#found it on a basketball on our backyard

[pcktknife]

cons of a rainy day: humidity, grey skies and the sounds make me a lil bit paranoid

pros:

tiny friend :)

[allthingsfangirl101]

Not The Same Without You – Steve Harrington

Being Steve Harrington's childhood best friend is not easy. You've got Tommy and Carol, Steve's team, and the rest of the school against you. Everyone thinks he's crazy for hanging out with me.

Something you should know about me - I'm your stereotypical bookworm. I never go to school without at least two books in my bag in case I finish the first one. I choose to spend my lunch period and free period in the library reading. I am on a first-name basis with the librarian at our school and at the library down the street from my house.

No one understood why Steve would hang out with someone like me. And if I was being honest, I didn't understand it either.

It made more sense when we got to high school. He stopped talking to me when we started freshman year. I didn't mind. I was starting not to like all the attention our friendship got. I got tired of the sneer comments, the scoffs, and the glares. We had this big talk the weekend before we started freshman year.

~•~

"Y/N?" Steve said, sounding strange. "Can we talk about something? Something that I'm pretty sure is going to make you hate me?"

"Nothing could make me hate you, Steve," I said honestly. "What's up?"

"Well," he said, clearing his throat, "we start high school on Monday."

"That's true," I said when he paused.

"And I'm on the basketball team," he continued slowly. "The team and all the practices and the games are going to take up a lot of my time."

"Steve?" I pushed. "What are you trying to say?"

"Maybe it's better if we don't hang out in high school," he blurted out. My heart jumped into my throat as I stared at him. I could barely see it, but there was a little bit of guilt in his eyes.

"Is that what you want?"

Steve opened and closed his mouth, struggling to answer me. I studied his eyes, trying to see if this was what he really wanted.

"Yes," he said, his voice dropping.

"Okay," I said as I stood up and started slipping on my shoes.

"Okay?" Steve stuttered. "You're really. . . You're okay with this?"

"Not really," I shrugged, not facing him. "But if it's what you want. . ."

I gasped when Steve grabbed my wrist and spun me toward him. "I'm sorry, Y/N," he whispered. "I just. . . I was. . . I thought. . . I'm sorry."

"I understand," I said, my voice dropping. "At least, I can pretend to."

~•~

When my parents found out that I was no longer hanging out with Steve, they tried to hide how relieved they were. My parents have never really liked Steve. They were always worried that his bad habits would rub off on me.

So, for the last three years, I've gone through high school alone - not that I minded. I was fine by myself. I've always been fine with it. Steve was the first person who tried to enter my life and I let him.

Six months into our senior year, my insomnia got really bad. AP exams were only a few weeks away and the stress made my insomnia worse. I slipped on a light jacket and headed downstairs. I walked out to our backyard and started walking along the path that went behind our house to a nearby park.

"You shouldn't be out here by yourself, Y/N," came a familiar voice. "It's dangerous."

"Steve?" I said, my eyes adjusting to the flashlight he had shining on me. "What are you doing here? It's 2 am."

"I knew you'd be up," he tried to say lightheartedly.

"And you walked all the way over here?"

"No," he said with a small laugh. "I drove to your house but saw you sneak out the back. Insomnia keeping you up?"

"Yeah," I said slowly. "It always does. That's nothing new."

"I know," he said. "Is there nothing you can do to help with it?"

"Steve, what are you doing here?" I asked instead of answering him.

"I used to come over like this all the time," he shrugged.

"True," I said, "but that was almost four years ago. We haven't talked since then. Be honest, Steve. What is going on?"

"Come with me."

"What? Steve, you can't be serious. It's two in the morning and. . ."

"Please," he cut me off. His tone made me freeze. "Y/N, I really need. . . I just. . . I need to get out of here and I want you to come with me. Just for a little while. Please, Y/N. Please come with me. I promise to get you home before your parents wake up."

"What's wrong?" I asked, my voice softening as I took a step closer to Steve.

I hadn't noticed that I was rubbing my arms until Steve took off his jacket and draped it over me. I held my breath as he started to pull his hands back. He hesitated for a second, like he was going to grab my hand, but decided against it at the last minute.

"Please, Y/N," he whispered. "I need you to come with me. I just. . . I need you."

One look at his eyes and I knew this was serious.

"Where to, Harrington?"

* * * * *

As we drove to only Steve knew where, he didn't say anything. The radio softly played as we drove through town. I kept glancing at him, wishing he'd say something.

After four years of silence, Steve randomly showing up outside my house at 2 in the morning was weird. Not to mention the fact that he was taking me somewhere and hadn't said anything since we got in the car.

"Steve," I whispered, "can you please tell me where we're going? I'm. . . I'm starting to get a little nervous."

"I'm sorry," he sighed. "I know this is strange but. . . I can't really explain it. I've been struggling lately and I was trying to figure out what to do. The only thing I could think of was you. I needed to see you, Y/N. I know you don't owe me anything but. . ."

"It's okay," I gently cut him off. "I just want to know where we're going."

Steve looked over at me and sent me the Harrington Smile that has all the girls in our school falling head over heels for him.

"Somewhere we haven't been in a long time."

It wasn't for another ten minutes that I realized where we were. When I figured it out, I glanced over at Steve. The butterflies in my stomach went crazy when I saw his smirk.

"I haven't been here since. . ." I couldn't remember the last time I was here.

There is a spot in this mountain called Makeout Point that all the teenagers know about. Steve and I found this spot on the other side of the mountain and it's always been our spot. Steve parked the car and we instantly walked over to the nearby picnic bench. We sat on the bench with our backs to the table.

I glanced over at him and, as he leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, I saw the weight pushing him down.

"Steve?" I whispered. "Please tell me what's going on."

He opened and closed his mouth, unable to admit it. When nothing came out, he ran his fingers through his hair.

"Y/N," he tried to start. "The thing is. . . I'm not sure why. . . It's hard to explain. . ."

I looked down to see Steve move his hands so they were now on the bench. Before I could talk myself out of it, I reached over and gently put my hand over his.

"Please, try," I said under my breath.

"I miss you," he rushed out. He looked up at me, surprise in his eyes.

"You. . ."

"I miss you, Y/N," he said, sounding more confident. "And I am so sorry. I'm sorry I left you and acted like I didn't know you once we started high school. I shouldn't have made you go through it alone. I should've been with you. I should've walked you to class on your first day and every day after. I should've sat with you in the library every lunch and free period. I should've been a better friend to you, Y/N, and I'm really sorry."

"Steve," I stuttered.

"I hate that I walked away from you," he continued. "I hate that I turned my back on you and never turned back. I wish, more than anything in the world, that I could do something to make it right. Can I? Can I fix what I did, Y/N? Can I fix this? Can I do something to make things go back to what they were before? Tell me how I can make it up to you. I'll do anything, Y/N."

"I don't know," I stuttered, my voice soft. "I mean. . . Senior year is almost over. And then who knows what we're going to do after but. . ."

Steve leaned over and pressed his lips to mine. Neither one of us deepened the kiss, but neither one of us broke it either. When we finally broke the kiss, my head was swimming. Steve was smiling softly at me.

"The past couple of years without you," he whispered, his face inches away from mine, "have been the worst years of my life. Every day, I wake up wishing I hadn't suggested we stop hanging out. Every day, I sit in class and try to figure out what I could say or do to fix what I screwed up. I can't live without you, Y/N. The truth is, I don't want to live without you. Not another day."

As he was talking, Steve scooted closer to me. When he finished, he reached up and gently cupped my cheek in his hand and pulled me closer.

"Not another day," he repeated as he pressed his lips to mine. This kiss was deeper than our first. When we broke this one, Steve leaned his forehead against mine.

"Y/N. . ."

"Steve," I cut him off. "This isn't. . . I just. . . This isn't as easy as you're making it sound."

"I know," he said instantly. "I know it's not going to be easy. But I'm willing to do the work. I mean it, Y/N. I will do anything and everything to make it up to you. Anything you want, anything you ask, I'll do it. I haven't been the same without you, Y/N. I need you in my life. Please don't let me go another day without you."

"I don't want to go another day without you," I whispered.

Steve, overcome with happiness, grabbed my hips and pulled me onto his lap. I gasped as he put his hand on the back of my neck and pressed my lips to his. I moaned as our lips moved messily in sync.

"Say it again," he moaned as he broke the kiss. I leaned back and gently held Steve's face in my hands.

"I don't want to go another day without you, Steve Harrington," I said, watching the lust build in his eyes. "So, please, don't let me go another day without you."

"You never have to go another day without me."

He was about to kiss me again, but I put my hands on his chest, stopping him.

"Steve," I whispered.

"What's wrong, baby?" He said softly.

"You promised to get me back before my parents woke up."

"Right," he chuckled as he reached up and tucked a piece of hair behind my ear, his hand lingering. "Let's get you home."

I got off his lap and he instantly grabbed my hand, walking me back to his car. The entire drive back into town, my thoughts on the events of tonight.

We pulled up to my house and instantly looked at each other. Steve leaned over and pressed his lips to mine. I smiled as I moved our lips against his. He broke the kiss and leaned his forehead against mine.

"Not another day," he whispered.

"Nope," I giggled. "Not another day."

Steve kissed me again before finally letting me get out of his car. I quietly slipped back into my room without my parents noticing. As I lay in bed and tried to calm the butterflies in my stomach, I had one more thought.

My parents weren't going to be too thrilled about this.

[oneirataxiahiraeth]

Sunny Days

Pairings : fem!reader x shawnmendes

Warnings : swearing, garden sex, some fluff, some dirty talk but not too much.

Word Count : 1.4k

You're lips connected so softly as his hands took a firm hold on your hips. His fingers gripping the flesh quite nicely, as the grass poked through the blanket tickling his bare back quite nicely.

It had only been a few months since the two of you moved in together. The house wasn't too big, and in a perfectly nice gated suburban area. Safe from paparazzi and crazy fans who just had to convinced your boyfriend he they were soulmates. It was quite and peaceful, and the cell service sucked. Which meant, less work calls and more time to revel in the time you had until Shawn was back out and touring for his latest upcoming album.

With the new found quite both of you began to pick up some new hobbies. Shawn began to learn of to crochet, and you began the arts of gardening. And fortunately, you sure had a hand for it. You had beautiful blooming flowers, all over your backyard. Your fences were lined with delicious mango and lemon trees, that added such depth to your yard. And because of the scene and the beauty, and Shawn incessant desire to be tan all of the time, the two of you spent quite sometime out. Most days, the two of you laird down a lengthy picnic blanket, and just cuddle as the suns harsh rays assault your skin. Today was similar to one of those days. Only... it was taking a slightly different turn.

"You're not wearing anything under here?" He broke apart the kiss, feeling how wet your heat was through his shorts. He had a childish grin planted on his face as you shook your head, soft smile on your lips.

"Easy access." You shrugged. "Been thinking 'bout you all day, baby." You hummed, hips grinding down onto his lap.

Shawn was also without underwear, but for him it was too noticeable. He was still covered. You had been walking around all day without any panties. He could've had you anywhere he wanted today if he would've know this. Though, he wasn't too torn up about current circumstances.

"I fucking love you" he smirked, bringing his lips to your neck, kissing and sucking on the sensitive skin. Your hands, slipping past his black basketball shorts band, and pulling his length right out. He was all the way were you wanted him to be, but you had plans of your own. He whined into your skin, as your fingers wrapped around the base of his cock.

"Wanna make you feel good, baby." You whispered, slowly stroking his cock as he groaned into your skin, pressing one last soft kiss before resting his head back.

The sun was shining brightly, illuminating the soft tan skin of the man beneath you. The swift breeze blowing his long brown curls to the side as he let you work your magic. You watching as he cheeks turned pink, nostrils flaring, and hips fighting against your weight as you moving your hand antagonizing slow along his length. You smiled at the brunet under you, feeling as his cock twitched in your grip, growing fully erect as you teased him. His hands sliding under your thin pale pink dress, fingers gliding over the soft skin.

   "What if the neighbors see?" Shawn whispered. You smiled, a light giggle leaving your lips, pumping him a little faster in your hand as his lips formed a slight 'O' shape.

   "Maybe they'd enjoy the view..." you hummed. "You do look pretty gorgeous right now." You leant down, pressing a kiss to his neck, before pulling back. "But considering our closest neighbors are a half a mile down the street, I'd say we're safe." He smiled, hands gliding up and down your thighs.

    "Shit," he groaned, butterflies raging in his abdomen as you continued to jack him off. "gonna let me on top?" He asked and you shook your head.

    "Nope." You popped the 'P' watching as he squeezed his eyes shut for just a second.

     You brought up his hard on, lifting yourself on you knees. You slowly pressing the tip of his cock to your clit, a soft moan exiting your lips as you smeared the precum oozing from his tip spread against your folds.

    You teased him for about a minute or so before aligning him with your entrance. Tight whole, slowly before reintroduced to your boyfriend. It didn't hurt, but it was a strange sensation. You rarely were ever on top, the position was fairly new for you, and instead of Shawn controlling how far he went in at a time, now it was you and your own judgment calls.

    Slowly, you lowered yourself on his cock. Shane lifting the front of your dress to watch his length disappearing in your core. The shine blaring directly down on the two of you, giving a golden glow to the sight. It was absolutely euphoric to watch, feel, everything. It was magical.

   "Ah, fuck, baby." He moaned, thumb pressing against your clit as he kept his eyes on the sight. You let out a moan as you sank down, taking all of him at once. "Feels so good." He mumbled, thumbing rubbing soft circles on your clit as your walls clenched around him.

     As you allowed the rumbling to rest in the pit of your stomach, you began moving. You used your knees to bounce yourself at a pace that had the both of you in shambles. Shawn's hands gripping at your hips, head back, eyes squinted as he tried to avoid the sun blazing straight down on his face. You're hands taking over his position, holding your dress up to keep it from getting in your way. Sounds of skin colliding over and over filling the air blowing around you.

   "oh my- shit, Shawn you fill me up so good." You moaned, his hands locking on your hips as he guided your movements. Hips rocking against him, the tip of cock brushing against your g-spot. You stomach clenching, maximizing the pressure as he hit the hot spongy spot in your cunt over and over.

   "You take me so well, baby" he groaned, now moving his hips to meet yours, quickening the pace you set and sending you into a feral mess of moans and senseless blabber. "you can be a little louder for me, right? You're doing so good, such a good girl." He praised, the praised sending electricity straight to your heat, moans becoming louder, as you grew closer and closer to your edge.

   Shawn could feel how close you were. Cunt clenching around him for dead life, milking him until he came out with the goods. Your body blocking the sun directly overhead as he fucked up into you. The golden glow around you made it seem like you were an angel sent from above. You hands began to trembling, dropping the front of your dress down, your hands Balancing yourself by resting on his chest.

   "M'so close, so so so close." Your head hung low, as you felt that filling sensation threatening to burst.

    "Hold it, I'm almost there." Shawn growled, not realizing how hot he sounded with that morning rasp in his voice. You cried out, hoping that he was as close as you were. You weren't going to last much longer. Your thighs moving like jelly as your legs began to tremble.

    A string of curses left your tongue, as you found it harder and harder to keep yourself together. Your breathing was heavy and moans coming out broken and shaky. You ultimately gave up on trying to hold in your orgasm as you felt it beating you in the fight, Shane felt the way your body clenched around him, spasming out of control as he neared his end. You're eyes fluttering to the back of your head, and his name leaving your lips as you moaned sent him into his own state of euphoria.

   He made sure he was snug inside of you as he moaned out. His warm seed painting your walls white as he tried getting a grip on himself.

   "Fuck." You collapsed forward. You face, squished against his chest, as he wrapped his arms around you, holding you tight.

   "You think someone heard us?" Shawn asked, and you giggled.

   "Nah, I think we're good." You sucked in a deep breath. "I do think we need to get up, though." He sighed. "It's hot and I don't want you have a tan line of your arms on my back." You only half joked.

   "Just lay with me for a few minutes, I like when you're this close." He shifted his hips under you, pushing himself just a smidge deeper as you let out a soft moan.

   "Just a few..."

[astramachina]

Outside the kitchen window, a young man builds a machine out of stolen government tech. When asked—dressed in ratty basketball shorts and a threadbare shirt, carrying nothing but a knapsack and fury in his eyes—the young man says he is going to save the world. Three minutes later, an old man—dressed in coattails and a necktie, carrying nothing but a worn pocket watch and love in his eyes—stumbles into Blue’s and Rosie’s living room.

DEAR TIME: MARK BUILT A MACHINE, an 8.3K word modern queer adaptation of H.G. Wells' The Time Machine ▲ Rated 13+ for briefly implied sexual content. || also on AO3.

And I have by me, for my comfort, two strange white flowers—shrivelled now, and brown and flat and brittle—to witness that even when mind and strength had gone, gratitude and a mutual tenderness still lived on in the heart of man. – THE TIME MACHINE, H.G. Wells

I opened the kitchen blinds once the sun had set enough to not incinerate Rosie’s orchids on contact. The backyard was still orange, each blade of semi-dead grass desperate for the sprinkler system to finish another round that won’t come. Once the water was done out front, it wouldn’t make a rotation for twelve hours or else risk a flash freeze when moonlight finally graced it.

Eight to nine in the evening was my time, when I could open the window just a smidge while washing the dishes. We were out of dry soap which meant I had to get creative after going through the allotted three gallons of water. Still, I found peace in the monotone simplicity of making suds I would have to wipe away with a towel if we wanted to have cheese and coffee before bed.

Eight to nine was also Mark’s time to do whatever the hell he was doing out in his yard. “He’s at it again,” I called over my shoulder. “Looks like he’s got a bucket of sticks this time.”

“Stop spying on the neighbors,” said Rosie, standing behind me with her chin on my shoulder.

“It’s not spying if he’s directly in my line of sight.” That meant he was in my yard again, which I didn’t mind so long as he didn’t set anything on fire. “Strange little fellow.”

Mark was one of those government lackeys that fancied himself a scientist— inventor, actually —he would say whenever anyone brought it up. He was never in his lot except for when he was, a rarity that lost its shine the more I began seeing him in the living hours.

Mark was working on something.

In what was his allotted slice of neighborhood, a lot much smaller than the rest of ours due to his secondary accommodation at the fancy science compound, was a large structure. I’d reckon about five feet tall, three feet across, and round. It was hidden beneath a tarp at all hours of the day, which I considered a smart choice given the unbearable heat known to melt tires and spark flames.

“We should invite him over for dinner sometime,” said Rosie.

“I feel like that’d get us on some sort of list.”

“You think so? He seems like a swell guy.”

“Defanged bootlicker. I remember when abuelo would brick shit for normalcy and now they’re working for the same people who hunted them for sport.”

Rosie kissed the shell of my ear. “Times change, Blue.”

“Very shittily.”

“Change is what’s important.”

“You should go lay down,” I said, reaching behind to pat her rotund belly. “Prop your feet up for a while. I’ll come in with those snacks once I’m done.” But Rosie had stopped paying attention to me. I followed her gaze right out the window.

The tarp was gone. Mark had pulled it off to reveal what I took to be an abstract art piece made of scrap metal and quartz. 

Metal rods were bent into sloping angles as if to create some sort of carriage, one that had no walls and a stripped office chair as a bench. From that distance I could hardly make out the details, but there were levers and dials and a hatch that hung useless between the rods. There were bits and pieces that glimmered the deeper the sun vanished beneath the horizon.

“Is it a car?” said Rosie, now leaning over the countertop to get a better look. “Some sort of rocket?” I could not, for the life of me, say what the contraption was. “That wouldn’t withstand a moderate breeze!”

Mark paced around the machine, wringing his hands. He looked over and saw us at the window, so we offered a wave. He waved back, although stiltedly, as if he hadn’t planned on being seen while out in the open.

We watched him for a while longer, an eye on the clock or else distraction plunged the interior of our house into a deep freeze. It was twenty minutes before curtains when Mark knocked on our door, sweat-drenched and out of breath.

“Can I have a glass of water?” he said as he stood there in his basketball shorts and threadbare tank top. He was carrying a sizeable knapsack, as if ready to take a month-long hike.

Rosie got him a cup despite my arguing. We were borrowing from tomorrow’s stores.

“Why not come inside for the night?” she said, pleading with the man whose eyes were only a touch darker than the circles around them. “We have leftovers. Meatloaf! Blue was able to pull some strings at the center.”

“Thanks, Rosie, but I’m kind of in a hurry.”

“As you should,” I said, gesturing at the approaching night. “It’s about to get real freaking cold and you’re not even wearing a jacket.”

Mark stood at the door, looking between the two of us with a frown that alarmed me. “Have you chosen a name for the little one, yet?”

Rosie shook her head. “Still too early to know if it’ll make it to term.”

Mark nodded. “I hope it does.” He bounced on the balls of his feet before reaching inside his pocket and pulling out a keycard. “There’re fresh vegetables in my pantry that’ll go bad in about two days. Help yourselves.”

“Are you going somewhere?” said Rosie.

“I hope so. For all our sakes.”

Mark was a very peculiar man indeed.

“They giving you guys leave now? Now there’s one outdated practice I’m not against bringing back,” I said.

Mark laughed. “I hope. Soon. Here’s my key. Please don’t hesitate to take what you need.”

“And when you get back?” said Rosie.

“I’ve got a couple of cans in the basement. That’ll hold me over.”

He looked ill. His hair was long and unkempt, as if grooming were a myth he did not believe in. It might have been put up into a bun at some point, but now it spilled out everywhere where it didn’t linger in clumps.

“Are you alright?” I said and took a step toward him. “You in trouble, kid?”

“No. I mean, maybe? Both yes and no would be proper answers, but I’m going to make sure we stick to the no.”

“Is there anything we can do to help?”

Mark chugged the water like a man at death’s door, then handed Rosie the cup. “This is more than enough. Goodbye.”

Rosie stepped out into the rapidly cooling night, her chanclas slapping the concrete steps as if to stop him. She held onto her belly, that mother’s instinct kicking in. “How long will you be gone?”

“Not long.”

“Where are you going? Mark!”

He turned around with a smile, walking backwards into the far end of my plot he had claimed as his. “To save the world.”

I hurried Rosie back inside and shut the door. “Poor fella’s lost his mind,” I muttered as I led my wife to the recliner in the living room. “If he thinks metal scraps are gonna do much of anything, well. Maybe it is best he freezes.”

“Blue!”

“All I mean is that the time for bright-eyed dreamers has long passed. They’re gonna eat him alive, Rosie! Throw him at screens until his brain goes caput.”

“You’re such a bitter old bastard.”

“But I got us a place to live, didn’t I? Got us a marriage license. Got us to try and grow our little family of two.”

Rosie put her feet up while I closed the rest of the insulated curtains. “Maybe if he had someone. If we had invited him over for dinner.”

A knock on the door startled us both. It was frantic, a thunderous pounding that had me lunging for the antique baseball bat propped up against the defunct humidifier. Not again, I thought. They couldn’t raid us again. We’d done nothing wrong. We’d paid our taxes three years in advance. There was nothing they should demand of us.

“Rosie, go up to the room.”

“Put the bat down, Blue.”

“I’m not letting any of those motherfuckers take any more!”

Then, a wheeze. “Tell me you’re still here,” cried a shivering voice from the other side of the door. Rosie and I exchanged a bewildered look. “Please! Help me!”

It was Mark’s voice.

Rosie threw every blanket over herself and kept low as I inched for the door. The knob was freezing to the touch, and so I used a sliver of my bathrobe to properly grasp it. At no point did I abandon the bat, holding it high above my head in case the situation was in no way what we were expecting.

I stepped aside so that the gust of frigid air would not directly hit me the moment I opened that door. It would have to be quick. “You have one second to get in here!” I shouted, then, without further thought, I swung open the door.

The man was quick, alright. He pummeled through the threshold and collapsed into a heap as I slammed the door shut again. I stumbled back, rubbing my arms to warm them.

Rosie leapt into action, agile for someone five months pregnant. She brought the blankets she had buried herself under and dropped them onto the man—onto Mark, who, after a moment of fussing over his near frozen form, I began to doubt was actually him.

The man who violently shivered on the floor had gray hair shorn short. He was plump, red-cheeked, and carried a five-o-clock shadow. Mark was not a man who could grow facial hair. But most glaring of all, Mark had been at our doorstep not five minutes before this person came knocking.

“You heard it, right?” I said to Rosie, who also stared down at him in confusion. “That was Mark.” Despite that, Rosie wrapped his head in a towel and rubbed her hands over it to generate heat.

We tried our best to keep the man from succumbing to the freeze, to animate him into at least a sit, but the piercing, agonized cry that ripped from his mouth sent us both scrambling away. I stood between him and Rosie, bat at the ready, but all the man did was curl up and cry. I called it crying, at the time, for lack of a better word. What that man did was sob with the entirety of himself, with every electrical impulse that piloted his human body.

It was a cry so grief-stricken and dismal that Rosie echoed it in empathy, a hand over her mouth as tears bubbled along the seam of her eyes.

“Blue, help him, for Christ’s sake!”

“I don’t know what to do! I don’t know what’s wrong!”

The man spasmed, curled himself tighter as he rocked with the desperation of a child in the throes of a nightmare. And so, I did what my father had done for me when my restless mind produced night terrors: I sat by him in silence, my hand on his bicep in hopes that the contact would be enough to bring him back.

Time passed at a crawl, the clock ticking as the man cried and cried without solace until, finally, sleep claimed him.

I checked his pulse to make sure it was just sleep, and it was. He fell right asleep on the thin carpet of our foyer slash living room, sad and changed.

I was unsure of how to proceed. Intrigue got the best of me, and I peeled back the layers of blankets and towels to get a better look at him.

Rosie and I exchanged a glance because the man on the floor indeed looked a hell of a lot like Mark. He had a crooked nose that was once broken and never reset. There was a discolored patch of skin behind his left ear that was common for people who worked in the science department. It was the particular mark that drew my attention to what he was wearing.

Further peeling the blankets back revealed an outfit I had only ever seen in old films, the kind that revolved around fruitless family drama and senseless social etiquette gone awry.

The high collar was held in place by a thick necktie, which I loosened. He was wearing a long, black jacket with tails, and a vest with an elaborate flower pattern in muted grays. A silver chain hung from one of the buttons, and I soon learned that it was attached to a silver watch.

In his hand, Rosie discovered a piece of scorched lilac fabric.

There were a few dozen questions hovering between us, but Rosie asked the only one that mattered: “What do we do?”

In the end, I carried this man who might or might not have been Mark to our spare bedroom and laid him on the bed. I took off his shoes and noticed the holes in his socks, so I covered his feet with yet another blanket. The man looked as if he had gone through Hell. And so, we let him sleep.

***

He slept for a day.

I was out in the yard, plucking the dry weeds that would catch once the sun set, when Rosie shouted for me from the kitchen window.

“I apologize for any discomfort I may have caused on my arrival,” said Mark, wringing his wrists as his knee bounced. “I tried getting into my house but I couldn’t find my key.”

“You left it with us,” said Rosie. She looked to me for backup and I nodded.

“Did I? I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised for not remembering.”

“You in trouble, son? You’ve been acting real weird for a while,” I said. I kept my distance, still unsure of what was going on. The man on the couch was Mark, but he looked like he had aged twenty years in the span of a day. “The center putting you through it?”

Mark took a moment to answer. “How long was I gone?”

“You never left.”

“Oh, Mx. Blue, I sure did leave.”

“For a whole five minutes. Ten at the max.”

Mark shook his head. “I most certainly did.”

“Why the hell are you talking like that?”

“Old habits, I suppose.”

Rosie and I exchanged looks. Mark was a scientist whose enclosure included nothing but holographic screens and an ergonomic chair he was not allowed to sit on or else it’d come out of his paycheck. I should know. My old man worked in a similar field, and I knew for a fact working conditions had not improved. Regardless, it was not an environment conducive to the flourishing of this newfound, old-sounding accent.

“I should explain,” said Mark, scratching at his beard. “I’m sure you both have many questions.”

“Like you wouldn’t believe.”

“You said you were going on a trip, then instantly came back.” Bless Rosie’s patience. “You were so…”

We lapsed into silence, recalling those terrifying moments in which we thought our neighbor lay on our floor dying.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare anyone. I spun the dials without thinking where the machine would spew me out. I didn’t care when or where it sent me, I didn’t care how I got there, I just needed to leave. I needed to get away, to leave it behind.” Mark paused to take a breath; his eyes wide but unseeing. “I needed to run.”

“Anyone chasing you?”

“No one but my demons.”

“I really hope you mean that figuratively.”

“I do,” he said with a saddened laugh. “I stole a machine.”

I knew what he meant. Not the whole scope of the situation, but enough to get me locking the doors and tuning into our lot’s security feed. “What the fuck, Mark.”

“I had to!”

“You had to?”

“Well, it’s more like I stole the parts and built one myself.”

“What kind of machine?” He didn’t answer. “What kind of machine, Mark?”

There were a million and one covert programs the government ran under the guise of making the world great again. Not by bringing back its former glory, but by ensuring we were all kept in line as to not fuck things up further. Keep them in line , pops would say, keep them too busy with tomorrow to think about yesterday .

Mark looked up at me as he twirled the piece of fabric between his fingers. “A time machine.”

Rosie barked out a laugh, holding onto her belly. But when neither Mark nor I joined in her mirth, her face fell. “There’s no such thing.”

“We got the numbers down,” said Mark. “Four years ago. Just a small jump. We sent Carly back, one of the lab dogs, and it came back different. Its cells had aged. They also mutated rapidly so we kept delaying human trials until we were sure it was worth the risk.”

“So?”

“We never got beyond that. Once the patent was locked in, it went to the highest bidder. As far as I can tell, no one’s used it in any way that matters, but who’s to know that’s not how we got here in the first place.”

Rosie looked between the two of us. “You’re not lying.”

“Is that how you got a beard? Radiation?” I said.

“No radiation. I would’ve been dead a while ago.”

“Where’d you go then? To see Harry Houdini?”

Mark stared at me. “His performance at St. Paul was nowhere as groundbreaking as the interwebs proclaimed it to be.”

I scoffed.

He threw his pocket watch at me.

I caught it with ease, my thumb rubbing along the dull surface. The silver was tarnished, and it did not tick. On the back were engravings that seemed faded with age, scratched through with everyday wear.

May we outlast time itself. M. Avery & J. Gray, 1898

“Your father’s name was Matthew,” I said.

“My father wasn’t alive in 1898.”

“Let me see that.” Rosie reached for the watch. “Oh, it’s beautiful. Who’s J. Gray?”

Mark looked away, and no matter how hard his jaw clenched, his bottom lip betrayed every emotion that swam in his dark eyes. He swallowed with an audible click. His knee stopped. The burnt fabric in his hands was pulled taut.

I offered him a drink and he declined with a shake of his head. Rosie offered him something to eat, and he once more rejected the offer.

I sat next to him on the couch. “I gotta start dinner anyway,” I said. “You can talk about it, if you want, or you cannot. Nobody’s hearing shit from us but as far as I see you committed a capital crime and there’s a damn good chance someone’s gonna come looking for you real soon.”

“I know.”

“Then why’d you come back here?”

“I didn’t have anywhere else to go.”

“You said you had no control over it.”

“I guess my heart had other plans.” Mark heaved a broken sigh. “My heart always has other plans.”

Rosie scooted over from the recliner with a knitted blanket, handing it to him before sitting closer. “What about you tell us about the adventure it was? Traveling through time?”

“Rosie,” I said, seeing curiosity get the best of her.

“It’s alright,” said Mark, spreading the blanket over himself without hesitation. “I don’t mind. I’ve done an awful lot of talking these past couple of decades.”

I double checked the lock on the door and, if pressed, I would confess that curiosity had gotten to me as well. “Alright, time traveler. Tell us your story.”

***

“After the Combine Disputes of ’42, I hoped that the CFD sector would allow for the patent to be distributed to medical and development for further testing. When Carly came back, sick but alive, I knew that there would be an end in sight. That, maybe, we might not be able to fix everything, but we could revert the damage done to the soil and at the same time slow down the warming. We had something on our desks, a damn miracle. A vehicle that could fix the now in preparation for the future.

“But then they sold it. And I thought, sure, that’s not fantastic, but we’ve been dancing the same waltz for decades. Maybe whatever trillionaire got their hands on it would see what groundbreaking science they had in their hands and actually make something out of it. Something being better than nothing. But, like always, they shelved it. They put a red mark on it and threw it on their coffee table.

“I couldn’t stand idly by. As you well know, I lost half my family in ’42.

“All I felt was rage. This seething, blinding hatred at the idea that history was going to repeat itself, that it would continue to repeat until every one of us immolates ourselves at sunset or sunrise. I had enough, someone had to intervene. Someone had to do something. 

“Everyone in my sector kept saying how tragic it was that we would never see another machine. Blake went on and on about how he would have loved to see his grandmother again. Freya kept on about how they would have loved to see what the world would be like a hundred years down the line. All this wishing and pining but nobody wanted to do anything about it, nobody was thinking on a large enough scale.

“And so I stole a machine.

“I started off small. Rivets and bolts, dials and levers. I backed up the programming to an ambulatory drive and built my own dashboard. I stripped the materials from my house: the metal plating from the saferoom, the iron burners off my stove, my old gaming chair. And I got it. I built my own time machine and I said I’m going to fix the world .”

Mark sat forward on the couch and we leaned forward with him, enraptured.

“While I built it, I gathered information on where the P and VP would be in the coming months. Board meetings, family vacations, scheduled lunch breaks. I kept a list. I chose a date. December 31st, at 10pm. Lofty goals, I admit. The machine hadn’t been that fine-tuned. But I was obsessed. I was reckless, flirting with insanity and with nothing to lose. I was ready.

“After you closed that door I ran for the machine before the frost could freeze both it and me. I hopped into the pilot’s seat, didn’t even check the coordinates, and slammed the button. I didn’t care where it took me.

“It’s important to know that, when time traveling, it’s not just time that needs to be set, but coordinates. The genius behind the technology is not so much the how, but the mathematics that goes into pinpointing a specific location not just on a planetary scale, but on the cosmic scale. As Earth zips through space, pulled by the incredible speeds of our sun, we’re never in the same spot for even an infinitesimally small fraction of a second. The slightest miscalculation and I’d be plummeting through the nothingness of space—suffocating for my hubris.

“It’s an awful feeling, being displaced through time and space. Like hitting the brakes after pushing the limits of how fast a car can go. That drop of the stomach when you think you’re about to crash, so you panic and yank the wheel and slam the brakes. Only you’re sitting stock still. You think you’re dreaming but you’re not. You’re asleep and falling, but you’re awake.

“When the dials on the dashboard stopped spinning, I sat there for what felt like a decade. I had brought no weapon with me, only a plan and the desire to see those who’ve abused us suffer. For the first time since my childhood, I spoke a wish into the universe: please, let me win.

“I then opened the hatch, crawled outside, and lost my stomach onto the lawn.”

Rosie gagged and I got her a cup of water with a lemon wedge. While Mark slept, I had ransacked his place for all the perishables he had on hand, which were enough to keep us fed for a good two weeks. My plan for dinner had been upcycled salmon with lemon zest and rosemary, but after Rosie’s bathroom break, we fell right back into it.

“I very quickly realized that not only was I in the wrong place, but in the wrong time.

“What surrounded me was not the minimalist, all-white nightmare of the CFD building, with its characterless angles and lifeless concrete garden. Oh, no. The lawn was not even a lawn, but a park. A real one. With trees and benches and a fountain.”

I snorted and said: “We still have those.”

“Yeah, in New York,” Rosie quipped. “Let him tell it.”

“Trees, benches, and a fountain. Fairly standard fare, but I wasn’t even allowed the grace of thinking I was in Central Park. Because out of the corner of my eye, I saw it. A large carriage pulled by horses the sizes of cars.

“The shock had been great, but it continued to grow the more I looked around me. Women in large dresses and parasols. Men in tasteful suits and hats. It had been drizzling and I scampered back into the machine, but those people were unbothered by the weather. The rain did not burn away their clothes or scar their skin.

“Then, there was the smell. Smog, oil, pollution so heavy I felt my lungs blacken by the minute. It was dreadful enough that not even the green grass could ease my nose.

“Around me, people began to stop and stare. I had no course of action. My plan was to travel several weeks into the future, not two centuries into the past. I was not dressed for said travels, as you well know. Basketball shorts and tank tops weren’t the height of fashion in 19th century London.”

“I was joking about Houdini.”

“That won’t be for another twenty years,” said Mark. “It was 1876, I would soon come to learn. December 10th. An uncharacteristically warm winter, but still cold enough that lack of a jacket would get me hypothermic in about an hour or so.

“I was so confused that I could not think of what to do. I just sat there, in the shade of my machine, battling palpitations and an anxiety so potent I thought I would faint.

“A man approached me at one point, asked if I was alright, if I needed a clinic. His accent was so thick I could barely understand so I just shook my head. He gave me his jacket… Fancy one, too. Said he could at least get me somewhere dry. That I accepted.

“Every passing minute made me feel more and more delirious. There was a weight in my chest, knowing I had done something wrong. There was the fear that I would lose my window of opportunity, that I would have to replot the entire endeavor, but then I remembered, I have a time machine . I could redo it ten, a hundred, a million times over until I got it right.

“Plus, I was still human. I was still a man of science and curiosity gripped my throat so tight I could not fathom a reality in which I got back into that machine and traveled back to modernity. While not one for history, I was intrigued. If not the Industrial Revolution, then its tail end. Who all was walking those streets alongside me?

“The man whose name I never got paid for a meal and the most disgusting beer I’ve ever had the misfortune of drinking. He paid for a room in a boarding house, then stopped on the second day to drop off some clothing. I thanked him, then never saw him again. He never asked who I was or what I was doing. Probably thought I was some aimless opium addict.

“For several days I wandered the streets of Westminster. In a suit. I’d never worn one before then. I subsided on the snacks I had brought with me, obsessively making sure I kept the wrappers in my knapsack or else alter the course of history.”

Here, the time traveler stopped talking as if slapped across the face. He looked around, worrying his bottom lip as his eyes grew watery again.

“It was all for naught, wasn’t it,” he whispered, and for a moment I feared he would devolve into a sobbing mess once more. “Nothing’s changed. Nothing’s changed.”

Rosie placed a hand over his knee. “It’s alright, sweetcakes. If you need another cry, I’ve got plenty of tissues.”

“No. No, it’s fine. I don’t think I have enough liquid in me for that. England’s very humid and I can feel the moisture evaporating from my body just sitting here.”

“What kept you there after the first couple of days?” I asked, hoping to distract him. “Only so much you can do without money and a prepaid room.”

Mark held the piece of fabric up to his nose, touching it to his cheek. “Every day I would go back to the machine. It was on the third that the constable had a group of men come to remove it. I’m no fighter, I couldn’t have taken them on if I’d tried, but someone else had been walking by at the time.

“They were a sight to behold. Only slightly taller than me, all wrath but in that gentlemanly way that you wouldn’t even notice you were being insulted. I was confused, the policemen were enraged, and they swiftly delivered an indecency notice that was just as quickly paid off.

“That was how I met James. He stood there and argued, said he’d have his employer have a strong word if they so much as touched the machine. Swore it was some sort of contraption set to debut at the Great Exhibition later that year. He’s a cunning one, James.

“When the cops had gone, he was quick to have me follow him. I did so without question, intrigued by this person who, by all contemporary definitions of a man, did not fit the bill.

“It was alarming, really. How easy it was to just be. No one asked questions. Everyone minded their own. Well, except the law. We got served several indecency notices through the years, but James was established enough that no one could touch him.

“He, too, was a scientist, and his hunger for knowledge had enthralled me. To hear another person talk with genuine passion and fiery drive for hours on end… Have you ever experienced that? That deep-rooted trust that comes from baring one’s most vulnerable parts.”

Rosie took my hand and squeezed it.

The time traveler continued. “We became acquaintances, and day in and day out he would ask over and over again who I was and what was the function of the machine. And each time I would tell him I’ll tell you tomorrow . He said but tomorrow never arrives, does it? And we laughed.

“And we shared meals. We shared drinks. We shared stories, and dreams, and one night we sat under the stars—actual stars, out in the open, at night. No fear of instant freeze, no fear of a sunrise that could kill us. He asked me: where you come from, does love exist? I’m certain he meant America. I told him yes. He then asked if I believed that love exists. I said yes.

“Before I came to realize it, it had been a year. We were roommates, and I didn’t have to contribute a dime so long as I continued to provide answers to his pressing questions regarding the still-new technology of the era. Beyond the wrappers, I hadn’t given the future much thought. The butterfly had not crossed my mind, as the only thing on it was James.

“James and his piercing blue eyes and his unrepentant thirst for knowledge. James and his bindings that would sometimes hurt him to breathe, and that eventually he came to allow me to tend to. His ribs were bruised, but it was a price I was intimately familiar with.

“One day, three years into our friendship, I told him the truth. I told him that I was from the future, from a time when nature sought to destroy the beings that had destroyed it. I told him that I had arrived there by accident, with violence and ill-intent in my heart. A man with a mission that had been so easily swayed by a pair of beautiful eyes and boundless fascination.

“Do you know what he said? He squinted at me from behind his glasses, nodded his head and said that he had known all along, that I had mentioned craving burgers months after our first meeting, but the term hadn’t been coined until at least a year later. I knew you were from the future, he said, I’m yet to meet another man as fascinating as me from this century .”

“Even back then,” Rosie murmured.

“Even back then,” said the time traveler, the wrinkles around his eyes deepening with great sorrow. He stared off, lost in a memory that was no doubt fresh—from both yesterday and two centuries ago. “We danced, many times, with my hand low on his back and his on my arm. We swayed. Sometimes in his laboratory, and one time in Dr. Ripley’s conservatory in front of his fellow compatriots. They all took it in jest, a celebratory jig at the end of great discoveries.

“And what a discovery it had been, in my thirty-fifth year of life. It was a discovery that changed the world, the only discovery that has ever mattered throughout the history of man. The night I saw stars of a different kind, where shedding layers was a mark of life rather than a rapid approaching death—or I guess there was a death involved. A little death that was not quite so small, however quick it might have been. What is a man to do after a lifetime of believing he was dysfunctional?

“We laid there for our own eternity, fingers entwined as our breaths eased and sweat cooled. It was the first time I had ever listened to another person’s heartbeat. That steady, rhythmic drum pounding against the shell of my ear with a song that sang I am here, I am yours, we are alive.

“He touched my chest that night in wonderment for more than one reason. He marveled at the scars, at the accommodation—as he called it—from my time. I asked him, against my better judgement, if he would go through with it. He assured me that, while fascinated by the opportunity to do so, his trust in surgical medicine was not that certain. James was an inventor, after all, not a medical doctor. So I proposed another miracle from my time.

“It was then that I became reckless. For years I toiled at the machine for I am no genius, and the spares I had traveled with were limited. The task at hand required improvising tools and programming, all schematics we burned upon execution, but it worked. Once certain the machine worked again, we spent another month doing nothing but menial tasks.

“We sat by the hearth and read books with our legs intertwined. We redecorated. We traveled north and stood at the cliffs, then we went for swims and counted the sheep outside of the train. By that point there was no James and I, but a singular we. An evolution of language. Two lives so entwined that splitting an atom with the technology of that time would have been easier.

“We were afraid. Afraid that I would get lost through time and that we would never see each other again, but I guaranteed him that I would come back. I promised him with every ounce of strength in my heart of hearts that I would return, that I would come home—because home was now a flat in London, with my friend, my love, two hundred years before my birth.

“I succeeded, at least, in that one thing. I made it back here some fifteen years ago, and it is in hindsight that I recall misplacing several of my vials over the course of a year during my youth. I was very meticulous, you see, as one should be with one’s medication. I kept a weekly alarm on my phone lest I forgot to take my shot, and I remember the panic of thinking they had been thrown out without my knowing. They hadn’t been. It was just another me, from another time. This was when things got exciting.”

Rosie entered with coffee, cheese cubes, and a sleeve of crackers. No dinner was going to be made as we followed the time traveler across his journey.

He leaned forward as if to key us into secret, as if his story was not already a tale of great interest.

“I missed by a year. Poor James was beside himself which broke my heart, but after he flung himself into my arms and wept and held me close, I knew that this was it. He was my reason. In that long string of firsts, I got to include being missed by someone who loved me. But I had made it back, and with precious cargo.

“Of course, as most medications suspended in oil, the vials only had about six months of shelf-life. So while James marveled at the concept of disposable needles, I took to the board and reconfigured parts of the machine to suit both our needs.”

“Hold on a minute,” I said, holding up a hand like a grade schooler seeking permission. “You’re saying you refurbished a time machine, a piece of technology you could barely finesse into landing at a programmed time, to keep hormones from expiring?”

“As well as looping to generate an infinite amount, yes.”

I stared at him, gobsmacked. “How the fuck? You’re telling me we have the technology to, what, keep everyone fed? To revive the soil, restore the atmosphere? What else can that shit do, Mark?”

“Blue, your blood pressure,” Rosie said while tugging on my hand. “Take a breath.”

“Take a breath? Rosie, are you even listening? This could—this would—”

“Save the world?” said the time traveler with an expression so grave I was overcome with anger at his despondence. “It’s you who isn’t listening to me, Blue.”

“My ears are open and wax free, buddy.”

“I tried saving the world.”

“Did you? Because it sounds like you stumbled onto some limp-wristed fool and forgot what was at stake!”

“Blue!” Rosie swatted my leg. “You knock that off! Can’t you see the man is grieving?”

I stood up from the couch and paced, hands tucked tightly under my armpits as I counted down from ten. I wanted to punch something. I didn’t.

I knew Mark was grieving. The state of him upon his arrival would forever be emblazoned in my brain, aided by the gut-wrenching wails he had made while he writhed on our floor.

“Okay,” I said, my back to both of them. “You hooked him up with 21st century medicine. Then what?”

Mark shrugged. “That’s it.”

“That’s it? You invented the world’s most revolutionary piece of technology in the 19th century and that’s it?”

“A lot of revolutionary tech came from the 19th century.”

“You know what I mean!”

“Look around you, Blue!” Mark yelled back, shooting up to his feet. “Don’t you fucking get it? I tried! I tried and I tried but nothing stuck! We’re still stuck in the same shithole! Literally nothing changed.”

“What did you do, huh? Tell me one worthwhile thing you did while you were gone.”

“Blue, please,” Rosie said.

“No, I want him to answer me. I want him to look me dead in the eye and tell me what the fuck he did to try to save us.”

Mark clutched his pocket watch. 

“You want a list? Because I’ve got a list. Germany, ’33. D.C,, ’81. New York, ’01. Belgium, ’27. Brazil, ’19. California, ’32. England, ’23. Fucking Pompeii, 47.” His voice rose and quivered with every name and date. “London, 1914. London, 1914. London, 1914. London, 1914! May 7th, 1914!” He was yelling now. “You can’t change it, man! What’s lost is lost and you cannot bring it back. You can’t change the past. The people you love, the only person you have ever fucking loved, will die and there’s nothing no time machine, no infinite science, no fucking magic can do to change that!

“I tried to save the world and I couldn’t even save one person.

“I couldn’t even save one.”

Rosie stepped in and swept the time traveler into her arms and he wept with the agony of a starved newborn. Every wail, every sob, rattled the hollow space between my ribs. There was rage in his ragged inhales, a hopelessness that made its home in my heart and spread sinewy tendrils to twist around my veins and squeeze.

It was desolation.

As if the apocalypse had been one sudden explosion that engulfed us all rather than this tortuously slow death we were all living. Took out the frog and shot it before the water got too hot.

Rosie sat on the floor with Mark cradled in her arms, rocking him as he cried. I stood in the middle of the room, unsure of what to do or think.

I decided that it did not matter. Nothing had changed, as Mark said. We had just been told a story like the fairy tales of old meant to inspire hope in the weary, only, this one didn’t have a happy ending. Apt, given the times.

“How long did you get?” I asked.

“Give him a moment.”

“I want to know what happened to James.”

The fabric in his hand ripped, his nails lacerating the frail scrap. It was a fitting soundscape to the tragedy.

When Mark gathered his wits once again, he pulled away from Rosie with an apologetic smile. “I’m so sorry,” he said, but my wife’s only response was to reach over and wipe the tear-streaks from his cheek. “An accident, each time.”

“Each time?” The implication stung.

“It was my fault, the first time. I was tired after a long night in the laboratory and forgot to shut off the gas valves. He wanted a candlelit breakfast the coming morning. Romantic that he is.”

“Fuck.”

“I went back. Fixed it. Then we were mugged. The assailant pulled a pistol on me and James got between us. I went back, fixed it again. Food poisoning this time. It was so ridiculous that all I could do was laugh. So I did it again. And again. And again. I watched James die dozens of times, regardless of what I did. The last time, we were in bed. He was tucked against my side, his fingers drawing half circles over my chest as I counted the stars painted on our bedroom ceiling.

“He told me he had developed a cough. I could hear the wheeze in his chest, and I begged to let me bring him to a time in which I could cure him, extend his life another decade. And do you know what he said? I know what you’ve done, my dear, but death, like time, can only be explored, never conquered.

“May 7th, 1914. I woke up and he didn’t.

“He requested I let him rest. The illness had exhausted him beyond the capability to stand, and his bindings did not help his lungs. He asked me, with my future knowledge of how people like us are interred, to see that they got his name right. So I did.

“One last time, just like the first, I made sure he was tucked in bed before opening the gas valves and lighting the candles. And I laid down with him. I laid down with him and yet I’m still here because time does not understand, time does not care, that I misplaced myself within it. Its laws? Even I cannot fathom how they go.

“James Avery was on his death certificate. Brilliant mind and loving friend on his tombstone.

“We had thirty years.”

Rosie cried into her sleeve.

Despite my shortness, I tried to imagine what it would be like to wake up to a bed in which Rosie was absent, and the terror that twisted my stomach stanched the thought. The mere hint of the idea swelled nausea powerful enough to moisten my eyeballs.

“I threw myself into the work I had first set out to do with half the vigor,” said the time traveler after a long pause. “There is only so much a man in his sixties can do, but I did it anyway. I traveled to the end, the beginning, and then the end again, until the sun enveloped the sky and the oceans were blood-red and all that crawled along the wasteland of this earth were things of indistinguishable size and shape dragging along the shoals, with tentacles used to navigate the endless expanse of nothing…

“And then there was truly nothing, not outside and not inside. Every action, every footprint was but a noiseless echo at the end of all things. We built a time machine, I stole a time machine, and still nothing could be done. Now I am here, where I take time thinks I am supposed to be.”

In the kitchen, the old analogue clock ticked away the seconds.

I had questions regarding that last bit of the time traveler’s tale, whether the writhing monsters and blood sea were literal or metaphor, but how to formulate words escaped me. The three of us sat in silence, drowned in both horror and grief.

Mark’s hair had gone salt and pepper. His left eye was filmy white but he seemed to be able to see out of it perfectly well. He was gaunt, as if he hadn’t eaten in weeks. The time traveler hardly looked like Mark, but it was him. He had aged three decades and two hundred years at the same time. He was an old man in 2061, but he had witnessed the true death of our world.

Twenty four hours prior he had stood at our doorstep in basketball shorts and a tank top, hair unkempt, and scrawny. Fiery. Angry. Rebellion etched into his dark eyes.

Time had no meaning.

Time was only but meaning.

“That is my tale,” said the time traveler, his eyelids heavy. “A story of futility, hubris, and suffering.”

Rosie and I led him back to the spare room once he declined a late dinner. He was fine walking on his own, standing taller and stronger than even myself, but it felt like company was not so much wanted but needed.

I was the first to turn in that night, my head filled with wonder and dread, and a suspicious twinge of something akin to hope. That last one made me curious, and I would discuss the hows and the whys whenever Rosie joined me in bed.

It would have to wait until after sunrise if I wanted to look outside and see if the machine was really there, but until then, we all deserved the rest.

Shutting down the hallway lights, I made my way to the living room to fold the blankets we had used and gather the last of the dishes for the morning. When I lifted the crochet quilt off the floor, the sound of something heavy hitting the linoleum gave me a start. The pocket watch almost clocked my toe, and a piece of machinery that heavy would have left a nasty bruise.

I picked it up.

The tarnished silver now told a myriad of stories, all of which I longed to hear and hoped I would get to in due time.

And there it was again. Hope.

“I don’t think it was a fruitless endeavor at all,” Rosie said once she got into bed. She rolled over as best she could with the size of her belly, her head tucked against my shoulder. “What he did, I mean. Making a machine, going back in time.”

“I don’t think so either,” I confessed, which surprised her. “He did save more than one person.”

“You believe him, then.”

“I do.” 

The pocket watch, turned out, was not a watch at all, but rather a locket. Inside was a sepia-toned picture, frayed around the edges with the year 1898 written in elegant cursive on the bottom corner. It was in the Victorian style, but not in the way one expects.

In it stood Mark, dressed to the nines with his hair slicked back and thick necktie making him look unnaturally stiff. This was contrasted by the man who posed with him, just as smartly dressed, slicked back hair and clean-shaven face, but his lips comically pursed. James held a handkerchief to Mark’s cheek, as if wiping something off his face, and his other arm draped around his waist.

They were looking at each other, Mark’s grin infectious, and I could almost see how it had played out. Mark blowing a raspberry, James laughing, arms around each other, a private kiss that would set the photographer in a huff. Two men in love.

“I love you,” I told Rosie, my hand on her belly.

She kissed my brow.

Come morning, the locket would be gone, and the only trace of the time traveler would be the circle of burnt grass on our lawn.

[catcherappreciator]

A Love Letter to Baseball

This sport means so much to me. More than words can express. But words will have to do for now.

When I first started watching baseball, I had no idea what I was looking at.

I mean, I had played for a few summers when I was younger; but that was more than a few summers ago. Plus I didn’t even remember the baseball part of playing baseball. I remembered my teammates. I remembered what we’d joke about in the dugout. I remembered what it felt like to be treated like one of the boys. I did not remember the plays I made or the balls I hit.

But I remembered the fun. And as I was sitting in my backyard on a warm May evening, the part of me that remembers whispered something in my ear. So I got up, went inside, and turned on the TV.

For the longest time baseball was really just ‘the thing that my uncle watches to avoid social interactions on birthdays.’ It’s so deeply ingrained in North American culture that I didn’t even think it was worth a second glance. Baseball is baseball, and that’s it.

So as I found myself watching more and more I was surprised, honestly. Maybe I had a few misconceptions.

Two teams, both with nine players. Each team takes turns batting and fielding. Everyone plays on the same field—no ‘my side, your side.’ It’s equal.

To win the game, your team must score the most runs.

To score a run, teammates have to work together to get each other home.

What’s home? Home is where the heart is. Home is the place you long for. Home is sixty feet, six inches away from the mound.

So summer trudged along, as did baseball. I had my slumps, and baseball had its own. But somewhere along the way I started to realize that I was wrong earlier. Yes, baseball is baseball; but it’s so much more. I think that baseball is the sport that most mirrors our own lives.

There are 162 games in a regular season of Major League Baseball.

That’s more than football, more than basketball, more than hockey. Probably more than anything else you’re thinking about right now.

Athletes train all spring and play into the fall. Again, again, and again. Almost every single day. 162 times.

162 chances to save the day. 162 chances to absolutely fall apart.

(HINT: there’s usually more falling apart than saving the day.)

I also started to see how much human connection is involved in baseball.

I should’ve already known. But the part of me that remembers is not the part of me that analyzes. And professional athletes are way different than me, right?

Professional athletes are not inhuman. They may seem so sometimes, but we, as living breathing people, have more in common with them than not. They have lives. They have friends. They spend so much time together that they have no choice but to support each other. The hugs, the high fives, the dugout rituals are all so silly; but they mean something.

Seeing the athletes is only one part of it all though. You know what’s special? Seeing the fans.

Those people in the stands—and the people on the street, and the people online, and everyone you see with a certain hat—all feel the same way as you. They feel the hope, and the hopelessness. Every win and loss are echoed from person to person.

I can even watch games from 10, 20, 30 years ago and know exactly how everyone feels. There’s some sort of electricity there; it’s conducted by every cheer, every holler, every breath held. Going, going… gone.

Eventually fall fell upon us. It’s in the name, after all.

Not everything can go well for everyone all the time. But there’s always more baseball.

Always a next year. Always another 162 chances to get your hopes up. Always another 162 chances to fall in love all over again.

And that’s what I did. I fell in love with baseball.

I am truly a different person than I was before this summer. And I don’t say that lightly.

It’s crazy what sports can mean to someone, huh?

[prossims]

Summer, Year 02

As Summer rolled around, we made our way to the Pinnacles of Del Sol Valley, specifically to the residence of the Zest-Abrams household. This modern 3 bedroom mansion houses 3 people and their trusty butler.

Johnny Zest (57) is a famous comedian and the chief writer of a popular sitcom named The Urbz. Vasyl Abrams (56) is his husband of over 20 years, a famous actor and the director & star of The Urbz. Their sitcom is one of the highest rated shows in the comedy genre produced by Del Sol Film Industry and it has all been possible thanks to these two’s years of hard work and incredible passion to deliver their best work.

The third and cutest member of the household is Ava Zest-Abrams (6). Johnny and Vasyl adopted her 6 years ago, right before moving into this mansion. Ava is not in contact with her birth parents, but these two men, her two dads, have given her every happiness she could ever ask for.

Ava started going to the local grade school this Spring. Johnny and Vasyl decided to send her in a little later because they did not want to put too much pressure on her. But she is almost catching up with kids of her age already. However, with only 3 months of school before Summer break, Ava has failed to make any friends to hang out this summer with. So her dads signed her up for a Leadership summer camp. She has not been particularly enjoying it, but well, it is almost over now.

Johnny, our dear old Johnny, seems to be defying his age and still going strong with bringing in the laughs. He has also found a passion for sports in his later age. He installed a basketball court in their backyard and every week, he invites over Richard and Braylon, children of his best friend Allyssa, to spend an afternoon at the mansion playing basketball and ping pong and hanging out.

Are you drowning in all the character references yet? There is another form of drowning happening in this household. The fear of drowning. Their mansion came with a pool on the back deck and Johnny has found the courage to get his feet wet only once. He found it unbearably difficult to keep his head afloat in the pool and ever since he has been keeping a distance from that thing.

But recently, the fear has been acting up for some reason. Johnny has been having persistent nightmares of drowning in the pool water and dying. He cannot get over it. Vasyl suggested he get a few swimming lessons so he starts feeling confident, but Johnny just cannot bring himself to go near water! He has been considering therapy. But being a celebrity of his multitude, everything he does is news. Going into therapy, therefore, equals to HUGE news.

People will gossip, point fingers, try to figure out what’s going on. And the first fingers will inevitably be raised on his marital relationship. He does not want to bombard Vasyl with the media's questions about his relationship because Johnny could not bring himself close to a 4 feet deep water body!

Vasyl, on the other hand, has been having a regular summer - filled with filming and work. One thing that happened to him as ‘new’ this season is his friendship with Allyssa - Johnny’s best friend whom I mentioned before. Johnny and Allyssa have maintained their unbreakable friendship over the years and Vasyl always wanted an opening to get to know her better.

This year, he found it when he realized that novels are not that different from dramatic tv serieses. His newfound love of reading has given him an opportunity to bond with Allyssa, who is a well-known nonfiction writer. Of course, Vasyl does not read nonfiction. He reads sappy romantic dramas and the occasional thriller novels. But with the amount of books Allyssa has read in her life, they always find a common book or author to discuss. In fact, Vasyl has been inviting Allyssa for coffee way too often to discuss literature!

However, Vasyl’s regular mundane life was disrupted by the doorbell one Saturday morning! He looked through the peephole to find a familiar face - a 24 year old man with mint-colored hair, or at least it’s supposed to be mint.

“Micah! What are you doing here?” exclaimed Vasyl while holding the door open.

“Uncle…” that’s all Micah could master before breaking into tears.

Vasyl was quick to hold his nephew into embrace. He has always loved and cared for this child like his own and today was no different. A look of glum shaded Vasyl’s face. “It’s okay, my boy! You are with me now. Everything will be fine. Why don’t you tell me what happened?” “Dad..dad passed away last night..” Micah took a deep breath after saying this to gather himself. Then continued, “I am sorry I didn’t call to let you know. I didn’t know what to do. The medical people were asking me to hold a funeral? How can I hold a funeral? How can my father be gone, uncle? I have no one to go to.. All I could think about is seeing you.. So, I took the first bus this morning and came here, Uncle Vasyl, I don’t know what I am gonna do…”

“You have done the right thing, Micah. Nobody blames you. I will take care of the funeral and everything else. You just try to take care of yourself. Have you had any breakfast?”

Vasyl talked to his nephew in a calming tone while walking him into the house. Micah is his only elder brother’s only child. Vasyl knew his brother was on death bed. But they were never close enough for Vasyl to go and visit him in the countryside. Maybe he would..someday. But that’s not going to happen anymore.

Micah, on the other hand, is very dear to his only uncle. Unable to have a child of his own, Vasyl always loved and adored Micah like an offspring of himself. Right now, all he can think about is taking care of Micah. He knew his brother had not left anything to his son’s name. They didn’t even have a house, they lived in a rented apartment the size of a storage room. Micah got through college thanks to his own scholarship money. But now he is fresh out of college, with no job. No money. No place to live. And Vasyl as his only guardian. Vasyl had to take care of this kid.

Over the next few days, Vasyl and Johnny put their heads together to figure out how to help Micah. The funeral was done. Micah’s CV and papers were sent to potential employers. And their realtor was sent on a hunt for affordable one bedroom houses nearby. Meanwhile, Micah became a part of the Zest-Abrams’ mundane lives.

He would spend a lot of time with Ava. She is the sister he never got to have, after all. They would play video games together and Micah would help her with homework. He even taught her to use sim.tv on their computer and recommended some amazing kids’ shows on there. He also joined Johnny’s basketball group along with Richard and Braylon. They have been getting along well-ish too. All in all, Micah finally felt like finding his own place, his own people. Unlike his previous life where his whole life was his father.

Before Fall could roll around, Micah got a job offer as a Lab Tech in Oasis Labs. The payment was not good and he would not be starting before Fall, but it is something on a very short notice and Micah welcomed it with excitement. The house hunt, unfortunately, was not going well. The realtor has not been able to find any house in Oasis within their budget range. As a last resort, they decided to convert the downstairs skill room into a bedroom for Micah until he could find a place to stay.

Which, lucky for Micah, did not happen. He actually proved himself very resourceful and found a listing of one part of a duplex for rent in Oasis Springs. A girl the same age as Micah was living on the other side of the duplex and she wanted someone to share the cost. 

So Vasyl took care of the purchase. Micah Abrams and Hannah Hudson moved into a duplex property in Oasis Springs on the first of Fall. 

Where will this settlement lead? Will Micah be able to stand on his own ground? What does life have in store for him and Hannah? We will find out soon!

[rindecisions]

WIP WORD SEARCH

rules: share snippets of your work containing each of the words the previous poster selected for you (optional addition: if you can't find the word in your WIPs, or you simply don't have any WIPs, you can just write a sentence around the word)

Thank you @daysarestranger for the tag!! 🤍

I wanted to use the fic I just posted, but my dumb ass brain didn't see it titled WIP. So I'll tack in on under the 'Read More' line ^-^

My Big Bang would be perfect for this but alas. Here's what I could find amongst my 10+ WIPS

My words are: street, hair, minute, finally, crowd

Street

The Devil of Hawkins - Partially posted

Max’s face fell in annoyance. “The dare was to stay overnight in a haunted house,” she said plainly. “So me and Lucas went to the attic, Erica was looking around the house or playing in the playground across the street. Then out of nowhere Jason and his basketball goonies came in and started attacking us, saying we were doing a ritual to summon the devil or something, blaming us for Chrissy’s death. He even pulled a gun on Lucas.”

🔞Hair

Give Me Fuel, Give Me Fire - Partially posted

When he felt Eddie’s dick growing inside his ass, he gasped and gripped his hair in anticipation. Eddie grunted at his hair being pulled but it was just one more thing that urged him toward a full erection. As he got harder, it started to feel better, and he began to enjoy the sensitivity. He gripped Steve’s shoulders and groaned as he buried his dick inside his ass. Steve’s relieved shout made his skin dance with electricity. At least this time he wasn’t going to get off so quickly.

Minute

The Target - A VERY dark Mungrove/Steddie fic

After following the guy for a few weeks, Billy finally felt confident enough to act. He parked about a mile and a half away, keeping his truck out of sight. He, grabbed a small bag of supplies and trekked to the man’s semi isolated house, making sure to stay out of sight as he did. After about a 40 minute walk, he found himself in the man's backyard. There were no lights on, but he didn’t know when the last light went off, so he hung back by the tree line for about an hour.

Finally

Demositter - Steve has to babysit Dustin's secret pet

Carefully, he stepped near the thing and set the candy bar on the ground in front of it’s limp face petals. He jumped when it chittered and scooped the candy into it’s mouth as it scrambled to it’s feet. It playfully tossed it in the air a couple of times before finally eating it and making a sound similar to a purr. Steve gasped and tensed when Bart turned it’s attention to him. It lowered it’s head and chittered as it slowly stepped toward him.

🔞Crowd

Freak Obsession - Steve stalks Eddie

I don’t know why I didn’t expect it, but I hadn’t even considered that Eddie would end up singing. When the first sound to hit the microphone was a well timed shout, I felt dizzy and got a cramp as my dick jumped to full mast in record time. That sound had been locked away for later use. I watched in awe as I vaguely ran my fingers over the bulge in my jeans. His singing voice, while unrefined, was just as nice as speaking voice. I could listen to it for hours. Our eyes met for a second as he scanned the crowd and I thought for sure the zipper on my jeans was about to bust. Those eyes with that makeup, I was only human.

That was fun!

No pressure tags: @xirayn @salamandergoo & @vankaar

Your words: Idea, Delay, People, Average, Eager

Just because I want to!

Here are those same words for my newest fic. Funnily enough it contains all of them.

Street

Hair

Minute

Finally

Crowd

[if-you-fan-a-fire]

I just picked up an old paperback copy of a Vietnam War book called SEALs: UDT/SEAL Operations in Vietnam by Tim Bosiljevac. The book chronicles the early history of the Sea, Air and Land Teams, from their founding under President Kennedy through the end of the Vietnam War. The SEALs were created to be the Navy’s superhuman version of the Green Berets: “a naval guerrilla/counterguerrilla [force] with an emphasis on direct action raids and missions on targets in close proximity to bodies of water.” I love that line, “in close proximity to bodies of water.” That could mean a puddle…or hell, when you consider that human beings are about 70% water–“bodies of water” could mean just about anything.

There are a lot of great Vietnam War books out there, mostly memoirs, as Dr. Dolan explained:

Virtually anyone who saw combat and has a decent memory can write a decent book about it — and Vietnam, a war characterized by thousands of small skirmishes, was richer in incident and gore than an inner-city basketball tournament. When next you hear that rough voice asking, “War — what is it good for?”, you tell it: “First-person memoirs, that’s what!”

…This high literary output was a delayed gift of the utter lack of strategy which doomed the American enterprise in Vietnam: a war which consisted largely of sending small contingents of infantry out into the jungle to find the enemy, usually by getting ambushed, is bound to be a military disaster — but equally bound to produce an extraordinary number of fantastic combat tales.

Unfortunately SEALs lacks this first-person immediacy–it’s a third-person history, Bosiljevic’s Navy College master’s thesis turned into a book, and unfortunately it sometimes reads like a thesis.

Still, this is Nam, Dude–and we’re talking about the SEALs here. That means page after page of ambushes and skirmishes, some of which make for some pretty amazing reading, even in the third dry person.

One such ambush stuck out–one of those rarely reported, long-rumored showdowns between our guys and the hated, invisible “Russian advisors” who were never officially supposed to be there in South Vietnam.

ou kids out there who were born too late to remember the Cold War grudges probably won’t grasp the profound satisfaction that a scene like this offers your average armchair Cold Warrior. See, one thing our side could never get over was griping about how the Soviets were somehow cheating. This scene is the sort of “This is what happens when the SEALs catch you cheating” fantasy that all the armchair Cold Warriors dreamed about. It takes place in 1967–a big year for the SEALs in ‘Nam–in a province in the southwest corner of South Vietnam. Meaning, Russian advisors were operating in our own backyard, the bastuds!:

One particular SEAL ambush in 1967 in Kien Giang Province provided a surprise to a frogman force. The SEALs had been watching a reported supply route used by enemy forces on a remote canal. Late in the afternoon of the second day of their surveillance, a VC sampan floated into the kill zone. Besides the two indigenous guerrillas onboard, a tall, heavy Caucasian with a beard rode in the bow. He was dressed in what looked like a khaki uniform and was holding a communist assault rifle. Just as the craft pulled into the area, the communists became leery, as if sensing the danger nearby. Although initially startled at seeing the white man, the SEALs immediately let the law of the barroom prevail–when a fight is unavoidable, strike first, and strike hard. The frogmen unleashed a hail of fire into the enemy force. The Caucasian was hit in the chest in the initial burst of fire and went overboard. The VC attempted to jump in and assist him. Just then, a superior Vietcong force appeared and counterattacked. Outnumbered and outgunned, the SEALs fought a running gun battle to an area where they could extract. Later, they were debriefed about the incident by an intelligence officer. They were told to remain silent about the action. South Vietnamese intelligence had reported that the white man had been a Russian. It would remain a little-known fact that the guerrillas and North Vietnamese were assisted in their Third World brushfire war by a host of foreign advisers and technicians, including Soviets, Chinese, Eastern Bloc, Cuban, Korean, and other communist nationals.

There’s a serious ethical contradiction that seems lost on the author here, a contradiction that’s built into our DNA: On the one hand, the SEALs (very wisely) attack and kill without warning on the barroom theory about striking first and striking hard. Which makes sense, but goes against the suburban middle-class rules of fighting. Real middle-class American bar fights go something like this: a lot of shouting, a lot of loud long well-telegraphed empty threats, even formal declarations marking the combatant’s geographical location (“I’m here! I’m here, mutherfucker!”), dramatic tearing off of one’s shirt, verbal commands expressed in the Imperative Mood (“Come on! Come on, mutherfucker!”)… All that pre-game shouting in American bar-fights establishes the combatant’s sense of “fair play” that suburbanites tend to vastly overrate. It’s as though everyone’s worrying about what the post-game highlights will look like, what they’ll say after  the fight–about securing your place in history, or in the homecoming king vote. I dunno. I remember in Moscow in the mid-90s watching a Russian and an American go at it, and there couldn’t have been a bigger fight-culture clash: The American, some ripped red-head, went through the whole tearing his shirt off schtick, screaming and yelling about his geographical location, calling his Russian opponent all sorts of names implying that the Russian was a cheater whereas he wasn’t…It seemed ridiculous to everyone watching, especially the Russian guy, who tagged the redhead a few more times, messing up his Tony Award-winning act.

American Cold Warriors, armchair and otherwise, always carried around this grudge about the “rules” and about how Americans are just too damn decent for this corrupt awful world. And at the top of the grievance list was the fact that Russian advisors operated with the Vietnamese. Somehow, that just…wasn’t fair. Those damn Russkies–always cheating!

For anyone interested, I found a Russian site set up by Russian veterans of the Vietnam War, which features plenty of old war photos, as well as articles and short memoirs from the Russians who served. (Click here.)

About a decade ago, I was in Vietnam with a bunch of Russian friends from my old Moscow newspaper The eXile. One day, I peeled off from the group and took a tour of the Cu Chi Tunnels, the setting for one of the best of all the Vietnam War books. None of the Russians gave a shit about Cu Chi and all the stories I forced them to listen to out on the beaches–they found anything military boring, they’d heard too many war stories already from the Soviet occupation of Afghanistan, stories that were hard to top.

So off I went on an official Cu Chi Tunnels tour. There were 10 of us in my group, all but two Americans, including a retired couple from Texas: the wife was nervous, thin, harried; the husband one of those squat military retirees who infest the American southwest, tight shirt, large gut hanging over his belt, big fat forearms and fingers. Almost as soon as our tour started, the husband let us know that he was a Vietnam War veteran. He was a real loud-mouthed asshole–it was as though he’d practiced for this moment ever since Saigon fell. He did everything imaginable that day to reignite the Vietnam War. But our guide, a respectful young Vietnamese man, kept calm, letting the sore old loser blow off his steam. It added another layer of tension and entertainment to the whole Cu Chi Tunnels tour. Actually, just  walking around the cheap victory museum dedicated to my own country’s defeat made me feel like some neutered German tourist–isn’t that what post-war German tourists do, respectfully visit monuments to their defeat?

But the real action was the toothless rematch going on right here in Cu Chi: Old Veteran Guy  versus Young Wiry Vietnamese Guide. It went something like this: Our guide would show us some half-cheesy, half-horrifying commie exhibit on, say, Agent Orange, and our guide would say something like, “Agent Orange cause many death, many deformity for Vietnamese children, American government not recognize effects of illegal chemical war, refuse to pay reparations”…and the Texan would snarl, “Nope! Nope, nope, nope! Not true! No evidence! It’s all a crock, people, I know all about this, I was there. Agent Orange never hurt anyone–they’re just trying to get money from our government, that’s all.”

Or our guide would proudly relate how underdog Vietnamese, wearing shoes made out of torn tire treads, managed to defeat and outlast the mighty American imperial army. To which the veteran would bark, “Not true! You had the Russians backing you the whole time. You had an endless supply line of Russian weapons, Russian advisors, Russian and Chinese material. Don’t whitewash this little propaganda tour of yours, I know what happened! You cheated–you had all the help in the world!”

Or our guide would show us some of the clever ways that the Viet Cong concealed the entrances to their tunnels, and how they fooled the Americans with their earthy ingenuity; our veteran from Texas would literally walk over and stand between us and our skinny Vietnamese guide, and shout, “We could have pumped in poison gas into the tunnels, and it’d’ve all been over. I asked for poison gas, other commanders asked for poison gas too, believe me. The problem was that our side played fair–we were signatories to the Geneva Conventions. The jerks in Washington cared more about the Geneva Conventions than they cared about winning this war.”

The Americans winced and cowered. But our guide didn’t seem bothered–he seemed more worried that we would be dissatisfied tour customers. I realize now, his main goal was to make sure that the old veteran didn’t lodge a complaint.

“Our hands were tied because we couldn’t use poison gas–and let me tell you, if we were allowed to use chemical weapons or poison gas on those tunnels, we’d’ve saved a lot of lives, something the do-gooders in Washington couldn’t understand. So what could we do? We used fire hoses to pump in river water into the tunnel entrances that we found. That, or tear gas. But that was a waste of time. If we could have used poison gas on the communists in these tunnels here, it would have saved a lot of lives. A lot of lives.”

That was stunning–even this jerk had to couch his little fascist plans under the guise of “saving lives.” It crossed the line from asshole Ugly American to something almost downright impressive.

I kept waiting for our Vietnamese guide to blow a fuse or shout the old Texan down, or rip the vet’s cholesterol-hardened heart out with some Bruce Lee move and chomp it down while it was still beating, Jim Carrey-style. But our guide seemed genuinely empathetic, and genuinely worried that the tour would end badly. Maybe the guide had seen a lot of these types on his tour. Whatever the case, comparing the old loud-mouthed vet with this zen Vietnamese guide, you could see, in some small way, why and how we lost that war.

At the end of the tour, ol’ Texas veteran softened up, shook our guide’s hand, and congratulated him and the Vietnamese on their victory–a victory which, he now magnanimously conceded, they’d earned.

It was like witnessing the “25-years-later” scene of what happened to the Robert Duvall character decades after he wistfully declared, “Some day, this war’s gonna end…” Which is to say, there’s a reason why Coppola never filmed the 25-years-later scene.

- Mark Ames, “PHANTOM MILITARY ADVISORS AND “FAIR” FIGHTING.” The eXiled Online. June 21, 2011.

[sandyyy0708-blog]

because shoes pertaining to indoor baseball can be reduced lower

When your kids set with regards to their football clothing, how can you experience? Once i found my children in their brand new little league tops to the very first time, My partner and i thought a great inflammation in performing me. My own child looks her age enough to acquire associated with action. Our kid in order to get connected. My own child can obtain an art form that will allow her productive as well as fit during her lifetime. Our kid can make brand-new colleagues. But there's another puffiness: the fear and also stress I am regarding the woman's treasured, excellent small system. Can the girl be damaged? What kinds of things could so that you can your ex? Just how do the girl acquire all of this great things about taking part in a hobby your woman loves together with pals the girl enjoys without having to break, straining, as well as shredding your ex bones, muscles, and also structures?

 The initial qualifying criterion is actually, naturally, the value at so it is presented. For example, a young child in the Under-8 team will be merely removing using botas de futbol nike mercurial soccer shoes or perhaps huge amounts. In house shoes or boots may not make any difference up to are usually aiimed at resist a lot more impact on. Nevertheless, backyard shoes ought to do this as well as have a much better proper grip around the soil.

 Football magista pas cher referee cycling tops designed for these kinds of textile could successfully manage temp by simply taking wetness plus heat apart within your body. Because might be operating upon area of a great entire online game, putting on clothes that will go on an individual dried out and comfortable is important.

 A few) Solutions and products desire to kick your ball more, don't remain immediately concerning this. Instead, trim back whilst stopping supply the basketball far more elevation plus much more strength using the conquer.

 3rd, because shoes pertaining to indoor baseball can be reduced lower and flat-surfaced not like normal fitness center shoes or boots, wearing them while on an man-made playing surface can a person exhibit your skills whilst still keeping balance. Bear in mind, that you be capable of be capable of shape your current base accordingly as a way to enjoy essentially successful.

 A few people choose "harder" copa mundial blanche soccer golf balls, in particular those who'll utilize them when exercising reaching episodes. Should you be acquiring one to present as surprise to some younger child, think about choosing one that softer considering that kids generally have find the basic principles very first similar to appropriate proceeding and getting. It is better in the event the basketball they like is really a lot smoother. Baseball coaches would likely suggest you obtain certain is created using Faux wood unpleasant.

 When the sport is actually performed outdoors, the spikes possess studs assist get yourself a specific proper grip on the terrain when depleted there. When you find yourself inside of, these cozy shoes don't get studs. They are generally level plastic over a lone and they are padding within to aid your mid-foot ( arch ) one of the ft. Bear in mind made of natural leather due to the fact substance forms around the foot as well as permits no cost activity.

 Nike as well as Adidas include the most common look in regards to the feet associated with gamers above earth's best clubs. The most suitable can work Adidas Predator; this is the somewhat weighty option that is great pertaining to gamers whom have to have for you to reach your soccer ball weighty. For the light quicker alternative then go for that hottest Nike patterns.

[bandofchimeras]

going to try out a new coping mechanism where i completely reinvent my childhood and everything that has happened in my life and simply choose to believe it. then when i move to New Place and people ask me about my life boom! no trauma dumping.

my dad was the are ya winning son dad. my mom was a sailor-mouthed straight shooter who painted murals for a living and taught me herbal medicine from our garden. my family lovingly raised chickens in our backyard and irregularly practiced some goofy paganism, and regularly played video games together without guilt or shame. church? never went. seems freaky. i had plenty of stupid little friends and we all rode bikes around the neighborhood and laughed raucously, dirty and free. i played pick up basketball all through high school and frequently fought assholes in my school before they shoved gay kids into lockers, and was a theater jock who got to play a couple sweet minor roles. my loving girlfriend and i parted ways amicably because she realized she was a lesbian and i discovered i was gay. my family when they found out baked me a cake that said "move, I'm gay" and depicted us as stick figures shoving eachother off the edge of the cake, wii sports resort swordfight arena style. none of us were ever sick. we just had great immune systems. cancer? i barely know er.

no one will ever know the truth. i am the god of my own narrative

[marcmedia27]

The Heart of the Gale: The Backyardigans’ Saga of Courage Amidst the Storm

Chapter 1 - A Serene Morning Turns Stormy:

The first light of dawn stretched across the Backyardigans’ playground, painting a serene picture soon to be disrupted by unforeseen chaos. “What a splendid morning for a game of hoops!” Uniqua exclaimed, her voice echoing with a zest for life. “Yes, let’s shoot some baskets and revel in the sun’s embrace,” Pablo agreed, his laughter mingling with the morning breeze. But as their game began, a sudden gust foretold the arrival of a tempest, turning their carefree plans upside down.

Chapter 2 - Gathering Storm:

Joyful shouts were abruptly silenced as dark clouds amassed, casting an ominous shadow over the once-bright field. “The storm approaches—quick, to shelter!” Tyrone commanded, his eyes reflecting the sky’s turmoil. “Grab our gear, don’t leave anything behind!” Tasha urged, her voice laced with concern. They scrambled, gathering their belongings as the first raindrops fell, heavy with the promise of a deluge.

Chapter 3 - Finding Shelter:

Safely indoors, the Backyardigans listened to the storm’s wrath, its roars muffled by the walls that protected them. “We’re safe here, together,” Austin reassured, his calmness a stark contrast to the storm’s violence. “Together, we’ll wait it out,” Uniqua affirmed, her confidence unwavering even as the windows rattled. The storm raged on, a symphony of nature’s power, as they found solace in each other’s company.

Chapter 4 - The Storm Begins to Ease:

The relentless pounding of rain softened, signaling the storm’s retreat. “Look, the rain is easing,” Tasha observed, a note of relief in her voice. “The sky is clearing up; we’ve weathered the storm,” Pablo added, his optimism undimmed. They watched in silence as the last of the clouds drifted away, leaving behind a sense of peace and a renewed appreciation for the calm.

Chapter 5 - The Storm Passes:

Emerging from their haven, the Backyardigans were greeted by the aftermath of the storm’s fury. “Is everyone alright?” Uniqua asked, her concern evident as she surveyed her friends. “We’re fine, but look at this mess,” Tyrone replied, his gaze sweeping across the littered landscape. They stood together, a resilient force ready to restore order to their cherished playground.

Chapter 6 - Assessing the Damage:

The backyard, once a tapestry of green, now lay disheveled, a reminder of the storm’s might. “Time to clean up,” Tasha stated, her voice firm with resolve. “Let’s do it together,” Austin suggested, his spirit of cooperation infectious. They worked in unison, their efforts transforming the chaos back into a place of joy and laughter.

Chapter 7 - Back to Normal:

With the backyard restored, the Backyardigans’ spirits soared once more. “We’ve done it, the yard is perfect again!” Pablo cheered, his voice a triumphant call. “Now, let’s play that game of basketball,” Uniqua proposed, eager to reclaim the day’s lost fun. They took to the court, their laughter and the bouncing of the ball a testament to their enduring friendship and resilience.

[chloe-stanton7]

Virtual Sketchbook Two

1.

Unity and Variety - Unity and Variety are almost polar opposites. When artwork has unity it has the appearance of oneness which means that it is similar throughout. Variety counteracts unity. The more variety a piece of artwork has the more complex we perceive it as. An example of unity in our life is a dark room. The room is very simple with no variety. And variety can be found everywhere in our life.

Balance - Balance in art is the same thing as balance in our lives. It is two sides counteracting each other to achieve balance. An example of balance in our life Is something with symmetry such as our phones.

Emphasis and Subordination - Emphasis is a technique used by artists to draw our attention to part of the artwork while subordination is drowned out by the emphasis of the work so we have a lesser interest in that part of the art. An example of this is a basketball game where the emphasis is the court which is the main focus and the crowd is the subordination because it is drowned out.

Directional Forces - Artists use directional force to give our eyes a path to follow. An example of this is when you read. You read left to right.

Repetition and Rhythm - Repetition is the use of something over and over again which can help create emphasis and unity. Rythm is similar to repetition the difference is that rhythm isn't the same thing over and over again it's a combination that is repeated. An example of repetition is a corn field where you see the same thing over and over again for miles. An example of rhythm is music on a sheet where you see different notes strung together and then repeated.

Scale and Proportion - Scale is the comparison of size between two things. An example of this is a tall man standing next to a short man. And portion is the size relationships compared to a whole. An example of this is the tall man might have a small legs in proportion to the short mans legs.

2.

Cildo Miereles , CRUZEIRO DO SUL (SOUTHERN CROSS)

Recipe :

To make this artwork you need unity. He uses very neutral colors which gives the piece unity but on contrary the art also needs variety because the variety in the piece helps show the emphasis which is the hand and the cube on its finger "the background of the art shows subordination which also brings emphasis to the hand". The directional forces bring your eyes from his wrist all the way up to the tip of his finger.

3.

I love boating. One of the things that I love about boating is the colors that I get to see. One of the perks of living in Florida is being able to look out to your backyard and see the ocean. I also have lived in Michigan for a portion of my life. The terrain that you see there differs vastly from what I see now in Florida. The biggest different between the two is the intensity or saturation of the colors around me. The atmosphere here in Florida is vibrant. Bright colors everywhere you look especially out on the water. While in Michigan there is a lower intensity in the colors that surround you. I would describe it as dull. Because of all of this I would describe the color scheme of my life as vibrant. Bright blues and the bright orange sun contribute to my color scheme.

4.

5.

Group 4 Interactive design:

1. This is my Pinterest board, this shows what I'm interested in.  https://www.pinterest.com/Links to an external site.

2. This is my Sephora account which shows what I'm interested in buying. https://www.sephora.com/?&om_mmc=ppc-GG_43860347_1084496957_kwd-12617961__514519702447_9012318_c&country_switch=us&lang=en&ds_rl=1261807&gad_source=1&gclid=CjwKCAjwr7ayBhAPEiwA6EIGxBDig3Q_bXvlc1VNtVoqKJaaZT3TEVRPz2UlHcrYtASXlTWAdelF_RoCqcoQAvD_BwE&gclsrc=aw.dsLinks to an external site.

3. This is my Apple Music playlists, which shows what i'm listening to at the moment. https://music.apple.com/browseLinks to an external site.

4. This is my White fox account which shows me what I have in my shopping cart and is on sale this week.  https://whitefoxboutique.com/?utm_source=google&utm_medium=paidsearch&gad_source=1&gclid=CjwKCAjwr7ayBhAPEiwA6EIGxG_3_o_OXCEZjhYs9n8dCuCMaKQ1UBSrI_0REAqGf6eR5v0ZJr7k9RoCnj4QAvD_BwELinks to an external site.

5. This is my Netflix account which shows what shows I have watched and what I might be interested in watching. https://www.netflix.com/Links to an external site.

What makes a good interactive design to me is easy access to sites/designs I enjoy or has interest in. The sites I chose have follow my algorithm, The more I search up something it continues to show me similar designs, songs, movies, and clothes. this all requires very simple access to your interests. The intent of the sites, browsers and apps that I chose are for anybody who enjoys social media, music, clothes and movies. Yes I do believe this fulfills its purpose.

[runnersnz]

“Running has in some sense come back to me in a full circle. It’s the places it takes me and the people I’ve met along the way. I’ve been inspired by many and am so grateful to still have the ability and drive to still run.

I enjoy many forms of running, I like to mix it up. Run with the kids, dog, team relays, speed work, chase vert, trails, mountain runs and more recently embrace the wonderful wacky world of ultra running. That sense of adventure, community and connection is what keeps me motivated.

Earlier memories of running through my schooling years include x-country and duathlons/triathlons. Outdoor Ed during my 5th form year (year 11?) was where I learnt to paddle. Applying this new skill, set in conjunction with running and biking, I entered the Geraldine Mountathalon, which consisted in a run up and over my favourite biggest little mountain, Little Mt Peel. This experience sparked my passion for adventure and competition.

Kayaking led me into the white water rafting and canyoning scene and for the next 20 years I dove into the Adventure Tourism industry. With back to back summers guiding internationally on rivers in Australia, Turkey, Italy, USA, Mexico, China, Japan and Africa. Back in 2021 I was very fortunate to have had the opportunity to compete as a member of the New Zealand men’s whitewater rafting team in Japan, also on the Zambezi River, Zambia. 

Whilst in these countries a lot of my commuting and exploring when not on the rivers was on foot, hiking and running. Living this active, transient lifestyle everyday was an experience - immersing myself into different cultures, exploring rivers, day trips/multi-day expeditions; working in adverse conditions and on occasion having to deal with situations of duress. As I reflect on this lifestyle, I was at the time, living my best life. I found myself connected and surrounded by like minded people, working with people at their best, clients were there to have a good time, making my job easier. To share, entertain, educate to share an experience whilst getting clients down rivers safely; building bonds with strangers turns into friendships quickly. Often we found ourselves in situations outside of comfort zones and often in remote places. Making for some very memorable adventures.

At the end of this era, along with my family, we chose to return from Japan to New Zealand full time, to open up more opportunities for our boys as we’d rather spoil the boys with experiences as opposed to stuff! Our backyard here has so much to offer and family connection to us is very important. We often find ourselves out and about on Team Adventures... hiking, rogaining, camping, hunting, fishing and supporting each other in our chosen interests. - Rio Rugby, Zac Basketball, Hachi Hiking, myself running. By immersing the boys into the outdoors and sports they can explore, develop, learn values, manage emotions and grow, setting themselves up for whichever paths they choose to pursue.

At first, becoming settled in one place, a “Real Job”, “Normal life”, contributing to society, being a part of “the system” blablabla... I was missing something! 

With knowledge of my previous background I was approached about paddling in a 3 person team in the Coast to Coast 2day event. I joined our team runner for training runs up and over goats pass too and it was here I rediscovered my spark for running.

After the C2C, having built up a level of fitness, I had a choice... either to maintain the fitness or stop. At the time, to focus on more than one discipline whilst maintaining that work family balance seemed impossible. My kayaks and bikes soon became somewhat neglected, yet my running shoe collection became quite extensive.

I started out participating in 3/5km series, played around with speed work, 10-21kms then onto ‘runventures’, studying maps dreaming up routes along ridgelines, peak bagging, trail and mountain runs. Then after a few years of making excuses I set myself the goal to attempt a 100 miler before I turn 40. I’m coming up 42 and am currently eyeing up my 5th miler. It isn’t the distance, it’s the journey that intrigues me, whether it be a Road, Trail, Mountain or an Ultra run, I’ve found that something.

Running rivers and running trails to me the processes are very similar... being above a drop, rapid, gorge/canyon. That moment. That feeling of intense focus, nerves, committing to must make moves, fear of the unforeseen, decision making on the go, constant risk assessing, accountability and problem solving, being adaptive and staying present. I love it! Very similar to standing on that start line or the start of a runventure into the hills. Self doubt, self belief, am I ready!? What lies ahead!? How will things unfold!? I’ll never know unless I try... commit, act and react, be adaptive; learning about nutrition, patience, resilience, recovery, putting ya best stroke/foot forward, go with the flow, keep pushing forward and chase that sense of adventure.

Happy Trails. Jog on!"

Steve @kiwistevesadventures (Geraldine) Photo taken at the Great Naseby Water Race – Portraits of Runners + their stories @RunnersNZ

[bolin-begs]

Took a trip today and here's our adventure!

- followed a dirt road some ways out into the desert(on foot) and saw some horse poop on the way and we came across some houses just kinda built out there with some teenagers in the front yard of one of them playing basketball.

- one of my favorite jokes these days is to call any teenager I(24 years old) see a hooligan. I shared with my brother that these hooligans were up to their tricks. My brother (32) told me that they're not hooligans just because they're teenagers :(

- we kinda circled around that dirt road a bit and then took a break in some shade. He told me I was getting really red. I told him I'm immune to the sun. He didn't believe me.

- we took a little side dirt road and saw some horse tracks. We decided to follow them to find the horse. They led us to the horse poop on the road we saw earlier.

- while walking back to the main road we saw a cloud peeking over the nearby mountain. Idk how else to describe it other than the cloud was giving it a hug.

- we decided to go down yet another dirt road, yet again in the middle of nowhere, and found this absolutely beautiful castle of a house on this dirt road in the middle of nowhere. It legit had a Romeo and bullet balcony and a beautiful driveway and it was just so gorgeous that we speculated on why anyone would build that out here.

- across the street from fairytale house was a mostly fenced off area with one entry in or out of it and a sign that said "sunset pond". It was neither sunset nor a pond because there was no water at all in it. It had rained before and the shrooms were starting to take affect so all of the plants around it looked extra green but we made fun of the "pond plants" for being in the wrong place.

- there were also benches inside the fencing area as well as a path around the "pond" and down into it too so we went to explore inside. Inside, I shit you not, was a place that had to be designated just for stoners, people tripping, and other hooligans because there was a breath taking rock formation that was definitely handmade next to an underground tunnel that was COVERED in graffiti. We decided to take a break there.

- while in there, the shrooms really started taking affect to the point that all the graffiti looked like it was melting away and every time I looked down I seemed to be covered in bugs that weren't there. I think this is the longest break we took the whole day and, at least in trip world, it felt like we were there for 300 years at least just watching the graffiti and the rocks and the desert around us.

- one notable hallucination during this time too was that while we were in the tunnel, we were staring at the clouds around the mountain(they were no longer hugging it). My brother was watching a flat cloud above everything else and swore it looked like a dragon ball z(?) Type fight in the air. Meanwhile I was looking at a line of clouds beneath that one that looked like a cartoony chase of an alligator, a hippo, a chipmunk, a squirrel, really just a bunch of animals chasing each other around.

-I also remember looking into the desert beyond and thinking if we had to run out of there for some reason, it would be like those nightmares where no matter how much you run you get nowhere. Idk why I thought this.

- we left the tunnel and followed the path the rest of the way out of there until we came to a closed gate(remember how I said the fence was only open on one side? This is why) and my brother, at the peak of his high, could not figure out why the gate wasn't open no matter how hard he stared at it.

- finally I pitched the idea to go the way we came. Half way through the pond, he decided to stop and make fun of the pond plants again.

- we went just a bit more past the fairytale house and we came to another house with a fake deer in its back yard. The fence to the back yard was completely see through so it spooked me and I asked him why someone would have it. He told me the backyard was where it grazed during the day. The back yard was filled with gravel and had no grass whatsoever.

- we came to another house with 2 horses outside. Success! We found out where the horses went.

- at a crossroads we decided to turn right. A plane flew over us, again idk if it was the drugs exaggerating things or what but it was super loud. We stared at it until it passed.

- we came across a very rotted old wooden realtor sign that said "1/2 acre lot- utilities". I started pretending we were archeologists discovering the ruins of an old city named "acrelottility"

- we came across another fenced off area with a bunch of small machines inside and a sign that said something about studying hydrology in the area. We later looked up what hydrology meant, it's something about studying water. Again, I can't stress this enough, this was the middle of the desert with no water.

- we came to an area with a bunch of hills and valleys. I assumed immediately that it was for local 4 wheelers. My brother did not. We made our way to the top of one of the hills and took a break again. I noticed broken glass on the ground and(safely) grabbed a piece and told him the ancient people used it as a digging tool. He started making a glass castle with the pieces, or as he called it, a glasstle.

- we sat there for 50 years shrooms time and all I can remember talking about is how terrible 9/11 would be to experience while tripping

-I know we were on an area for 4 wheelers but some asshole decided to ride super close to us and release all his exhaust fumes all over us so my brother finally made the connection that this is for 4 wheelers and not people so we got up to leave. On our way out I remember us talking about how that poor boy was a 4 wheeler/ human hybrid and how his mother cries herself to sleep every night because of how ugly he is.

- we also kept looking at the clouds on the mountain and they seemed to be rushing towards us with a big storm but also staying where they were at the same time.

- we decided to start going back home because we were both pretty hungry but we took an extended route around back to the main road. We passed by a house that looked like it had come from a small village in Germany or Switzerland and we nicknamed it "little Germany". We also talked about how little Germany was friends with Fairytale houses because weird out of place houses have to stick together

- while walking down the main road I remember thinking how we must have looked to anyone who saw us. We were both sweaty and covered in dirt and sunburned(turns out I'm not immune to sun) and my brother was playing pink Floyd with his speaker.

- also he was wearing a bandana, sunglasses, and a tank top, with this grime on him, with this trippy music and all I could think about was that this must have been how it felt in Nam. Like we had just survived a war.

- there was a sign on the road that said "hidden drive- 300 ft" so I told him "be careful, there's a hidden drive around here" and he said "AND it has 300 feet?!" Truly I wish I could have seen the faces on the people who were outside to hear this.

[allenhatcher58]

Interactive Game Rentals: A Game Changer For Your Events With Texas Jumps

Have you ever been to a party and found yourself wishing there was a little more excitement, a bit more action, a dash more thrill? We've all been there. But what if there was a way to bring the vibrant energy of an amusement park or a bustling carnival right into your event? Thanks to interactive game rentals, this is entirely possible! Texas Jumps brings the amusement park to you, with our incredible selection of interactive games designed to bring the wow factor to any event. Texas Jumps is a leading name in interactive game rentals in Dallas, TX. We offer a broad range of inflatable and interactive games that are fun, safe, and perfect for guests of all ages. Whether you're hosting a backyard birthday bash, a corporate team-building event, or a large city festival, our interactive game rentals can turn your gathering into an unforgettable experience. The Excitement of Interactive Game Rentals Interactive game rentals are not just about providing entertainment; they’re about creating an environment that encourages interaction, competition, and team-building. The great thing about these interactive games is that they cater to all sorts of styles and skill levels. You might be thinking, "I'm not much of a gamer, would I still enjoy these?" The answer is a resounding yes! Our interactive games range from simple fun like 'ring toss' to adrenaline-pumping action such as mechanical bull rides. One of our crowd favorites is the interactive inflatable rentals. As the name suggests, these are inflatable game units designed to provide interactive fun. They offer a wide range of activities from bouncing, maneuvering through inflatable obstacle courses, or competing in an inflatable basketball game. Inflatable game rentals are an excellent option for parties with kids or simply the young at heart. Texas Jumps: Your Go-to Rental Company For over 20 years, Texas Jumps has served Dallas and the surrounding areas, including Fort Worth and Midlothian, with exceptional party rental services. From bounce house rentals to mechanical bull rentals, table and chair rentals, and of course, interactive game rentals, we have everything you need to throw a memorable party. Our inflatable rentals are made of high-quality, durable vinyl to ensure they can withstand the rigors of an event filled with excited party-goers. More than just providing equipment, we inspect and sanitize our rentals to ensure the safety and health of all your guests. Easy Booking and Reliable Service At Texas Jumps, we understand that planning an event can be stressful. That's why we've made our booking process as simple as possible. You can browse our inventory online, click on the image or title to get more information, and make a reservation right from the comfort of your home. We also offer a "cancel for any reason" policy up to a day before your event, giving you peace of mind. Conclusion: Take Your Event to the Next Level with Texas Jumps Interactive game rentals are indeed a game-changer for any event. They provide entertainment, foster interaction, and leave your guests with unforgettable memories. Whether you're planning a child's birthday party, a corporate team-building event, or a large city festival, let Texas Jumps help you create an event to remember. Contact us today to make a reservation and turn your gathering into a thrilling carnival-like event. We are excited to serve you and make your next event a spectacular success! FAQs: What type of interactive game rentals do you offer?

At Texas Jumps, we offer a variety of interactive game rentals ranging from inflatable games, carnival games, and bounce houses to mechanical bull rides. What areas do you serve for party rentals? We serve Dallas, TX and surrounding areas for all our party rental services. What is included in the rental cost? Our rental cost includes the interactive game equipment, delivery, setup, and tear-down. For any additional services or add-ons, please contact us for detailed pricing.

How do I book an inflatable game or other interactive rentals? You can book any of our interactive game rentals directly from our website. Just select the item you're interested in, set the date and time, and proceed to checkout! Are your interactive game rentals safe? Yes, water slide rentals , including inflatable games, are made from high-quality, durable materials and are inspected and sanitized before each use to ensure the safety of all participants.

[inflatablecompany85usa]

We Keep Updating Our Inventory - There's An Inflatable For Everyone

Whether your party features mostly kids between 5 and 10 years plus teens or youths and adults, we have the right inflatables to keep them entertained. Our frequent updates curated by the most experienced event specialists in the inflatable industry make our selections second to none. Here is a deep dive into our inflatables:

Combo Bouncers Are you looking for that next-level excitement to your party distinct from previous parties you hosted? The combo bouncer is exactly what kids will be endlessly attracted to throughout the event. Since it combines a bounce and a water slide, kids can play under one unit and push their physical abilities to their limits. And ooh! Did we mention that bounce house combos can come with other features like basketball hoops? Although you’ll have to have your ball.

Obstacle Courses The fun that one can have with obstacle courses is otherworldly. Besides jumping and sliding along bounce houses and water slide rentals, obstacle courses introduce other movements like crawling. They are excellent at teaching various motor and cognitive skills to kids. And we have multiple designs and sizes that suit kids and adults perfectly.

Inflatable Games In most cases, the little ones want party rentals that challenge them in a fun way. Inflatable games do an excellent job at that! With various games in our inventory, your kids, guests, and friends are in for a sensational event. We say - spark conversations, share memories, and create new friends.

Why Trust Us? It's Great For Your Peace Of Mind. For years, we have been supplying bounce house and water slide rentals in Corcicana, TX, without fail, and in the process, we’ve learned what makes or breaks events. We’re glad to take the stress out of your event, deliver what you expect of us, and even exceed your expectations. Combine that with our professionalism, and you are in for the party of the year in Corcican, TX. Here are reasons why we rock in the greater Texas area:

Great customer service: At Inflatable Company 85, we are happy to personalize the party experience to your style and preference. Furthermore, we will respond to any questions you might have regarding Is your gate a hinderence to delivering the inflatables to your backyard. Don’t worry! Outr team will look for a workaround for you. Do you want a slide on short notice? No problem! We are ready to deliver on a moment’s notice.

Easy to book inflatables: We have an easy-to-use online reservation system that serves every customer without downtime. Reserving your favorite obstacle course, combo bounce house or tent rental is easy in about four steps. All you have to do is select the date for your event, browse the available inflatables, add them to your cart then check out.

Plenty of inventory: We understand that customers love variety when it comes to fun and excitement during events. Over the years, we’ve become the one-stop shop for all designs, themes, and colors of inflatable rentals in Corcicana, TX. From inflatable rentals to party accessories like generators, hose pipes, concession machines, and tables and chairs, you can expect to throw a fully-equiped event.

Highly communicative: Our team will always contact you to confirm your reservation. Often we reach out to you at least a day before the event to remind you of the scheduled inflatables delivery. Also, expect a heads-up when our drivers are on their way to deliver the event rentals. Ultimately it’s all about on-time drop-off and pick-up.

Super clean and well-maintained bounce houses: No other company beats our uncompromising approach to safety in Corsicana, TX. All our party rentals are usually cleaned and disinfected after every event, including regular inspections to ensure they are fault-proof. In addition, our team will sanitize the inflatable after setting them up, so your kids play on a clean and safe inflatable.

ORIGINALLY FOUND ON- Source: Bounce House & Water Slide Rentals Corsicana, TX(https://www.inflatablecompany85.com/corsicana/)