks and cave left Alex smiling in a manner cheesier than she would normally show to someone that wasn’t Andy and somewhat by proxy Kaden. 

“Maybe one day you can show me the coolest cave then,” Alex offered happily. Hopefully. And this was precisely why she didn’t enjoy the whole making friends thing. Garnering a teacher’s approval was one thing, they just had to appreciate that she was respectful and awe at her academic prowess. Friends? That was a deeper connection, one where something a lot more personal than a missed mark on a test was being judged. But this was only their first time meeting, it wasn’t like either of them had to get into any traumatic past stories or share the darkest thoughts on their mind. She perked up, as they got a little closer to the cave. It wasn’t quite in sight yet, but there was something earthy mixing in with the stink in the air that made her believe they were getting close. “That’s a really cool hobby,” Alex commented, “What’s under the surface kinda plays into the whole big picture of nature and ecology.”

Alex shuffled a bit on her feet as she thought of how to answer that question. “I guess my parents were super into like… survivalist camping when they were alive.” That was one way of putting it, but it’s not like she could exactly say her parents dedicated their lives to hunting the very thing she’d become. “Guess as I grew up I naturally became more curious about the natural world and protecting it. So I decided to study Ecology and now here I am, accompanying a cute internet stranger into a cave to find some cool rocks.” She quickly added, “More than anything, being out in the forest and helping keep it thriving just feels right, you know?” 

Cass let out a giggle at Alex’s joke, because it was funny. It also wasn’t one she’d heard before… though that wasn’t saying much. Jokes were things people tended to tell to someone they were hoping to impress, and no one had ever really wanted to impress Cass. Not when she was so eager to please that there was no need to impress her. Cass would be whoever she thought she needed to be to get someone to like her, even when it hurt. But… so far, there wasn’t a whole lot of pretending with Alex. Alex told her jokes like she was trying to impress her, Alex liked spelunking, Alex listened to her talk about rocks without telling her to shut up. Maybe that was a good sign. 

“I’ll have to show you someday,” she said, heart pounding a little as she said the words. Bringing Metzli back to her cave had been one thing — they were bound by words that wouldn’t let them hate Cass without consequence. Jonas had stumbled upon it by accident. But bringing someone back intentionally without the safety net of a bind to fall back one? That was a whole different concept entirely. A terrifying one, but maybe a little bit of an exciting one, too. Like a roller coaster… or, at least, like what Cass assumed a roller coaster would probably be like. It wasn’t like she’d ever been on one. 

She grinned as Alex remarked that it was a ‘cool hobby.’ It wasn’t really a hobby, of course, but Cass could hardly reveal how deep her connection to the Earth went without either outing herself as an oread or letting Alex think she was a total weirdo, and she didn’t want to do either of those things right now. Maybe someday, eventually. “I think people underestimate it sometimes,” she said, looking down at the ground as she walked. Her steps were always heavier than it looked like they should be, a side effect of being a little rockier than her glamour made her appear. “People think that what they can see is what’s most important. But there’s a whole world under our feet. Not just the bugs and the dirt, but the stuff under that, too. The outer core, the inner core. It’s all important. None of it works without the rest, you know? You can’t separate the pieces, can’t leave any one on its own without everything else failing, too.” 

The closer they got to the Emerald Oasis, the more excited Cass felt. She didn’t think anything of it; she was walking through the woods with a girl who’d called her cute, heading into a very cool cave. Who wouldn’t be excited for something like that? The energy thrumming through her was very natural, wasn’t it? “I’m sorry,” she said, looking back to offer Alex an apologetic smile. “About your parents. That must have been hard.” She was only assuming, of course. She’d never even known her parents, so what could she know about losing them? You couldn’t even begin to comprehend the loss of something you’d never had, after all. But Alex didn’t seem to want to dwell on it, and Cass nodded as the subject shifted back to the much more familiar one of rocks. “It does feel right,” she agreed. “I feel like — I don’t know. More like me, even if I don’t know who I am most days.” She could see the cave now, could feel it. It was exhilarating. “Here we are.” 

“I look forward to it,” Alex responded flirtatiously, wearing a grin that was somewhere between a real smile and smirk. It came naturally to her, flirty remarks here, a wink there. That surface level was simple. Even if this was not officially a date, so to speak, the first few dates were always easier. Lighthearted conversation was where she thrived– it was a nice mask that covered the storms that laid just behind her eyes. It was where she felt most at ease and honestly, talking rocks and ecology was fun for her. They were a small mirror into what made her her. Too bad “her” was a monster. 

“Oh, for sure,” Alex agreed. She carefully stepped over some rocks on their path and did her best to keep a nose and ear out for anything suspect. Ears were going to have to be the sense of choice today with the odor that clung to air. “They definitely do. I see it a lot at the park… or with wealthy business bros who don’t seem to care about protected species in areas they want to build. Mother Nature has a knack for playing the long game though, which go off, queen.” 

It was refreshing to see someone else as enthusiastic about how everything in nature was so intertwined. Alex still had no idea where she fit into all of that, but it was nice to think that somewhere in the big picture was a missing piece in the shape of her. Andy seemed to think so, or at the very least, didn’t seem to think being a werewolf made Alex some sort of abomination. Despite everything they’d been taught as kids, Andy thought she was worth saving, so she had to be worth saving. “The inner layers of the earth are interesting. I imagine just as beautiful as what nature’s got going on above ground, too. Though I doubt I’ll ever see it… Or rather, I shouldn’t hope to see it because I doubt I’d live to tell the tale.” 

With the cave opening in sight, Alex felt a sense of relief. That’d make it all that much easier to brush past the whole dead parents thing, which was nothing if not a mood killer. “Kinda is what it is,” she shrugged, “But I appreciate it.” And the more she talked to Teagan, the more she wondered if perhaps they’d had it coming, a thought she shoved to the back of her mind every time it popped up. “I get that,” she assured, “Not really knowing who you are, but feeling at ease out here.” She wasn’t quite ready to delve into that though, but she was curious about how someone like Cass could be unsure of herself. Aside from being beautiful, she knew a lot about the earth. But she supposed everyone had their demons. “Is that it,” she pointed ahead excitedly, “There’s so many plants around it!” 

Alex was flirting with her. It took a moment for Cass to register the fact, and she sucked her lower lip between her teeth with a small smile. The blush that spread across her face was a little hotter than it would have been if she were human, a little brighter, but her glamour meant that she wasn’t quite glowing with it the way she might have been had she not had it up. She’d been flirted with before, but it always made her feel just as warm inside as the first time. It was nice, being wanted. Being desirable. Maybe Alex would feel differently if she knew Cass better, but for now? She got to pretend that she was the kind of person people were interested in knowing. It was one of her favorite lies. 

“I don’t usually take people there unless I think they’d understand it, but I can tell you would.” Alex was one of the only non-oreads Cass had ever spoken to who talked about the Earth in the same way nymphs did. It was nice. It felt like something she could rub in the face of her old aos si, an ‘I told you so’ that she could spit in their direction. If all humans are bad, tell me why this one loves the dirt and the rocks and the grass. If all humans are bad, show me why they like me more than you ever did. Of course, in order to shove something in someone’s face, they’d have to let you see said face. Cass doubted she’d ever see any of the nymphs she’d known in Hawai’i again. She doubted they’d ever let her get close enough to try. 

But that didn’t mean it was any less refreshing to hear Alex talk about the Earth with such respect. Cass listened with a grin, nodding along. “Don’t get me started on the rich haoles who think they own the land just because they have a piece of paper someone gave them. Nobody can own land.” In spite of her fondness for humans, she could admit that there was some validity to the disdain her fellow nymphs tended to hold towards them. Some humans were cruel and destructive and bad. But not all of them. Not Alex. “I think volcanoes is as close as most people will get to seeing how it works inside.” Even Cass, with her connection to the Earth, couldn’t see its inner workings. She could feel them, but that was different. That was always different. 

Energy thrummed through her as they approached the cave, chaotic and wild. If she were thinking more clearly, perhaps, she might have noted that it was different than her usual energy; stronger, harder to rein in. But Cass was so ecstatic to have a friend, so excited to be able to share the Emerald Oasis with someone who’d understand it instead of someone who’d only want to see what was in it for them. Everything else fell by the wayside. “There’s more plants inside! Come on!” She grabbed Alex by the arm, pulling her towards the cave perhaps a bit rougher than she should have. It didn’t register to the nymph. She was struck with a single-minded focus — get Alex into the cave. Nothing else seemed to matter.

There was an easy familiarity in the moment— the light-hearted chatter about things they were passionate about, a long walk in the woods, and the ethereal glow of a pretty woman’s blush. The latter was something Alex loved more than most things in the world; the fact her words and mannerisms could paint a girl’s cheeks in such a perfect flush allowed her to pretend for a little while that she was someone worth knowing, someone worth loving. It was a pretty little lie tied together with a blush ribbon and she clung to it every chance she got. She found herself smiling along with the words, because she would understand. And if she didn’t? She’d make herself. She could chip and chip away at herself like the miners and jewelers chipped away at the very rocks and gems she and Cass were going to admire. She’d twist and turn, mold herself into someone far easier to love as if that could somehow make her anything other than a monster. 

At least with Cass, the process felt easier. They had enough in common on a surface level that they could go back and forth all day without ever learning anything real about one another. “Fuck,” Alex started with a smile, “And I cannot stress this enough, capitalist connards.” Well, maybe besides Alan, but somehow in his case the whole capitalist thing was comforting. He could carve out a “normal” life for himself despite also being a monster, it gave her hope that maybe she could have her version of normal, too, not that she even knew what that looked like. 

Thankfully, there wasn’t time for Alex to ponder too deeply on that thought. Before she knew it, Cass’s hand was grasping around her arm and pulling her toward the cave. It was a bit rough, but the contact still brought a rosy blush to her own cheeks and a sense of exhilaration. Was this what normal kids felt like when they were running free? The wind whipping their cheeks and the sense that anything felt possible? With a gleeful laugh, she wordlessly let herself be pulled into the cave they were going to explore. The climb down was really more of a scrabble, but she could hardly feel the impact, not when the combination of shadow and light dancing across Cass’ face was just so damn captivating. It took her a minute to even peel her eyes away to take in the cave itself. 

When she did, it was almost as stunning. Alex marveled at the shimmering fungi scattered across the cave and the thick swaths of foliage that seemed to cover the ground around them. “Wow,” she breathed, “This is amazing.” Her eyes could hardly focus on one spot in the pit cave, they flickered from different plants and fungi, to gems and water trickling down the cave walls, but they kept coming back to Cass, who seemed utterly giddy to be there. It was pretty to think that maybe her presence contributed to that feeling, so she’d let herself believe for the afternoon. “What kind of rocks form down here,” she asked, genuinely eager to know the answer and experience it from Cass’s perspective. 

Wicked’s Rest was brimming with people who understood in a way most places weren’t. Cass had never really experienced anything like it before. Most places she went, she cut off pieces of herself in order to squeeze into whatever box she thought was the easiest to want. She pretended not to hate it when the kids she ran with in LA threw their trash on the streets, hid the fact that she went back later to clean it up. She pretended to like the weird music the kids she met in Colorado listened to, acted like it didn’t hurt her ears when they played it too loudly. She’d worn a thousand different masks over the years, skirting by on lies of omission because most of the time, people didn’t bother to ask her anything. But in Wicked’s Rest? She’d found people who got it. Nora and Van and Ariadne and Wynne and maybe Alex, too, if she wanted to stick around. 

She grinned as the other girl came back with a retort that made her feel like she belonged, made her feel like it was easy. She knew Alex would get it. It was people like her who made Cass feel vindicated in her staunch defense of humankind, made her positive that they weren’t all as bad as other nymphs said they were. Sure, there were people who thought a piece of paper allowed them to own something that had been there long before them and would remain long after they were gone, but there were people like Alex, too. People who saw the ridiculousness in that, people who understood what a silly notion it was. You couldn’t blame an entire species for a few of its numbers’ mistakes. 

So Alex deserved to see the cave. Alex deserved to experience the wonder of it, deserved to run her hands along the stone walls. And Cass could show it to her, could tell her trivia that she wouldn’t think was boring and feed her facts that she wouldn’t immediately forget. Alex’s laugh made her feel light and airy, and she led her into the cave as her own giggles joined the fray. And, just like she’d known it would, the wonder that crawled across the other girl’s face was blatant. There was no cruel disinterest, no painful boredom. Alex thought the cave was cool and, because of it, Cass thought that Alex was cool.

The burst of energy she felt in her chest when they entered the cave was palpable, though she wasn’t sure if it was because she felt naturally more energetic in caves due to her nature or because Alex looked so fascinated that it left her buzzing. Either way, it was exhilarating. “There’s even more when you go deeper, too!” She began leading Alex deeper into the cave, too excited to worry about anything but the path ahead. “Oh, all kinds. There’s a lot of limestone in here. Most of the rocks in caves are sedimentary, but the mineral abnormality makes caves around here pretty weird. You can find all kinds of igneous rocks around here.”

There was no capturing every detail of the moment in her mind. Every time Alex returned her gaze she thought she had fully taken in before, it seemed to be brimming with even more life. Various leaves and fungi peeked through small cracks in stone, interwoven together in a way that seemed impossible to untangle, not that she’d want to. The lush array of flora was perfect as it was and its vibrance almost made her feel just as alive. If she hadn’t before, she felt on top of the world when she saw the pleased way Cass looked at her. It was enough to make her pretend she was worthy of being on the receiving end of such a gaze. In the flickering lights of the oasis they found themselves in, she could almost even believe it, too.

The deeper Cass led her into the cave, the softer the sound of trickling water got and the more her voice seemed to echo within the walls of the cave and Alex was hanging onto every word. This place and Cass both left her in awe, she wanted to know everything. Her eyes followed where the oread gestured and took a mental note of what the different rock forms looked like. The white of the limestone seemed to catch the shimmering colors of some of the mushrooms and the varying shades of gray and rusty browns swirled together throughout the sedimentary rocks like a painting. Her attention turned back to Cass and smiled, “Igneous rocks… Those were the ones you said are your favorite, right?” 

More than anything, Alex hoped they found some in their spelunking adventure. There was something magical in watching someone’s face light up when they saw and talked about something they loved. The contagious wonder in Cass’ features would only be more palpable if they stumbled upon something so clearly dear to her. “I hope we find some so you can tell me all about them,” she said honestly. It was a truth that was safe to share because it was so simple. 

The tunnels grew more narrow as they went on, not that Alex minded. Physical closeness was easy, comfortable even. “I’ve never seen mushrooms like these,” she marveled, “I thought honey mushrooms and destroying angels were the only bioluminescent varieties in the state.” These didn’t have the signature warm honey coloring and glow of the former or the skinny stems and pale white glow of the latter— they sparkled in shades of blue that paired with the drip of water from some of the cracks of rocks made it feel as if they were underwater. It was a masterpiece that only mother nature herself could paint; something so inexplicably beautiful that Alex was reminded of what really drew her to ecology. Her birth name suggested she was to be a sword to be wielded, but god did she just want her hands to be used for care, preservation, not destruction. She wanted that to be enough, for it to feel like enough. As if to solidify her grasp onto that idea, she grabbed Cass’s hand and happily followed towards the wider opening of the tunnel. 

Alex remembered what her favorite kind of rock was. The words were jarring, but in the best kind of way. Had anyone ever bothered to remember what Cass had told them before? There was Nora, of course, but Nora was always the exception, remembering Cass when no one else did. For Alex to not only listen when she talked about rocks, but also retain that information and come back with it later…

 Cass felt warm all over in a way that had nothing at all to do with the magma flowing through her veins. Alex paid attention to her. Cass had never known the difference between listening and paying attention before this very moment, but she found she much preferred the latter. Being listened to was nice, but being paid attention to? It was exhilarating. She didn’t think she’d ever felt anything better.

“Yeah!” She confirmed with an eager nod. “They’re my favorite. They’re usually formed by volcanoes, so finding them in a place like this is kind of rare. But this town’s weird. It’s got weird rocks.” All tied back to the mineral abnormality that Cass craved close proximity to. Whatever was going on with it, she thought, it wasn’t natural. But it still felt like the closest thing to home she’d had since leaving Hawai’i. 

She smiled at Alex, finding that she hoped the same. Some people, she thought, didn’t really deserve to see the igneous rocks that caves had to offer. It was a little mean to think, but it was true. They didn’t appreciate the differences, didn’t care how they were formed. Some people thought that rocks were rocks, and those were the worst kinds of people. But Alex was different. If they found igneous rocks in this cave and Cass described how they were formed, Alex would listen. Alex would pay attention. Was there anything better than that?

Alex’s voice broke her from her thoughts, and she squinted at the mushrooms surrounding her. They really didn’t look like anything native to this area, but then again… “Maybe it’s like the rocks,” she offered. “Weird stuff growing because of the weird town. Right?” Could the mineral abnormality affect plantlife? Cass thought it could probably do just about anything it wanted to do. It was cool like that. Alex’s hand found hers, and Cass smiled with excitement dancing in her eyes. “We’re almost there,” she promised, leading Alex forward. Just a little further now. Alex would love it.

Something in the dim light of the cave made a perfect place to play pretend. There was something warm in Cass’s smile and the feel of her hand that almost made Alex melt just a little bit into it— entertain the idea that she could make someone light up that bright without eventually drowning it out with all her dark. A pretty thought. “Makes sense, town’s kinda famous for its abnormality and all,” she agreed. Despite the fact a lot of the elements of town left her with a gaping sense of unease, there was something special about different strata being able to form alongside the strange weather, flora, and fauna that preceded it. 

“Probably,” Alex murmured, still somewhat taken with the glow, “The conditions down here are perfect for a lot of different types of plant life.” Anomalous in and of itself. “We probably shouldn’t touch them though,” she squeezed Cass’s hand a little tighter as if to remind herself, “I know the other bioluminescent species is toxic.” 

The cave grew brighter and wider as Cass led her forward and there was a certain excitement in knowing they were almost there. Alex hoped it was the igneous rocks and she could listen to all about how they formed— maybe touch one and feel its layers on her fingertips as imagined how it formed. Though the site that laid before them may have been even better. “Wow,” she breathed, rendered speechless not for the first time by the pit cave’s beauty. 

In the clearing, the glowing mushrooms twisted into a perfect circle. Something about it reminded her of the vibe the prom committee was probably going for with their twinkle lights back in highschool. That display had gotten nowhere close to this. Alex wasn’t sure anything synthetic ever could capture the living quality of the lights. She turned to Cass with an elated smile, “Come on.” And this time it was her tugging at Cass to lead her along, emboldened by the frankly magical ambience. She was careful to not step on any of the fungi, not wanting to disturb its growth or potentially release any toxins. She could almost swear the mushrooms glimmered more as she looked at Cass. “This lighting practically demands a good twirl,” she gestured with a grin, surprised at her own smooth delivery. When in nature’s silent rave…

Sometimes, being in a cave with someone who wasn’t fae made her feel nervous. Cass would never admit to it, hated that she felt that way at all, but it was true. There was something instinctive about it, something buried so deep into her genetic makeup that she couldn’t quite escape it. But with Alex? She felt at ease. Alex wasn’t fae, but Alex understood anyway. And that was a sign, wasn’t it, that all the nymphs back in Hawai’i who’d rejected her for how she felt about humanity were wrong? Alex was here and Alex was human and Alex understood. Better than most. 

“Definitely,” she agreed, squeezing the other girl’s hand back. “No touching.” Not because she was necessarily afraid of the toxicity of the fungi, but because some things didn’t need to be touched. You could exist in a space without physical contact, could be in a moment even if it wasn’t tangible. Going into something’s home, where it felt safe, and putting your hands on it? It wasn’t right, whether the thing in question was a plant or a person. 

She loved the way Alex’s steps shifted, loved how the awe she was feeling was so clear in her eyes, her voice, her posture. This was what people were supposed to feel in a place like this. Not fear, not unease. Wonder. This was how it was supposed to be. She turned to take in Alex’s expression, grinning at the look on her face. After this, she thought, she’d show Alex her cave. And maybe some of the others around town, because Alex would understand. Alex would get it.

Laughing, she let Alex tug her forward and into the circle of mushrooms in the clearing. She stepped over the fungi, just as Alex did, nodding at the request. She held out a hand, doing a dramatic half-bow. “May I have this dance?” That was what people did in movies, wasn’t it? Pride and Prejudice had been a little boring — what kind of movie had no action scenes? — but she remembered the gist of it anyway.

—

Something in the way Cass stepped over the mushrooms like she had sent a rush of devotion through her. Alex could feel the warm swell of being listened to and in the presence of someone who held the same awe for the natural world that she always had. It crashed into her like a hurricane the moment Cass was in the circle with her. The way the other girl looked almost incandescent in the glow of the mushrooms was nothing short of magical. She was pretty sure she’d never seen anything quite so beautiful as the smile Cass wore and the way the ambience seemed to make it sparkle. It was if the werewolf instantaneously knew that she would do anything for Cass and that didn’t terrify her the way it normally would have. She just knew she had to do anything she could to see that smile play on the oread’s lips as often as she possibly could. When had she turned into such a simp? Any of her formerly possessed suave and sense of cool went out the window. 

“I’d be honored,” Alex beamed back with the same mock seriousness. Something about the smile she wore felt lighter when she wasn’t preoccupied with chasing traces of worry out of it. She felt lighter. She gave Cass a small spin, marveling at how blue hue shone in her hair, and pulled her closer with a laugh. “I’m not much of a dancer,” she said softly, “Seemed too beautiful to pass up the moment though.” Her eyes lingered as if to fill in the blanks, indicating that as amazing as this cave was, Cass was the most amazing thing she’d ever seen. Because she was, wasn’t she? The inexplicable urge to give the other girl everything she could have ever wanted said as much was true. She swayed momentarily to the nonexistent music like they were in some kind of rom com. At least, she assumed, anyway. She hadn’t watched all that many of them, but she was sure this was better. 

“Should we keep moving,” Alex asked, still swaying slightly. If Cass wanted to find the igneous rocks, she wanted to forge ahead. Another part of her yet just wanted to dive right into the movie magic of the moment and kiss the girl. That was from a movie, right? Either way, whatever Cass wanted, she’d follow. As much seemed crystal clear and she wanted her to know as much. 

—

There was a buzz running through her mind as she stepped into the circle, a shiver down her spine. Friendship, she thought, this must be what friendship feels like. Had she felt this way the first time she met Nora in those city streets, or when she’d sat across from her in that crappy diner? Had she felt it in the car on the way back from the pit where they’d left Debbie’s body, underneath the guilt and the grief and the regret? She must have. What other explanation was there for the way she wanted to dance until she dropped, the sudden intrusion of thoughts about collapsing the entrances to this cave so they could stay here in this moment forever? It had to be tied to the way Alex was looking at her, eyes bright and smile wide. People didn’t usually look at her that way. She wanted to hold onto it forever.

Alex spun her around, and Cass laughed in a way that bounced off the cave walls, echoing through the space. “I think you’re a great dancer,” she insisted fondly. What if we kept doing this forever? What if we just stayed here? She wanted to drag Alex deeper into the cave, wanted to pull her so far that no light would find them again. Alex would like it, wouldn’t she? Alex understood, and Alex would continue to understand if Cass only showed her. Even if she was scared at first, she’d get it. Right? She had to.

But Alex wanted to move on, and Cass didn’t know how to insist upon losing themselves among the rocks without breaking the spell of the moment, so she only nodded. “We should keep moving,” she agreed. “We’ve got rocks to find, right?”

—

[anonsally]

Days 3-5 of Australia vacation: Hobart

On Day 3, we got up early and discovered (to my utter amazement) that showing up at the airport just over an hour before departure for a domestic flight in Australia left ample time for shopping in the terminal even after we had some difficulty with self-checking our luggage.

I enjoyed having free wifi and snacks on the short flight, too, and I loved the view out the window during the descent. Tasmania is gorgeous from above!

We landed in Hobart mid-morning. The airport was a bit of a zoo, but we eventually set out in a giant rental car (to fit the four of us and all our luggage).

The vacation rental was a fairly spacious apartment with inadequate towels and pillows as well as bathrooms that were in desperate need of being redone.

We left our luggage and then drove into town, where we ate lunch sitting outside at a cafe. Despite the urban surroundings, I spotted a bird on a wire and, after looking at it in my binoculars, ascertained that it was a Green Rosella. Not only was this a new bird for me, but it's endemic to Tasmania--it can't be seen anywhere else! So that was an auspicious start to my Tasmanian birdwatching.

Brother-In-Law gave me a ride partway up the mountain on the edge of town (kunanyi/Mt. Wellington) to the trailhead for Fern Glade Track; then he went back to town to hang out with Wife and Sister-In-Law. I had a really nice little hike. I was on the trail for nearly 3 hours, but only went a little over 2 miles. My stated goal was to find a pink robin, but I despaired of that fairly soon as I wasn't familiar with any of the local birds yet and didn't even really know where to look, just that this was the right sort of habitat. I had studied their song and at one point thought perhaps I heard one, but I couldn't locate it. Still, it was a nice hike, and I spotted wallabies a couple of times. I also did see a few birds: a yellow wattlebird, several Tasmanian scrubwrens, a black currawong (which makes a hilarious and distinctive sound), a (probable) scrubtit, and a (probable) Tasmanian thornbill--all of which are endemic! And I heard forest ravens but didn't spot them. Actually, I heard a lot of birdsong but couldn't find the birds, and was extremely disappointed to discover that Merlin's sound ID function doesn't work in Australia.

I rushed back to the road in time to catch the once-per-hour bus back to town. I did not have the correct change for the fare, but the driver just let me ride anyway. Phew.

I met the others at a restaurant on the water and we had drinks and dinner there.

On Day 4, Wife and I had slept really poorly and were too tired to go through with the original plan, so my in-laws went wine tasting and then visited Port Arthur without us. Wife and I took a little walk along the water and saw some sea anemones. And later, I did manage to do a very productive 2-mile, 2.5-hour bird walk around the beach and park near the flat. I spotted lots of new birds: some masked lapwings with their adorable fledglings, a little wattlebird, musk lorikeets, eastern rosellas, sulphur-crested cockatoos (some of which were playing acrobatically in the wind, including flipping upside down), a long-billed corella, galahs, a black-faced cormorant, kelp gulls (Tasmania only has 3 kinds of gull and they're sufficiently different that I was able to identify all of them), and --less excitingly-- some Eurasian blackbirds.

Eventually we all went for a delicious dinner together at an Asian fusion restaurant, and then went to an ice cream boat (Van Diemens Land Creamery) for dessert. We stood under an awning to eat our ice creams in the rain.

On Day 5, we visited the Salamanca Markets in the morning. It was very crowded (Hobart was busy because it was high tourist season in general (holidays, summer) and because the Sydney-Hobart yacht race was going on or possibly ending), but there were some interesting things for sale and also some fun food. I enjoyed a fried potato helix on a stick, which Brother-In-Law informed me was very standard outdoor festival food!

Then we drove to MONA, the Museum of Old and New Art. This is... a very weird museum. The very eccentric owner David Walsh (a mathematician who used his skills to win a lot of money at casinos?) had it built to show his private art collection. We were there for several hours and didn't see all of it, but there was a lot of interesting stuff and the architecture was also good. It's mostly underground. There was a huge exhibition of works by Tomás Saraceno, an artist whose work I've seen some of before. These included a few about air pollution, of which I liked "We Do Not All Breathe The Same Air" best, and an installation called "A Thermodynamic Imaginary" which was astronomy-inspired. In the permanent collection, my favorite was perhaps "Kryptos" by Brigita Ozolins.

There was also a piece called "4PM" by Dean Stevenson, which was a performance; he's a composer and every day he has to compose something because a quartet is going to perform at 4pm whatever he wrote that day. It might be short, but it has to be something!

We were pretty exhausted after that. We had seen Tasmanian nativehens (another endemic!) in the adjacent vineyards when we arrived, and saw them again when we left. We went back home to have some downtime (and a cocktail) before returning to MONA for an outdoor music festival for New Year's Eve. That was pretty fun. We were lucky that it was unusually warm that day and evening. The music was mixed--my favorite band was actually the punk band (Liquid Nails?) that played around midnight--but the setting was nice. It was not too crowded yet also felt like we were out doing something for New Year's Eve, which I don't often do. We ate, had a few drinks, admired the stars, lounged about, explored a little. There was a playground, and I found that swinging on a swing while tipsy was very fun. But there's no denying that it felt really weird to be out so late!