#i just spent so long on a katydid....

[leviathiane]

waugh i get a lot of photos from friends asking me to identify a bug and they all just gave me the OK to post them on my entomo/arachnology instagram but now i have to actually go ID them down to the latin names fuck

[grogusmum]

If love to play with your autumn Drabble prompts! How about apple, quilt, and solitude. I’d love to see what you come up with!

LJ! Thanks so much! I hope you enjoy it 💚🍎

Here is a little Joel Miller drabble set after Please Mister Please (but it's not necessary to read) Reader has a nickname.

Joel rarely spent the night at your house. He needed to be home for Ellie, so naturally, you happily stayed the night at their house.

Your place was a little off the beaten path anyways, almost in the woods.

You loved being with the people of Jackson. The sense of community. But when you came home, you were ready for some solitude. Well, that was until recently, when a salt and pepper haired Texan came riding in with his teenage found family of one.

"Quiet out here," he murmurs as he comes up the steps of your little porch. Sitting in one of a pair of rockers you had put out hopefully a year ago for company, you smile and nod. Joel drops his rucksack and kisses your head. When you go to stand, he gently waves you back to your chair, plunking himself in the open rocker.

But tonight, as Ellie goes off to her first sleepover, (remember sleepovers??) Joel is spending it here, in your little cabin.

It's that time of year when summer and fall push and pull at each other. Both fighting for custody of the day. It's too warm for anything but a t-shirt in the sun, but you want a sweater in the shade. You can spend the day swimming at the pond, but need jeans and a sweater come four or five o'clock. And it's welcome after the scorcher of a summer you've had.

"What're we workin on?"

You smile and move a basket of apples so it sits between you on the floor.

"Apple pie."

Joel, already pulling his pocket knife out, smiles-

"Makin me a pie?"

"You bet."

"Sweet," he murmurs.

Joel peels the apple in one long strip, giving you a wink when you nod appreciatively. Making you laugh.

After several apples peeling in companionable silence, just listening to the beginning chorus of katydids and frogs, accompanied by the occasional hoot of an owl. Joel slices one and brings a piece, still resting on his knife to his lips as he looks out at the door yard, listening.

After a stew dinner and pie, you settle on the loveseat in front of a crackling fire and cover your laps with a quilt. The scent of cinnamon and baked apple still hangs in the air.

Joel brings his arm around your shoulder, pulling you in.

"Thanks, f'dinner. Everything was delicious. I just have one question, Catnip. "

You cuddle into his chest and give a contented sigh, which he echoes.

"Mmm?"

"Wanna mess around?"

THANKS FOR READING 💚

autumn word drabble prompts

[arteastica]

early in the morning, especially when it rains, and a little before noon. (24)

erwin x fem!reader

chapters: (1) | (2) | (3) | (4) | (5) | (6) | (7) | (8) | (9) | (10) | (11) | (12) | (13) | (14) | (15) | (16) | (17) | (18) | (19) | (20) | (21) | (22) | (23) | (25) | (26) | (27)

summary: I basically took Isayama’s work, forced it into a romance story, and made Erwin the love interest. Commander meets cadet and they fall in love (not instantly though)

notes: very berry canonverse (but some events were modified to fit my narrative), wasn’t intended to be this long, but it all is in the details right?

content warnings: smut where it fits (or where I make it fit. Also, reader is NOT underage, so likewise, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, please.) slow burn (I really mean it. I’m not olympic diving into any form of smut for the first chapters.) no angst. I dislike angst. I would never. I could never. (Although angst can be somewhat subjective so take it with a grain of salt?)

wc: 4.4k

As it turned out, taking the post-winter inventory was just as tedious as the winter stockpiling itself, if not a little worse. Your entire arm, from the shoulder down to the pinkie, hurt from holding the heavy logbook; your eyes, from counting every dusty bolt of unused cloth; your back, from bending over to pick up all those fat boxes of untouched grain; and your hand, from writing down all those confusing numbers that had been relentlessly thrown at you all afternoon.

Yes, spending all day inside the storage shed was taxing enough, but you weren’t sure it was worse than what awaited you in your office: The daunting, dragging, and without doubt, ridiculously time-consuming task of condensing all those jumbled up numbers into a detailed log, one that was extensive and comprehensive without turning incomprehensible, so that it could actually be of some use to any ill-starred soldier who found themselves in such dreadful time of the year, when the consultation of dusty old records became inevitable. But hey, the dusty old records left by your predecessors had definitely saved you a frustrated cry or two, so it was only fair you kept the chain going. It was the fair, decent thing to do. Especially when life was so generous to you.

Generous like the orange beams of light seeping through the wood cracks, shining unsparingly on the old cabin walls, as the sun presented its final act of the day. Generous like the ample chorus of cicadas, or perhaps katydids… insects had never been your area of expertise really, performing for free outside the window, announcing that dinner was most likely being served at the castle right now. And you didn’t need to be there to know that the banquet would be generous too, as plentiful and bountiful as the pain all those poor soldiers who spent their day with you at the shed must be enduring at the moment, wincing in pain as they sat down in front of warm meat pies and creamy onion soups. And again, you didn’t need to be there to know that the first comment of the conversation would be something about their feet and how bad they hurt and throbbed inside their boots.

Just like yours did right now.

Yours hurt and throbbed too, but you couldn’t complain.

No, you didn’t feel like doing so. Not even when everyone had already left for the castle and you were still in the shed, in the middle of the woods. Not even when, according to the setting sun and the sudden temperature drop, your shift was supposed to be over by now.

No, you couldn’t complain. Not at all. Definitely not. Especially not when he would kiss you like that, softly and unhurriedly, like the early spring breeze playfully disheveling the tree crowns outside. Not when he would pull away slowly, a smile decorating his glossy lips, admiring you like you belonged in one of those fancy museums your father liked to pretend he visited often. And then, when he seemed to be done memorizing your features, he would pull you in for another kiss, only for the cycle to start all over again. And no matter how many times it had repeated that afternoon, the flutter of butterflies in your stomach was very much ever-present. Without fail, they would show up just as you were about to close your eyes, exactly when his lips were only a hair’s breadth apart from yours. That’s when the butterflies would flutter the most, tickling your insides, and making you giggle.

Making you giggle despite the uncomfortable pile of hay you were sitting on, and the way it was poking your skin through the fabric of your jeans; despite the chilly wind furtively slipping through the cracks of the wood and the way it was making your skin bumpy.

Or maybe it was him the one responsible for that. Maybe it was him, and not the cold, the one responsible for making your hairs stand on end. Yes, maybe it was him and the comfortable hand he kept on the small of your back, gently holding you as yours held his face. Or maybe it was the pleasant way in which the warm sunlight would shine in through the window behind you, artistically gilding the prominent bridge of his nose, masterfully tracing the sharp contour of his jaw, delicately sprinkling the mesmerizing blue of his eyes with gold, making them look like the forest stream from your cabin fantasy, happily glimmering under the sun.

Is this how it was going to be in there, in your little cabin? Kissing in the kitchen, after he comes back from work. His lips on yours the moment he walks in, effectively cutting the words ‘welcome back’ short, promptly trapping them between your lips and his. A reassuring arm wrapped around your waist, telling you how much he missed you. And your hands, cupping his face, telling him how much you did. A wide smile present on your lips the whole time he kisses you, tempted to call it a day already and retreat to the room you share, where you could cuddle under soft, warm covers for the night, but deciding not to when you remember about the pie in the oven. The pie in the oven, you better go check on it. Old-fashioned apples for dinner, because you know how much of a sweet tooth he has, and even though he never asks for it, you always bake something to surprise him with at the end of every meal. Sometimes sugar cream, sometimes orchard pear, sometimes layered pumpkin when you have some extra time, or simple rice pudding when there is none. But always something sweet, sweet like him.

Sweet like the gentle way his lips were cherishing yours back at the dusty storage shed. Softly, unhurriedly, naively, like you had all the time in the world. As if there were no flesh eating giants lurking behind a wall not too many miles away. As if he wasn’t the Commander of the Survey Corps. As if he was just your lover. Simply your beloved and nothing more, the owner of those soft lips now making wet pops against yours, those velvety lips now softly trapping your bottom lip between them, pulling away deliciously slowly, just to start all over again.

Yes, when he was standing between your legs like that, warm chest rising and falling against yours, hand gently holding you close to him, and yours lovingly caressing the bristly skin of his cheek as if it was the softest thing you’d ever get to touch, he became less of a military leader and more like your lover.

“We should get going before it gets too dark.” You said somewhere in between the sugar pecks he was lavishly indulging you with.

“I could kiss you the whole day.” He said, lips puffy and a little red from dancing with yours.

And I could kiss you my whole life. You thought as you stared into his eyes, allowing yourself to travel back to your fantasy cabin for a moment, running a finger across his swollen bottom lip, moist and coated with your saliva. “Well, you can keep kissing me in the office. I happen to have all night as well as a very nice boss who, I’m sure, will understand if I don’t finish this report today.” You smiled cheekily, tapping the papers you had placed in the pile of hay next to you.

“Is that so?” He smiled back, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “Is he good to you?”

“Very good.” You smirked, emphasizing that last word with a sultry whisper. “He buys me my favorite treats, takes me to fancy parties and then walks me home, doesn’t like it when I work extra hours, puts more wood on the fire as soon as he notices I’m getting cold; oh! and during expeditions, he lets me hug him if I’m scared.” You reminisced fondly of that day, wondering if sometimes he too found himself thinking about the first time you were in each other’s arms, in the Forest of Giant Trees. “He treats me like I’m his princess. Especially when I lie bare on his bed and he makes love to me.”

He stared at you in silence, his attention shifting between your eyes and your lips, and his smile mirroring yours. His demeanor reminded you of the strategic leader he would become at the meeting room, always unpredictable, always ahead of everyone and everything, an experienced chess player meticulously evaluating what his next big move should be. And for a moment, you thought it would involve his lips colliding with yours again, devouring you, your face, your body, as well as your clothes in the process. Making you his right there in the middle of the storage shed, on top of all that prickly hay, like in one of those steamy novels your mother would pretend she didn’t keep under the bedroom mattress. But no, he was too much of a gentleman to do so when you were still in the middle of a conversation.

“Well, maybe because you are.” He finally said, his hand traveling back to your waist and, in a sudden and rather possessive manner, bringing your body closer to his, causing an excited whimper to escape your lips. “His princess.”

You couldn’t help but giggle, the words tickling your ears and making you feel as giddy as you remembered your teenage years to be. And like so, you let yourself melt into his embrace, head resting on his chest, and his lullaby heartbeat tempting you to tell him.

About the cabin in the woods.

Who knows? Maybe he knew of a vacant one, where you could move together. Maybe he had also been thinking about it lately, about moving somewhere quiet and remote. Somewhere where the title of ‘13th Commander of the Survey Corps’ didn’t mean anything. Somewhere where he could wake up after eight on rainy Sundays, grab that old history book, or that blue one with the golden title he was always re-reading, a warm cup of something, and lose himself until lunchtime. Somewhere where he could settle down. With you. The white ceremony in the garden, and maybe later, not too long after that, the very same garden becoming the playground where blonde-haired, blue-eyed toddl-

“Would you be interested in visiting the capital next weekend?” He asked, the sudden question pulling you back to the present moment, and making you sit straight so you could come eye to eye with him. He didn’t have any scheduled meetings in Mitras until the end of next month. “My good friend Hansel will be celebrating his Golden Birthday and he asked me to join.”

You knew he wasn’t particularly keen on those types of gatherings, not only that but, with so much on his plate, he didn’t have the disposition nor the freedom to attend that sort of event. So you figured Lord Koch must be a truly remarkable friend for him to consider attending.

“When he came to deliver the horses last week, he also extended his invitation. Admittedly, I did find it odd at first, that he came all the way down here instead of sending his nephews or assistants like he always does.” He explained, his warm fingertips absentmindedly drawing patterns on the small of your back.

Having grown up listening to your father’s stories about Lord Koch, and never really meeting him formally until recently, you had formed your very own ideas about the man. He seemed to be one of those people who would gladly sell their soul if it meant sorcery could multiply them. One of those folks who wished they could, and since they had money… always could, be a part of everything, everywhere, at the same time, and multiple times. Cutting the ribbon at the latest museum inauguration in the morning, accepting the community leader award at his local temple before noon, participating in both a regional chess tournament and a charity auction by four in the afternoon, feeding the poor in the underground cities at six, attending his grandkid’s academy play before speaking at the annual gala for his family foundation, and then finally getting to take his wife on that lavish trip they planned for commemorating their over-thirty years of marriage. Yes, it made sense he never came down here.

“I was told the bearer of the invitation could bring a companion.” His husky, velvety voice gently brought you back to the shed. Once again, you had gotten lost in your own head. It was particularly easy to do so these days.

“Is that so?” You teased, the butterflies in your stomach already flapping their colorful wings, as your heartbeat began to mirror those of a hummingbird. But he would never be able to tell, if the only thing he had to go by was the manual dexterity your fingers displayed as they straightened up the collar of his shirt. “Are you going to invite Captain Levi? I’m sure everyone at the reception would be delighted to meet Humanity’s Strongest.”

“They most certainly would, but Levi would be less than thrilled.” He smiled innocently, clearly playing along with you. “Not to mention the unfortunate remark I found at the bottom of the invitation, which only acts as yet another deterrent to Levi’s participation: ‘feasting and dancing to follow, the right company is advised.’” He looked you in the eyes, a serious expression suddenly taking over his previously soft, amused features. “I’m afraid Levi doesn’t enjoy dancing.”

You let out a hearty laugh that your mother would have undoubtedly found inappropriate, tickled by both the words as well as the disappointed tone he had chosen for delivering them. And he just looked at you the whole time, letting your laughter fill the room, allowing your joy to warm up the frigid evening air. A sweet smile on his lips as you struggled to regain your composure; once again making you feel like the most absorbing of art works, and making it even harder to forget about your forest fantasy.

“That’s why I’m asking my princess.” He said a little later when your laughter faded down. “For the pleasure of her company.”

You weren’t sure he could hear the champagne popping, the frenzied flutter of the butterflies, or the fireworks show he had started inside you; but you knew, because of the way your ears started burning, that he could definitely see the flustered pinks that had taken over your face, as well as the beaming smile you were trying to hide. Yes, you had made love a couple times already, his lips had spent entire nights on yours, his fingers had explored and conquered places no one else’s had before, he had met you at times of the night where friends, and let alone bosses, never do. But this… this was the first time he had straight up asked you to go somewhere together. Not only that, but in the place that husbands usually reserve for their wives. So all things considered, you couldn’t blame your lungs for their sudden inability to hold air, nor your imagination for all the crazy detours it started to take.

“What does she say?” He asked softly, a small, irresistible smile on his equally tantalizing lips as he pointlessly re-tucked an already perfectly tucked strand of hair behind your ear.

“Hmm.” You raised a finger to your chin and pursed your lips, pretending to think. As if there was something to even think about in the first place.

You weren’t too keen on that type of social gathering yourself, or any type for that matter, but you had endured your fair share of frivolous socializing and marble ballroom occasions during your teenage years, for no reason other than your mother telling you to attend. So, why wouldn’t you do it one more time? This time for him, and for the rare opportunity to see him gift-wrapped in something other than his uniform, for the chance to feast on the sinful way the fabric would most definitely cling to his firm biceps, his rock-solid chest, that delicious ass and the matching pair of perfectly designed thighs that came with it. And when your mind began to explore the possibility of seeing his hair slicked back again, a pulsating warmth started radiating from between your legs

“I think you will encounter no difficulties at the party, Mr. Commander.” You said, your eyes watching your fingers as they fiddled with the emerald oval in his shirt. “Bet there will be lots of fair ladies eagerly waiting for you to extend your hand and lead them into the dance floor.” Your lips curved slightly, enjoying the feeling of his hard muscles under your hands as you glided them down his broad chest. “I don’t know. Maybe even some old lover, trying to make up for lost time.”

“I don’t consider any of those to be likely scenarios.”

“Really? No past lovers wishing to pick up the threads? I don’t believe that.” You smiled, feeling his eyes on you, but choosing to keep yours on the patterns your fingertips were now drawing on his chest. “Something tells me you were quite the charmer when you were a cadet.” You said, finally looking up to meet his eyes before comfortably wrapping your arms around his neck. “Tell me, did you break a lot of hearts back in training camp?”

“Quite the opposite actually.” He replied, something about his demeanor, probably the contrived innocence you found in his eyes, making you question the veracity of his answer.

“So, you’re telling me that all those skills are the result of sheer talent, and that assiduous practice wasn’t a factor at all?” You asked, unable to believe that all the skill he displayed in bed, all the delicious things he did to you, and all the delightful ways he made your body feel, all that came from natural talent alone.

“It’s a long story.” He answered, his hand going back to the spot he liked, at the small of your back.

“I have time.” You said, despite the logbook and the fat pile of papers beside you suggesting the complete opposite. “You can tell me about it now, or…” Your smile mirrored the one that suddenly took over his features, telling you that he already knew what your words would be. “You can tell me next weekend, when you walk me home.”

His eyes traveled back and forth between yours and your lips, reminding you of both your late-night chocolate cravings and a wolf stalking an innocent prey. And then, reluctantly letting your arms drop from their comfortable position around his neck, you added:

“Oh, my bad. How pretentious of me to assume without asking first. Would you please be so kind as to walk me home this time too, Commander Smith?” You asked, already knowing the answer, but pretending to wait for it, as your fingers fiddled with the strings of his bolo tie.

“Even if you lived on the other side of town.” He replied, his rich, irresistible voice making you think of crackling campfires under vast, starry skies.

“Really? I heard Lord Koch’s Mitras estate is in the very outskirts of town.” You teased, playfulness making your lips curve into a mischievous grin.

“I’d walk you home even if it was in Wall Maria itself.”

“Wow, that’s very far to go for someone, Mr. Commander. Especially when that someone is just your assistant.”

He shook his head lightly before replying. “I’d think of it as another felicitous opportunity to spend time with her, which would be heaven-sent indeed, considering I just miss her all the time.” He confessed, bringing your body closer to his, and making the tips of your noses touch. “Even now.”

And you had to fight the overpowering urge to kiss those lips, the urge to behave in very unladylike manners and ask him, beg him, to do equally indecorous things to you with those beautiful, perfectly round, sinfully soft lips that were smiling so prettily at you right now.

“Is that so?” You smirked, wrapping your legs around his waist and trapping him between your thighs. “There, now you can’t escape her.”

“Wasn’t trying to.” He whispered, his voice so deep and so smoky it made you think of the fireplace back at the castle, not the one in your office however, but the one in his room. In front of his warm, soft, tempting bed. As familiar and homelike as the one in your very own room back in Mitras.

And you stole a peck from his smiling lips, before happily returning your arms to their favorite position around his neck, where your fingers started playing with the short hairs on his nape.

You weren’t the biggest admirer of Leon’s uncle. Not that he had done anything bad to you. In fact, you had barely interacted with the man. Admittedly, you did remember cursing his name on an occasion or two, but that had been so long ago. So long you had almost entirely forgotten about it.

You started to reminisce, discovering your own reflection in the beautiful sapphires now staring back at you.

During your academy days, perhaps? When you were still living back home, and your father used to come back late every Thursday. Because Thursdays were his anticipated ‘chess nights’ with Lord Koch, which you had always suspected to be just a façade for their conspiracy theory club. You see, there was only one thing, other than your mother’s green tomato pie, that would make your father’s eyes sparkle the way they did on Thursday nights, and that was royal conspiracy theories.

He believed King Fritz was just an impostor, a very apathetic an alcoholic one, a puppet king placed on the throne by the council for some questionable reason, for the sake of some secret agenda they were trying to hide from the common folks. And that very reason, and not chess, was what his little club sat down to discuss every Thursday. There was no way your father would enjoy a chess club, because if there were two things everyone knew about him was that, one, he hated losing, and two, he never won at chess.

But that’s besides the point. You remember growing to dislike Lord Koch over the years because he used to keep your father for far too long at those so-called ‘chess meetings’, which usually translated in your stomach growling for hours until he finally decided to come home, because your mother always insisted that ‘eating together as a family’ was important, and that the loss of such tradition was slowly leading to the demise of society. But those days were long gone and forgotten, and you liked to think you weren’t good at keeping score or holding grudges against random people.

So no, it definitely wasn’t that. The disfavor you, inadvertently, still regarded Lord Koch with was more irrational than anything else, similar to when you would find a classmate, either from academy or training camp, insufferably annoying but could never give a valid reason why. Maybe it was because Lord Koch always wanted to be a part of everything. Maybe it was because everyone seemed to be obsessed with him and you didn’t understand why. Or maybe it was because he had happened to show up then, when the Commander and you were going through difficult times. Yes, maybe it was that. Maybe it was your brain unknowingly associating him with the bad memories from that day: the Commander coming back after spending the whole day riding out in the field with him, asking you if there was something between you and Leon. Why would he even-

“What is it?” He suddenly asked, bringing you back to the dark shed, making you realize that night had fallen over you, and that the moonlight sparkled way more prettily on his eyes than it ever did on the surface of the water. “You’re so quiet.”

“Nothing.” You replied, the corners of your lips instantly lifting at the sound of his voice. “I was just thinking about how much my father sucks at chess, about the King’s seemingly worsening alcohol problems, about how nicely the moonlight complements your features, and about my dresses and which one would be the easiest for you to take off me.”

“Wow.” He blinked a couple times as if trying to understand how were all those things related to each other. “That’s- that’s a very interesting, very peculiar association of ideas. Each one more thought-provoking than the other. Especially the last one.”

You rolled your eyes and smiled.

“Erwin.”

“Mhm?”

You weren’t sure if this was the moment to talk about it, but you found the loving way his eyes were studying your features, as well as the soothing thumb he was running across your cheek rather encouraging. So, you decided to go ahead.

“Did-” You took a deep breath. “Did Lord Koch tell you something back then?”

He didn’t respond and you took his silence as an indication that you could ask more.

“Did he mention anything that made you think there was something between his neph-”

“That doesn’t matter.” He hushed you just like he had back then, when you had tried to ask about the same thing. “All that matters to me is what we have.” He took your hand and brought it to his lips. “Right now.” His eyes were crystal clear, and what you saw in them was exactly what he was telling you. “Whatever happened yesterday, whatever happens tomorrow…all that matters to me is that we had today.” He kissed your knuckles, letting the pleasant warmth of his lips linger on your skin, closing his eyes tightly as if trying to carve the moment into his memory. “And I will always remember it.”

“Me too.” You said, nostalgia suddenly infusing the air of the cabin, creeping into your heart and burdening it with unexplainable melancholy.

I love you.

You confessed in your head as your fingers played with the soft, golden strands on the back of his.

Perhaps all that matters is that I love you. That I love you even if you didn’t say it yesterday and even if you don’t say it tomorrow.

You said in your thoughts as you pulled him closer.

Even if I never get to hear it back from these very lips.

You told him without words, as your lips welcomed his.

Even if they never return these words.

You surrendered without a fight as his tongue claimed what was rightfully his.

I love you just the same, Commander.

You promised him in silence, tasting in his kiss both the bitterness of the lemon and the sweetness of the honey you never forgot to add to his warm cups in the morning.

And I will always do.

Including busy mornings like today's, when it remained forgotten on his desk, still silently waiting for him in the middle of the cold, dark office.

-

next chapter

taglist: @mysticalnightbeliever @aliasrising @elnyrae @mchlist @apts2000 @angelaevangelion @depitaangeline @ynackerman9499 @afatalheat @pumpkin-toffee @velouria17 @gassytritis @goddessinsweats @nube55 @jeanboyjean @crazychaoticizzy @braunsbabe @erwinawesomeness @lucifers-nipple-piercing @karmabyfernando @thicc101q @shittyprofilebutfuckit @dilfenthusiast-union

[britcision]

Not so much today, cuz I spent half the day wrestling with chapter 4, but it’s WIP WEDNESDAY! Turns out, “and suddenly Catwoman is here” is just how I handle scenes I’m having trouble with now

@welcometosasakiworld @kyrianclawraith @someonebored0100 @stealingyourbones @starkcravingmad @frostedthroughghost @akikoyuii @rainbowbunny0159 @littlefeather345 @violet-catsarelife @serasvictoria02 @wolfjackle @blacksea21090 @secretdestinywerewolf @anime-hipster-the-amazing @undead-essence @skitscratched @blackroserelina @snoodly-boop @trickerdi @mayoota-blog @xysidhe @idkmrpianoman @little-apricot-the-writer @chaoticmistake @the-legal-shipper @bun-fish @aroranorth-west @demon-cat-goes-woof @eonic @onyxlightdragon @larks-and-katydids

——————-

A Swell Night On The Town

Jason had been pretty sure he knew what to expect from Vlad Masters. The Plasmius file had stood out even amongst all the other ghosts, and not just for being a halfa.

The guy was a stalker, a creep, manipulative as hell, and would not take no for an answer. And no, he didn’t need a second grabby billionaire anywhere near his life, thanks.

He’d dealt with dozens just like him, rich assholes who thought their wealth and power made them untouchable.

And the man himself, standing in front of him? Yeah, okay, Jason was a little surprised.

Vlad’s face had this perfect fist shape to it, like his cheekbones were gonna wave Jason in to break his teeth.

Wild how that worked.

Offering to share Danny’s baby pictures was… an unexpected avenue of attack, honestly. Fucking effective though, and it had somehow defused the situation.

He’d still rather drag the man out by the scruff of his neck, but the apparent peace offering settled something inside him. Well, more directly Danny’s reaction to it.

Danny wasn’t scared of Vlad. Whatever he was, whatever he’d done? However much he’d hurt Danny in the past, <>used his death against him<>?

It hadn’t been fear setting Danny off when he knew Vlad was here. Which raised the question of what it had been, but he could always ask later.

For now, Vlad wasn’t an immediate threat to be eliminated, at least not yet. Today, they could play with him a little.

And if that changed? He was ready.

So Jason let his face soften into a smile as Danny groaned, damn near as dramatic as Dick. Let Vlad think he might be tempted.

And maybe just a little enjoy the revenge after all that bugging about the pixie boot photos earlier.

He reached out automatically to steady Danny as he swayed, leaving his hand on his shoulder. And watched Vlad track the gesture, which was… interesting.

Yeah, they could probably get him on the same game as the Manson’s. Jason let his arm slip around the slighter man’s shoulders, skimming gently down his arm.

Danny leaned into him just a little and if that made the pit happy, well, convenient bonus. Most of his attention stayed fixed on Vlad.

“I guess you’ve known each other a long time?” He offered, trying to keep his voice more neutral.

Danny sighed dramatically, folding his arms and glaring.

“Well it sure fucking feels like forever,” he grumbled loudly and Jason grinned, ruffling his hair.

“Not so long as I’d like,” Vlad argued with a soft chuckle, shaking his head. “I’m afraid even though I have always been his godfather we did not meet until he <<joined the club>> as it were. Had we met sooner I might have made a better impression.”

Sam snorted most of a laugh derisively through her nose, cocking her hip and smirking at him.

“Would you have given a fuck before he <<joined the club>>?” She asked sarcastically, perfectly matching his dramatic emphasis.

Vlad shot her another scathing look, then gave Jason an obsequious smile.

“Of course, I don’t have anything on me, but if you would like to come by some time…” he began, and Danny straightened so fast that something in Jason lurched to pull him back.

He resisted. Barely.

“Hell no Vlad, fuck off. You’re not having Jason over to your creepy ass castle in Wisconsin,” Danny snapped, his eyes flashing green and Jason had a revelation.

That? That was a truly fucking weird thing to see. Even if it hadn’t always been the trigger for violence, yeah, he could see why his family flinched.

Also? Danny getting possessive? Adorable.

Vlad certainly seemed to agree (which made Jason immediately want to change his mind), giving Danny a smug smile.

“Jason is an adult, Daniel, as you are yourself. I believe he can make up his own mind?” He purred, gaze flicking expectantly back to Jason.

It was a good thing he’d been practicing one of his best gala smiles half the month for this occasion. He’d never been more thankful for the training that let him keep it light and sweet.

“I’m not coming to your creepy ass castle in Wisconsin,” he agreed with Danny, loving the way Vlad’s face fell.

Impatient bastard. Like Jason hadn’t proved extremely early on which side of this line he was coming down on. Although…

“But maybe you can email me.”

Keep him sweet. Keep him hopeful. All the better to fully fuck around with later, and maybe give himself a backdoor into any plans.

Danny grinned smugly back at Vlad, folding his arms and leaning into Jason in a way that was definitely all out possessive. Which Jason could kinda get.

The new kid at school liked Danny best. Hell, Jason was always smug as fuck when one of the birds sided with him over B.

“Aww, I guess even your best impression wasn’t up for much, huh Vladdie?” Danny teased and Vlad’s eyes narrowed, before his smile flashed back, sharp and venomous.

“I shall certainly send you some pictures at my earliest convenience, Jason. Do you have a card?” He asked sweetly, looking from Danny directly up to Jason’s face.

Jason stifled a snicker.

“It’s not the eighties. Gimme your phone, I’ll add you.” He held out a hand, half expecting Vlad to refuse.

Surely he didn’t make his money and build his evil empire by being stupid. But no, Vlad gave him a calculating look and then handed the device right over.

Didn’t even try and look at the screen. And, well, Jason was a Robin once. Even Danny grabbing for the phone didn’t stop him, raising it above his reach.

Type his email with thumb swipes so it took half the time, turn on bluetooth, pair to Tim’s phone, get the ping for the downloaded app, bluetooth off and he handed the phone back to Masters, back on the contact screen.

“Here. That’s my private email, so don’t go giving it out to all and sundry,” he added as Danny tried to flap the phone from his hand.

“Aw come on Jason! You can’t give him that, he’s evil!” Danny whined, and Jason put his free hand directly in Danny’s face and pushed him away like he’d do Dick.

“You wanted to talk to Selina, you filthy fucking hypocrite.”

“Who wanted to talk to me?”

And speak of the devil, here she was, slinking towards them in one of her tight black dresses, short hair cupping her face.

Vlad shifted to let her join them, making a face when she stepped too close and stepping quickly away.

Jason closed his lips on a grin. Hope he didn’t have anything too precious in those pockets. Luckily his phone was still in hand, now tucked into a different pocket.

“I did,” Sam said loudly before anyone could interrupt, turning and bestowing her sweetest Manson Party Smile on her. “I heard you have baby photos of Jason.”

Selina raised an eyebrow as Jason made a half hearted grab for Sam, cocking her hip and smirking at him.

“Why darling, I most certainly do. And you are?” She asked, gaze darting around the group.

Sam stuck out her hand to shake.

“Sam Manson. This is my date, Danny Fenton, and my… friend, Jason Todd,” she introduced, jerking her thumb at the boys in turn.

Vlad cleared his throat, and promptly regretted it when Sam smirked.

“Oh, and this asshole is Vladdie.”

Vlad shot a glower at her while Danny and Jason snickered, turning to offer Selina his own hand.

“Vlad Masters, Daniel’s godfather.”

Selina took his hand delicately, a sharp smile on her face as she shook.

“Oh, so you’re the one who’s been snatching at the little Waynes! Have you come to make a grab for Jason?” She asked with a barely hidden glee, and alright, <<maybe>> she could stay.

Vlad’s poleaxed expression would make up for a lot, then he snapped too and snatched his hand away.

“I most certainly… oh… well. I. Suppose there was one incident, but I’d hardly call it grabbing,” he admitted with ill grace, smoothing down the front of his suit.

Selina’s smile spread and she pointed discretely towards the refreshment tables.

“Oh? Poor Tim has had to get an ice pack I hear, and someone said that you were behind Dick’s sudden disappearance. I’ll have to warn you that the last one left is Damian and he has a reputation of his own,” she purred.

Vlad’s brows furrowed into a deep frown, clearly not sure how to handle this situation. Being the focus of the gossip was apparently a change for him.

Jason was almost jealous, but the sheer joy of watching Selina at work washed it away. <<Not>> being the focus of all the gossip was a fun change for him.

“Damian Wayne?” Vlad asked, glancing back at Jason. Like Jason was about to help.

“He bites,” Jason explained casually and Danny fucking cackled, falling forward into Sam.

“Oh… oh Vlad… Vlad please… go bother Damian,” Danny gasped as Sam caught him, and Sam smirked.

“Would you turn down your Wayne scholarship?” Sam asked wickedly and Vlad’s head snapped around so fast he must have cricked his neck.

“Your what?” He asked sharply as Danny sucked in great lungfuls of air, finally straightening.

He was in no fit state to answer so Sam took over, smirking at Vlad.

“Oh, part of why Danny came is because he won a Wayne scholarship,” she said with a smug confidence Jason had to admire.

And join in on, since it was upsetting Vlad so much.

“Yeah, Brucie just loves to provide for underprivileged youth. It’s how we got my newest brother Duke,” he explained with an offhanded shrug, and oooooh he could almost see steam flying from Vlad’s ears.

His glare snapped back to Danny himself, who was just barely recovering.

“Then I suppose it’s a good thing I was here to defend your good name to Brucie,” Vlad spat the words like they tasted bad and that sent Danny off again.

“Aww, Vladdie, you do care,” he giggled, pulling himself back up and wiping at his eyes.

Vlad’s expression contrived to somehow become even more constipated.

[safety-frog]

Sleepy Night

Just a little story for you. I’ll edit it later y’all… I’m writing on mobile

AO3 link here!: https://archiveofourown.org/works/39975102

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I don’t know why they think that assigning art homework is going to help anyone. Like, what? They want you to be able to draw a tree? Cause that’s going to be helpful.”

“Don’t let Virgil hear you say that.”

“I’s like to see him try and explain why I’m wrong,” John grumbles, turning back to his overdue art homework. It’s not his fault it got stuffed to the bottom of his bag and conveniently forgotten about. He’s had new high school classes and driver’s ed to worry about, not how to stipple shade a cloud.

Scott taps his foot against the kitchen floor tiles in an offbeat rhythm as he works on his own homework. He’s stayed ahead on the readings for English Literature, but just hasn’t gotten around to writing that essay until tonight. It’s not due until Friday and Demian was pretty enthralling by classic literature standards so there’s no worries that he’ll be rushing to cobble together some half-assed piece of slop. But Scott likes on stay on top of his work (unlike many’a’little brothers).

Besides, after Alan and Gordon have been put to bed and Virgil holes himself up in his room for his nightly “art time” is the only chance John and Scott have to be alone. Even if that time is spent cursing out school-owned charcoal pencils and Hernan Hesse’s insistence on apples representing innocence.

“Do you think Mrs. Janson will notice if I give this to Virgil and let him do it?”

“Let me put it his way…” Scott pauses from his typing to think of how to deliver his thought with a delicate approach. “It would be like Gordon giving you his math homework and then giving the teacher back a sheet covered in theoretical proofs and calculus.”

“So, it’s a stroke of genius, I should say.”

“It’s a stroke of something.”

John wrinkles his nose as he draws too long of a line somewhere on the paper. His eraser is getting more use than the charcoal itself if you ask Scott. He pauses to flip through songs playing through the one earbud in his er on the side furthest from Scott. The ginger relaxes as he finds something decent and turns back to the drawing.

When Scott spares a peak, he pretends he didn’t. John is smart. John is funny in a quiet, unexpected sort of way. John is decently athletic hen he wants to be. But John is not artistically inclined. All the artistic ability must have been saving up for Virgil who took it all; not a single drop of acrylic was left for the younger ones after.

Silence follows as John grows more frustrated and Scott more concentrated. Although, that could be relative. The chirping of autumn crickets and katydids outside the house are more than enough background noise. The pitter patter of socked feet is soft against the night’s symphony. Scott would have missed it if not for the years of experience listening for that exact sound.

“Alan?”

John turns his head up at Scott’s voice. Alan yawns with a fist rubbing at his eyes. In the other hand is a stuffed orange dinosaur passed on from Gordon. John smiles more to himself as he turns back to his drawing.

“Couldn’t sleep.”

The sight is awfully pitiful. Scott knows he should lead Alan back up to his own bed (careful not to wake Gordon in the same room). But the glow-in-the-dark space footie pajamas, and the plushy half being dragged, and Alan’s blond hair sticking up in every which way is too much for Scott’s poor heart to handle. At some point he should bring it up to their dad or take the initiative to get Alan to sleep alone. But not yet.

“Come here then.”

Scott’s on a roll with homework and knows if he leaves it now, he’ll lose track of his argument. So instead he just holds his arms open and lets Alan stumble his way into them. His littlest brother heaves a sigh of relaxation the moment he’s safe in Scott’s embrace. Scott maneuvers Alan so his towhead is on his shoulder and arms are wrapped around his neck. The dino plushy is stuffed somewhere between them.

One of the couch throw blankets is tucked over Alan, courtesy of John. Scott starts typing away again at his assignment around Alan. Little puffs of breath hit his neck in slow intervals. If he breathes in deep enough, Scott can even smell the watermelon shampoo from bath time still clinging to Alan’s hair. In no time, Alan isn’t quite snoring but well on his way to. Scott smiles to himself.

Looks like both he and Alan got that gene from their dad.

[strabbyshortcake]

the truth about snaktooth

Gramble finally tells his partners what befell him and everybody else on the island.

“Whatcha doin’, Gram?”

The screen door clatters as it shuts behind Boots. It’s a nice summer night, one of the rare ones they got with little humidity, so Gramble had left the main door open, the sound of katydids and crickets drifting through from the outdoors. He looks up from the hand towel in his paws, shoulders hunched guiltily.

There’s a large cardboard box sitting on the floor, full of bits of kitchen décor. Ceramic plates with fruit stenciled on them, prints of vintage ads for bread and desserts, towels with produce embroidered on them. All the kitschy things Boots knew he liked decorating his spaces with, and Gramble spent more time in the kitchen than either her or Piesha, with how much he enjoyed cooking.

“Oh, evenin’ Boots,” he greets her, expression softening into a smile. “You remember we talked about Lizbert and Egg visitin?”

“Yeah…?” She pads over, frowning a little at the bare spots on the walls and shelves. Boots was acquainted with the two from attending expedition reunions with Gramble, and while she made it no mystery that she disliked Lizbert’s invasive style of exploration, it was all in the past. Liz had retired from that life after the whole Snaktooth stunt to become a museum curator. “What’s the matter, they allergic to tackiness?”

Gramble laughs at her affectionate teasing. “No, well… Actually, funny you should say that. Egg’s fine, but Liz has got… I guess you could say she’s got kind of a hang-up over food imagery. And while she’s doin’ well these days, might just make her a lil’ more comfortable to not feel so surrounded, y’know?”

“Yeah, yeah, I get you.” Boots nods, reaching up to take the clock off the wall. It’s a piece of painted wood in the shape of a strawberry. Nollie had made it in an art class. “Place is a little dusty, anyway.”

Together he and Boots work to mostly strip the place of any food-related decoration, leaving only a couple little accents up so the place didn’t seem too bare. Gramble sighs at the empty walls, leaning into Boots’ touch as she places a paw on his shoulder.

She and Pie had always been so understanding when he told them he couldn’t talk about what had happened on the island, but he hated to keep his loved ones in the dark. Not simply for the fact that there might still be danger lurking out there, but that he knew he could trust them, and yet, just telling them what had happened was almost as terrifying as the thought of being back there. The idea that just speaking of it would somehow make it manifest, bring it back into his life when he’d worked so hard to escape it, haunted him, but so did keeping it bottled up inside.

“…I need to tell you both what really happened,” he says quietly. “It’s been long enough. Just, after Liz and Egg are gone. Then we’ll talk about it.”

Boots blinks down at him in surprise. “You sure?”

“I’m sure.”

--

The visit went well. This was the first time Lizbert and Eggabell had seen the new house and the refurbished barn, the first they’d met Cardi and Dember, and Nollie had only been a year old when they’d last come around. They’d caught up, shared stories, enjoyed Gramble’s cooking and chatted about where their lives were going and where they’d been.

After they’d waved goodbye, gotten in Eggabell’s car and driven off to see Wambus and Triffany, after the dishes had been cleared and cleaned and the kids were all in bed, Gramble sat Boots and Piesha down on the porch swing in the back while he took the rocking chair.

“I need to tell you,” he says, fidgeting with his paws where they rested on his chest. “about what happened on Snaktooth.”

“Alright.” Pie nods slowly, leaning into Boots’ cushy side. Boots gives him an encouraging smile, rocking the swing back and forth slightly with her heel.

Gramble swallows, licking his lips. “So… Not all of what I told you was a cover-up. We did run outta food and I did almost starve to death. But… Geez, I dunno where to even start.”

“Why’d you go in the first place?” Boots asks.

“Oh, that I didn’t lie about either. My mama really did up and leave while I was at college. I went cuz… Cuz I guess I felt like I didn’t have anywhere else to go. I saw Liz on TV say she was gatherin’ people up for her team and I just… I wanted somewhere to go that wasn’t home.”

She nods solemnly, gesturing for him to go on.

“Well, Snaktooth… Liz said she found somethin’ there. These creatures she was documenting. D’you… Have either of you ever heard of bugsnax?” Gramble nearly whispers the last word, even though it’s just the three of them out here, just the three of them and the crickets and fireflies, the kids sound asleep.

Piesha tilts her head, thoughtful. “Mm… Maybe a long time ago,” Pie says. “One of those things they got lots of fairy tales about. Critters made of food, right?”

“Right.” Gramble nods. “But they’re real. And please- I know how it sounds,” he stammers, even though neither of them looked skeptical. “But I swear. I saw them, I picked them up and held them, I had a whole barn full of them that Liz and Buddy caught for me. I had names for them, and… and everybody said they were the most delicious things they’d ever eaten. B-but there’s a reason for that. Sorry, lemme go back a bit and explain.

“When we got there, we thought we’d be able to farm. That was Wambus’s thing, but no matter what he tried, the crops would wither, or the bugsnax would get in and destroy them. The only thing he could grow was the sauce that grew on the island, and that wasn’t anywhere near enough to live on. Pretty soon we ran outta food, but that wasn’t a problem for most folks. They’d just eat the bugsnax.”

“And I’m guessin’ you didn’t?” Boots asks.

He shakes his head. “No, I didn’t want to. I already didn’t eat meat, and the snax were always so cute and friendly and I couldn’t bear the thought of hurtin’ them. So I just… didn’t. I tried to live off the sauce, and I ate dandelions and weeds, I ate damn near anything that was edible, but it was never enough.”

“That’s awful, Gram.” Boots says, her brows knitted. “Why didn’t you leave?”

“Well, I… I thought about it,” Gramble wraps his arms around himself. “Even though I didn’t have nowhere to return to, I figured it might be better than starving. But it wasn’t too long after that Lizbert up and disappeared. Her and Egg, there was an earthquake and after that they never came back to town. Some folks thought they died, others thought they ran off, but without her nobody was bringin’ in bugsnax to eat and they started to eat mine, so I ran off with the rest of ‘em and that made everybody mad and I really did start to think there was nobody who cared about me but the snax and Wiggle, and… and even she was eatin’ them too, but I let her cuz I didn’t have nobody else... I was so afraid she’d leave me too that I put up with it.”

He pauses, taking a deep breath. “So, um… I guess a couple weeks after that, Buddy finally showed up. We’d been on the island almost a year at that point. They wanted to interview Liz, figure out what happened, and they managed to get all of us back into town within a week or two. I was really doin’ poorly though.” His claws absently scratch at his belly over the scar that the rake had left, concealed beneath his fur but never fully faded.  “Didn’t care much whether I lived or died. Nothin’ I tried worked, and one of the big snax I asked Buddy for nearly killed me. And then…”

Boots holds Pie’s paw between both of hers, stroking it, both of them patiently waiting for him to gather his racing thoughts. It had been so long since he’d even thought about all this, and much of the events were a haze of hunger and pain, he was amazed he could keep the basic timeline coherent.

“Then, one night… When we were all back in town, Filbo decided he wanted to throw a party. That was when everything… That’s when it all fell apart. There was an active volcano on the island, and it erupted. Eggabell suddenly showed up back in town and told us she knew where Liz was, and she and Buddy and Filbo ran off to get her while the rest of us tried to get to safety. B-but… You remember what I said before, about the bugsnax?” He lifts his gaze to the two of them.

Pie nods at him. “Yeah. They taste good, right?”

“They also…” Gramble holds his paws out, curling his fingers into fists. “They change you. Whenever you eat one, your body parts become it. I know it sounds silly, but everybody was walkin’ around with arms and legs made of strawberries and corn and cinnamon rolls and you kinda just… got used to it. I only ever ate one when I was sleepwalkin’, and I don’t even remember what it was like, but everybody else except Shelda ate ‘em all the time. You get used to it and then you start believin’ that they’re the only thing that can make you feel good anymore. Sorta like drugs, but sorta like… Wiggle used to say they inspired her, and Chandlo thought he could get stronger with them, it was whatever you wanted. I guess even I was fallin’ for it, thinkin’ they could replace my family, and I never even had to eat ‘em.

“But that’s the trick. You get dependent, but you don’t realize that… That they’re parasites. And I’m kinda fuzzy on the details, but according to Buddy, Liz was somehow stuck down in the main… meat of the hive,” Gramble brings his paws together, looking down at his intertwined fingers. “And that’s where she’d been all along, down in the darkness with all those food bugs crawlin’ all over her and into her mouth and… that’s why she’s got such a thing about food.”

“Ah…” He can’t blame Boots for looking a little numb, covering her mouth with her paw as Pie stares blankly at him. It was a lot to take in. “Yeah, I guess that’d do it.”

Gramble goes on. “They attacked us not long after Buddy and the others left, tryin’ to force themselves into our mouths, or kill us, either or. I guess they knew the jig was up, then and there. No comin’ back from that. But we all got away, in the end… And that’s what happened.”

He falls silent. The porch swing creaks slightly as Boots lets it come to a stop, letting the singing of the insects fill the air between them for a long moment.

“S’this place still out there…?” Piesha speaks up softly, glancing out into the darkness as if the snax might be watching from the trees.

“Far as I know,” Gramble says, slipping off the chair to walk over and take one of their paws in each of his. “But you gotta promise me you will never, ever go there.” His expression is grim as he peers up at them. “And you’ll never breathe a word to any of the kids about it, or to anybody else. Nobody should ever step foot on that awful place again.”  

“Gram,” Boots squeezes his paw in return, then leans over to scoop him up and pull him into her lap, the swing groaning in complaint as yet another grumpus is piled upon it. “…there’s gotta be somethin’ we can do-”

“No.” Gramble shakes his head, desperation creeping into his voice. “I- I don’t know. Maybe there is somethin’ that someone out there can do, but it can’t be any of us. I don’t want nothin’ to do with it ever again and if word gets out, it’s just gonna be more people goin’ there and that’s exactly what it wants. Please,” he tilts his head up at her, the porch light glimmering in his eyes. “Just leave it alone. It can’t get us here and I want it to stay that way. Promise me.”

When she hesitates, he repeats himself, teeth glinting as his lips peel back. “Promise me, please-”

“I promise.” Boots leans down to kiss him on the nose, wrapping her arm around him as the other draws Pie in closer. “I won’t tell nobody if that’s what you want.”

“That’s all that I want,” he murmurs into her fluffy chest, suddenly very tired despite the mental weight that had lifted. He’d spoken Snaktooth’s name aloud, finally uncorked what he’d kept bottled up for nearly two decades now. He should feel better-prepared, now that they were all on the same page, so why did he still feel like he was only summoning the beast? Perhaps he just needed to sleep, let this new information digest, and they’d face whatever came tomorrow together.

Hundreds of miles away, the island remembers them too.

[kissingfloor]

Missing my uncle Nick, who's been dead for I guess 6 years now. It's hard for me to describe him without going into long-winded an anecdotes. But he was an artist. He was sad and melodramatic and precise and dedicated very wholly to the beauty and ephemerality of the world. He loved and lost deeply. And he walked every morning on the beach to find shells.

I'm so lucky to have spent the time I did with him, when I was a kid. I think some of my earliest memories are photographically real with him because I was just so fascinated. I can only hope that one day I have the devotion to nature, the world, beauty, whatever it is like he does.

I feel a certain sensitivity to the world that stems from my giddo and uncle Nick and they raised me with it, too. The older I get the more astonished and grateful I am that I got to be a child with them, examining ants and the petals of flowers and spirals of shells.

One time in Syria we were making our way down a desert mountain path and uncle Nick made us stop the car to observe a tiny orange flower on the edge of the cliff (how he spotted it I don't know). He brought it into the car and showed me each petal and I was surprised to see two tears drop from his eyes at the beauty of it, alone in the desert.

The more pain and loss I feel in life the deeper the well of my sorrows and joys. Sometimes when I hear the cicadas in the daytime or katydids at night or something tiny and precious like a flower, I cry now too. I'd like to think it's my most important inheritance. It's a gift after he's been long gone.

[scribblinglizard]

When I was last here, the cicadas were out in full force.

We’d had a gypsy moth infestation, and their corpses littered the ground. I don’t mind bugs, but the eggs get to me so I spent a lot of time spraying them off the wrought iron fence with the hose. In those two weeks I spent hours in the pool, swimming and floating and diving for coins. It was like being a child again. I missed my last couple years of childhood, whether from illness or social disturbance or the pandemic that’s robbed us all of two years of life, so it was in many ways a relief to be able to relax. To let myself go and just exist in a place I felt comfortable.

It’s autumn now, and we’re back. I’ve never seen the trees look like this before—where I grew up we didn’t have autumn. The leaves turned brown and fell and became muck beneath our feet and the wheels of my bike. The only real difference was whether my hands were chapped from the cold and the soap our school used.

I’m sitting where I did for those two weeks of the summer, but the pool is closed up and the falling leaves have replaced the cicadas and katydids and swarms of gypsy moths.

The wind blows and my hair’s a little shorter now, a little closer to the way I want myself to be. The leaves are falling and by the time we’re gone there will be more on the ground than holding on tight to the branches of the maples leaning over into the back yard.

It’s strange to be in one place long enough to watch the seasons die, the shift from the dog days of an Indian summer to cool wind and spices and leaves turning red as the world gets ready for winter.

We’re tired, her and I, but while she sleeps I’ll carry on, waiting for those days of green blurring together and the gypsy moths falling from the sky like rain.

[khunfounded]

Of Larks and Katydids

[I finally wrote words again! It feels so good to be back. I hope you like it!

Small trigger warning: Bam bites into his hand hard enough to draw blood]

Bam curled tighter into the corner of his room, burying his face in his knees. His hair was out of its ponytail. It cascaded down around him, concealing him from the outside world. Usually he hated it, this reminder that he was changed irreparably, that there were pieces of himself that he would never get back, but he took refuge in the protection it gave him now. It was a safeguard against the eyes, the voices that echoed throughout the Wolhaiksong compound.

He bit into the meat of his index finger He had had no idea that freedom from his loneliness could be so overwhelming. It made him feel horrible. Bam must be the worst kind of person to be so ungrateful for this gift he had been given, but he couldn’t help it.

It had started with the celebration of their escape from the Workshop. Everyone was laughing and hugging, joy arcing through the room like lightning. But as the night went on, Bam felt as if his lungs were giving out. After years of being alone, of having almost no one, he didn’t know what to do. It had been different when he had been a part of team Sweet and Sour, because he still had his objective, he was still unequivocally Viole. 

Now though, he didn’t know what he was, who he was allowed to be. 

It got worse with each shout of his name.

Viole.

Bam.

Viole!

Bam?

Bam. Viole. Viole. Bam. Viole. Bam. Bam. Bam. Viole. Bam. Viole. Viole. Bam. Viole. Viole. Bam. Viole. Bam. Bam. Bam. Viole. Bam. Viole. Viole. Bam. Viole. Viole. Bam. Viole. Bam. Bam. Bam. Viole. Bam. Viole. Viole. Bam. Viole.

His breath hitched. His throat felt tight. He bit into his hand a little harder. He wished that there was an easy answer, that he could be unmistakably one or the other. Instead, he felt simultaneously like a grotesque amalgamation of the two and like not enough of a person to be either. 

He had hoped that as time went on he would get better, get used to it. But each day in the compound made the pressure behind his eyes build up even more, until the only thing that kept him from blowing up was hiding away from everyone’s gazes. Bam was sure that people were noticing his increasing absences. He could see the concern in the downturn of Shibisu’s lips and the furrow of Khun’s brow. He couldn’t help it, though. There was a terrified, cornered animal part of him that just wouldn’t let go.

He began to rock back and forth, as invisible hands clung to him. They grabbed at his neck, his ankles, his very viscera. They covered his eyes, and everything started to get hazy around the edges.

Suddenly, there was a knock on the door and Bam jolted. His mouth filled with the taste of copper. He took his finger away from his mouth.

“Bam,” Khun’s muffled voice called out, “You’re late for dinner. That annoying crocodile won’t stop asking where you are”.

Bam curled up tighter. His lights were off, so maybe if he stayed silent Khun would think he was somewhere else. He didn’t want his friend to see him like this, all shattered glass and torn up pages. 

“Bam, I know you’re in there. No one’s seen you anywhere around the compound all day”.

Bam kept his mouth shut, but he couldn’t help letting out a small whimper. He should have known better. He never was very lucky. His hand throbbed.

There was a sigh from the other side of the door.

“I’m coming in, okay?”

No, not okay. Very, absolutely, not okay. 

Bam tucked his face between his knees and covered his head with his hands. The door creaked as it opened, sending a shiver down his spine. 

He expected Khun to say something, anything, but instead a heavy silence filled the air. The hush pulled Bam’s head up. Khun was backlit from the light in the hall, giving him a golden aura. He was far too radiant to be looking so upset, especially over Bam.

Their eyes met, and Bam could see Khun processing. He had seen that face countless times before, so he knew that when Khun’s features smoothed out he had made his decision, whatever it was. 

Khun shut the door and turned on the lights.

Bam tensed as Khun made his way towards him slowly, like he was approaching a cornered animal. He kind of was, in a way. Bam certainly didn’t feel human right now.

Khun lowered himself to the floor next to him, crossing his legs. He set his elbows on his knees and steepled his fingers. Bam hunched in on himself even more, though he couldn’t help staring at his friend through the trellises of his hair. Khun wasn’t looking at him, keeping his gaze on the wall opposite, but his eyes were soft.

“You know,” Khun said, voice low in the throat, as if talking any louder would break the gentle aura bathing them, “When Lero Ro told us you were gone, the crocodile let out a scream that was practically a death knell. Shibisu wouldn’t stop sobbing”.

Khun turned his head. His blue, blue eyes met Bam’s own.

“I didn’t say anything, though. I just walked out of the room and threw up into the nearest toilet”.

“Khun-ssi…” Bam murmured, unable to think of how to respond. He had spent long hours late into the night thinking of what happened to his friends after he disappeared, but he hadn’t expected that they would react so strongly to his death. He could hardly imagine the snarky, collected Khun of the Test Floor broken down like that, because of him.

“When I found out you were alive, that you had been taken by FUG, I didn’t know how to react. All I knew was that I had to find you again. There was nothing else that was more important. Nothing”.

Khun was silent for a moment and Bam let his words sink in. He didn’t know what to do. This was Khun laying himself bare, giving up pieces of himself that he usually hid from the world at all costs, and he was doing it for Bam.

“It felt like waking up from the longest nightmare of my life when we got you back,” Khun’s lips lifted into a bittersweet smile, “Life finally felt real, again”.

Bam sucked in a breath. Khun turned his body towards him and gently, ever so gently, rested a hand over Bam’s injured one. Without thinking, Bam clasped their hands together tightly. Khun’s thumb rubbed soothing circles into Bam’s knuckles. Bam watched where they were connected and he felt something shift in his chest.

“What I mean to say is,” Khun said, picking each word with care, “What I mean to say is that nothing is going to change my mind about you, about how necessary you are to me. So you can talk to me, tell me what’s wrong. I’m not walking away”.

Bam’s eyes grew misty. He lifted a shaking hand to push his hair out of his face, meeting Khun’s stare. Silence reigned for several long moments as Bam ruminated. He had no idea what to say, if he should even say anything at all. Despite his assurances, Bam was terrified of how Khun would react if he knew just how broken and confused he really was.

But when Bam looked up, there was something in Khun’s eyes, in the lines of his face, that told Bam that he would stay.

Bam took a breath, clinging tighter to Khun’s hand for strength.

“I,” Bam started, shuttered, started again, “I don’t know who I am anymore. If I’m Jyu Viole Grace, or if I’m the Twenty-Fifth Bam. Everyone else seems to know but I just, I don’t. I don’t know”.

He swallowed down the aching in his throat, free hand picking at the loose threads in his pants. His eyes searched Khun’s, looking for some kind of answer to this question that plagued him.

“Who am I, Khun-ssi?”

Khun hmmed, tilting his head, before he asked, “Well, who do you want to be?”

Bam was struck. He had never thought about that before. He didn’t know that that was an option, that he could choose. Ever since he could remember there was someone else deciding for him. Rachel telling him that he was the Twenty-Fifth Bam. FUG telling him that he was Jyu Viole Grace. Everyone telling him that he was an ally, an enemy, a monster, a god.

But, who did he want to be? He wanted to be someone strong enough to protect his friends, someone brave enough to face the Tower with them. He wanted so many things. But as he looked at Khun’s warm, understanding eyes, he realized there was something more he wanted to be. He wanted to be himself.

He squeezed Khun’s hand tightly, confessing, “I think I want to be Bam. Just Bam”.

Khun’s lips quirked up, “Well, I think Just Bam is perfect”.

Bam lowered his head, cheeks heating up. His hair fell in front of his face, but Khun reached over and pushed it back behind his ears. That was the thing about Khun, he never let Bam hide, and Bam was grateful for it, no matter how scary it was. He wanted to be seen by Khun. He wanted to be known by him.

Bam looked up and whispered, “Thank you, Khun-ssi”.

“Of course,” Khun replied easily, before scrunching up his nose, “Now what are we going to do about that hair?”

Bam raised a hand to his head, “My hair?”

Khun knocked his index finger against his chin, “Your hair. I’ve noticed you don’t seem to like it very much. You avoid mirrors and you don’t maintain it at all. 

“Besides,” Khun smirked, “Long hair doesn’t seem to fit Just Bam to me”.

Bam blinked at his friend, gaping. Leave it to Khun to be able to notice something no one else did, something that Bam tried desperately not to let show. 

“I could cut it for you,” Khun offered.

“Cut it?” Bam murmured. He hadn’t thought about it before, but now that it was brought up he wanted desperately for it to happen, for this reminder of his aching loneliness to be gone, “Yes, please”.

“Your wish is my command,” Khun grinned and got up, pulling Bam with him as he headed to the ensuite bathroom. Khun didn’t let go of his hand until he sat Bam down sideways on the toilet. He rummaged through the sink drawers before he triumphantly pulled out a pair of scissors.

“Okay,” He said, moving to stand behind Bam, a soothing presence at his back, “How do you want to do this?”

Bam thought for a moment, biting his thumb, before he decided, “Can you make it short, please? Like it was before”.

“You got it”.

The first cut felt like a hallelujah, like it was more than just the physical weight of his hair that was falling away. Unbidden, a tear slipped down Bam’s cheek. He closed his eyes and smiled. 

The rest of the haircut went by in comfortable silence as more and more strands fell to the floor. Each trim unlocked chains that he didn’t even know were binding him, until he finally felt like he could breathe again.

After the last cut, Khun brushed the hair off of Bam’s shoulders and maneuvered him over to the mirror, “Here we go”.

For a long moment, all Bam could do was stare at the mirror, blinking. He brought a hand up to his mouth as tears welled up in his eyes and flowed down his cheeks. 

For the first time in years, he looked into the mirror and saw himself.

“Bam? Are you okay?” Khun asked nervously, voice pitched oddly, hovering around him, “Did I do something wrong?”

Bam couldn’t bring himself to say actual words, so he channeled Miseng and turned around, hugging Khun tightly. His hands fisted in Khun’s shirt and he buried his face in his shoulder. Khun was frozen for several moments before he hesitantly relaxed and wrapped his arms around Bam.

“Thank you,” Bam whispered through his tears, sniffling.

“Anytime,” Khun replied softly, hooking his chin over Bam’s shoulder and rubbing circles into his back, “Anything”.

When Bam’s tears finally dried up, he murmured, “I’m tired. Could you stay tonight? With me?”

“Yeah. Yeah, okay”.

It took a while before either of them could part, but when they did, Bam grabbed Khun’s hand. They walked into the bedroom, before flicking off the light and shuffling under the covers of the bed. Khun laid flat on his back and Bam curled up next to him, resting his head against his friend's chest. 

“Thank you, Khun,” Bam said again, into the hushed silence.

“Like I said,” Khun replied, carding his hands through Bam’s newly shorn hair, “Anytime”.

“I know,” Bam traced nonsense patterns onto Khun’s shirt, “But I mean for more than just the haircut. For finding me, for knowing me, for being there. For everything, Khun”.

Khun’s hand clasped his, “That’s what I mean, too”.

They were quiet for a long while, just enjoying each other’s presence, before Bam asked, “Do you think birds dream, too?”

Bam felt Khun’s surprised chuckle rumble through his chest, “What brought this up?”

“I don’t know, I was just wondering”.

Khun hummed, brushing his thumb across Bam’s hand, before he said, “Well, the scientific answer is that birds exhibit signs of REM sleep, though scientists don’t know if they actually dream. The philosophical answer, I think, is that no one can stay sane in absolute reality. Even larks and katydids must dream”.

“What do you dream about?” Bam asked.

“You”.

“Oh,” Bam blushed, “Me too. I mean, I dream about you, not myself. Though obviously I’m there, too, otherwise I wouldn’t be dreaming and all and please feel free to shut me up anytime now”.

“Nah,” Khun said, scritching the base of Bam’s head, “I like hearing you talk”.

Bam buried his face in Khun’s chest and groaned. He really hoped Khun couldn’t see how red he was, “You’re no fair, Khun”.

“I never said I was. In fact, it’s my trademark not to be”.

“Yeah, yeah,” Bam huffed, “You’re a coldhearted mastermind with countless evil tricks up your sleeve”.

“You better believe it,” Khun smoothed Bam’s hair down, “Now, I think it’s time for all good Bams to go to bed”.

“Kay,” Bam mumbled, closing his eyes, “Night, Khun”.

“Goodnight, Bam”.

Bam listened absently to the lullaby of Khun’s heartbeat as he drifted off. Just as everything was fading away, he felt a soft kiss against the top of his head and for the first time in years, Bam felt content. He pressed his lips to Khun’s chest, over his heart, and let sleep take him.

He dreamt of pastel colors and soothing lights. Nothing coherent, but something that was full of joy and safety.

A soft melody played in his head, before it was interrupted by obnoxiously loud banging. Bam shot straight up as Khun rubbed his eyes groggily and complained, “Ugh, what is that?”

“Turtles!” Came a shout through the door, “What are you doing? You missed dinner!”

Rak slammed open the door and turned on the lights, much to Khun’s dismay. Bam saw that he was carrying two trays of food in his arms. Rak shoved the trays into both of their laps as he declared, “You’re not useful prey if you’re too weak to fight! Eat!”

“Thank you, Rak-ssi,” Bam smiled, grabbing his fork and following Rak’s orders.

“I keep telling you,” Khun grouched, stuffing stir fry into his mouth, “We’re not your prey, you idiotic crocodile”.

Rak jumped up onto the bed and snatched the fruit off of Khun’s tray, “Just for that, I’m taking your banana. You don’t deserve it, Blue Turtle!”

For some reason, that made Khun choke. Bam patted his back as he coughed. Rak threw the banana peel into the trashcan across the room, and ate the entire thing in one bite. Bam would have been impressed if he hadn’t seen the crocodile shove five into his mouth at once.

After Khun recovered, he muttered, “I hate you so much”.

“You say that about everyone that’s not the Black Turtle, Blue Turtle. Your words mean nothing”.

Khun sputtered again. Bam swore that one day his friend would die of asphyxiation if those two kept up with their antics, and he didn’t want that to happen. He liked Khun. Khun was his most precious friend.

“Please don’t kill each other,” Bam begged.

“No promises,” They replied simultaneously, making them glare at each other fiercely. Bam giggled, leaning into Khun’s shoulder. 

Rak turned to him and squinted his reptilian eyes, “There’s something different about you, Black Turtle. What is it?”

“Seriously?” Khun scoffed, “Are you blind? Do we need to find you an optometrist? Get you some glasses?”

Bam gently slapped Khun’s hand, but before he could move his own away, Khun grabbed it and intertwined their fingers. Bam smiled, turning to Rak.

“Khun-ssi cut my hair, Rak-ssi”.

“Oh,” Rak said, before he huffed, “Good, this is much better! Now I can see the fear in your eyes when I hunt you down!”

“Sure thing,” Bam grinned.

Bam felt warm, and he thought that maybe he didn’t need to dream, if this was his reality. He was between the two people he had missed more than anything, and they saw him, accepted him.

As his two friends bickered, he remembered a conversation in the cafeteria during the Floor of Test. Everyone was talking about the things they missed from home, food and pets and stores. Bam had been confused because he didn’t miss anything about the cave, except for Rachel, who wasn’t even there anymore. 

But now he knew. The cave wasn’t home, this was.

He tugged both of his friends into a tight hug, abruptly ending their argument. Rak was quick to hug back, squeezing the life out of him, but Khun just quirked his brow.

“What’s this all about?”

“Nothing,” Bam beamed at him, “I’m just really happy right now”.

At his reply, Khun smiled and tucked Bam’s head under his chin, pulling him (and subsequently Rak) in close.

“I’m glad” he murmured, and in that moment there was nothing more that needed to be said.

Except maybe, “Turtles, you dropped your food on the bed”.

[bogglebabbles]

36!

Thank you, mampfmampf!

36: Favorite book quote(s)?

Okay so I got asked this earlier but I did remember a couple so they are as follows:

“No live organism can continue for long to exist sanely under conditions of absolute reality; even larks and katydids are supposed, by some, to dream.” -Shirley Jackson, The Haunting of Hill House

As far as first lines go, I think it sets the tone of the rest of the book really beautifully. That faint sense of being just a little bit off, but intriguing.

AND

“He lies in the clean sandy soil by the Atlantic shore, where he liked to sit every afternoon, seagulls and screaming curlews flying above him. In time, the tiny wild flowers there will grow to cover him in nature’s beauty, flowers which he would sometimes bring home in a bouquet, three or four only, and present them to me, as though they were orchids.” -Phyllis Browne, Thanks for the Tea, Mrs. Browne

Very (VERY) different book, and this quote is from the ending. Up to this point, we spent the book learning about the author and the life she shared with her husband, Noel Browne, and all the struggles that came with him being in office and his very poor health. This ending felt both indescribably soft and horribly gutting, and I could go on about it but I really just think the book ought to be read to get the full effect of it.

[67midnightwriter]

Words I Couldn’t Say

A/N: Snippets of You and Dean’s life over the years.

W/C: 1673

Dean Winchester x Reader

Fluffy with a little angst

Warnings: none

Beta’d by the fabulous @dragonchica !!

4/19/19

Dean leaned up against you, his long legs stretched out in front him, a half empty glass of whiskey between his knees. The cool spring air tousled the loose ends of his flannel shirt as you watched the sun set. This was how you had spent every Friday night of the last five years.

“I should have said it sooner. I know you know, but hearing it is different.” Dean sighed and drained his glass. “I guess what I’m trying to say is that I love you. Always and forever.”

Your reply was interrupted by Dean’s cell phone, signaling the end of your quiet Friday night.

6/28/19

“She looks just like you, you know.” Dean said, watching your six month old daughter as she tried to crawl across the grass. “Sam says she has my opinions though, so we’re going to have to keep an eye on her.” This time the Jack had been replaced by a Coke, and Dean chuckled to himself as he pressed the bottle to his lips. “Had anyone told me that I would be right here a year ago, I would have punched them in the face. Look at us now.”

You sat there in silence, happy to just enjoy each other’s company as the Katydids and crickets began to sing the night in. Time lost all meaning, but all too soon the baby started getting fussy. Dean sighed and checked his watch.

“Alright little one. I get it, you’re tired. Time to go home.”

1/24/2020

“One year, can you believe it? She’s walking now, probably giving Sam a heart attack as we speak.”

Dean laughed, but you noticed he was playing with his wedding ring, which was something he only did when he was stressed. The whiskey was back again tonight, and when he picked up the glass his hands were shaking. You reached out a hand to comfort him, and he turned to look at you. His face was somber, his eyes dark with an emotion you couldn’t place.

“I have no idea what I’m doing Y/N/N. It’s been a year since she was born and I still feel like I’m going to mess something up. Hell, I probably already have.” A nervous laugh bubbled up from his chest. “Why don’t these things come with user manuals. Life would be so much easier.”

10/28/2022

“Look Momma! I’m a princess! Uncle Sam is my horsey.”

Mary’s high pitched squeal rang out across the park, bringing smiles to a few faces as Sam lifted her onto his shoulders and started prancing around making horse noises. Dean’s deep laugh joined hers, and they became a joyous chorus. Your heart swelled as you watched them, finally a happy little family. Your happy little family.

5/7/2027

“Go ahead, read her what you wrote.” Dean beamed proudly as he stood behind your daughter, a handmade Mother’s Day card in her hands.

Mary took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, swallowed her nerves, and began reading the card. She really was her father’s daughter.

“What makes my Momma the best: she is strong, she is pretty, and she is the best listener.”

You smiled as you watched Dean wipe a tear out of the corner of his eye; he was turning into a real sap.

7/4/2031

“Can you believe how big she’s gotten?” Dean asked as he watched Mary run through the grass in the twilight glow. She was chasing fireflies with Sam, not a care in the world.

She was ten now, and she was already a handful. She was the cause of Dean’s slowly graying hair, and the few added stress lines on his forehead. For every gray hair though, she added twice as much joy. The corners of Dean’s eyes now sported laugh lines, as did the corners of his mouth. It was a look you had never imagined you’d see on him, but now that you could it was perfect. His shoulders no longer hung with the weight of the world, and he had no new bruises, no angry red cuts, and no fresh pink scars.

“Daddy! Is it dark enough for the sparklers yet?”

“Oh, I don’t know…” Dean looked at the setting sun, pausing to take in its beauty while Mary squirmed with impatience.

“Dad!” Dean’s lips twitched as he tried to hold back a grin.

“Yeah, come on Dad!” Sam joined in, breaking Dean’s resolve as his deep laugh rumbled out of his chest.

“Okay, okay, let’s go.”

You watched them chase each other, sparkles in hand, laughter carried away on the wind, bodies silhouetted against the setting sun, inexplicably, undeniably happy.

4/18/2036

Dean’s jaw twitched and you knew he was clenching his teeth. His lips were pressed together in a thin line, and he couldn’t stop pacing. You watched as he walked back and forth, twisting his wedding ring and letting out the occasional sigh. He checked his watch for the tenth time in the last fifteen minutes before looking at you. He let out another sigh, his shoulders dropping in defeat as he came to sit down and lean his back against you. He pressed the bottle of whiskey to his lips, having forgotten glasses.

“I know we raised her right, and I know he’s a good kid, but can you blame me for being a nervous wreck? It’s her first real date. I keep thinking she’ll be okay, but then I remember what I was thinking about when I was 15 and I get worried all over again.” Dean groaned and laid his head back, his eyes closed.

His phone rang, and he scrambled to pull it out of his pocket and answer it.

“Mary? Is everything okay?”

“Yeah Dad, everything is perfect! I just wanted to call and let you know what we came home early in case you still wanted to watch a movie tonight. Love you!” The call ended, and Dean leaned forward, placing his elbows on his knees and his forehead against his palms.

“Fuck. She sounded happy. I swear to God if she says she’s in love I’m going to need another liver.”

5/28/2038

“Can you believe prom is tomorrow? I can’t believe prom is tomorrow.” Mary gushed, pulling on Dean’s arm as she jumped up and down.

“I can’t believe I bought you a four hundred dollar dress.” Dean groaned, causing Mary to wrap him in a hug and kiss his cheek.

“Because you’re the best Daddy a girl could ask for!”

A car honked in the distance, and Mary’s face lit up.

“Those are the girls, can I have some money? We’re going to get our nails done for tomorrow, and then maybe go get some food.” Dean let out a mock sigh, groaning as he pulled out his wallet and fished out a hundred dollar bill.

“You know the rules.”

“Don’t spend it all, tip 20%, bring you the receipts, home by 11.” Mary called over her shoulder as she ran towards the car.

“10:30 Princess!” Dean yelled as she got in the car, and she waved away his response. “I swear she’s going to be the death of me.” He mumbled as he sank to the ground beside you. “I don’t know what I’m going to do this fall. She leaves for Stanford in August.” Dean chuckled to himself as he opened his beer. “Funny how it’s all coming full circle. I know that we always said that we’d raise her, and then when she was off at college we’d start hunting again but… The world hasn’t ended in 17 years, and I’m tired. Sam and I have the bar, and Sam’s got kids now. I’ve been thinking about doing what Bobby did. It makes sense now. Stay out of the field, stay safe in the bunker.” A soft breeze blew, and Dean closed his eyes as it ruffled his hair. “Yeah, that sounds nice. Field calls, give wayward hunters a place to stay and catch their breath.” A smirk crossed his face and he shook his head and tipped his beer back. “Who would have ever thought; Dean Winchester, with an office job.”

6/26/2048

Dean stood before you, cooing at the baby in his arms. Mary and her husband stood next to him, his arm wrapped around her waist.

“Sorry it’s been so long. Time got away from us.” Mary smiled.

“You’re here now, that’s all that matters. And you brought our grandson, so that’s all that matters.” Dean’s eyes never left the baby, and you marveled at how those green eyes now spanned three generations.

“We also got you this t-shirt.”

Dean laughed as he read it: Sexiest Grandpa Alive.

“You know it’s true.”

When Dean Winchester passed away, it wasn’t at the edge of a blade or the end of a barrel of a gun. He was 90, with a good life behind him, and he went in his sleep. He stood next to you, watching Mary as she knelt before your graves.

“Dean?” You whispered.

“Y/N?” He turned around, his tired eyes wide with shock.

You ran to him, wrapping your arms around him. The years melted away under your touch, until he was as young as the day you left him.

“Every Friday. You kept your promise.” Tears rolled down your cheeks as he crushed you to his chest. He held the sides of your face and backed away, taking you in before he kissed you, slow and long, and deep.

“I keep all my promises.”

“There are so many things that I wanted to say-”

“It’s okay. I’m here now.”

You both looked on as Mary sat a bottle of Jack between your gravestones, a sad smile playing on her face.

Y/N Winchester: Y/B/D - 1/24/2019

Dean Winchester: 1/24/1979 - 7/22/2069

All I can hear in the silence that remains

Are the words I couldn’t say

Rascal Flatts

[artbymeera]

Sketching the Pandemic Year 2020 :Week 37 Sept 6-12 Nature is just so awesome with a never ending supply of surprises ! Summer means there are so many insects in the yard singing away merrily- katydids, cicadas, crickets, grasshoppers …along with the chorus of chirping frogs. I have to often get help at songsofinsects.com. with identifying the insect songs and I have spent many hours during the pandemic stay-at-home year doing just that - though I may now be more confused as well ;) This cicada - Neotibicen davisa davisa (identified by insect experts in INaturalist ) was by the pine tree (alive) in the yard by the pine tree. It stayed around just long enough for me to photograph. I had misidentified it when I first saw and sketched it - hence the wrong info below the cicada. The photograph of the Rhinoceros spearbearer (Copiphora rhinoceros)katydid in the Smithsonian Engagement Calendar 2020 paired nicely for the week. Unlike the cicada I found in the yard, these awesome conehead katydids are found in the rainforests of Nicaragua, Costa Rica and Panama. They have powerful jaws to feed on plants, other invertebrates and even small reptiles. Staying home during the pandemic though has helped me see and document by either sketching or photographing so many different creatures in my own yard ! #sketchingthepandemicyear2020 #smithsonianengagementcalendar2020 #smithsonian #nature #beauty #sketchbook #repurposed #naturejournal #artjournal https://www.instagram.com/p/CR_418VrbnhQzShTBP1HJO7trj6gqpcBMH_-m40/?utm_medium=tumblr

[coolcancunyachts]

Studying Nature in Mexico is an Unforgettable Adventure

After spending many vacations in Cancun Yacht Rentals , Mexico, I decided to take the plunge and move there to study the beautiful nature I'd admired in my previous trips. Having lived many years in the comfort and safety of American suburbia, it was time for some adventure. After learning Spanish, I went to the Yucatan and rented a home in suburban Playa del Carmen and hired myself a maid. Then, with help from hired guides and friends, I visited a variety of remote places in the Mexican jungles. It was an unforgettable experience to see a variety of animals in their natural habitats.

The ever-growing city of Playa del Carmen is an hour south of Cancun, and easily accessed by public buses. Both cities are on the Caribbean Sea, where coral reefs abound up and down the coastline. The beauty of pure white, limestone sand, and richly colored, turquoise water of the ocean drew me down there. Being a nature artist, I was fascinated by the plants and animals of the region. Armed with my cameras, drawing paper and pens, I got to work drawing and photographing bugs, birds, plants and anything else exotic. Soon, my artwork landed me a job as main illustrator for a large nature park called XCaret.

Whenever I had a drawing to deliver to my employer, I would board the employee bus for XCaret, and then walk down a long, back jungle path next to the park to the office. These walks fascinated me, due to the path was directly next to fenced enclosures for their zoo and aviary. Flamingoes, spider monkeys and a harpy eagle were animals I could see the best from the path. One time I made the mistake of giving one of the monkeys a cookie, only to see the other monkeys chase after him to steal it, trying to beat him up! I quickly got out a couple more cookies and gave the rest to them, to avoid the original monkey from getting hurt. They all sat there munching peacefully as I snuck off, hoping nobody saw.

In Mexico, you will see iguanas in nature frequently. As I walked down the nature path on my way to work, there was rustling in the big tree near me. I looked up only to see a large, 6 foot green iguana male with bright orange fringe on his back, in the canopy of the tree. He looked down at me. I remember people telling me that iguanas are good eating, taste like chicken, and that they are called "chicken of the tree". I never found out if that was true or not, but then, I wasn't about to go eating iguanas. Nope, I'm not that adventurous in my dining choices. Black iguanas can be seen usually sitting one per rock pile. Everywhere there were rocks, were male iguanas sunning themselves. Interesting creatures. In Chankanaab Park (on the island of Cozumel) there is a huge iguana that walks around public areas, oblivious to the humans that walk past it. It will bite if petted, the park employee told me. So, I took photos of it and kept my distance.

Another lizard that was interesting and plentiful, was Basiliscus basiliscus, the basilisk. There are a few varieties of basilisk to be found in Mexico. It can run on water if it gets scared enough, and I witnessed it after scaring one unintentionally. Later, I found a smaller one and drew it for my job, they have intense eyes, looking very serious. When I was finished drawing him, he ran upright into the jungle, glad to be free of the big, scary human with whom he'd spent a few hours with.

The jungles of Mexico are fascinating, but I would never recommend walking off your path into one. First off, the foliage is very dense. Second, there are critters in there that can hurt you if provoked, namely scorpions, snakes and spiders. Look, but don't touch. I have seen all of these, and have paid people to remove them from my home. Scorpions will come after you if they are agitated. Back away quickly, wherever they cannot follow. The lighter colored ones, I was told, are more dangerous than the black ones. There are tarantulas in Mexico, and they are big but not aggressive, thank goodness. I had a red-kneed tarantula taken away from the front of my door once. My maid used to throw out other spiders she found inside, and laugh when I would be freaked out by them. "This? It's harmless!" she'd tell me. Yuck. I took her word for it.

As for snakes, there are a few that are reason enough not to go walking alone in the jungle. First, there are huge boa constrictors. My ex-husband was called by the ladies next door, to remove a 6-foot boa out of their rental flat. They said it just slithered into the open back door. Lesson learned, never leave an open door to your house if you live close to the jungle. Then, there is a crimson colored snake the locals called Coralio. I don't know its scientific name, but it was beautiful but deadly. A man who lived near me had a whole apartment full of snakes, and he showed them to me up close. Snakes are interesting but it pays to watch where you step, since my ex and I nearly stepped on one during an evening walk. There are other snakes to watch out for, but these are the kinds that we saw. All snakes will mind their own business if unprovoked, it seems, trouble seems to be when humans aren't paying attention and step on one by mistake. So, it pays to watch where you walk.

Then there were the amazing birds. A gorgeous variety of colors, shapes and sizes, birds in Mexico are exotic and fascinating. My favorites were the toco toucan, motmot, currasows, Yucatan jay, cinnamon-colored cuckoo, and pileated woodpecker and violaceous trogon (a relative of the resplendent quetzal). They had a knack for showing themselves whenever I didn't have my camera with me. I did draw and take notes of what I saw, then look them up later. There was a bird that was so colorful that locals called it, "siete colores" (seven colors). After looking it up, I identified it as a painted bunting. Another bird locals call "pecho amarillo"(yellow breast), otherwise known as the great kiskadee, used to sit outside my window and yell, "Eeee, Eeee!" at the top of his lungs. We used to call back at him, and he'd answer. Very funny bird.

In Playa del Carmen, there is an outdoor aviary, built into the jungle, in the Playacar section. I went in there and walked around, to see the different birds that usually are hidden by jungle. One bird took a fancy to me, a barred currasow who followed me everywhere. She was my feathered tour guide, and posed for photos freely. I finally got to see a chachalaca up close, a relative to a turkey, that is shy, loud (its call sounds like a rusty meat grinder), and travels in groups. Also, there were red ibis, more flamingos, egrets, and much more. The aviary is a must see if you visit Playacar.

Another interesting natural sector in the Yucatan were all the bugs. Insects of every kind, in great quantities. I could've done without all the mosquitoes, though, thank goodness for bug repellent. My favorites were the butterflies. Sometimes when driving down remote roads, we came across undulating masses of various butterfiles colored yellow, white or black. Monarch butterflies also migrate in large groups down to Mexico, I saw them once, too. The most beautiful butterfly I came across in the wild, in my opinion, was the morpho butterfly. It has large irridescent blue wings, wasn't as common as other butterflies, and preferred the privacy of non-populated areas like fields and jungles. There was another butterfly that was big, brown and with its wings closed, was the size of a large dinner plate. It was called an owl butterfly, and flew slowly. I got really close to him and he seemed unafraid. He had patterns on his wings that were like numbers. Fascinating.

Beetles. Ahh, beetles..not very graceful, and apparently not all that bright, but endearing with their less than graceful antics. There were golden scarab beetles that used to fly into my window as I was working, frequently. They usually landed on their backs with their feet flailing helplessly in the air. Eventually the situation would rely on me turning them right-side up, some would then fly off, others would somehow end up on their backs again. It was odd, but I took the opportunity to draw these metallically colored insects, who looked as if they were gilded in brushed gold.

Grasshoppers and katydids are in large quantity in the jungles of the Yucatan. There are so many varieties of grasshoppers, I lost count. As for katydids. their bodies are gigantic, the size of a sparrow. I caught one, to draw him, then when I let him go off my balcony, he flew away in a straight path. His big, green body was visible for a very long time as he flapped off into the sunset, it was surreal.

Sea creatures and fish are plentiful in the Caribbean Sea. Though the reefs are endangered and show signs of damage, they are still beautiful. Every day, I'd snorkel in the low-traffic area near my home. It was serene to get to the beach early in the morning, pick up a few shells that washed up on shore, then make my spot on the beach. I'd snorkel until my body got cold, every day. There weren't many large predators in the areas I swam in, due to the breakwalls that run up and down the coast, separating the shores from the deeper, ocean water. Once in awhile, a barracuda would find its way into the reef area, my, what big teeth they have. Out there, you can see dolphins playing in the waves made by large yachts or ferries. Bottle-nosed dolphins are very social creatures and seem unafraid of humans. Some of the most memorable smaller fish and creatures I saw were brittle starfish (they live under rocks and will climb off your hand quickly if you try to hold one), octopus, conch, sea turtles, moray eels, blue tangs and of course, those feisty damselfish. Though I haven't gotten my scuba license, I went on a few professional scuba tours where the water was so shallow, snorkeling was possible. Tours are great for finding gorgeous coral gardens that aren't visible to everyone else. The prettiest ones I saw were near the town of Puerto Morelos.

Other places I liked to explore were the Cenotes Azul, and Dos Ojos. Cenotes are brackish water natural bodies of water that the Mayan indians used to build their villages around. Now, they sit in the jungle and tourists enter them to go cave diving. Underneath the Yucatan is an elaborate network of caves that attract cave-divers from all over the world. Not me, I preferred just swimming in the crystal clear water in the mouth of the cenotes, and observing the fish I saw. One of the cenotes had fish that I'd seen in pet stores back in the US, swimming there naturally. Jack Dempsey fish and green sailfin mollies, along with a kind of livebearer fish I didn't recognise. They were very colorful, and the Dempseys, being combative cichlids who like to pick on one another, had tattered fins. But, all the fish were very healthy. What a wonder it is to swim among them in their natural habitat. The nature around cenotes is interesting, too. I saw a basilisk run across the water, when I swam too close to him, and a duck that would dive for fish and stay underwater for a long time. Nature abounds in and around cenotes.

The nature of Mexico is plentiful and beautiful in all its forms. The tropical, hot climate brings out flora and fauna unlike anything I've ever seen in my home state of Ohio, or even in my current state of Florida. Living among the lush jungles, hearing jungle frogs sing at night and spending time with my wonderful Mexican co-workers, guides and friends changed my life. By being respectful of nature (look, don't touch) and watching where you walk, you will see clouds of butterflies, brilliantly colored birds, and animals like coatimundis, agoutis and others normally only seen in zoos. My employer promoted the preservation of Mexico's wildlife, and it was my honor doing artwork of all things natural for them. I miss walking the jungle path to their office weekly and seeing the zoo animals, as well as the wild ones in the trees. If you love nature, make sure to visit Mexico and go on tours to see the beauty of the wild, but with professionals who know where to take you. It will be an experience you will appreciate and remember forever.

[itsgarbagecannotgarbagecannot]

I’ve Got A Feeling

Pairing: Jack Kelly/David Jacobs/Katherine Plumber Pulitzer

Summary: Davey has a feeling. He just hasn't shared. Sarah changes that, with a bit of assistance from the Universe.

Word Count: 2318

Warnings:  None

Notes: This piece was a 30th birthday present to myself - kind of an exercise to prove I can still finish something when I put my mind to it. Even finished it an hour early! You can tell me it's okay - I might believe you - or tell me how it is awful - I will definitely believe you - or just mosey along to another story. No matter what you do, I appreciate you stopping by! I also tagged a lot of people I follow who may or may not be interested in this - if you want to be tagged or would like your tag removed, please just ask! ☺

Tags: @musicalmoriarty / @smolpieceoftoast / @timesarehardfornewsies / @daveyjacobss / @fightingtheangels / @harry-is-lily-ginny-is-james / @the-donnynova-band / @javid-cuddles-and-kisses / @jamiejewel90 / @musicalidiotthe3rd / @dont-sneeze

Alternate Links: AO3

“...and that’s how I, of all people, ended up with two partners,” Davey laughed.

The woman sitting across from him shook her head, curls bouncing. “What ever are we going to do with you, David Jacobs,” she said with a smile. Reaching over the table, she grasped his hand tightly. “They make you happy?” she asked.

His smile faltered slightly, but Davey squeezed back and nodded. “They do, Sarah, they really do.”

“Eh, what’s that face?” Sarah asked. When Davey shook his head, Sarah wagged her finger at him sternly. “Don’t do that, David. What are you thinking? Tell your big sister who she needs to beat up.”

“God, I’ve missed you,” he said instead. “It’s been way too long since we’ve spent a decent amount of time together.”

“Uh-huh,” Sarah nodded. “I know. Which is why you’re not getting out of answering my question. What was that face?”

Davey sighed. “I dunno, Sarah. It’s just that...they’ve been together since Katherine was a sophomore in high school. That’s six years together before I met them at that party and…” He waved one of his hands around haphazardly. “...this whole thing happened.”

“That’s a long time,” Sarah acknowledged.

Nodding, Davey ran his hands over his face and sighed again. “Exactly. They have this rock solid foundation. They know each other inside and out. And then there’s...me.”

Sarah stared at Davey with a knowing look on her face. “You love them.”

“I lov - Sarah!” Davey sputtered, wide-eyed. “What a crazy - I love - you’re insane.”

“You haven’t said it yet? It’s been 7 months!”

“Have I said - NO.”

“But you love them.”

“SARAH!”

She laughed. “Dave, you get the same look in your eyes when you talk about Katherine and Jack as you do when you talk about the miracle of modern medicine, Star Trek, and Mom’s snickerdoodles. I’ve known you for 24 years, brother dearest. You love them.”

Davey opened his mouth to retort again but quickly shut it when his phone buzzed with Jack’s text tone, distracting him. He couldn’t keep the tiny grin off his face as he picked it up, wondering what Jack needed to tell him at 8:00 AM on a Saturday, which Jack considered an “ungodly” hour.

Sarah poked him in the forehead and he startled, looking at her with wide eyes. She grinned and shook her head a little as she stood. “You are so in love with them.” Patting him on the shoulder, she said, “I’m going to get us a refill on these to go, and then we’ll plan our day, alright?”

Nodding, Davey turned his attention back to his phone, which beeped again insistently. His brow furrowed and his eyes darkened as he began to read through the messages which were still appearing on his screen.

From: Jumpin’ Jack Flash

I need someone to come get me

From: Jumpin’ Jack Flash

I have to go pick Ace up at St. Luke’s

From: Jumpin’ Jack Flash

Car accident

From: Jumpin’ Jack Flash

Think she broke her arm

From: Jumpin’ Jack Flash

Banged her head

from: Jumpin’ Jack Flash

DON’T YOU DARE CALL DAVEY

From: Jumpin’ Jack Flash

‘Cause I said not Race

From: Jumpin’ Jack Flash

Can you get me or not?

From: Jumpin’ Jack Flash

I took him outta the chat special

From: Jumpin’ Jack Flash

Are you comin or am I walkin

From: Jumpin’ Jack Flash

He’s with his sister

From: Jumpin’ Jack Flash

Thanks Specs

From: Jumpin’ Jack Flash

I’ll tell him when I pick him up in three days

From: Jumpin’ Jack Flash

Don’t bug him

From: Jumpin’ Jack Flash

Race you complete assturd

From: Jumpin’ Jack Flash

If you call him I swear

From: Jumpin’ Jack Flash

Spot, come on, shut him up

From: Jumpin’ Jack Flash

See, thank you

From: Jumpin’ Jack Flash

Will update when I got Ace home

Davey set his phone back on the table and bit his lip. He was torn. Just knowing that Katherine was hurt and he wasn’t there - that he couldn’t look her over himself to ensure that she was indeed only minorly injured - his stomach twisted. Oof. Maybe Sarah was right. But only seven months in - this just seemed - no. He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts.

On the other hand, Jack was right - he hadn’t seen Sarah in years. The conference out here had been too important to pass up, and he was surprised and grateful when his colleagues agreed to cover an extra 3 days of his shifts at the practice so that he could spend some time with his older sibling. Who knew when they would get this time together again?

“So,” Sarah said as she slid back into her seat. “Did you decide what you want to do today?”

Davey reached out and took the to-go cup she handed him. Taking a sip, he closed his eyes tightly and decided that this really was the best decision. Opening his eyes, he nodded. “Yes, I did.”

It was dark in the hallway as he slid his key into the lock. Holding his breath, he quietly slipped inside and shut the door. He peered into the living room but there was no one on the couch and all the lights were off. His stomach was coiled tightly and he wondered if he had really done the right thing.

Davey set his bag down and toed off his shoes. Padding lightly through the apartment, he headed towards the back bedroom. There was a soft blue glow from under the door, and he could hear voices lowly echoing off the wall. He was about to push open the door when he heard a sniff, and then Katherine sigh.

“Why won’t he answer his phone?” she asked, sounding stuffy and sad.

There was a brief pause and then he heard Jack say, “Not sure, Ace. ‘m sure he’s fine.”

“Can we try again?” she asked.

Silence, and then Davey heard his own voice filtering out of the room. “You’ve reached the voicemail of David Jacobs…” He reached for his pocket as he belatedly realized he hadn’t turned his phone on when the plane landed. He wondered how many messages he had and if Sarah was going completely insane yet.

“Davey?” Katherine’s wavering voice drew him back to the moment. “Oh, Davey, are you ever going to answer? Please don’t be mad. We didn’t mean to hurt you. We just...wanted you to be happy.”

Her voice trailed off into a series of sniffles and Jack took over. “Call us when yous gets this, Davey, ok? Wes really worried about ya.”

More sniffles and then Jack’s voice. “Hey Ace...hey, comere. Davey’s fine, ‘m sure he’s fine.”

“Then why’s his phone off? He doesn’t turn his phone off, Jack, not ever.”

“Sarah ‘n he’ve been apart for years, Ace, ‘n you remember what Les said. They was two peas in a pod. Maybe Sarah got him to relax. You always wanting him to relax, right?”

“But what if…”

Silence. Davey bit his lip and his stomach clenched tighter.

“What if what, Ace?”

A sniffle and then, “My arm hurts. I want Davey to come home.”

“I knows, Ace. Another couple minutes and I can gives you some more meds, ‘n Davey’ll be home ‘afore ya knows it.”

“But…”

“But what, Ace?”

“What if she said something and he doesn’t want us anymore?” More sniffles and the sounds of Jack shushing Katherine softly, soothingly. Davey’s heart clenched and he couldn’t stay in the hallway anymore. He stood up straight, took a deep breath, and pushed open the door.

Both Jack and Katherine startled when the door opened. Once she realized who was standing in the doorway, Katherine hurriedly pushed herself out of Jack’s lap and slammed into Davey’s chest, rocking him back onto his heels as she locked her left arm around his waist. Her right arm, wrapped in a neon green cast, she stuck straight out to the side.

“Davey, oh Davey, you’re here, you’re here,” she cried. “I thought...oh I thought…”

He smoothed her hair away from her forehead and kissed it. “Shh, Katydid, I’m here. Can I look at you? Are you alright?” She nodded but didn’t pull away. Davey looked over the top of her head to Jack, still sitting on the bed with an incredibly relieved look on his face.

“Hi Jackie,” he said softly, and the answering smile on Jack’s face almost blinded him. He smiled back, kissing the top of Katherine’s head as she clung to him. He nodded down towards her and asked, “Does she need pain meds?”

Jack nodded and stood. “I’ll get ‘em from the kitchen. Can yous convince her to gets in bed?” Davey nodded in agreement and slowly walked Katherine back until her knees hit the end of the bed and she was forced to sit. Kneeling in front of her, Davey wiped away her tears and looked her over, pleased to see only minor bruising on her face and arms.

Katherine was wearing one of his worn t-shirts and a pair of Jack’s thick socks, and Davey’s heart skipped a beat at just how beautiful she looked to him, with the neon green cast and slightly trembling smile. Jack came back in and handed her two small pills, which she dutifully swallowed dry, reaching for the water bottle he carried in his other hand. She watched Davey with cautious eyes as he pulled a t-shirt and fresh pair of boxers out of the box in the corner, even as Jack nudged her towards the pillows.

Katherine reached out for Davey and he went to the other side of the bed, climbing in and drawing her close under the covers. Jack lay on the other side, head propped up on his elbow, watching the two of them snuggle close. There was a silence in the room, just the slightest bit too thick to be comfortable.

Finally, Jack spoke. “I...Ise sorry ‘bout the messages, Davey. I thoughts that I took ya outta the chat, but…” He shook his head. “Ise not so good with that thing.”

“It’s okay, Jackie,” Davey  said as he linked their fingers together on top of the duvet. “I’m not mad at ya.”

“We thought you were upset,” Katherine said quietly. “We should have called.”

“Or waited, like I wanted ta,” Jack hurriedly added. “No need for ya ta come home so quick.”

Davey leaned up so he could look at them both. “Do you really think I’m upset because you told me Katherine was hurt?”

Jack and Katherine exchanged uneasy glances as Davey waited for an answer. After a brief moment, Jack tipped his head towards Davey and Katherine sighed. “Not just that,” she finally said softly.

“Then what?” Davey asked patiently.

There was a beat of silence and then Jack said, “Ace thought...well she wondered…” He trailed off and looked at Katherine, who cradled her casted arm close to her chest with a troubled look on her face.

“I thought maybe Sarah said something,” she finally mumbled.

Davey laughed. “Sarah said something already,” he responded. “I’m pretty sure the phrasing was something about kicking my ass into next year if I didn’t fly home to be with the two I loved straight away, but I can call her if you want to be certain.”

Katherine gasped and Jack was gaping like a fish. “You - she said...Lov--Davey? Did you -?”

Davey nodded and Jack grabbed his face with both hands and crushed their lips together. Davey smiled into the kiss, feeling like his cheeks were going to break apart. They pulled back and Katherine stole a kiss of her own, giggling delightedly.

When she pulled back, Katherine looked at Davey with wide eyes. “You’re sure?”

“Absolutely positively, Katydid.”

She buried her face in his chest and sighed contently. “I think that’s the best thing you’ve ever said to me,” she replied. She yawned and rubbed at her nose.

Davey laughed and kissed her forehead. “It’s late. I think we need sleep.” Katherine nodded, eyes already closed as Jack pulled the duvet up around her shoulders. Davey lay down on her left and Jack on her right, the two of them linking arms around her. The silence was comfortable this time and it wasn’t long before all three drifted off, snuggled together in the middle of the bed.

Davey groaned softly and stretched, rolling out of bed and blindly making his way toward the bathroom. He took a few moments to relieve himself and collect his thoughts before he padded back into the bedroom. Jack and Katherine were still curled under the duvet, and his empty spot looked like it needed filling, but first he reached into the jeans he’d left folded on the floor and pulled out his phone.

Turning it on, he winced when he saw various voicemails from Jack and Katherine, as well as a few texts from Spot and Race, wondering where he was and if he was safe. There was only one from Sarah, just a simple message.

From: Sahara Desert

Well?

Davey grinned, opening up his camera and snapping a picture of the bed and texting it back quickly.

To: Sahara Desert

<image>

To: Sahara Desert

Answer enough?

Placing the phone on the nightstand, Davey crawled back into bed. He was almost settled when his phone buzzed with an incoming call and he debated ignoring it, but he finally rolled over and grabbed it just before it went to voicemail.

“‘Llo?” he said softly.

Her voice sleep-roughened, Sarah said joyfully, “Mozel Tov, David! And if you ever text me again this early, and no one is dead, I’ll have you killed!” She hung up and Davey laughed softly. He settled down under the duvet next to Katherine, sighing happily when Jack reached over and rested his hand on Davey’s hip.

Perfect.

This will eventually be a series if I ever get off my ass and finish the rest of them.

[coreymichaelsmithson]

Sour Grapes And Strong Spirits

Since becoming sober, I've worked in the booze industry on two separate occasions. It's a funny thing, being a guy who no longer drinks but accepts odd jobs in the drinking business … your relationship with the bottle changes. You find that it's much less fun to put the cork in than it was to take it out.

My time in Missouri started off with an especially demoralizing job experience. After months of unemployment, I finally landed a gig: harvesting grapes at a vineyard. It was tough work, much more physically demanding than I was accustomed to at the time, and during the first week I suffered one of the worst sunburns in my life. I'd never realized that the term “redneck” was so literal. Still, the experience of plucking grapes was, at least at first, oddly beautiful, meditative. It felt noble to be participating in this ancient ritual, this simple but arduous task dating back tens of thousands of years, back to the very foundations of civilization. The Greeks of yesteryear didn’t use nice gardening clippers or play Stephen Stills on their iPhones while dragging a plastic laundry tub behind them … but it was still essentially the same job: reaching through the vines, grabbing a cluster of life, and stashing it in a basket.

The irony of being a teetotaler and working at a winery (with no intention of ever tasting its wine) wasn’t lost on me. Trust me, though … if you ever you saw how many insects ended up being ground together with the grapes, you'd think twice about gulping the stuff down, too. Watching a grape press smash up the clusters, I kept thinking of all the sophisticated people I’ve ever seen, anywhere, drinking a fine wine with their pinkies out, oblivious to the bug guts in their glasses, sipping the fermented blood of spiders.

The vineyard turned out to be a failing enterprise, though I didn't realize it at first. It was a family-run operation, way out in the boonies of Clay County, and it was more of a hobby for a retired couple than a real business. My employer was their son … a slovenly, arrogant wastrel, who was rapidly draining his family's savings in a vainglorious attempt to turn their vineyard into a wedding venue. At first, I thought he was just an icky but harmless variety of nerd… he wore the same filthy tee-shirt and cargo shorts for days on end, and he claimed to always eat his breakfast in the shower … but things got progressively creepier as time went on. He spent a lot of time spying on me with hidden cameras planted around the property, whenever he wasn't video-chatting with his suspiciously pretty "girlfriend" in China.

But I tried to give him the benefit of a doubt, and signed on to help out with the grape harvest. I was initially hired as a typist, who would help him organize his task lists. We never got around to doing any of that, though … for as soon as he realized that I would be willing to do manual labor, he put me to work in the vines, as well as doing all kinds of landscaping, hauling, and weeding.

My time in the vineyard was a fascinating lesson in Midwestern ecology. The weeds were alive in a way that I never would have imagined. Butterflies of every conceivable color combination fluttered about, landing on my shoulders, hopping from the tops of the Johnson grass to the vine posts, opening and closing their wings atop the browning grape leaves, and making their loopy cursive in the air. Grasshoppers leapt for their lives just ahead of my boots, a bewildering variety of them, all popping like popcorn from the green. Crickets rasped along the long stems, katydids and shield bugs and jumping spiders and sweat bees bounced off my chest, innumerable beetles and worms crowded the dark and wet spots below the plants. The grapes themselves crawled with wasps, more wasps than I've ever seen before in my life. More wasps than I ever want to see again. Fortunately, all were made drowsy and agreeable by all the free fruit sugars; I was only stung three times, despite their constant bumping against my hands and forearms. At first, the wasps' pinched and bulging forms made my stomach clench, and the way they tilted their little queenlike heads towards me, imperious and malevolent, gave me the heebie-jeebies. I was on their turf, after all, and hijacking their favorite snack. To a one, they all seemed to be saying, “SOON." But I got used to them, and they got used to me, I guess. This job, if nothing else, broke my phobia of hymenopterans.

It was tough going. Missouri was in the grip of a terrible heat wave, and there was no shade to be found anywhere among the vines. The rows hadn't been mowed in far too long, and dragging the full tubs through the flora was a real slog. Overhead, white nimbi slid and roiled against the blue; I thanked every single cloud that passed before the sun. As the edges of each nimbus caught on fire, I could see red flares and haloes, and I would sometimes stand there, dumbfounded, with my mouth hanging open and my clippers unused, dazzled by the intensity of the light. The sky was full of wheeling falcons.

By the time of my arrival, the grape leaves had already begun to wither, most of them curling and dry and scratchy against my wrists … but a few had been turned into a pretty lacework by decay, and I held these up, letting the blue of the sky put their intricacies into sharp relief. The newest shoots on the vines were like little curlicues, almost calligraphic, and they playfully clutched at the grapes in my hand, as if to say, “Not so fast, buster.” Morning glories and other climbing volunteers joined the fray; their blossoms like tiny trumpets, joyful, violet and white, circus-striped, blasting out a song that I couldn't hear but the bumblebees certainly could.

Working at the vineyard turned me into a new man. Eventually, the harvest was finished; I'd spent all that time gathering fruit, tons of fruit, for wine I didn't want to even taste. The work was exhausting, but I started seeing some changes in my body. My sunburn turned into a farmer’s tan, I dropped some flab, and even gained a little muscle here and there. For days on end, I'd been dragging tubs of grapes, 150 pounds of them at a time, through long uphill stretches of tall grass and weeds. I picked up some new skills along the way … learning how to use a reciprocal saw, how to glue lengths of PVC pipe together, how to measure and stake out berms for a parking lot. I even got to use an angle grinder, in order to saw off a bunch of nails from a busted old platform. Picture it: me in a bandana and filthy jeans, my boots braced against two floor joists, the tool bucking in my hands like a live eel, sparks flying off and singeing the hairs on my forearms, sweat splashing against the inside of my face shield, shouting obscenities at insects and inanimate objects. I never felt so freakin' butch in my life.

The full moon closest to the autumnal equinox is the Harvest Moon, so named because it occurs during the time most crops are brought in. While our satellite fattened like a pumpkin in the sky, I was earning my daily bread the old-fashioned way: by using my hands to collect something grown from the ground. I got to spend two weeks plucking grapes from a twenty-year-old vine, rather than sitting in an office cubicle, hunched over another dull corporate video edit, hearing a tooth-crackingly cheerful actress get all lathered up about reverse mortgages. It couldn’t last, this odd business of working on a vineyard, as I was certainly not cut out to be a farmer, but it was, at first, a refreshing break from the norm. And, at least for a little while, my coworkers were butterflies and a pair of ornery old farm cats. I heard all my news through a grapevine. My office was filled with clouds.

But, this pastoral reverie came to a crashing halt as I began to understand the depths of my employer's unscrupulousness. I started hearing bizarre inconsistencies in his speech. He refused to provide me with tax withholding documents, and then claimed that I had signed them all. I noticed how he kept talking over his parents, always adopting a condescending and weirdly abusive tone towards them, and how they both cowered under his belligerence. He cancelled our workdays more and more frequently. He'd launch into weirdly verbose explanations of his plans for the venue, and then tell me that he couldn't afford to keep me on much longer. When I slightly injured my shoulder while pulling Johnson grass from his trash-strewn acreage, he demanded that I stay home, even though I was still able and willing to work. He ended up paying me for less than half the work I performed, and then made a string of excuses about why he couldn't pay me the remaining balance. It was one thing or another: he didn't have the funds, the money was tied up with his parents, it wasn't a sustainable pay schedule, he'd sent the check to the wrong mailing address. After a month of hard labor, I was losing my patience. When I demanded my back pay, he claimed I was "causing drama". This led to an ugly, drawn-out argument, one that never really came to any fruitful conclusion. When I realized that I wasn't ever going to be paid for all that work, I simply gave up. Rather than go after him in court, and drag this debacle out any further, I just dusted my hands, and walked away. I found out later that he had stiffed other harvesters as well. More disturbingly, I learned that he was a registered sex offender, having been imprisoned some years prior for possession of kiddie porn. Suddenly, I understood why his parents, whose vineyard this was, looked at him with such strange, remote expressions. They were simultaneously ashamed and afraid of him. So I kept my glad memories of the grasshoppers, and the drowsy bees, and left that bastard to rot among his grapes.

Years later, in Washington State, I took a temporary gig at a whiskey distillery. Though this was a real business, staffed with smart and dedicated professionals, and very much an above-board job, it was in some ways a stranger, sadder assignment for me than the winery fiasco. For whiskey, you see, was once my undoing.

I used to put away a bottle of whiskey a night. Or more. Sometimes it was rye, sometimes it was bourbon, sometimes it was the cheapest blended rotgut … but there was always whiskey within my reach. I could easily spend $100 in a single night at a bar, and then go home to a cupboard full of macaroni and cheese … the crappy store brand, 99 cents of powdered cheese and wood pulp, in a box that might as well have been lettered with stencils. I bought whiskey before I bought bread, before I paid my light bill. I went two years without a telephone, but I never went without whiskey. During my years of teaching, I routinely pounded three whiskey sours before teaching a class, then immediately hit another pub to toss back several more. My first and second novels were both edited in Irish pubs; while the bartenders scrambled to keep my shotglass topped, I scribbled red notes on my manuscripts, working until I had to close one eye to see the text.

When I first started drinking in earnest, at the age of nineteen, it was with whiskey. My Israeli roommate had been given an enormous jug of the stuff by her visiting parents, as a gift from the airport's duty-free shop. I can still remember my first night with the spirits … that glorious burn in my nose and throat, how it felt with every swallow as if a fire were being stoked in my ribcage. That fateful evening revealed many things to me, things that lay hidden just below the surface of life. A few shots of whiskey changed forever the way I listened to jazz. For the first time, I not only heard Billie Holiday … really heard her, as if my ears had just been uncorked … but I could also easily visualize the woman herself, the sophisticated flower of Harlem, smiling mournfully before a microphone, lit up in blue but wreathed in smoke, singing as if her heart were being wrung in her hands.

Whiskey gave me many gifts, over the next two decades. Whiskey gave me Dylan Thomas and the musicality of Joyce, which had not been heretofore occulted by difficulty or abstraction but rather by the dense and stubborn filters of sobriety. Whiskey gave me Tom Waits, Sarah Vaughn, Charles Bukowski. Whiskey helped me recognize the underlying order in Joan Mitchell's paintings, the throbbing intensity of "Rebel Without A Cause", the soul in a hooker's green-gold eyes. Whiskey made lost men look beautiful, and it made me, too, look both lost and beautiful in their eyes, and when we put our arms around one another's shoulders it was in that chummy, brotherly, life-affirming way, and after ten rounds or so we'd all feel like princes, stubbly and disheveled princes of the city, tarnished nobles rather than hobos, sporting gents rather than bent contenders, and we'd share our drunkards' dignity until the bell tolled and the night ran out and the bright lights of closing time chased us out into the street like mad dogs.

Working at the distillery, I spent a lot of hours corking bottles. It was a mindless, joyless task, tough on the palms and wrists … but all the same, I looked at each of the corks as they went down the line, and thought of all the latent cheer waiting below each of them. I thought of the conversations that would later bloom from these bottles, the warming camaraderie that would come with shared whiskey. I thought about Jack Kerouac, Ernest Hemingway, Dorothy Parker, Djuna Barnes, the romantic drunks, for whom the bottle was both a beginning and an end. I thought of all the events that would be marked by an uncorking: the dates, the promotions, the sales, the openings, the closings, the celebrations, the conquests. I thought of how many of these bottles would be smashed, in accidents or in arguments, and all the shards that could not be put back together again. I thought of the children who would be conceived as a result of these bottles, and the children who would be injured by them, and the children who would come to associate the smell of whiskey with pain.

I corked over a thousand bottles, and palletized thousands more. It was sweaty work, and very fast-paced. The line moved quickly, and everybody had to hustle to keep up their part of the process. As I worked, hurriedly corking all of these bottles, stopping up all these future pleasures and/or agonies for countless unknown consumers, I found that I could no longer stand the smell of the place. It got under my fingernails, saturated my clothing. It made me woozy, this noisome perfume of sour mash and spent grain. As the hours dragged on, the stink worsened, until I started feeling quite ill. But more than that, the odor reminded me of too much … all those awful nights, all those devastating hangovers, all those layers of shame and guilt and helplessness. It reminded me of regrettable online posts, slurred apologies, clumsy and brutish fucks in alleys and parks and shadowy places, leering men in restroom stalls, underlit ghouls in nightclubs, disappointed employers, raised eyebrows, concerned coworkers, worried friends. It reminded me of puke and ruins.

During the work shift, my coworkers spent a lot of time talking about how they wished they could take a bottle home at the end of the day … until, that is, they found out that each of the bottles we were corking and labeling cost $70 or more in liquor stores, a price beyond the reach of many day laborers. So they just admired the bottles, and thought about how nice it must be to have whiskey of this quality sitting on their shelves. Meanwhile, I thought about how good it felt to not need or want a drop of it. After the vineyard, I didn't miss wine anymore. After this job, I no longer missed whiskey.

The coloring of the liquor passing beneath me was beautiful, to be sure. Whiskey has a glow that suggests comfort, warmth, nostalgia. By firelight, it can gleam like something precious … maybe topaz, or amber, or polished tiger's eye. All day long, working in the distillery, I felt like I was capturing fireflies, or bottling up genies, or trapping ghosts. There's a reason they're called "spirits". As I pressed each cork in, I wished for the person uncorking that bottle to have a good time, or at least a safe one. It was like offering a small prayer, a hope for the future happiness of someone I'd never met, and an elegy for a pleasure that I could no longer share … as if to say, "Enjoy this for me. Drink deeply of its charms. I've had too much of spirits already."

[gryphon1911]

Welcome back!  If you've made it this far, you've gotten to the "meat and potatoes" of the series.  If you are interested in the park itself and the sites you'll see, then this is the post for you! Not only will we explore Yellowstone National Park together, but we'll also have a view of some other sites of interest close to our locations. As some of you may be aware, there are large forest fires blazing in Montana and Idaho. The way that the winds are blowing, it brings a lot of that smoke and haze into the region.   Clear visibility is only a few miles during our week long stay.  This did make getting some images of the landscapes difficult - while oddly at the same time provided some interesting images during sunrise and sunset. Wildfires cannot generally be predicted and dry northern conditions coupled with lightning strikes can start a blaze fast, which is the situation here.   These fires are being over shadowed by the series of hurricanes hitting the southern United States, specifically Texas and Florida. Yellowstone National Park Heading into the park, we used the east entrance most.  If you'd like to see some images of the road leading into the park, check out the previous post Traveling To The Park. Time of Day We found that hitting the park early in the day and later in the evening to be optimal.  You have a better quality of light and the crowds do not seem to ramp up until after 10am and then thin out around 5-6pm Weather and Environmental This time of year, the temperature can fluctuate and sporadic rain can hit at any time.  We experienced a small "spit" of rain on one day, but it was pretty much clear to partly cloudy on most days. The air is very dry.  Coming from Ohio this took a bit of adjustment.  Just make sure to have plenty of water and some snacks available to you. Driving around the park, we realized that every turn made us feel like we were in a different place.  Just so much to see. First thing we wanted to hit was Old Faithful.  Get probably one of the most iconic sites out of the way first. In the Old Faithful visitor center, there is a sign on the next estimated eruption.  There is a 10 minute give or take from the time listed.  You can head out to the boardwalk and grab a seat or stand in the back.  There is a plenty of space.

Waiting in the sun for Old Faithful to erupt. 1/320, f/11, ISO 100 @ 140mm

1/640, f/8, ISO 100 @ 56mm

For some, a regular umbrella i not enough - this guy brought a patio umbrella! 1/250, f/8, ISO 160 @ 140mm

Staying around the Old Faithful area, there are a lot of geyser features to see.  You can even take a trail through the area to a section called Morning Glory Pool.  I highly recommend this hike.  We found it well worth it.

Sunset hike arriving at Morning Glory Pool 1/50, f/11, ISO 100 @ 12mm

We next went to the thermal area by the Artist's Paint Pots.  To be honest, we were not very impressed by the area.  It was a decent first hike, but it almost put us off seeing any of the other thermal features.   We were very incorrect as we enjoyed Mammoth Terraces and the Grand Prismatic Spring area. At Mammoth, we parked in the lot at the far left of the site.  There was a connector to the boardwalk from there.  We started going up and to the left on the boardwalk, taking us to the upper area first.

Lower Mammoth Terrace 1/400, f/8, ISO 100 @ 32mm

Large Terrace Falls at Mammoth 1/320, f/8, ISO 100 @ 26mm

Mammoth Feature Details 1/160, f/8, ISO 100 @ 80mm

1/320, f/8, ISO 100 @ 45mm

1/250, f/8, ISO 200 @ 140mm

Along the way, buffalo rule the grassland as well as the roads.  It is reported that only 5% of the time do the buffalo roam through the areas that are not "trails".  Buffalo are actually very intelligent and conserve energy while moving, so they use established trails and roadways to get from one area to another. Buffalo also can run up to 35mph for a duration of 20 minutes.  They also have a vertical jump of 6 ft!

1/160, f/8, ISO 1400 @ 90mm

1/250, f/5.6, ISO 900 @ 140mm

1/1000, f/5.6, ISO 360 @ 420mm

1/640, f/11, ISO 1000 @ 420mm

Yellowstone Lake This large lake has many great overlooks to view from and part of the grand loop runs along it.  There are few beach pull off spots.  Take the time to check it out and see how clear the water is compared to other water features you may be used to.

Sunset over Yellowstone Lake 1/1000, f/5.6, ISO 100 @ 52mm

1/320, f/11, ISO 100 @ 18mm

Grand Canyon of Yellowstone offers a fantastic view of a beautiful valley.  We went down by the top of the falls.  Walking down to the top viewing platform seemed relatively easy, however, walking back up the 600ft incline can be a bit challenging.  Make sure you are ready for that.  There are plenty of places to take breaks along the way.

1/100, f/11, ISO 100 @ 18mm

Hayden Valley treated us to a roadside spotting of Elk in the field.

1/640, f/5.6, ISO 1000 @ 420mm

Gardner and Boiling River is located toward the North Entrance.  We decided to visit, but not get into the area safe for wading.  The warm waters of the boiling river mix with the Gardner river to make for a warm area safe for people to wade in. From the parking lot, we had this view on our 1 mile hike to the access area.

1/400, f/8, ISO 100 @ 42mm

Along the way, I spotted this Mormon Cricket possibly laying eggs into the soil.

Large katydid - I did not expect to see this kind of insect so close to the trails. 1/250, f/8, ISO 100 @ 140mm

Overlook of the Boiling River access area 1/125, f/10, ISO 100 @ 18mm

Grand Prismatic Springs We loved this area.  The colorful pools and warm humid air that swept over us gave our senses a break from the dry, high desert air.

Walking into the Upper Geyser Basin before getting into the boardwalk that leads to the Grand Prismatic Spring 1/320, f/8, ISO 100 @ 112mm

Opal Pool on the way to Grand Prismatic 1/250, f/11, ISO 100 @ 11mm

details of a pool along the boardwalk 1/125, f/11, ISO 100 @ 16mm

low angle shot of he grand prismatic pool from boardwalk level 1/125, f/11, ISO 100 @ 16mm

The winds were strong and took some poor guys hat! 1/200, f/11, ISO 100 @ 16mm

Mount Washburn Going up 10,240ft at the peak, the 3 mile uphill hike can be quite daunting.  The road you walk up on used to be in service for automobiles.  Model T Ford's used to go up that way backwards.  backwards?  Yes, it was a fuel pump issue.  The steep angle did not allow for the pump to work correctly!

Trail up to Mt Washburn 1/500, f/8, ISO 100 @ 18mm

From 9100ft.  The small box you see at the top of the peak is where the Mt Washburn trail ends. 1/640, f/8, ISO 100 @ 60mm

Stuff Beyond Yellowstone

Buffalo Bill Dam Traveling west from Cody toward the East Entrance of Yellowstone, you'll pass right by the visitor center for the Buffalo Bill Dam.  This dam was used as a model for the famous Hoover dam.  There is a visitor center for you to get some history of the project.  Below are some images.

Driftwood on the reservoir side of the dam 1/250, f/11, ISO 2800 @ 140mm

dam wall 1/30, f/8, ISO 110 @ 18mm

a view of the river on the dam wall side 1/60, f/11, ISO 110 @ 35mm

South Fork Road You will also see the fork in the road while heading westward from Cody on 14/16/20 road.  We found out about this from a Yellowstone ranger we friended.  She recommended this 40 mile drive as well as the Chief Joseph Highway to Yellowstones NorthEast entrance routes. South Fork road takes you out through a lot of local ranches.  The roadways are clear with many beautiful sites of mountains, wild life and even the ranches themselves.  The road is paved most of the way, but does turn to a dirt and stone road toward the end.

a pronghorn grazes in a farmers field 1/400, f/5.6, ISO 100 @ 140mm

A house sits at the foot of the mountain side 1/500, f/8, ISO 100 @ 100mm

I'm a sucker for lone tree shots like this 1/1250, f/4, ISO 100 @ 300mm

2 horses roam the side of a hill on a roadside ranch 1/800, f/5.6, ISO 100 @ 420mm

Did I mention I was a sucker for this kind of shot!  lol 1/400, f/8, ISO 100 @ 140mm

roadside wildflowers 1/640, f/8, ISO 2500 @ 420mm

Castle Rock wide view sunset 1/125, f/11, ISO 100 @ 18mm

Heart Mountain Interpretive Center

Given the current climate, you may be asking yourself why I would include something like this in my post.  My answer is this - I am the kind of person that is not afraid of the past.  I do not fear what has happened.   What I do fear is a society that destroys those things that make them uncomfortable or may be unpleasant.    If you don't have examples to learn from, you as an individual, or we as a society will be doomed to repeat those very mistakes.  If we build upon the successes of our great minds, why not learn from the mistakes of others as well?

Wall of propaganda 1/30, f/3.5, ISO 1000 @ 20mm

Before visiting this site, I had already known about the Japanese internment camps from World War II.   I did not know until I arrived at the Yellowstone Airport that there was one just 15 minutes from our lodging in Powell, WY.  If you did not know about this part of American history, please do some research on it.  This Heart Mountain Interpretive Center link will help you get started.

One of the original housing units 1/250, f/8, ISO 100 @ 90mm

Perimeter guard tower for the camp 1/250, f/8, ISO 100 @ 140mm

My wife and I were profoundly moved by the stories of the internees that spent 3 years of their lives in a camp because of a society that feared them because of the color of their skin, the sound of their name.  The center contains images from the period from official government photographers as well as the internees themselves.   While I intended the vacation to be a week of fun - I thought it very important to take advantage of this opportunity to get a better grasp of what exactly happened here and why.  Knowledge is power.

Reflection Room tags - people leave their thoughts of the center for others to read.  The tags are replicas of what the internees had to place of their luggage. 1/60, f/4.5, ISO 220 @ 42mm

Buffalo Bill Center of the West Actually 6 museums combined covering multiple acres of land. You have the following:

Buffalo Bill museum

learn about the man that during his time was the most recognizable figure in the world

Whitney Western Art museum

A collection or western US art 

Draper Natural History museum

outlines the greater Yellowstone ecosystem

Plains Indian museum

learn the culture and history of the Indian tribes that inhabited the Plains area

Cody Firearms museum

the most comprehensive collection of American firearms.  30,000 artifacts, over 7,000 firearms.  They are elegantly laid out and well documented.

McCracken Research Library

research center to help with most things related to the west

While there, take advantage of the "free ice cream" scavenger hunt.  Download the app and if you find and can answer all of the questions correctly, you get a free cone from the cafe!

Here is a link to the museum website.

Cody Firearms Museum display 1/50, f/4.5, ISO 900 @ 30mm

Whitney Western Art Museum 1/20, f/4, ISO 640 @ 14mm

Buffalo Bill hologram 1/15, f/4, ISO 720 @ 11mm

Outdoor courtyard statue of Native Americans 1/60, f/8, ISO 100 @ 11mm

Cody Firearms Museum display 1/40, f/3.8, ISO 500 @ 26mm

Vintage Wincherster Arms calendar 1/15, f/2.8, ISO 500 @ 11mm

The Town of Cody

If you over do it or just need a bit of a break, there are a few things to do in Cody as well.  I love street photography so there is a lot to shoot within the town limits. Buffalo Bill and Wyatt Earp put on a street shootout Monday through Saturday at 6:30pm.  The show is free, but you can get a reserved seat for just $2.  The money goes to charity as well as supporting the actors.

Wyatt Earp draws down and shoots at Johnny Ringo on 12th street 1/250, f/5.6, ISO 100 @ 105mm

Buffalo Bill gives us an idea of what to expect 1/250, f/5.6, ISO 220 @ 140mm

1/320, f/4.5, ISO 100 @ 40mm

1/250, f/5.6, ISO 360 @ 140mm

Walking around Cody, there are some great street photography opportunities.

Vintage Truck 1/400, f/5.6, ISO 100 @ 140mm

Dave Jones Wall Advertisement 1/125, f/8, ISO 100 @ 40mm

Yellowstone Gift Shop 1/60, f/4.2, ISO 800 @ 35mm

Buffalo Bill's Irma Hotel and Restaurant 1/125, f/5.3, ISO 4500 @ 80mm

1/80, f/4.5, ISO 2000 @ 48mm