#this is the main line that reminds me of her brushing past mike and will in the cabin

[chirpsythismorning]

📝 💐 🛼 💔⏪️💭🧊🌄❤️‍🩹

I Will Survive by Gloria Gaynor

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[shawnsorangeglasses]

Better Conversations - Part 8

3.7k words

Look who finally decided to post!

Synopsis: Another assistant AU, you’ve known Shawn since the beginning but you don’t really become friends until a label party in New York. Then he offers you a job as his assistant.

Some after show tension occurs.

warnings: mild woes

...

Six hours until showtime. It is all hands on deck for everyone in the stage crew. Busy bodies move about the arena, putting together final touches for tonight’s performance. The tour is a little over thirty shows in. Since joining in the middle of it all, (Y/N) is finally starting to get the hang of things. Andrew made it clear that Shawn was her only priority, but with the new extra hours in the day, she tries to do for anyone on the team whenever she can.

She’s coming back from a local deli in the area with three paper bags full of food for Shawn and the band. Sandwiches for the band and salad for Shawn. A singer’s diet, though sometimes he’d cheat and get a small something dairy or doughy. They hardly ever request anything for lunch, but she always picked up something for them anyways, knowing they wouldn’t eat until much later.

As she walked down the sidewalk, she took note of the growing line of bubbly fans waiting out front. Every single one of them looked so sweet and pretty. A few girls wave to her as she passes by and she waves back.

After some time, she became closer and more at ease with the Mendes Army. A majority of them demanded that she make an account on Instagram to see her and Shawn interacting behind the scenes. Eventually, (Y/N) caved and made one separate from her personal profile one after about three days of them pushing Shawn about it. The account gained 100,000 followers in roughly two hours.

She cut through the alley to find the back door that leads to the main stage. It was really interesting to see the crew slowly build the set from the ground up every night. Earlier in the day, the sounds of metal barriers clanging and loud machinery filled the arena from top to bottom, but now it was mostly quiet aside from the well-practiced sound check from the band. Shawn and the guys were onstage doing last minute rehearsals. (Y/N) jogged across the general admissions floor, squeezing through the barrier to meet them stage left.

She hoisted the bags up onto the stage, peering over in silence as the guys practiced. Shawn was sat on the edge of the stage next to one of the larger amps, kicking his boots to the beat Mike was drumming. (Y/N) could tell from the baby blue guitar on his lap that they were running through “Nervous” again.

The musicians drop everything and run over to her in a huddle to claim their food. “I got you guys the fresh stuff. Fruit salads and some sub sandwiches.”

“Thank you, (Y/N)!”

“Yeah, thanks (Y/N).”

They each disperse to their own little corners. Shawn is still hunched over his guitar testing chords. (Y/N) saunters over to him, jostling a separate bag near his feet. “No tomatoes this time, Mendes,” she sings.

Shawn snaps back into reality again. The first thing he sees is (Y/N)’s proud, squinty smile. Last time she brought him a salad with the tiny tomatoes in it and he still hasn’t forgiven her completely. It’s become an inside joke for them.

He crosses his arms at her, giving a new definition to the muscle shirt he was sporting. “You sure there’s no tomatoes?”

“I’m absolutely positive. I checked six times on the walk back here. It's like 50% avocado.”

He slides his guitar safely behind himself and holds his hand out to her. (Y/N) takes secure hold of his wrist as her hauls her up on the stage with him in one swift motion. She watches intently as Shawn empties the contents of the paper bag. He briefly bumps his head into her shoulder, giving (Y/N)’s hand access to the tufts of hair falling on his forehead.

“Y’know, you don’t have to get us lunch if we don’t order anything,” he reiterates. “It only comes out of your pocket then.”

“I know, I know, but you guys workout in the morning and then keep moving, so you should all eat something. Besides,” she pinches his cheek, “you’re still a growing boy.”

“You sound like a mom.” Before he takes a bite, he asks, “What’re you going to eat?”

“Oh I filled up on free samples at the deli.” (Y/N) pats her belly. “I should be good until dinnertime.”

“Nice,” Shawn chuckles.

(Y/N) looks past his shoulder at all the guys chatting over their meals near center stage. “Don’t you want to eat with the other boys?”

“Ah, I’ve been around them all day. I haven’t seen you at all.”

(Y/N) refrains letting that last part go to her head. He didn’t mean it like that, even if a teensy part of her wishes he did.

“Well there’s always the time in hotels.”

Oddly enough, most of their hours were spent apart now. Shawn was either hard at work with the band and writers or catching up on sleep. (Y/N) often had errands to run when she wasn’t tending to Shawn. Even on the tour bus and flights, he needed those hours to rest.

Time in the hotels was the saving grace of this whole journey, Shawn always unabashedly requested to have the room next door to (Y/N) now. “For proximity purposes” he claimed, so that he might have her nearby in case he needs something. And although it may have started out that way, it quickly turned into late night talks and occasionally eating whatever singer-safe snacks (Y/N) could buy from local stores. It became their own little tradition.

“That reminds me,” Shawn says through a mouthful of sandwich, “what are we doing tonight?”

“Whatever you want to do,” (Y/N) mutters. She wasn’t really paying attention. Cez just sent her a text about the next flight details. She sort of zones out looking at the emails. Words become letters. Letters become squiggles. It’s hard to concentrate since the brush with Jason a few weeks ago. She was used to his empty threats but that was when she had leverage. Now she has nothing to hold him, not even shame.

Then Shawn nudges her elbow, but she hardly looks away from her phone.

“Huh?”

“We’re doing dinner later this evening. I know you don’t normally join but- hey are you okay? You look really pale.”

(Y/N) takes her time to meet his eyes. They appear to transition to a darker, more intimidating shade of brown. Her stomach does four backflips.

“Yeah just thinking. You know, assistant stuff. Listen, I gotta go.”

“Oh. Already?”

(Y\N) gets to her feet and dusts off the seat of her pants. “Yes, already. Is there anything else I can do for you before I go help set up the Q&A, sir?”

Shawn wags a finger at her. “What did I say about the ‘sir’ thing?”

“Sorry. Force of habit.”

He gets up too, wearing a smile so bright it’s blinding. A bright red blush tears through the pigment in his cheeks. He just wanted to keep talking to her as long as he could, waste no time. Unfortunately, he ends up thinking of the most basic question of all. “Thanks for the sandwich.”

She shrugs. “Just doing my job.”

...

Parents and young adults filed into the room, filling it with conversational buzz. (Y/N) peeked through a slit in the curtain at the little community that gathered there. One group of girls in the very front started singing “Never Be Alone”, prompting everyone else to join in. It was amazing to see the love and devotion among so many different looking people.

(Y/N) goes to collect Shawn from the green room. The clock on her phone read about ten minutes before he had to go greet everyone again. He’s in the middle of pulling up his jeans when she walks in.

“Oh you’re- I am so sorry.” She turns around and brings her hand over her eyes. Blood furiously rushes to her cheeks and ears.

“No no, you’re fine, come on in. Sorry, I’m almost done.”

She steps in with caution and focuses on the upbeat country track faintly pouring from Shawn’s phone. Travelling so closely together, (Y/N) was bound to see a few people at their less than decent. With Shawn though, it was starting to feel like he was doing this on purpose or just stopped caring altogether. She had no choice but to get comfortable with him.

“God, Shawn. Maybe put a sign outside next time so I know you’re naked.”

“I am not naked.” He glances at her. She’s propped herself  against an end table, still shielding her eyes. “Geez, you act like you’ve never seen me in my underwear.”

“Don’t say underwear to me.”

“Would it help if I sang it?”

“No it would not-”

“Underwear,” he riffs. “Underwe-e-ear, yeah.”

“You’re so annoying,” she chuckles nervously with a slight shake of her head. He beams, proud of himself for yet again finding a new way to gently embarrass (Y/N).

He’s referring to the time she accidentally walked on Shawn in his dressing room. It was weeks ago, early on in a completely different city, but it was also burned into the back of her brain. That definitely broke some of the initial ice between them.

(Y/N) chooses the brick wall as something else to focus on. She hears his footsteps getting closer. Out of her peripheral, she can see Shawn’s shirt is still very unbuttoned and his chest is very exposed. He’s almost closed the space between them, leaving only a few inches of air between their bodies.

“You’re standing in front of my cologne,” he mutters.

“Oh.”

(Y/N) side steps out of his way. Shawn takes the bottle and sprays his neck and wrists, not once taking his eyes off of her. That is until he has to return to the other side of the room to button up his shirt. He leaves a couple buttons free at the top like always, then pays special attention to her reflection in the glass, holding his arms out. “How do I look?”

(Y/N) looks over at Shawn. He’s looking at her through the full length mirror mounted on the wall. She rolls her eyes.

“You know how you look.”

Shawn peers at her reflection, then bites his lip. (Y/N) pinches her wrists behind her back.

“Except for one thing,” she says. She takes notice of his lopsided collar and quickly adjusts it for him. Shawn’s breath hitches just barely. His hands are idle at his waist, not really doing anything, but clearly so desperately wanting to touch her. (Y/N) actively pretends to not notice the effect she seems to have on him.

But Shawn captures (Y/N)’s hand in his right before she pulls off, resting it on his shoulder. The fabric is hot underneath her palm. His whole body has become a furnace. He’s about to say something bold. Or stupid.

“(Y/N) I-”

A knock at the door propels Shawn and (Y/N) away from each other. Cez appears in the doorway.

“Oh you’re both in here,” he says with a playful smile. “You ready, Shawn?”

“Y-yeah,” Shawn makes a few more unnecessary tucks of shirt into his jeans. He turns back to (Y/N), “D’you want to come watch?”

“Uhm, I’ll be behind the curtain. I can see everything from there.”

Shawn understood, but he couldn’t help but feel a little dejected. (Y/N) tugs at his shirt around the waistline to loosen the fit again right before he goes out. “I’ll be right behind you, I promise,” she assures him. “If you need anything I will bring it to you.”

"Anything?"

"Right, almost anything."

Shawn smirks. "Just checking," he purrs.

They venture down the hall to the common area that was built in less than an hour. (Y/N) stops just short of where the dimly lit hallway ends and a room full of people begins. Screams and cheers replaced the chatter the minute Shawn set foot in the room. He can barely be heard greeting them over all the excitement. (Y/N) peeks through a sliver in the curtain.

“Before we start,” he begins. “What am I calling this city tonight?”

The room erupts again with all sorts of answers. Shawn singles out one girl in the front and everyone agrees.

“Okay then, um just one thing, if someone’s asking a question please don’t speak over them and speak loud so I can hear you. This is a big group today. Other than that, go crazy.”

Hands go up instantly. Shawn chooses from the back then from the left middle. On and on this goes for a few minutes and the fans ask the usual questions, fun or otherwise. (Y/N) allows herself to relax. Her mind just goes elsewhere.

She’s imagining the last day of the tour, sad as it makes her. Will she still be an assistant when it’s all over? What will have changed by then? She looks at nothing in particular down the makeshift hallway the team has made in the arena. Connor's messing with his camera settings. Cez is talking to a lighting tech. And like she always does in her free time, she zones out.

“Where’s (Y/N) right now?”

The voice, though small, came with a level of conviction that could only be from a small child. That was the demographic of (Y/N)'s fans. They liked seeing her on the street. She's even received a few drawings in past weeks.

Shawn wrestles with himself to give a straight answer. Then he makes the mistake of looking back at the curtain. People start to become restless.

“Guys, guys, I’m sure she’s busy right now. I don’t want to bother her.”

“I’m not that busy,” (Y/N) blurts impulsively, much louder than she meant to. Everyone erupts in chatter. She looks back at Connor, who has the camera aimed at her now. He was getting a shot between slit in the curtain but now the focus has shifted. She peeks her head out at all the fans and Shawn. A collective gasp captures them and they begin waving so she waves back. All the bright happy faces are reassuring enough.

“Do you want to come out,” Shawn whispers as quietly as he can. A few girls in the front overhear and squeak.

She widens her eyes at him. He knew what she was saying. You really want me to come out here? And the answer was a resounding yes, as indicated by a brisk wave of his hand. (Y/N) peeks her head out and all but recoils at the enthusiastic and sudden attention she receives. Then it all died down just as it quickly came.

“Hi, (Y/N),” says the same little voice that asked for her. Everyone in the aws.

“Hello,” she replies. “I remember seeing a few of you outside in the line. Sorry to interrupt.”

“She actually bought everyone lunch today during rehearsal even though I told her she doesn’t have to,” Shawn adds. Someone in the back goes “whoop” and the whole room is brimming with laughter and applause again.

“Okay I better go,” (Y/N) says immediately. “That’s enough fun for me.” She slips behind the curtain again, waving behind her as a few more people say goodbye.

Connor's snapping his viewfinder back into place behind her. He shares a look with her that can only be that

"Can I use any of that?"

"Sure, dude. It's your footage."

She says so each and every time he asks. Connor always made very sure to protect (Y/N)'s privacy when it came to recording her. If she was in the background of any video, he'd make sure to ask. It's what made him a great videographer.

He scurries away to whatever room holds his editing equipment. (Y/N) slides down to the floor, resting back on her heels so she can still see through the partition. Shawn's still somewhat rambling about her to his fans. It's interesting to hear what she is to him through his eyes. Often times she leaves the Q&A as soon as it's been set up. Under these special circumstances, she stays a while, hoping to learn something new.

…

It's evening. The hotel room is the neat chaos (Y/N) left it when she comes back. She learned several cities back never to spread out too much in these rooms after leaving a few chargers in the walls and drinks in the mini fridges.

"We'll go back and get it," Shawn said the first time it happened. "Can we turn around," he politely asked the driver.

"I'll answer that, no we will not," (Y/N) said firmly. "It's like two little bottles of kombucha. I'll live Shawn." It was never mentioned again.

He was always going out of his way for her. Everybody found it endearing, but (Y/N) didn't want him doing any special favors for her. Their relationship was special enough without grand gestures.

She fishes her planner out of the messenger bag on her bed to go over the next week at the hotel desk. Her sister's birthday is today. (Y/N) checks the timezone on her phone. There was still time to call.

The line rings for a while then cuts into an excited voice.

"Hey girl! Mom was wondering when you'd call. She's sleeping now."

(Y/N)'s heart drops to her stomach. "Bea I'm so sorry, I haven't said happy birthday to you all day. I feel awful."

"Aw you know I don't care about that shit. But bitch, Mom made this cake, you are missing out. I'm trying to save you some."

"I don't know if that slice will be edible by the time I get back, but thanks for the effort."

"You know I'm looking out for you around here." Bea sighs. "Girl I wish you were here. It's boring as hell with no one to tell my jokes. Or argue with."

(Y/N) smiles to herself. Bea always got bored by herself. They were lucky to grow up close in grade school, so they always had a playmate at recess or someone to talk to at lunch.

"What're you up to?"

"Same thing I was up to yesterday. Watching these Game of Thrones episodes."

"Did you make another fake HBO account?"

"Yep, but honestly a week is not enough for a free trial. Netflix gives you a whole month."

She goes on about her other temporary subscriptions. A knock comes at her door, the one joining her room to Shawn's.

"Hold that thought Bea. I think Shawn is going to ask me to come to dinner again."

"He what now?"

She swings the door open. "Not that kind, dumbass."

Shawn smirks at the little nickname, knowing right away it wasn't meant for him. Sure enough, he's dressed to go out.

"Your sister," he whispers. (Y/N) nods. "Hi Beatrice."

"Hi Shawn! I swear, only that man can make my full name sound good. Bitch, if you don't want him, I will gladly have some."

"I have never been more glad that he can't hear you," (Y/N) mutters. Shawn smiles downwards. He's only talked to Bea once before, so he can definitely imagine what she's saying.

"You're selfish, is what you are. The man clearly wants you and you're being your usual self."

"I'm ignoring you." (Y/N) directs her attention to Shawn's hopeful face. He’s propped himself against the door frame too, hands in his pockets. Between her waiting on his question, and him waiting for her to say no was a deafening silence.

"I know what you're going to ask,” she starts. “You know how I'll respond."

"Well in that case, I’m not going either," he says, undoing some buttons.

"He said what?!"

"I'm going to hang up on you," (Y/N) warns. She leans on the door frame as he sheds his shirt and shoes. "Shawn, you don't have to stay for me."

"I'm not," he says calmly. "Honestly, I’m doing this for me."

"If you don't let that man love you right now, idiot sister of mine-"

"Bea, I'll call you later. Happy Birthday."

(Y/N) taps the end call button. One last text comes through, almost too vulgar to read, so she shuts her phone off before Shawn can see it. He’s milling around his room, looking for comfortable clothes among the scattered ones.

“Shawn you don’t have to stay here on my account.”

“Well I’m not going to have any fun without you there.”

Shawn pulls his undershirt off over his head. Muscles in his back flex and relax as his arms go up and down. (Y/N) clears her throat, to which he doesn’t react. Tour life has made him so comfortable with clothing changes, he doesn’t always think twice with another person in the room. At the very least, he warns somebody when his pants are about to come off.

“That’s really unfair to everyone else, isn’t it?”

“Not in that way. I mean I’ll just be there the whole time wondering why-”

He stops himself short, ending with a mumble.

(Y/N) crosses her arms. “If this is your way of guilt tripping me or tricking me into saying yes-”

“It’s not,” he says, almost in a corrective way. “I wouldn’t do that to you. Don’t you know that?”

She doesn’t. She wasn’t sure of anything at all when it came to her employer’s intentions. People often cross you because that’s the nature of the business. Trust wasn’t something she gave so easily to someone with that much power over her. Normally, (Y/N) knew when to leave a job that no longer suited her, but Shawn has yet to give her a reason to run.

Shawn picks up a white t-shirt from his suitcase and slips it on. He doesn’t normally wear a shirt to sleep, but he wanted (Y/N) to feel as comfortable as possible. Although she’d never admit it out loud, he’s noticed how she gets around him shirtless. He sits down on his bed and beckons her to sit next to him. (Y/N) takes baby steps to his bedside and sinks into the soft sheets.

“You should at least tell Cez you’re not coming,” she insists.

“I already did.” Shawn waves his phone then sets it on the nightstand. “Right now, I need to talk to you.”

...

TAGLIST:

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[artiemoonqueen]

Baby

By: Monica Lebron

I was part of a family that had very few pets. We had a turtle that was always there since I can remember but was never...never named. We had doves that my dad once built a coop next to our garage. We would have them in the house as they would sit on our shoulders and often lay unfertilized eggs everywhere. My brother and I were definitely too young to take care of doves. One perished from a night in said coop by a predator, the other was wounded and healed inside the house. We somehow...crushed this one during one of our rough housing. I know I know, we are heathens and should be sent to Peta jail but we were children. Being only three years apart from one another at ages 8-10, we were wrestling and playing on the couch with a comforter and one thing led to another. Our last friend from a pair seems to have gotten tangled up with us. We were very very mournful I swear to you all. After that, our parents had divorced(not because of the doves) and I was left to entertain myself without any responsibility to a pet. It was another story for my brother and mom but this isn;t about their many adventures with pets. This really isn't about the ‘previous’ pets we had in the past. This story is about Baby. In the year 2018, long before my 28th birthday I had to figure out a living situation.

1)find roommates that I knew

2)find roommates that I didn’t know

3)move back with my dad

4)live on my own

Since I had lived two years with roommates that I knew and some I knew too much. Before that I was living with my father that would sometimes ‘break my soul’. And I was a bit hesitant to move with people that were strangers at that time, I took the opportunity to live on my own for the first time. $650.00 for an apartment that has high ceilings, beautiful lighting that I will admit that I am currently kicking myself that I didn’t take enough selfies. Furniture and decorations of my own taste and pretty chill neighbors, the location was a little out of ways from anyone visiting and just down the hill was a large pharmaceutical company that was the ‘leading biotechnology company that invents life-transforming medicines for people with serious diseases’ in other words, high possibility that they are working on zombie-endulced material that a friend of mine who once worked there, would swear that that wasn’t happening but promise to text me ‘code red’ as a warning to get my ass far away from that place in anything were to happen.

So I was alone finally and I had really fucking felt it. I went through a winter before looking through websites for adopting an adult feline. I had no preference other than friendly, pettable, I pick up and hug when I need it, but independent. Spoilers(with tears coming down my face I was able to find that. Sorry I thought this was going to be easier) Before our paths would tangle as the dove with my brother and I’s wrestling match, I first looked on the local humane society website to look for potential companions. While I knew I wanted an older cat because of less time training and the idea of giving an older cat a better life, I saw a green eye, black cat with the christen name ‘Monica’. Now if you want to take this moment to go back to the top of this tale and look at the author’s name, I too am named ‘Monica’. What kinda psycho names a cat with a human name like ‘Monica’? I’ve heard names like Sprinkles, Scooby, Donut, Ringo, Chucky, and just about any reference to a greek god/goddess or dessert. Who was the previous owner that watched too many episodes of ‘Friends’ that decided to name a kitten Monica? I quietly laughed in my lonely one bed-room and moved along the website until the next day, on May 21, 2018. A week before my 28th birthday, my little cousin and I drove our way to the adoption center to look at cats that I had no idea whether I would go through with it or not.

“There’s a cat there named Monica?” my cousin had asked after I told her the musing I did the night before.

“ Yeah, she was cute but I can’t take her! I’d look insane.”

“ You don’t know Monica, maybe she is the one.”

“ Hell fucking no.”

We got out of the car and walked in. The front desk had a box of kittens that needed to be processed in. Their mewls were delightful to hear but were too young to be adopted out. I had signed in and asked ‘what’s your most friendliest outgoing cat here right now?’ The person attending us was quick to say all the cats were great but in her time there she had gotten to like a cat named...Monica. I could feel my cousin's smirking gaze on me. I was not going to subject myself to ridicule for having a cat with my same namesake thank you very much. There were many potential companions to see anyway. Some very old and very young. One with just an eye that I was close to choosing and others with large ears that reminded me of season 1 of ‘Girls’ Adam Sackler. But in the room with both a ‘mr and mrs. Incredible’ was also the notable cat named Monica. Let me tell you a little about the cat that will soon be renamed ‘Baby’. She knew how to get ya’ to want her affection. She knew that being present, unafraid. In the open, fluffy with hints of grey and a rich reddish brown coat along the black, open wide green eyes and a meow that was certain. She was her own saleswoman. In a true cliche, I was ‘hook, line and sinker’.

After $90.00 in cash, in a cardboard ‘cat carrier’ and her meowing away, I took a female, domestic longhair, black, eye color that was the color green. Birth Date 10/2009, formerly named ‘Monica’ home. Our first week, I thought she wanted to get close to me at night so when I awoke to a bat that brushed across my face and not her, that was fun. Eleven shots and two weeks of follow up maintenance shots for rabies, we had gotten familiar to one another. I would feed her half a can of wet food at 5:30 am before my morning shift at my part time job at the dmv and feed her the rest at night after my shift from my salon job. She lay on her back sometimes when we were both in the living room while I enjoyed binging on tv. And meow when I say ‘what?’ when we would eye at each-other. She will follow me to a basement apartment that I shared with my close friend David. We call her ‘pizza’ baby because of the time she climbed alongside the back of the couch while we were eating pizza from Pizzaroni. I felt a tug on my left arm that was holding up my cheese slice. When I looked, she was leaning far to reach my pizza to eat it. Not a successful attempt that time but she will try again. She constantly wanted the attention of David to which he would gladly and promptly pet her while she purred and then quickly turned around to bit his hand away. He always gave her the attention though. For that I am grateful for David. You made sure she ate and loved. You affectionately talk about her to your parents on your long distance phone calls with them and tell your two ideal brunch buddies about your time with Baby. You were the best coparent for her when I would leave for a week long trip to Europe or weekends away to work conventions. She loved you. You had to know that, and you Mike. She loved you too. But she didn’t love the dogs that would shit all over the backyard on the walkway to the trash. Those assholes.

Her next adventure with a month long excursion to my dad’s house before the final move together. While I worked my last few weeks at the salon to save for the time that I would become a true ‘City’ woman. She would find ways to break into my dad's room to lay on the middle of his bed and sleep. His heater would be right in her direction, while we sat unknowing in his recliner in front of his tv. He didn't want to like her. I know this. But who could meet a cat like Baby and not love her. Who would not love seeing a black cat go on her hind legs to look out the window that you have looked through to see the ongoings of the gentleman club next door. Yes, from grades eighth to age 26 I had lived in an apartment that was a stone throw away from a gentleman’s club that late at night, my dad would wake me up to see out the window and watch as the patrons would take pictures of topless dancers on the sign of the establishment before a game of ‘catch me if you can’ through the usual busy main street formerly known as The Bowery before 1867 however that should be left for another drawn out tale. Baby will have a final destination and despite her short time here, my dream of her sleeping peacefully near me while I lay on my bed on a raining day did come to fruition. Super Bowl LIV, February 2, 2019. Both my birth mother and I are hungover from separate nights from each other. She picks up my stuff, Baby and I. And we head to my current apartment in Brooklyn, New York. A dream that I have had besides the many others that will be done and accomplished, I swear. Baby is free to roam the car but she opts to explore little and sleeps most of the way to hear and then to Long Beach for two nights of rest. She walks around like the fearless cat that she is in any space she is in. Never cowers. Never shows fear or intimidation. She is fucking awesome in all her glory and we live together here for another six months until she seems to not to be herself.

As I live in a time of fear for my health during a pandemic, I don’t realize that Baby could be going through a decrease of quality of life with some kind of kidney failure. It was all too quick the deterioration in her appearance and behavior. I was quick to get her to a vet but the results showed more than we had thought and I had to bring her to an emergency vet. They were so kind but when the doctor told me the treatment that would be done to her, I agreed to then going to reception to find out that I would even have enough money to keep her there for a day of treatment. I paid for blood work, exam fees and medicine just to try and figure a way and she seemed to perk up again and walk her way to her favorite rooms to look out the windows or spy on us watching another extructating episode of White Lines. But she wouldn’t eat. For almost three weeks she wouldn’t eat and I had to force feed her food but she didn't want it. I would just get frustrated and I’m sure she was frustrated with me but why wouldn’t she just eat and take the medicine and be like another girls cat that has had kidney failure for years but the cat was still going? Why?

I knew what was going to happen if I made another appointment. I knew and I didn’t want to know. I just had to make the appointment because what if? What if, despite the week before she was back to her ‘old self’ she got even worse the following week, and couldn’t even walk in a straight line. What if her constant sleeping was just her trying to heal herself? What if I bring her one more time and they have a better option that I can afford and I can bring her home and she could lay right beside me on the bed like she use to and look at me with her beautiful green giant eyes that a kid once said were evil eyes but your are dumb kid, really dumb. What if? That’s not how it goes though. We know in our souls when it’s time to say that horrible and final goodbye. So we push through, kiss them more and hold them close and bring them to the vet. We will wait and listen with tears already shed for the answer we didn’t want. The answer that didn’t fit with the what ifs. And you try to say your goodbye while uttering so many I’m so sorry. This isn’t a mom in hospice or a phone call from the police saying your sibling has passed. It’s nothing close to seeing the numbers of people dying from a virus or you dad getting in an accident and obtaining horrible injuries. Those pains are harsh, and grasping air. Those pains affect the heart, and brain for the rest of your life. Baby is like one in a million pets that people have lost. There will be millions of pets to come and go after my time here. However Baby was mine for a short time, but mine. I love her. I miss her. I feel her but I know she can never be here with me again. Feeling her not in the room with us but still having her body left was eerie. She made me happy, and loved like a familiar to its owner. Her snores by my head will be missed. Her purrs and weight on my chest. Her constant knots in her long hair. Her allowances of my kisses on her head. Goodbye Monica, Goodbye Baby.

END

[veganmikehanlon]

10 and 25 for hanbrough if you please! otherwise any pairing will do ♥

you know that thing where u can’t even search ur own blog for something you /literally/ tagged? this was something like…idk something but it reminded me of something i already wrote so i Really have no reason for not posting it sooner other than procrastination being my middle name so anyways, this:

Mike doesn’t mean to start writing a sex scene while sitting in a Starbucks, but he’d tried writing at home, well it’s just his parents house now, and his mom kept walking in trying to talk to him. So he left the old farmhouse and drove into his newly modernized hometown of good ol’ Derry, Maine.

It’d started with a piece of his story inspiring a memory from his own sex life. Something he’d done forever ago with an ex. Secretly, in a tent. Surrounded by friends. Not their most shining moment but it was hot and applicable to his current story.

He’s in the middle of writing about tongues sliding together when his eyes are drawn to the sound of the shop door opening. He almost chokes when he sees who it is walking in. Well, daydream about sex with your ex and he shall appear. Mike ducks behind his things to hide because he’s panicking.

Mike watches Bill walk to the counter, he observes the broad lines of his shoulders move under familiar flannel; and how the end of his short blond french braid, mostly held together by multi-colored bobby-pins, brushes the collar in a physical reminder of how long it’s been since they’ve seen each other.

He walks through the room with the same gentle confidence that he always had, and it still draws the same admiring gazes from those around him. Mike’s eyes flicker between Bill and his computer screen, the incriminating words screaming at him, and then he catches sight of Bills’ smile and the perfect adjective pops into his head.

Just like that he’s writing again, more caught up in his story than he’s been in the last 30 minutes. Words stream from his fingertips and a scene unfolds, bits and pieces of Mike’s past slipping through, and just as he’s writing a description of how exciting it is to make someone moan as loud as you can make them laugh, he’s interrupted.

“Hi,” a soft voice calls, startling Mike from his head making him jump and hit his knees against the table, a move that almost sends his coffee toppling, but two pairs of hands shoot out to catch the wobbling cup. Bills’ hand settles warmly over Mike’s before he draws it back with an awkward chuckle.

A shiver runs through Mike as Bill’s fingers brush over his knuckles, and he looks up at the man before him with wide eyes. “Hi,” he squeaks, this entire situation sending him careening out of his comfort zone. Bill clears his throat before speaking (an old habit) “sorry, didn’t mean to scare you,” he says with a wince.

Mike chuckles nervously, his voice coming out a bit high and strained, “it’s okay I was just, um, writing.” This might be the most uncomfortable he’s ever been in his life. But Bill looks excited and he falls into the chair opposite Mike, setting his coffee and a notebook down on the open space.

“You’re writing?” He asks, a smile spreading across his face, and Mike has to smile back because oh yeah, they’d once shared everything with each other and Bill knows all about Mikes’ commitment-phobia to writing.

Mike quickly switches programs, an attempt at putting the niggling guilt in his chest away. “Yeah, just this story for this thing,” he answers vaguely, and they pause for an awkward second before Bill starts to ramble. “I’ve been working on drawing (a sentence that makes Mike proud too), I’m in a portrait class right now at school, and I came here to people watch and I saw you, and I was wondering if you’d mind if I practiced drawing you?”

Mike gasps softly in surprise at the request, “uh, what? You want to draw me?” The words fall from his mouth without his input, any functional part of his brain currently caught in a dumpster fire, set by this stupid story that is making an already uncomfortable situation of running into an ex just that much worse!

And then Bill is talking again, “well my art style has changed and I thought it’d be cool to get a comparison, you  know, a then and now? It’s cool if you don’t want me to, no biggie, just thought I’d ask, but actually? Never mind,” he starts gathering his things into his arms, “sorry for bothering you, it was nice seeing you, bye!”

He starts to get up but stops when Mike bursts out laughing, his cheeks reddening, and he stays frozen uncomfortably. And Mike doesn’t mean to, but seeing Bill so obviously out of his comfort zone has him cracking up, the situation making him feel hysterical, and he can’t quite stop the laughter bubbling out.

Mike manages enough words to get Bill to settle back down. “Hey man it’s cool, it’s good seeing you too, you know me, I love to help.” Bill settles back into the seat and flips his sketchbook open with an eye roll. Mike can’t help but tease him, he starts shifting through different dramatic poses, making Bill laugh loudly. A hand behind his head, his bicep bulging, Thinking Man pose, his smile barely suppressed-

And Mike ends his display by lewdly flicking his tongue between his fingers. “Jesus Mike!” Bill sputters out between laughs and Mike raises his hands in an innocent gesture, his own laughs ringing out through the space between them. “Sorry, I’m done!” He surrenders with an amused snort.

Bill sticks his tongue out childishly at him and flips the pages of his notebook to a blank page, “just go back to what you were doing weirdo,” he says softly and Mike lets out another laugh before following his directions. Well, not exactly since he’d literally been writing about his and Bill’s sex life. Oops.

He fucks around on his computer for a bit, opening and closing a few homework assignments (yeah right like he’d be able to concentrate right now), editing bits and pieces in other stories, he even plays a couple rounds of solitaire. But his attention is scattered after three lattes (that’s 2…4…6 espresso shots) and the adrenaline rushing through him from Bill sitting across from him drawing him which requires Bill to look at him with his blue as fuck eyes-

“Hey you wanna go somewhere?” The question bursts from Mike and he cringes at the abruptness. “Wait, you’re drawing, never mind,” Mike amends with a shake of his head. But Bill just flips his book closed with a simple “yep,” and starts chugging the last bit of his coffee.

Mike packs up quickly and, swinging his backpack over his shoulders, follows Bill out of the shop.

“Holy shit, is that Silver?” Mike exclaims incredulously when they walk outside. Bill laughs and leads the way to the old bike where it’s locked up by the building. “Yeah, Georgie didn’t wanna give up the car, so I’m stuck with her.” Bill explains. Mike runs a hand over the handlebars with a small smile, “seems smaller than she used to,” he comments, nostalgia rushing through him. Bill hums in agreement, “easier to handle too,” he comments steadily belaying the nervous shake in his next words, “and still big e-e-enough to ruh-ride double.”

Mike grins excitedly, “why Mr. Denbrough, are you going to show me a good time around town?” Bill’s face lights up with a wide grin and giggling, he unlocks his bike quickly, “it’d be my puh-pleasure, Mr. Hanlon.” They drop their things in Mike’s truck before racing recklessly out of the parking lot, Bill pedaling frantically and Mike hanging on tight to his waist, praying he doesn’t go flying off the back of the bike.

It’s weird spending all day with an ex, but they’d been best friends for just as long as they dated, and it’s as easy as it’s always been. They ride through the streets of Derry just like when they were kids, taking turns too fast and speeding over bumps. Mike’s teeth click together but it barely registers over the barrage of other sensations. The softness of Bill’s waist under his hands, the warmth between his back and Mike’s chest, the soft blond hairs flying into his face where they come loose from the braid and bobby pins.

It’s a lot of old and new sensations that has Mike’s head spinning.

They ride until Bill complains of shin splints, his face red and a little sweaty. Mike totally doesn’t think of licking the sweat from his brow because that would be weird. They ride back to Starbucks and load Silver into Mike’s truck. They sit in the cab, unsure where to go from here. They decide to live out the nostalgia further, and head to the barrens.

“Can you help me get all these out?” Bill asks gesturing to the many bobby-pins in his hair. Mike pats the spot on the truck bed next to him and Bill sighs a “thank you” as he sits with his back turned to him. Mike begins to gently pull the clips from his hair, doing his best not to pull knowing full well Bill is tender-headed.

He brushes the hair out with his fingers as it’s freed in sections until all the pins are out and Bill’s hair is a wild mane framing his face. Bill had shifted to face him when Mike got to the sections held back in the front, and Mike watches his face carefully. His eyes are closed and his face is relaxed in contentment. He’s always liked having his hair played with, no doubt part of the inspiration to grow it out.

Mike finds himself fiddling with the ends of his hair, carefully brushing it back from his face. He’s too distracted watching the soft strands fall through his fingers to notice Bills’ eyes have opened to watch him.

They used to lay in bed together, Bill on Mike’s chest, while Mike would drag a hand through Bill’s hair while they cooled down. Sometimes they would talk and other times they would lay in silence, just letting themselves feel the moment.

Lost in his thoughts Mike doesn’t notice Bill moving his face slowly closer, or how his hand has ceased it’s ministrations running through soft blond hair to rest gently on his cheek, he doesn’t realize he’s guiding Bill’s lips to his own until they’re barely a breath apart. And then soft lips land on his and awareness comes crashing over him.

They both freeze for a second, they’re mouths held stiff against the other, and then Mike opens his mouth slightly to pull Bills’ bottom lip in between his. And with that Bill is pushing forward and Mike unfolds his legs so he can slot in-between his knees. They kiss desperately, mouths moving together hot and slick. Mike moans softly at the feeling.

And then he’s pushing away because holy shit, “did you-“ he pants and Bill moves to kiss his neck at the interruption, unwilling to stop whatever this is. Mike is totally okay with that but, “you didn’t eat meat today did you?”

Bill stops his traveling lips, body going stiff in the not fun way. It may have been something they used to argue about when they were dating, Mike thought it was gross to kiss Bill after he’d eaten meat, and Bill didn’t get what the big deal was. Mike thinks maybe he ruined the moment but then Bill is grinding his hips down into him and he drag his lips up Mike’s neck to his ear, making him keen at the sensations, his own hips stuttering to meet the boy’s above him.

“Not yet,” Bill whispers grinding down into the v of Mike’s hips harshly, drawing a groan from the man that quickly turns into laughter. Throwing his head back Mike giggles loud and uncontrollably. “Seriously?” He laughs breathlessly, Bill sucking a mark on his neck. He pulls back to look into Mike’s eyes. “Seriously. Your nagging finally got through my thick skull.” Bill says with an eye roll followed by a wink.

“Wow, fuck, that was such a fucking turn on.” Mike says drawing Bill closer with a hand on the back of his neck and kisses him passionately.

[robbiejohnsonyr3ax3021]

AX2001 - University - Character Mash-up – Professor Layton meets Chowder (Summer Project)

So far on this blog regarding my summer project, I have discussed the creation process of two of my character Mashups. These include “Mike Wazowski” mashed-up with the 1930’s version of “Betty Boop” (AX2001 - University - Character Mash-up - My thought process for each character and Mike Wazowski meets Betty Boop (Summer Project)) and “Darkwing Duck” mashed-up with the character designs from “The Fairly Odd Parents” (AX2001 – University – Character Mash-up – Darkwing Duck meets the Fairly Odd Parents (Summer Project)). In this post I will be discussing the third and final character I tried to character Mash being the Professor Hershel Layton from the 2007 Nintendo series “Professor Layton” and the 2007 Cartoon Network show “Chowder”.

  Professor Layton Meets Chowder, why?

 When coming up with my third and final character, the first though I had was to add a character from different source of media, as my previous characters have all been in films or on TV, so I decided to investigate video game characters. After considering my options and taking into consideration the complexity of some characters and how others may blend or clash with each other’s character designs I finally settled with these two characters.

I came across the idea of using Professor Layton in a similar way, I came across using Darkwing Duck for the previous character Mash-up. I was looking through one of my local video game retailers and they had one of the newer Professor Layton games on sale. (it was called “Layton’s Mystery Journey: Katrielle and the Millionaires’ Conspiracy Deluxe Edition”). After seeing this I was reminded of the past games for the Nintendo DS, Layton wasn’t even on the box, but his design seemed so distinct to me I could remember his design well, from this moment I had settled on my character.

For choosing Chowder, it took awhile to settle upon the idea. I vaguely remembered the show, but seemed to remember the character designs quite well, with characters having their main piece of coloured clothing (or body parts) filled in with artistic patterns, whereas the rest of their clothing would be a solid colour. I also liked how the patterns for the characters would sometime represent what the characteristics of said character was. For example, the character “Endive” is a character of high standards, so her clothing was red with designs like dragons added in to show off her attitude and sense of power. Whereas characters like “Gorgonzola” have their patterns looking like their cloths have been stitched with different coloured clothing, representing him as a poor and rough calendar. With this approach in mind, I was interested to see if this pattern-based design would work with a character like Layton, so I began this character mash-up.

Drawing the character Mash-up

 To begin, I wanted to take a deeper dive into the character designs for chowder, sure the pattern-based design was the main draw for me, but I wanted to try and create other aspects of the characters from the show for Layton. After researching the characters, some of my main findings included the following:

1.)    Most of the characters in Chowder have their legs as their smallest body part.

2.)    The characters arms are mostly around the same length of the characters body.

3.)    Most characters feature an exaggerated feature to their design such as large hats or large noses.

With these findings and some more, I began creating the Mash up.

 For drawing Layton, I decided to work with the same approach as I did for my previous character Mash-up with Darkwing Duck. I began by drawing one of the professor’s defining features, his top hat. It took a few attempts to decide how far apart each edge of his top hat should be, as sometimes I had drawn them too close together, or too far apart. After a few attempts, I found a distance I was happy with and this became easier to judge, each time I drew the top hat. I then made the head inline with edges of the top hat, so it seemed like a perfect for the professor’s head, I made his chin curved and created to little lines for his neck.

When creating the body, I had to take into consideration the professor’s coat. The professor’s coat was something I wanted to try and focus on, as due to later making his legs very short, it would make the professors coat look huge on him. To begin, I made the outline of the top of the coat around his neck/ lower head area and worked my way downwards from there, this included his arms which, I wanted to try make them roughly finish just before his waste and have his hand pop out at the bottom. The same process was done for both halves of the professor’s coat/ body and I then began working on the legs.

The legs were interesting at first, the professor could be seen as quite a thin, slender character, especially his legs in comparison to other characters, so coming up with the right length took a few tries and some tinkering with the Marquee tool. I was originally going to make the professors waist the same width as his coat, but then decided against this as it would help give scale to how large his coat is, as well as make creating legs easier to draw and make them closer together. Once this was created and legs where finalised, I created the professor’s shows and added his orange shirt underneath his coat.

When adding facial features to the professor, it took me a few attempts to land on one design. The professor’s eyes are two black dots with no pupils inside them, the results looked quite creepy. With the character designs of chowder, the eyes are usually quite big and connected to one another with their outline. After looking back over the chowder designs, as well as some other characters from the “Professor Layton” series, I realised he is one of the only characters to have his eyes as two black dots, so to make him fit in better, I gave him two regular white eyes with pupils in the middle of them. The nose and mouth where then added, keeping the professor’s small triangular nose and gentle smile as well as his hair and ears with one line being made for his inner ear (this is another detail some characters in chowder have).

For Layton’s side view, I decided to make his coat stick out past his head and stretch out from where his body would be, this was another detail to emphasise the size of his coat for this mash-up. I also decided to make the nose poke out small bit, as when Layton faces forward, sometimes his nose is only represented with a line with a small triangle at the bottom of it and being more visible when seen at a side view. I tried to keep this feature in line with his original look, as well as his hair line being more visible from a side view (with a complete piece of hair at the back of his head).

For the facial expressions, I tried to stick as close to the rules of “Chowder” when it came to character expressions. The professor doesn't have eye brows, so matching his facial expressions was best linked to the main character of Chowder being Chowder himself. This is why the only a few of the expressions I made for the Professor featured some kind of eye line such as the angry face, as when Chowder’s angry a crease line in the shape of eye brows appear above his head. (Chowder is on the left in the image below)

The Professor's character pose, is based on one of the Professor’s more well known poses. In the games after submitting your answer to a puzzle, three images appear of the professor thinking before informing you if you got the question right or wrong.

Lastly was Layton’s pattern for that chowder look, now truth be told, this feature of the character was made after I had created the “final look of the Mash-up”. But I felt it was more appropriate in this segment as there were some design choices needed. When deciding where the patterns should be, I thought it would be best to place it on any brown clothing, so this included Layton’s top hat, coat and pants. For the design itself, I experimented with some line drawing, but I didn’t think they really worked, make the professors known brown look appear white and not much like the original. So, in the end I decided to make the professors pattern a reference to his games and events that take place in them (if you’re interested, below is a list of each reference on the pattern). Although I had chosen white, I wanted other colours that blended with the previously established brown colour, so I used a mixture of light and dark browns, as well as some orange to detail the patterns featured in the professor design.

List of references featured in the Layton’s pattern

1.)    Luke’s hat (the professor’s accomplice)

2.)    Claire’s hat (From “Professor Layton and the Lost Future)

3.)    The time machine (From “Professor Layton and the Lost Future)

4.)    The Elysian box (From “Professor Layton and Pandora’s Box”)

5.)    Two hint coins, which have appeared across the series.

 Creating the final look of the Mash-up

 When creating the final mash-up, I used the same approach as I had being using previously, only this time with a slightly thicker brush and placing each aspect of the character on separate layers. I began with the hat and at this point I had gotten used to drawing the width of the hat as well as the ring around the bottom of it, the red strip across the hat had to be adjusted, due to it being much bigger now than its previous smaller designs.

Next was creating the professor’s coat/ body which I tried to make slightly smoother and less angular around the neck/ lower head area, so I added a slight dip at the back of the coat where professor head would be to make it slightly more curved in its appearance, as well as the flaps at the front. For the rest of the coat, it was mostly following the same methods as I had previously, I did try to make the professor’s arms, stick out slightly at the bottom as to give his hands a clearer look instead of them looking like they have fused/ connected to the body of the character.

Once the coat was finished, I moved onto the legs which weren’t too bad to create, the main issue I had with making legs this time was due to them now being much bigger now in appearance, I kept making the legs uneven in size. This would make the legs look like one was wider than the other, to try and fix this issue, I made the professor’s waist more visible with a curve leading towards his coat, this in term I felt made the coat (again) look bigger in comparison to the rest of Layton. Once this was done the shoes where added, which I experienced a similar issue as I did with the legs, but this time with size of the professor’s heel as sometimes one heel would appear bigger than the other or make the proportions of the foot appear unequal/ disjointed. To fix this I began drawing from the bottom of Layton’s pants and created a slight inward then outward curve for the heel, instead of beginning with the fronts of the characters feet, as I had been doing previously.

I kept with the same principles I made myself for the facial features making it a fairly easy process to create and position the professor’s facial features, I did make one ear slightly bigger than the other this time, as I tried to create a quarter view of the professor whilst keep to the rules/ design of the characters in the show. I then coloured in the professor whilst leaving out the areas of the character for the pattern.

Lastly was adding the pattern which was implemented through trial and error. At first placing the pattern design on Layton’s top hat made me feel that there wasn’t enough going on, as for the most part only a few white lines and snippets of the patterns would appear on the character. To fix this I had to stretch and manipulate the pattern layer with the transform and marquee tool modify the shape of the pattern to mostly fit where it needed to go. I did try to fit the entire pattern in place, but I felt it made the pattern to busy when compared to the rest of the design, so I placed segments of the pattern in place and then erased the rest. This was done again for the professor’s coat and pants with more designs appearing on them than the hat, due to the coat being much bigger. I then added a light green background and with that the character mash-up was complete.

Overall, I felt happy with this mash-up, as in the previous two mashups I felt like I had to try and stay as close to the original features of the original character designs when it came to proportions. But with this piece I had to think a little bit outside of the box in order to make Layton and chowder’s design work together. It was also fun to experiment with layering different pieces of work on top of each other (The character sheets and the pattern sheets), instead of creating everything in the same document as I had been doing previously, so both improvisation and design aspects were tested on me for this piece.

Extra/ Un-used Images for this post

[cryingbilldenbrough]

Pls write something with Will in the IT universe omg.. . I would literally die that would be some good coming from you.

Will Byers doesn’t remember much about Derry, Maine.

It had been more of a rest-stop than a home, he knows that much is certain. He and his mom moved there that summer after Jonathan graduated high school, packing up their station wagon with Will’s colored pencils. A change of scenery, she called it, a chance to stretch our legs.

Will knows they were running away. But the bitter bite of cowardice had nothing on the relief he felt seeing Hawkins in the rearview mirror.  

Now when he conjures memories of that single school year, his ninth grade year, he only comes up with faint flashes of color. Blue lockers and green grass and a red two-story house next door. He remembers ice-cold water and a rope swing in somebody’s backyard and lifting the door of some clubhouse, hidden away from the world.

A honking laugh, a hand clapping his back, a red balloon.

The memories don’t gain solidity until Mike Hanlon calls, late late at night.

Will rolls over in bed and picks up the landline, cradling the phone between his shoulder and his ear. His bedroom window is open, fall air blowing in and ruffling the curtains. The sounds of scratching branches and crunching leaves would have scared him a lifetime ago, would have reminded him of a summer spent in another World, but now they calm him. He can’t sleep in the lonely loud silence of his apartment, he needs a reminder of life outside his own, nature outside his window.

“Hello?” he asks softly, far too tired to speak louder than a whisper.

“Is this Will Byers?” a voice asks on the other line, honey-smooth and familiar.

“Yes,” Will whispers. There’s a peaceful silence for a moment, like time has stopped and the entire world is spinning around Will Byers, phone in hand. And then the voice shatters the peace and Will’s world with a single phrase.

“Will, it’s Mike. Mike Hanlon.”

“Mike,” Will breathes. “Can you believe I’d forgotten all about you?”

He hears Mike sigh on the other end of the line, crackly and distorted from miles of distance. Mike sounds older but still just as warm, a voice Will remembers from that singular school year spent tucked away in a sleepy Maine town. The fractured memories start to gain a little clarity, get context within his brain. For example, he remembers the tire swing was in Bill Denbrough’s back yard, which is a name he wouldn’t have been able to conjure up if you asked him for it just moments ago.

“I can believe it, all right,” Mike says. Will’s mind is racing, repressed memories floating to the surface all at once and it’s hard to grab hold of one and right himself. They slip through his fingers, like he’s drowning and trying to climb to the surface by grabbing hold of slippery seaweed.

And then one memory sticks out.

He remembers unpacking his room at the house in Derry, an attic bedroom with a small window that looked out across the neighborhood.

He had already filled his bookshelf, breaking down cardboard boxes as he went in order to create some actual floor space in his already small room, and then moved on to hanging and folding his clothes. The closet had a musty sort of smell, like mothballs and dust mixing together and Will cracked the window open in order to air the room out as much as possible.

The sounds of the day drifted in through the open window, the hum of a lawnmower cutting grass down the street and feet slapping on pavement. There was a shout from down below, a sort of yelp, and Will peered over the edge of the windowpane to investigate.

There were two boys across the street, probably a year or so older than him, and they were wrestling in the grass in front of a green bungalow house.

“Get off me, Richie!” the one boy yelled, pushing his friend and trying to roll over on top of him. He looked too small to do any real damage though and Will watched as the other boy, Richie, easily held his arms down with one hand and tickled his stomach with the other.

“Say uncle, Spagheds!” the boy on top shouted, pausing the tickling to push his glasses back up his nose. The brief moment of respite allowed the smaller kid to catch Richie by surprise and knee him in the stomach, forcing him to let out a choked gasp as he collapsed to the side dramatically.

“I’ve been assassinated!” Richie cried, “Killed by my own Eds!”

“You got grass stains all over my shirt, Trashmouth,” the little one whined, pulling the edge of his shirt out to look down at it. Sure enough, it had green smudges all over it that even Will could see from across the road. “Ma’s gonna kill me!”

Richie leaned over and helped to brush a bit of grass out of Eds’ hair and Will suddenly felt like an intruder, like he was watching the private moments of these strangers. It was nothing more than friendly wrestling but it felt like these boys had a bond Will could only dream of.

He suddenly missed his friends back in Hawkins more than he could bear, so much he felt the sadness would fill up his insides and drown him, and Will closed the curtains before it could settle inside him any more. He set back to unpacking, hearing the sounds of the boys outside drift down the street, carried away by the summer wind.

When he comes back to himself, Mike is continuing on the other line.

“Will, I’m calling you about Derry,” he’s saying, “I’m calling you about It,”

It.

Such a small word to send bone-chilling terror into Will, to inject his blood with ice. He shivers underneath all his blankets, his palm on the phone growing clammy with nervous sweat, and swallows audibly. The trees continue to creak and groan outside his window and Will almost finds them fear-inducing now, almost likens them to the creaking and groaning of bones, brittle and breaking. He has a flash in his mind of It, of Its lair, of Its terror.

“Do you remember Bill?” Mike asks and it feels like he’s constantly changing the subject on purpose, to keep Will on his toes and keep him from spiraling down into a crazed despair, mad over the memories of It. Will latches onto his voice, lets the warmth remind him of the good times and distract him from the bad.

“Of course I remember Bill,” Will answers, thinking of his friend’s blue eyes and stutter. He loved Bill, he remembers, they all did. It was impossible not to fall in love with Bill Denbrough, impossible not to be drawn into his cosmic aura of protectiveness.

Mike chokes out a laugh on the other line, almost as if he’s wrapped up in the same memories as Will, remembering being ready and willing to die for Bill Denbrough.

“He’s come back to Derry,” Mike explains, “I saw him just the other afternoon,”

“You’re still in that town?” Will interrupts. He always thought they all were going to go running just like he did, abandoning that haunted town as soon as possible. He remembers Bev did that year, left them for Portland and her aunt. When Will left, so close to the beginning of his sophomore year of high school, they were all chomping at the bit to go. Derry was sucking the life from them, assimilating them to its dark magic.

Stay here forever, it whispered in their ears, Give in.  

You’ll be happy here.

You’ll float.

“Someone had to stay behind,” Mike says. “You know that,”

Will knows there were other powers at play, a thrumming energy beneath the earth that he merely joined in on. He wasn’t part of the Lucky Seven, his fate wasn’t intertwined with theirs, but he wasn’t an outsider either. For some reason the fog of Derry didn’t work on him like it seemed to with everyone else, didn’t pull the wool over his eyes. At the time he thought it had something to do with his past, was a side-effect of his time in the Upside Down, but now he knows it was because he was Chosen. The Turtle chose him to do good, to protect the Lucky Seven and aid their cause. Will feels honored to have been trusted.

“What’s Bill doing in Derry?” Will asks.

He knows the answer, knows deep down in his bones why Bill followed the siren song back to the town that taught Will the true meaning of evil.

He remembers standing in a circle in the Barrens, his left hand in Eddie’s and his right hand in Mike’s.

The sun shone over them, casting shadows across their features. Will watched as Richie brought his knees to his chest, picking at a scab on his knee. He was leaned into Bill, just slightly, like he couldn’t bear to be apart from him even a few inches. Will knew something changed between them that day in the sewers, something in them grew closer and closer together. He couldn’t help but be a little jealous of their bond, like he always was when he remembered how much the Losers shared without him.

“I can only remember parts,” Bev said, staring at the grass as it bobbed in the wind. Will couldn’t meet her eyes, couldn’t force himself to look at the cut on her cheek and the way her hands shook as she clasped them together in front of her. “But I thought I was dead,”

Will kept his eyes on the ground as she told them of her vision, her now-memory of them as adults back in Derry, back in Its lair.

“I saw us,” Bev told, looking around the group. Will could feel her eyes on him, boring into his soul, but he couldn’t get himself to look up. Her vision couldn’t have included him, there’s no way his fate could be intertwinned with theirs in the same way.

“All of us,” she promised. When Will looked up, she was looking right at him, focused on his face. She looked so much older than the rest of them, so much wiser. It was like the Deadlights changed her, aged her, made her perhaps a little more empty inside. Will hated looking at her now and seeing the effect It had on her, on all of them.

“Swear it,” Bill said, standing and grabbing a broken piece of glass from the ground. Will cut his eyes over to the boy, watching the sun glint off the glass as Bill gestured. “Swear if It isn’t dead– if It ever comes back, we’ll come back too,”

They looked around at one another, the wind ruffling their hair and stinging their eyes, and they made a promise to themselves. Richie stood up first, Eddie following his lead, and then they were all stood in a circle in the Barrens, pledging their future.

The bottle stung as Bill cut open Will’s palm, dug into his skin and stretched it open. He felt sharper somehow, more awake with the blood running down his palm and between his fingers. He looked at Beverly and she was watching him again, something in her eyes that Will couldn’t place. He kept looking at her as he took Eddie’s hand, wincing as his cut dragged across Mike’s palm.

There was a thrumming enery between all of them, a power being passed through as they bled together. It was hot like fire, electric as he felt his heart beat all the way down to his toes, getting louder and louder. It felt like they were beating together, their hearts in time with one another as they made a promise to return and finish their job.

They stayed together as long as they could stand it, for as much time as they could bear to feel the power, before they broke apart. The summer wind felt chilled when they separated, like the only thing keeping Will warm was the power of the Lucky Seven.

“You were there,” Bev told him later, saying goodbye for the last time before she went to Portland. She grabbed his shoulder and made him look her in the eye again. “Grown up just like the rest of us, back in the sewers,”

“Okay, Bev,” he said quietly, blinking as she swallowed. He watched her eyes flick between his, searching for something, before she nodded once and then brought him in for a hug.

She was lying. He knew she was lying, was trying to make him feel better by pretending he was there with them all those years from now, but she was wrong. He could tell in her eyes that she was scared of the future, was worried about what awaited them years and years from now, but that she was trying to be strong for all their sake. Will wondered what she really saw in the Deadlights that made her so scared, so desperate to assure Will of his placement in their cosmic group.

Friends don’t lie, but Beverly Marsh was lying anyway.

“I love you,” she promised, kissing the top of his head.

“I love you too,” he said and that was that.

He never saw Beverly Marsh again after that summer.

“He intends to finish what we started,” Mike says.

Will can almost feel Mike’s hand in his now, warmth spreading from his fingers over his palm and up his arm. He brings his hand up to the light, to his face, and expects to see blood in the center of his palm, dripping over the bedsheets, but he’s clean.

He squints and just for a moment, sees a thin white scar. It’s as long as the cut Bill made for him, jagged from the blunt bottle tearing his skin instead of slicing it, and it’s the first time Will is noticing it for twenty years. He turns his hand over and then back, watching it to make sure the evidence doesn’t disappear again.

“Please say you’ll come back too,” Mike asks. He sounds hesitant, like he’s waiting for Will to slam the phone down.

“I–” Will starts. The words clog in his throat and he has to clear it before he can force them out, “I’m not one of you,”

“No,” Mike interupts but Will keeps going, has to say it all now or he’ll never be able to say it again.

“I’m not… one of you. I never was,” he whispers. “You have so much power that you can’t even see and I’m not a part of that.” The scar on his hand feels hot, feels like a fresh wound that’s fighting infection, and Will pulls his fingers into a fist to fight the urge to break down.

“I can’t help you, Mike, I’m not strong enough,” Mike silences on the other line and Will’s breath is ragged, loud even over the beating of his heart.

“You were one of us,” Mike says finally, the words crackling. Will closes his eyes and tries to sink back into his pillow, tries not to let the words get to him but Mike sounds so earnest and honest. “We loved you like a brother, like one of our own,”

“I’m not strong enough,” Will repeats.

“We need you anyway,” Mike says and Will knows the decision has been made, was made twenty years ago when he cut his hand and looked into Bill Denbrough’s eyes. His fate was decided before he even knew what he was deciding on.

The scar burns as he nods, as he tells Mike he’ll be there soon. It aches as he packs his bags and books a flight to Derry first thing in the morning, twinging when he climbs into a towncar outside the airport and riding into the sleepy Maine town he’d forgotten all about.

The scar doesn’t stop burning until he’s stepping out of a taxi in front of Jade of the Orient, Derry wind prickling his face and smelling like the past. It reminds him of summer and dust and death and Will bites back the sudden fear that crawls up his throat.

He takes a deep breath and goes inside the restaurant, finally ready to face his fate.

send me requests/headcanons/prompts!

[grownups-are-the-real-monsters]

Roller Rink

Beverly pressed her elbows into the weak wood railing as she let out smoke from her gaped mouth. Flickers of orange fell from the tip and crumbled to black ash before hitting the ground. From her right, quiet mumbles of swears grew more frigid. She glanced up, Richie was sat on the railing, hands shaking with what looked to be nerves as he tried to light his cigarette. From her angle, his head was perfectly blocking a good chunk of the neon sign behind him. She tilted her head and closed one eye, the blinking white and blue wing seemed to now steam from Richie and not the bright red lit roller skate. She smiled and steadied Richie’s hands for him. He successfully lit the stick and immediately shoved it between his lips with no thank you. She opened her mouth to ask him just what the hell crawled up his ass and died when they heard the roar of an approaching car down the main street. The headlights flooded the whole area in white light. Her eyes rolled and she stood straight up, still holding onto the railing. “Turn off your high beams, asshole.” She frowned, gesturing to the still pretty light, early stages of afternoon rolling into the evening. 

She waited patiently for Richie before stomping out her cigarette and crossing her arms. “Ready to go back to falling on your ass?” She gestured to the red trimmed roller rink doors. Richie stomped his out and pushed up his glasses. 

“You say something about your ass?” Richie pretended he hadn’t heard what she said with a smirk on his face and she stomped on his foot with a triumphant grin. He shook his head and held the door open for her before following inside after her. He dragged his feet across the swirled rainbow carpet and back over to their bench seat. Ben was sat, guarding the pairs roller skates. Bev plopped down next to him and started kicking her shoes off and shoving them back into the warm skates. Richie glanced down at his wearily before glancing back at Ben. 

“Where’d Eddie go?” 

Ben pointed and Richie followed the direction to find Eddie with Stan and Bill on his sides skating in the large rink. He smirked and sat down to put on his own pre-used skates. He stood, rolling himself to the wall around the rink and waited for Bev, retying her laces before sliding over to him. She started chuckling as soon as she caught sight of Mike, skating smoothly backwards. Richie shrugged. “No big deal, I can do that.” 

“Uh-huh, and I’m Miss America.” Bev rolled her eyes and waited as Stan, Eddie and Bill started coming round the corner. Richie chuckled and tapped her shoulder. 

“You are in my eyes, Bev.” He put his hand to his chest and she slapped him. 

Once he saw them, Stan immediately skated to the wall and Beverly laid her hands over his. “They taking a lot out of ya?” She teasingly glared at Bill and Eddie. Stan let out a gasp of breath and nodded. 

“Can’t say I blame ya, Staniel. I can barely keep up with Eds, myself. The little guys faster than a speeding bullet, I swear.” Richie skated around the wall to get into the rink and wrapped his arm around Stan, who shrugged him off. Richie sighed. He smiled and took Eddie’s hand. 

“It seems that suddenly I have forgotten how to skate, you will have to teach me, Eds.” Richie pretended to slip up just standing still and Eddie pursed his lips and then smiled. Richie took in the view. 

“You really are a sight for sore eyes, babe. I mean, the florescent lights reflecting on your rainbow shorts-” 

Eddie slapped him and Richie leaned down to brush their lips together. 

“Eww, get a room.” Beverly swatted her arms out to push them. Richie clasped his hands around Eddie’s shoulders and smirked at her. He flicked his hair back with sass and ushered Eddie away. 

They skated away from their friends, hand in hand. The lights went dim and the songs took a slow turn, the DJ announced it was time for the couples skating. Eddie rolled his eyes as Richie gripped his hand tighter. “This is so cheesy.” He felt his pink cheeks start to contradict him. Richie chuckled, delighted. 

He kept his clasp of Eddie’s hand as he skated in front of him, managing to safely skate backwards much to Eddie’s shock. He swung their arms and smirked. 

“I gotta take a little time, a little time to think things over, I better read between the lines, in case I need it when I'm older” He tried to pull a smooth sultry tone out of his locked box of voices. 

Eddie took the opportunity to swing himself in a turn under Richie’s arm and pulling himself closer, impressing his taller boyfriend.  “Dang where’d you learn to skate, kid?” Richie stopped singing to compliment him. Eddie shrugged, resorting to his routine move of slapping him in the arm. 

“ In my life there's been heartache and pain, I don't know if I can face it again...”

Richie made grand hand gestures and started kneeling down to the floor, Eddie cringed and held tightly on his hand. He was on the floor, skating backwards. Eddie was urging him to stand. 

“Can't stop now, I've traveled so far, to change this lonely life....!” Richie then proceeded to fall on his ass like Eddie had predicted he would but tugged Eddie’s hand with him, making him fall on top of him as people skated around them. “I want to know what love is, I want you to show me.” Richie cut his singing short with embarrassment. 

“Can we get up now, dipshit?” Eddie chuckled and started to stand. Richie watched him get up, smiling suspiciously. 

“You can, Eds. I have to stay down here if I want to do this right.” Richie started feeling around his pockets and sitting up to kneel on his one knee. Eddie started to sweat nervously as he stood over him. 

“What are you talking about...?” Eddie raised an eyebrow as the lights went back to the normal rainbow blinkers. He raised his foot to it’s tip toe to bang the brake of the skate on the ground.

“Ughhh, hold on let me find it.” Richie kept patting his pockets and reached out to grab Eddie’s hand again. He was down on one knee, patting his pockets, and holding Eddie’s hand... “Richie, what the fuck are you doing?” 

“A-ha!” Richie pulled out a small gold band ring from his pocket. Eddie’s mouth gaped. Eddie tried to release his hand and maybe skate away in panic but Richie just held on tighter. “Relax, it’s just a frickin’ promise ring, Eds.”

“Oh” 

Richie broke out into hysterical laughter. “We’re seniors in high school Eds. Did you really think I was dumb enough to propose to you?” 

Eddie giggled “Honestly, with you....” 

Richie pulled himself off the rink floor and they awkwardly stood still, occasionally rolling a skate. “So...can I?” Richie waved the ring and Eddie blushed, putting his hand up eagerly. 

“Uh-huh.” Eddie smiled delightfully as Richie slid the ring on his finger. “When did you get this?” 

“Well, It was originally for your mom.” Richie chuckled and Eddie went to skate past him. Richie, still laughing, went after him. “Hey-babe-wait up.” 

They slowed to a good skating pace. “Hey, Stan helped me pick it out from that jewelry place in the mall. I was gonna ask Bev but he walked in on me looking at ring brochures...and well what’s a guy to do?” Richie chuckled again.  

Eddie looked at his hand, waving it under the neon lights. The ring glittered and he felt his cheeks heat up again. “So it’s a promise ring?” 

Richie threw his arm around him and nodded. “Yes indeed Eddie my love. It’s a symbol of our loving relationship and a promise that there will be another ring in the future.” He explained awkwardly, wiping his mouth like. Eddie skated to the wall where everyone was at, getting ready to get pizza. Stan gave him a wide knowing smile, the other Losers looked at them, curious as to why Richie had been knelt down in front of Eddie like that. 

“Let me see it.” Stan gestured for Eddie to give him his hand, obviously proud of his involvement. Bill looked over his shoulder and caught sight of the shiny band. 

“You d-d-didn’t pr-pr-propose did y-you-?” Bill widened his eyes and Richie rolled his eyes. 

“It’s a promise ring you dips. A symbol of our loving frickin’ relationship.” He said, exasperated. Eddie giggled as Stan and Bev played with the ring. Mike attempted to kick off his skates and hopped over, taking Eddie’s hand. He smiled. 

“How did you afford this?” Mike asked, passing Eddie’s hand to Ben like it was a piece of food. Richie swallowed and bit into his cheek. He gave Stan a nervous glance. Stan sighed. 

“Richie, uh...well he sold his bike.” Stan mumbled for him and Eddie immediately took his hand back from Ben. He gave Richie wide worrying eyes. Beverly looked at Richie in shock. 

“It’s no big deal, Eds. I wanted to do this for you.” Richie rubbed the back of his neck with his palm and felt himself heat up. Eddie took his hand and skated him off towards the food area, the losers took the hint to stay behind. 

They skated and nearly fell onto the table as they sat down across from each other. “Rich...You loved that bike...I mean, that was the bike you rode that summer...-” 

“Shit Eds, I can’t say I’m devastated to lose something that reminds me of almost dying.” Richie shrugged and Eddie slumped his shoulders. He gave him a thin lipped smile and reached over to run his fingers down Eddie’s arm to his hand, playing with the ring. 

“I just didn’t want you to regret it...”

“Eds, I have a car now. I can drive, I don’t need a bike and this purchase wasn’t a waste....was it?” Richie looked up, a little insecurely and Eddie shook his head immediately. 

“Of course the fuck not.” Eddie chuckled and leaned over the table, skates sliding him easily to connect their lips. Richie made it last as long as it could before Bill set down two Styrofoam cups of pop down between them. 

The boys sat back down. “C-c-can I borrow, R-Richie?” 

Eddie shrugged, standing and skating away. Bill took his seat as Richie picked at his teeth. “Whats up Big Bill?” 

Bill folded his hands together. “A promise ring is a big c-ca-ca-commitment.” He sipped his pop and Richie scrunched his face up. 

“Yeah....your point?” 

“You better treat him right R-Richie, or i-i’ll...”

Richie smiled warmly. “Punch me again?  

Bill chuckled but had a flicker of seriousness that made Richie gulp. He saluted him with a smirk and he seemed satisfied. 

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

Eddie was killing time, skating around the rink in boredom. He had his hands behind his back, playing with the ring subconsciously. He listened to the pop music as he swiveled around people and tried not to burn his eyes by staring into the bar of lights-

“Hey!”

Someone grabbed Eddie’s hand and he nearly face planted as Stan came into view, skating with his entire body up straight.  “Sorry.” He smiled and Eddie shrugged. “Look, Bill’s giving Richie the talk....y’know about treating you right and stuff. He told me I should do something similar with you? Being Richie’s first friend and that.” Stan shrugged, looking confused. Eddie chuckled. 

“Honestly, I don’t know what to say other than...good luck being stuck with that.” He pointed as Richie slid right into Ben’s arms, toppling them over onto the carpet. 

Eddie giggled and bumped their arms together as all seven of them met back on the rink. Eddie skated right Richie with a grin. Mike put his arms around them and grinned. “I offer you my congratulations...” 

The boys returned his smile and Mike suddenly swept Eddie up and lifted him, putting his on his back and skating away. Beverly smiled. “Congratulations squirt!!” She shouted after them. 

“Alright, somebody lift me!” Richie held his arms open and closed his eyes and everyone slammed into him as they skated past. “Hey, somebody congratulate me!” He shouted after them from the floor. 

Stan slowly skated over and reached out his hand. Richie took it and he was pulled up. “Congrats, he’s way out of your league.” Stan said in such a classic Stan way. Richie chuckled, looking at the way Eddie was laughing his ass off but in a sort of panicked way as Mike skated. 

“Yeah...fingers crossed he doesn’t notice.” Richie crossed his fingers as Stan chuckled. 

[etherealrj]

bad at love - part two

pairings - reddie

words - 1.3K

 warnings - none

part one

part three

part four

It was quite easy to say that the car ride to the arcade was the most awkward situation either boy had been in since walking in on Richie’s parents getting it on, on Richie’s 16th birthday.

Eddie completely shut down once inside the beat-up piece of shit that Richie calls a car. Although none of the losers would give it up for the world, they’ve all been through too much in this car but it was still a piece of shit.

Eddie cringes at idea of the copious amount times Richie has been balls deep inside his girlfriend in this very seat. He tries not think about that too much not wanting to mentally scar himself even more than he already is.

“Eds,” Richie mumbles from the drives seat. “You-You don’t have to tell me what’s wrong but I’m here to listen.” He pauses to turn down the busy main street of Derry. “Like, if you want. Y'know?” Eddie doesn’t verbalise a response but sends a subtle nod in Richie’s direction hoping that was enough to get his message across.

He appreciates it. He really does, Richie’s never this quiet, especially when they are driving, he always feels the need to turn whatever loud repulsive song is playing on the radio, blasting it from the speakers while screaming at the top of his lungs. Eddie lets out an affectionate huff at the memory of Richie belting out the lyrics to Shaggy and looking utterly ridiculous while doing so.

“Earth to Eddie Spaghetti,” Richie says obnoxiously waving a hand in front of his face. Breaking Eddie from his thoughts, he realised he’d been staring off into space for the past few minutes. Eddie pushes Richie’s hand away from his face.

“Ugh, get your hand away from me.”

Richie lets out a loud laugh before leaning into Eddie, “That’s not what you’ll be saying later tonight, baby boy.” Eddie rolls his eyes, before shoving the car door open and heading toward the arcade, he walks off on Richie half heartedly listening to him proclaim sex noise from the top of his lungs across the carpark. Heavy footsteps echo on the bitumen behind him, Eddie can hear the boys aspirated voice faded as he entered the building. The amount of kids running around always seems to overwhelm him.

Eddie feels Richie put his hand on his shoulder, immediately calming his senses. The taller boy guides him toward the booth in the back. The loud laughs from their pals brings a small smile to Eddie’s face.

“Eddie! Richie! We we’re starting to worry.” Mike says with a big smile as he shuffles over to make room for the pair.

“Yeah. You guys are late.” Stan added, brushing the single curl from in front of his eye behind his ear.

“Sorry guys, Eddie was trying to get into my pants. I needed to remind him that I have prior engagements.” Eddie slapped Richie across the chest before leaning his head back against the booth, repressing the urge to wipe everything down with antibacterial wipes. Ben snorted loudly at the pair.

“Speaking of girlfriend!” Bev exclaimed. “How are you guys?” Eddie listened intently to Richie’s answer, noticing a slight hesitation. He cracked opened one of his eyes to see the taller boy staring at his face.

“We, um” He paused. “It’s good, great even.” Eddie groaned internally, supressing a sigh. “For her. I think. I’m trying really hard to just love her but I can’t.”

“W-W-w-hat?” Bill stutters. His stutter extremely worsened due to the heavy surprise of Richie’s statement. It had gotten better since they were thirteen, all the Losers were incredibly proud of Bill’s effort to improve his speech patterns.

“You didn’t mention this in the car Rich?” Eddie questions, slightly more intrigued than necessary. He’s still his best friend regardless of what he feels for the other. Richie glances around the table and lands his focus on Eddie.

“She told me, she’s in love with me.”

“What’s the matter with that? You guys say that all the time?” Ben said. Richie paused looking down at his hands placed upon the table. Eddie was feeling more excited than deemed acceptable but the look on Richie’s face was telling him it wasn’t all that important.

“I love her like I love Eddie’s Mom.”

 “It’s enough, but not enough. No offense Ed.” Eddie snorted and waved his hand.

“So, what are you gonna do?” Eddie asked nibbling on his lower lip.

“Yeah, you can’t just leave her hanging.” Mike added after taking a sip from what Eddie could only imagine too be Mike’s all-time favourite strawberry milkshake.  

“If you were in the same position you wouldn’t appreciate it.” Stan said in-between bites of his fruit salad.  The poor boy could only ever eat the food his Mother prepared for him, he always had to bring food with him whenever they all go out.

“If you don’t love her at all, you need to break up with her. The sooner the better.” Bev said with a raise of her eyebrows.

Richie sighed before saying, “That’s not even the worst part.”

“W-w-what could b-be w-worse than that?” Bill asked. Richie leaned back into the red booth, back relaxing against the worn vinyl.

He lifted his arm and settled it on the back of the chair behind Eddie’s back. “I’m in love with someone else.” Eddie’s whole entire world seemed to simultaneous brighten and dull all at once.

Moments past by when suddenly Eddie is pulled from his thoughts by a slap on his back followed by Richie’s departure. Eddie shook his head and faced the group. All five other members seemed to have targeted their attention toward him. “What just happened? Where’d Rich go?”

“You weren’t listening?”  Ben said. “He’s going to break up with Jane.” The table went silent all the remaining members of the Loser’s attention focus’ on Eddie.

“What?” Eddie said with a shake of his head glancing around at the Loser’s.

“Whose gonna tell him?” Eddie looks over to Mike, an unreadable expression etched onto his face.

“Y-you know he loves y-you right?” Bill says, eyes widened as he glances across the round table at Eddie. Eddie shakes his head.

“He’s been spending a lot of time with Roxanne lately.” Eddie trailed off, glancing around the room at anything but his friends. The old worn out red seats that loitered the walls, the dark carpet covered in a multitude of questionable stains, the walls lined with pinball machines and the area slowly filling with children all rushing around, hoping to get a spot in line in front of their favourite game. The arcade was always busy on Friday nights, the absence of Riche was unnerving. Eddie knowing the only reason he still comes here is for boy. He mentally wished the boy luck in whatever course he was taking with Jane.

“Eddie,” Bev said. “It’s you. It always has been.”  

“Well-Well, I- Maybe I don’t like him back, did you ever think of that huh? What makes you think that I Eddie Kaspbrak would ever feel anything for Trashmouth Richie Tozier? Have you seen that boy? Have You? There are no redeeming qualities about him whatsoever.  Not even his soft curls or-or his dark eyes that make you feel warm all over or the number of freckles that always seem to multiply across his nose every other week. Or-or even that small smile that plays on his lips when he sleeps and that fact his literally as blind as a bat without those ugly ass glasses. Don’t even get me started on those stupid Mom jokes he’s always making or-or his annoying habit to give everyone and everything a fucking nickname. I don’t have any feelings for Richie Tozier. Ugly! Everything is just ugly.” Eddie sucked in a hard breath from previously exhausting all his oxygen from prior events. He was met by five faces which he was all too familiar with, all sporting the same amused expression.

He felt a hand on his shoulder and before he had any time to reaction, the pale faced curly headed boy he knew all to well was leaning over him. If Eddie were to turn his face slightly to the left there would be no avoiding the beautiful face of Richie Tozier. Eddie swallowed down a lump in his throat. “Wow Ed’s, you’ve wounded me. Didn’t know you had it in ya.”

A/N sike guys theres gonna a part three because i’m wayyyy to invested in this story. I hope you guys enjoy! Let me know what you think! I had a lot of problems posting this so I hope it posted the right one lmao

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[frivoloussuits]

Suits: What Comes Next?

What can Suits do next, in 7b and 8a and beyond? It’s a question I’ve been thinking about for a while, and while I’ve explored it in fic I think it’s about time I do a proper meta post. Strap in for lots of weird predictions about how Suits can go on, and what the potential pitfalls of each route are.

TLDR: Suits is probably but not definitely doomed. Their safest option, in my opinion, is to decisively break up Donna and Harvey in 7b, give Harvey an absolutely awful time through 8a (maybe 7b and 8b too?), and double down on another ship entirely. This is not their only option; Darvey is still on the table.

Word count: ~3K

Question 1: How can they handle Mike and Rachel’s departure?

First things first, now that Mike’s leaving, the powers that be are losing the core relationship of the show. Assuming the reason Mike’s leaving is that he and Rachel got a better job/life opportunity elsewhere (as opposed to, say, the two of them get killed off), there are two options here:

1.) Brush over Mike and Rachel’s departure as a happy, happy event for everyone involved. The remaining characters move on with their lives with minimal angst. Maybe a new sidekick (Alex? Donna? Louis? someone else new?) fills the Mike-sized hole in Harvey’s plot lines.

Pros: Patrick J. Adams described Suits as a fundamentally “aspirational” show. In his opinion the show can approach darkness, it cannot dwell there. This would allow the show to carry on with its typical plot lines without angst.

Cons: This may feel out of sync with the previous seasons. If everyone can pick up and move on without Mike in a heartbeat, then why were they so dedicated to keeping him around and protecting him for all this time? Also, now that two more members of the original core cast are leaving, Suits is at risk of having too few meaningful plots. Glossing over Mike’s departure would mean dropping a major source of potential drama.

2.) Dwell on the implications of Mike and Rachel’s departure. Harvey’s abandonment issues might come back to the forefront.

Pros: Drama. Tension. Sensible, in-character consequences over the loss of the Mike-Harvey relationship.

Cons: If the show dwells on Rachel and Mike’s departure, so will the audience. And if the audience is upset about the departure, they might end up alienated, sick of the reminders of what’s now missing. Also, as mentioned above, this show doesn’t like serious angst; it might be hard to strike the right tone.

Question 2: How to end 7b?

Patrick J. Adams has strongly hinted that the finale of 7b will include the Machel wedding. 7b is also intended to serve as a backdoor pilot for Jessica’s spin-off show. That’s all well and good, but what happens to our core remaining characters, Donna, Louis, and Harvey?

Suits knows the benefits of ending on a cliffhanger (or some sort of tantalizing promise of new conflict), they've done it every season except maybe 6. I think they have to do this again. Because they’ve now lost half their main cast, they’ll probably try to hook people more than ever and give them an incredibly compelling reason to tune back in. What sort of cliffhanger they might use depends on the answer to . . .

Question 3: What’s the driving tension of Season 8a?

(8b’s also important, of course, but I think it’ll be the ending of the series. And since I don’t have a great intuition for how this show can end without Mike, I won’t make detailed predictions. All I’ll say is that I think at least 2 out of 3, if not all 3, of the Donna-Louis-Harvey group will be happily and stably in love, and I think all three will achieve some level of personal growth. I predict that they’ll all be happy with their careers and that the firm will be doing well. Either that or the firm crashes, in which case Harvey probably throws up his hands and moves out of New York, lol.)

Okay, so fandom loves fluffy slice-of-life stories that don’t have conflict, but mainstream TV shows? Not so much. There ought to be a driving conflict that makes 8a run. I think Suits can have three major types of tension:

External Tension: A mostly-new set of characters invades and raises hell. Examples include the Danbury plot of 6a, the investment banking plot of 4a, and the failed Darby merger from 3.

Pros of external tension: So many options for drama.

Cons of external tension: Meh. Suits has done this a lot already, and how do you top the stakes of Danbury? What new threat can outside characters present that we haven’t already seen? If it’s just that “the firm’s in jeopardy again,” I think a lot of viewers will yawn, but the obvious ways of raising the stakes (disgruntled ex-client attempts murder, someone ends up in the hospital for multiple episodes, Louis makes good on the Daniel Hardman death threat, etc.) would potentially be too angsty and out of place.

Another potential issue is that the end of 7b would ideally introduce this new bunch of external troublemakers, and if 7b’s finale is already packed with the Machel wedding and Jessica’s pilot plots then that’ll be tough.

Old-Conflict-Resurfaces Tension: Oooh, this one could be fun. A decent way for Suits to go out (assuming Season 8 is the end) is to do a fabulous villain team-up. Maybe Daniel Hardman’s working with Travis Tanner, who’s being paid off by Charles Forstman, and so on. More broadly, if Suits can reach into its established rogues gallery and present some old threats as more menacing than ever and weave a credible yet surprising legal plot, that might be a way to go.

Pros: Lots of options for drama, though less than above. Potentially cleaner and more elegant, since Suits doesn’t need to introduce bunches of new settings and characters. If done well, it could viewers guessing all throughout, rethinking old episodes and searching their memories for clues to unravel every new mystery. All in all this could feel like a very fitting end for the show.

Cons: This may be very hard to pull off. It can tip one way and become boring, or the other and become absurd.

Internal Tension: My personal favorite. Something changes among our central trio, and they then generate a driving plot of their own free will.

Pros: Elegant. Minimal set-up (well, no, but the setup is all the character dynamics we’ve learned so well over the past seven seasons). A great way to propel meaningful character change and wrap up the central arcs. I think audiences will care about this tension more than any other kind, because it’s all about Donna, Harvey and Louis, and those central characters are what the general audience cares about most.

Cons: We’ve already seen a lot of Donna, Harvey and Louis. We’ve seen how they react in stressful situations. Pushing them to new limits is hard, there are few events that can still do it. The powers that be would have to be pretty damn careful to keep everyone in-character without just rehashing dramas we’ve already seen.

Question 4: Who is Samantha Wheeler?

For those who don’t know, Katherine Heigl is joining the main cast of Suits for Season 8. She’s playing Samantha Wheeler, a “talented new partner at Pearson Specter Litt who challenges the status quo and will either become the firm’s greatest ally or most powerful enemy.”

It’s possible that Samantha will come crashing in and become the one-woman generator of an “external tension” that drives Season 8a. I’m hard-pressed to come up with what’s so special about this character that she can cause such big waves, but that doesn’t mean it’s impossible.

Pros: New drama. New relationship dynamics. If she’s connected via backstory to one or more of the main characters (and she probably should be, otherwise the audience is at risk of just not caring about her), that could cause drama amidst the Donna-Louis-Harvey group. Also! She might provide new romance opportunities, and god knows Suits likes its love stories. If Darvey and Louis/Sheila are both definitively together by the end of 7, I think Samantha is even more likely to have a love interest.

Cons: Things are already changing a lot from 7 to 8. The audience is at risk of 1.) being confused, 2.) being bored because they’ve already seen too much like this, 3.) feeling alienated because this isn’t what they signed up for, and/or 4.) just not caring. Adding a brand-new main character may exacerbate these issues.

Question 5: WHAT HAPPENS TO DARVEY?!?!?!

The powers that be wrote themselves into an interesting corner with the 7a kiss. The Darvey tension’s been simmering for ages, but it’s finally been pushed so far that Donna and Harvey have to confront it. If the Darvey will-they-won’t-they dance isn’t finished by the end of 7, I think audiences will revolt.

The writers are devoting serious attention to the fallout the kiss; the consequences will propel plenty of 7b drama, and I won’t be surprised if Donna and Harvey spend 5.99 out of 6 episodes feuding. That said, by the time the season is over, the Darvey plot should be decided one way or the other to avoid the aforementioned audience revolt. Working under that assumption, there are two options . . .

1.) Darvey gets together in 7b.

I’m going to quote another Aaron (the namesake of Rick Sorkin?) discussing the long-time workplace romance of another fictional Donna: “They are in a tough spot . . . because she works for him. Besides, sexual and romantic tension is, to me, much more fun than taking the tension away by having the sex and romance.” And while I can’t find the article at the moment, I’ve seen a related quote from Sarah Rafferty, where she said that she hoped Darvey would happen in the very last episodes of the show, if it happened at all.

Why might they say this? Because hardcore Darvey shippers may be thrilled to watch an entire Season 8 of canon Darvey, but I think more casual viewers will lose interest. The unspoken will-they-won’t-they tension has captivated viewers for years, and once that’s gone so is one of Suits’ biggest hooks. If the powers that be still want the Donna-Harvey relationship to draw people in, they’d better cook up something really special to replace the sexual and romantic tension.

Donna and Harvey have prepared for this relationship for so long that a lot of the typical sources in television love stories (one of them is jealous, one of them cheats, they miscommunicate, they aren’t familiar with each others’ priorities) would make little sense; they should be past that by now. If there’s any relationship conflict, that would have to be written quite carefully.

Another option is to let Donna and Harvey be happy together and throw conflict at them from the outside-- maybe someone else comes and tries to break them up, or threaten them professionally, and maybe they close ranks and become a wonderful battle couple.

(Personal note: If Darvey gets together, I’d like to see canon unquestionably establish Donna as Harvey’s equal in 7b and 8. I want to see them contributing equally to their relationship. I want to be convinced that they’ll both be happy in the long term, that this isn’t a relationship where Donna sacrifices for Harvey but has to grovel for his support in return, and I think they’re not there yet. Harvey really isn’t there yet. Getting there could generate plot.)

So these are some options for how canon can keep viewers invested through S8, but . . . I bet they won’t be as compelling for the general audience as the 7-season mating dance.

2.) Darvey gets smashed to hell in 7b.

I know I’m the only one, but I think this is still a real possibility!

At this point, Suits is running into two issues. One, it feels overall predictable and unsurprising. Two, it feels like it’s pushing its characters out of character in order to manufacture surprises (see: Harvey’s sudden infatuation with Paula, rule-obsessed Sheila’s sudden willingness to cheat on her fiance). If they can thwart viewer expectations on one of the biggest questions-- will Darvey happen?-- while remaining true to their characters, that could be pretty damn cool.

It’s also a reasonable option, in my opinion. It could generate plenty of plot for Donna and Harvey in 8a, since they might completely burn their bridges in 7b and have to rebuild from scratch, and it also leaves room for a different central romance!

So there’s this ship that nobody talks about. It’s a m/f ship, which means it’s more likely to be canon on this sadly heteronormative show than, say, Marvey. The characters have had compelling plots and interactions from Season 1. They’ve laughed together. They’ve survived drama. They respect, care about and understand each other. They have the same interests and hobbies. They have hilariously sexual conversations. They have literally said “I love you.”

I’m talking about Louis and Donna.

Yes, I’m serious, and so was Sarah Rafferty when she claimed Donna needs someone more emotionally open than Harvey to be her “life partner,” and so was Rick Hoffman when he said, “I just don’t understand how Louis could not be attracted to a woman like Donna.”

Pros of Lonna: Surprises! Drama! I can see this being the internal tension that drives 8a, and hell, I can’t imagine a better cliffhanger for season 7′s finale than a Lonna moment. This wouldn’t be radically out of character-- I’ve been checking, and there’s a surprisingly large amount of foundational material for this ship-- yet it’d massively upset audience expectations and also the existing relationship dynamics between Donna, Louis, and Harvey.

No, I’m not forgetting Harvey. Maybe he doesn’t want Donna himself, but seeing Louis end up with her would upturn everything he thought he knew about the world. Given that Mike’s also leaving and that he might still be dealing with Paula-related guilt, this plot twist would send Harvey reeling, especially if he and Donna are still working out the fallout from the kiss. If he lashes out and screws up his professional life too, then that can generate legal plots as well as personal drama.

Long story short, Lonna is potentially a massive plot generator.

Cons: The big downside of Lonna is that (besides Rick Hoffman and Sarah Rafferty who have been discussing it at least since Season 2) practically nobody ships it. Louis is so often treated as fodder for jokes, it’s possible that audiences just wouldn’t take it seriously. Also, a lot of Darvey shippers would be furious and heartbroken.

Question 6: What’s my ideal season 7 finale?

Okay, I know nobody is actually asking this, but I want to tell you!

Mike and Rachel dance peacefully at their wedding reception, safe in a happy bubble, oblivious to the world burning down around them. Jessica’s in the Plaza lobby, threatening some poor sucker over the phone in a desperate bid to save her political career. Harvey’s locked in the bathroom, fighting off a panic attack and failing, wondering whether he’s sick because of Paula, or because of Mike, or because Donna’s not speaking to him anymore . . .

Meanwhile, Louis and Donna share a sweet, intimate conversation on a hotel balcony that leads to a sweet, intimate kiss-- only to have Donna pull back, gasping as though she’s been burned.

SUITS RETURNS IN FALL 2018.

(I don’t know about you guys, but I would so tune in for that Season 8.)

[luckyluciano2]

NY archery Whitetail hunting is high pressure and high competition for a small amount of public land this is the story of my 4 year quest to kill a mature NY whitetail I called Swamp Donkey….

Swamp Donkey a NY whitetail story

by John Stallone

Author of The Whitetail Hunter’s Blueprint 

http://www.thewhitetailblueprint.com/

  The Back Story:

I was born in NY and lived there till 1991 full time before I moved to Arizona. NY is where I was introduced to hunting, it’s where I learned to hunt, and Long Island is where I first learned to shoot a bow.  As a kid I would spend my summers in NY and come visit for thanksgiving and rifle deer season Upstate almost every year. As I got older and archery became my main method of hunting I began working the small wood lots of eastern Long Island. Year after year I would return in October even after I had a family and children, and it has become our fall break family tradition.

Discovery:

It was a brisk, clear, October morning in 2012 I had gotten up several hours before day light to prepare myself for my first sit in a new stand set. I had been hunting in a 15 arce wood lot that was bordered on east and west sides by swamp, houses to the south and an old abandon junkyard to the north. The Junkyard had a 5 Arce field that the deer loved to feed in every evening. This was the jewel of this little honey hole. All the deer from the surrounding woods would congregate here in the evening allowing me to slip into my stand early in the morning undetected and they would return after day light back to the bedding on the edges and sometimes in the swamps. I had found a hub of converging trails just on the edge of the east swamp littered with buck sign. There were rubs as far as the eye can see down the trail and several scrapes within bow range of my tree. I had set my stand 20 ft up a big oak tree right at the crook of the V that formed where the two main branches shot out of the grand oak’s trunk. It was perfect…

At first light deer started to filter back into the wood lot mostly doe and fawn with a few small bucks. They continued to trickle in till about 8:30am when most of the deer activity seemed to stop. The birds and squirrels kept me occupied for the rest of the morning. Just about the time my stomach was trying to talk me into getting down I heard some movement in the leaves directly behind me. I stood up slowly and peered over my shoulder through the V of the oak and I could see the buck coming down the trail he was an 8 point with a kicker in the 125-130” range. I immediately thought to myself “shooter”. Bucks on long Island don’t typically get to live past 3 years of age there is a wide spread mantra in these parts “Brown is Down” so this buck was a trophy to be had.

The buck was working his rub line and slowly coming my way. He was already in bow range but coming in the only direction that I could not shoot to unless I unhooked my harness and stood up on the seat of the stand to shoot down through the V of the oak. It crossed my mind but I decided to not force it and wait till he came under my tree. He was 10 yards behind me at this point and I was frozen leaning on a limb with bow in hand slight tension on the string not even looking at him for fear he would make me and spook. He was licking a branch with head pointed in my direction when a squirrel decides to jump from the adjacent tree on to the limb that I was leaning against. He looked up and stood there looking through me for what seemed like an eternity. He then slowly turned and walked away back down the trail he came.

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NY Public land Buck

The Game begins:

I was beside myself, I wanted to scream, I drew back on that squirrel and almost let it fly when I reminded myself of the pact I had made several years prior not to shoot anything without a purpose. I sat in disgust for a few more hours. When I got down I immediately phoned my wife told her I had seen a big buck, a “Swamp Donkey” and asked her to change our plane tickets and extend our trip a couple of days. I knew I had to move my stand, that if I left it there every time he came by that tree he would look up. I began looking for another tree to hang my stand further up the trail leading from the swamp.  I found two rub lines that came out of the swamp and down into this drainage and a tree that overlooked both. Plus it was in shooting range of the trail he walked down earlier that morning. I set the stand up high, about 25 feet to be exact in a beech tree, set so I did not need to stand to shoot. This tree would affectionately be called the killing tree over the next couple of years.. I felt good about this set. I spent the next few days sitting morning until night letting lesser bucks and doe slip by me. The last day I woke up to a Nor-Easter moving in which is the north easts version of a monsoon… Everyone told me I was crazy to go sit up in a tree with winds like that.. I didn’t care I had a mission.  I sat from sun up to just about 30 mins before last light before I saw my first deer. It was a doe and she acted like she was being chased by a buck. Could it be? “This early in the season”, I thought to myself. Sure enough emerged the profile of an 8 point buck with a sticker on left side. “It’s him“, I grabbed my bow and began to will the deer to my stand with pointless pleading. It was getting dark and he was running her around in circles through the thick brush outside of bow range, I hit the doe bleat can. With about 3 mins left of light the doe started in my direction and pooped out 20 yards under my stand. I drew back, for what seem like an eternity and waited for him to clear the overhanging tree limbs. The wind was blowing me violently from side to side, I could hardly stay in the stand let alone hold the pin steady. He finally stepped out and I managed to muster up enough strength to hold it all together long enough to send the arrow right in his bread box… That was it! I had done it! I shot Swamp Donkey. I called my cousin to help me track and retrieve the buck. When he arrived we made quick work of the blood trail only to walk up on a buck that was not Swamp Donkey, I had shot a buck possibly a relative, younger brother maybe. I shot a 2.5 year old 115” 8 point with a sticker in the same place off the same tine as the big buck I was now calling Swamp Donkey. My disappointment was equally as evident as my happiness.

The Quest:

I returned home and immediately began pouring over topo maps and google earth. I spent countless hours talking to my cousin Mike who sat the same stand the remainder of the season. Two months had passed and the season was coming to a close I was starting to think that I had imagined Swamp Donkey that the buck I killed was the buck I saw and I just added inches in my head. Mike had not seen him or any big buck for that matter. I was devastated.

It was the last chance that Mike had left to hunt that season he slipped into the stand around 9am a few hours had passed and He was playing on his phone when he caught movement and turned to investigate. It was him, it was Swamp Donkey, he did exist and he was skirting along the swamp edge out of bow range. I immediately got a text “Swamp Donkey Lives”. I felt vindicated; I felt as if I had already shot him, someone else saw him alive and I wasn’t crazy.

Fast forward to next season I brought a camera with me and set it on the main trail, we don’t dare run cameras in NY because they always get stolen or vandalized even in bear boxes, but I had to get more intel. I spent the whole week spending morning till night in the stand. I had not seen hide nor hair of Swamp Donkey at this point so I decided to fill my tag the day before I had to leave on a 120” 3.5 yr old buck. I had shot this buck late in the evening and a little far back so I let him lay overnight. Late the next morning I went in to trail the buck I followed him out of my wood lot and across the road from the junk yard an into a piece of public wetland surround by private. I got permission from the lady who owned the land to track my buck and hunt there if I wanted.  As I’m slinking through the woods quietly, looking down at the blood trail I get this crazy feeling like I was being watched so I looked up and  there he was 40 yards ahead of me on the trail standing over my dead buck as if to say “gotcha again”… All I could do was laugh, no one was gonna believe me. He had grown into 145” buck was building character.

I was scratching my head! How was this deer using the area? After our standoff that morning I watched where he walked into the swamp. I followed him for a ways and starting gathering Intel. All the big rubs and his tracks told me this is where he lived and he just traveled across the street as part of his routine. It dawned on me right then in there how this deer using the area. Both times I had seen him and Mike had seen him were around 10am-12pm and After getting my buck back to the truck I decided to go pull the camera to fortify where my mind was going with this and after viewing the couple hundred pics the very last pic was a very degraded pic of Swamp Donkey in the middle of the night. He was making a loop!

Putting all together:

Like I mentioned earlier I don’t run cameras in NY so figuring out how he was using the landscape was much harder to do, it was based on a few sightings, and reading sign. It’s pretty hard to decipher what buck is making what rub and what scrape and leaving which track but I started to formulate a  hypothesis based on my loop idea on how he was using the area.

In 2014 armed with my hypothesis I called “the loop” I decided to hang a new stand across from where my old stand was (the ridge stand) and after my encounter last year I had hung one off the swamp across the street ( the tree fort). The ridge stand was a morning spot when the wind was bad for the killing tree and the tree fort was for midday and evening hunting only. My plan was to sit the killing tree in the morning and the tree fort in the evening. I came up with this because after my encounter the previous year I had Mike sit the tree fort stand and we quickly learned that the deer were feeding in the oak flat adjacent the swamp in the mornings so you would blow them out when you entered the stand in the morning, thus making it better suited for the evening.

  Two Bucks Two Days:

2014 was a crazy year for me and for our family trip, I had weddings and multiple family events to attend to, so my time to spend hunting was very limited in fact I only had 3 days to hunt. First morning of my hunt I slipped into the killing tree an hour before first light and anxiously waited for what the morning would bring. As usual at day break does and fawns trickled back in the woods followed by young bucks cruising the bedding areas. I got down at 11am because something told me I needed to get up in the tree fort stand before noon. I made the switch and about 1pm I caught movement behind me a buck working a scrape, “Swamp Donkey” I gasped. He was out of range and in a thick tangle of brush. I tried calling to him subtlety, without a response. I didn’t want to push it and have him pick me out of the tree so I changed my focus on trying to film him however my camera arm was not set up that I could get that angle so I quickly grabbed my rangefinder and phone and snapped a pic through it. He had gotten much much bigger and developed a matching kicker. He also had a bad limp and what looked like a scar on his left shoulder. It appeared he had been hit by a car, “the scar patch was too big to be an arrow wound” I thought to myself.

Let me digress for a moment, I know that those of you reading this are going to ask yourselves why would he have done this so let me explain in advance. I have an online TV show called Days in The Wild that I have been producing for the past 12 years I operate on a shoestring budget and an even stricter budget of time. I cannot afford to pass on opportunities to make an episode when presented. Back to my story, the next day went just about the same. I got in the tree fort stand by noon with the hopes of catching Swamp doing his thing midday. It was about 3pm when a buck emerged from swamp 70 yards from my stand and began walking the edge of the oak flat right to me. Now I had learned a trick from a guy many years ago that I kinda modified and made my own, that is to take a rake and fluff up the leaves 20-30 yards to your best shooting lane and shake the overhanging oaks to make as many acorns drop as possible. He told me raking the leaves makes it easier for them to get to and it makes it look like other deer were feeding there. I added my own little twist by spraying buck bombs acorn rage scent in the area as well and this seemed to work very well for me. Now this buck was walking right to my little trap and I couldn’t fight the urge so I decided to take him. He was quartering to me hard so I aimed between the neck and front shoulder he reacted and dropped a bit and I caught the spine dropping him on the spot. After getting him out I decided tomorrow was my last hunt I was going to hold out till dark for Swamp. And I did just that, only at dark a different mature buck stepped out and I decided to shoot him ever mindful of my contractual responsibilities to produce 12 shows a year. Swamp had made it another year.

Stellar Year

2015 was an amazing year for me I had drawn more tags than I ever had in the past one of which was a coveted Ibex tag in the Florida (Flo-reeda) mountains in New Mexico. Consequently this hunt fell during my normal scheduled trip to NY. Moreover the other tags I drew did not afford me the time to go back to NY. So I had to place my hopes of scoring Swamping Donkey on the shoulders of Mike. Mike started a new job and had virtually no time to hunt although we kept in contact watching the moon and weather and picking and choosing the best times to take a day off and other than a fleeting glimpse of him in Nov. our meek efforts proved futile. My season went on to being a stellar season filling 12 of my 15 tags but in the back of my mind he was still out there giving me the proverbial finger.

Redemption

Following such a stellar 2015 I had high hopes for 2016. I started off first of the year shooting a big desert mule deer in my home state followed by a 30” Barbary sheep in New Mexico in February. My son was born in March 2 days before my 40th birthday everything seemed to be going my way…Then 40 hit. It seemed like nothing was going right for me, losing business left and right, just one mishap after another, no time in the off season to practice or scout, and I was getting terribly out of shape. My first few hunts in the early season did not end up as I had planned and I was starting to feel a little bit down on myself. I needed a win. I knew that NY has always been good to me for providing success but I had taken the consolation prize home too many years in a row and I wanted to come home the old busier. Not knowing if Swamp was still alive at this point I didn’t know what to expect. I arrived to NY late in the evening and I had planned to hunt the following afternoon after checking stands and buying my license etc. but something told me to stay out of the tree fort stand and save it for the next day when I could slip in there late morning. I did not hunt the killing tree that morning as I had done in the past but instead I waited till 11am to slip into the tree fort. It had rained the night before and still was drizzling a bit that morning and I knew that meant the bucks would be out freshening up their scrapes mid-day. Walking into the stand I notice a giant rub that looked like an elk had made. The sapling was completely broke over and ripped to pieces. Logic told me “big buck” my heart told me “Swamp lives” filled with anticipation I climbed up into the stand but not before I squirted a little young buck scent into the two scrapes bellow my tree. The wind was blowing hard and steady and was in my face, I felt like something good was going to happen. Before long it was 1:30pm and something told me to check my backside I stood up slowly and peered around the tree and there he was working his way right to me. I knew he was coming to the big scrape, I got the camera set on him and he stopped dead in his tracks and I began to curse the camera under my breath. I thought maybe the sun had reflected off the lens and he had seen it. He stood there motionless for a lifetime flicked his tail and began to limp toward the scrape stopping every few yards to scan his environment. I quickly ranged everything in his path even though I had memorized every inch of my shooting lanes.. It was going to happen I could see it playing out, barring any stupid moves on my part or some act of God “it was coming together” I thought to myself. No sooner did the thought leave my mind he stopped in a place that I could not draw. “Don’t force it john” I told myself “let him go to the scrape”. He began to limp toward the scrape again and as soon as he cleared the lane I drew back, settled the pin and waited for him to pause naturally. He took a couple of steps than hesitated and I squeezed off the release and watched my arrow hit its mark.  I knew what I had done. My knees went weak and I almost fell out of the stand. “ I just killed Swamp Donkey” I murmured to myself as if to make sure I wasn’t dreaming and then again louder “ I  just killed Swamp Donkey”   I could see the blood covered arrow glistening in the sun, so packed my stuff up quickly and got down to investigate the shot site. I walked up to where I shot “dead deer” I thought. Blood trail began immediately at the arrow and continued on straight toward the swamp. I took out my camera and documented the track. Fifty yards later just inside the trail I had followed him into in 2013 there he lay. I walked up to him, knelt beside him for a moment, put my hand on his back and began to feel almost sorry the game had ended. After making the calls, taking my pictures and the excitement settled I began to wonder where the next swamp donkey was and when the new game of chess would begin….

  Be sure to subscribe to my podcast https://interviewswiththemasters.podbean.com/

  [ebook_store ebook_id=”1877″]

    Swamp Donkey John Stallone’s 4 year quest to shoot mature NY whitetail NY archery Whitetail hunting is high pressure and high competition for a small amount of public land this is the story of my 4 year quest to kill a mature NY whitetail I called Swamp Donkey....