#yes i only JUST got to this section of the map so sue me

[answrs]

asdfhjkl looks like the Big Horse and the Royal White got busy in the castle stables sometime between the two games. :'D

side note, interesting to me that totk explicitly refers to this specifically as a stallion versus just the general label of 'horse'. i don't remember botw specifying either way for the special horses, and the models obviously aren't differentiated by any anatomical differences (size/color aside)

[dcbicki]

“You’re Gonna See it Someday; It’s Affection Always” - Chapter 4

Fandom: Veep Characters: Dan Egan, Amy Brookheimer Pairing: Dan/Amy Rating: Explicit content In which Amy’s pregnant, and Dan already has a plan mapped out for them.

If she’s in this for the long haul then he will be, too. If she’s keeping this baby (his baby), then he’s keeping her close by.

If she’s ready for this, for change, for restless nights and shitty diapers at two o'clock in the fucking morning, then he’ll join her.

They fucked, and now they’re fucked.

Chapter 1: x | x Chapter 2: x | x Chapter 3: x | x

-

“Can you please get off your fucking phone?” Amy nudges his elbow, nods over to a poster glued on the wall opposite them, “Can’t you read?”

Dan rolls his eyes, dodges her glare and continues to type away on his cell for a moment before he shuts it off and slips it into his coat pocket.

“There’s like one poster in here, Amy.” He grumbles, scratches at his chin, holds back a yawn, “It’s not like I’m the only one doing it. It’s New York for fuck’s sake. Everyone is on their phone.”

He shoots a look over to the blonde couple sat beside the reception desk, the guy on a call, the heavily pregnant girl quite clearly texting someone.

“I’m not.”

“Remind me to get you a medal for that, by the way. This is probably the first time I’ve ever seen you holding something other than your phone.”

There’s a pamphlet in her hands, and she’s been scanning it front-to-back for like twenty minutes now.

“It’s informative. And I’ve told everyone I’m unavailable right now anyway, so…”

“Really? You told Selina you were unavailable?” Dan perks a brow, turns to look down at her, knee brushing against her leg and Amy flinches, shifts.

She pulls a face, “Surprisingly, she’s not being as big of a cunt about this as you’d imagine. “Besides,” she clears her throat, “it’s you she hates.”

“She doesn’t hate me.” He frowns, shakes his head in that cocky way she hates, “She needs me.”

“She needs your mediocre bullshitting skills, not your actual bullshit.” Amy shrugs, smiles softly, “And she blames you for this.

Dan sighs, huffs, uncrosses his legs and leans forward in his (squeaky) seat, rests his elbows on his knees, “Whatever. She probably just wants you to be better at this than she was. Lord fuckin’ knows Catherine wasn’t exactly raised by sane parents.”

Amy snorts, “You think we’re sane? Dan, we’ve had more breakdowns between the both of us than the whole patient list of a mental asylum. I’d be surprised if the kid didn’t come out in a fucking straitjacket.”

“Well, we can blame your dysfunctional family for those batshit genes, can’t we, Ames?”

“Oh, fuck you. You think you’re normal? I’ve seen you eat coffee.”

“It’s not my fault Gary didn’t fill up the machine-”

“Miss Brookheimer?”

“Yes.”

She’s picking up her bag before Dan can get another word in, but he stands to follow her anyway, stopping dead in his tracks when she does the same.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“In there.” He points behind her, back toward the room her doctor just emerged from and disappeared to, and then he smirks. “Let’s go.”

“No, no. You’re waiting here.”

She wags her finger, glances around the waiting room, “I invited you out of courtesy, not so you could get all hysterical and start crying and shit. Because, let’s be honest, we all know you will.”

“Amy,” Dan begins, steps closer, “I’m coming in there with you, just as I did in you last night.”

Her face flushes and she’s seriously considering slapping him in the face right in front of all of these people.

He grabs her elbows then, spins her around and walks her forward, carefully trailing at her heels.

“How are we feeling today?” Her doctor’s chipper (more than Amy would like, mind you). She’s about fifty, has long red hair pulled into a braid, glasses perched on the end of her nose. And she smiles, all white teeth and pink lips, and Amy loathes her.

“I’d rather die than be here.” Amy mumbles, feigns the smallest of smiles. She thrusts her bag into Dan’s chest, grits her teeth, “You can sit.”

He places her bag down on the floor beside the chair - has to bite his tongue first, of course - and licks his lips, “I think I’ll stand, thanks.”

“Are you the husband?”

“Husband?” There’s a snort - a choke, almost - and Amy is laughing then, “Husband, no. Fuck no.” She can feel Dan’s (annoyed) eyes on her, and it only amuses her more, “He’s just the sperm donor.”

“Can’t say I’ve ever had a donor tag along to a scan, but, hey - who am I to judge? There’s a first time for everything.” She’s smiling, all honest and true, and Dan just purses his lips, nods once or twice.

She’s facing Amy now, holding up a tube of something in her gloved hand, “Okay. Are you settled?”

The blonde on the bed adjusts slightly, tensing her shoulders as she pulls on her blouse, draws it up from under her skirt until it gathers below her breasts so her stomach is bare.

“All right.” The doctor - something Jones, maybe? - approaches then, “This might feel a little cool at first.” She flicks her hand holding the tube then, squirting some clear liquid onto Amy’s pale stomach.

She twitches, and Dan grins when she bites her bottom lip at the cold sensation.

There’s a chair pulled around then, and the older woman sits down beside Amy’s legs. She reaches over to one side, pulls the transducer out of its place and smoothes it over her patient’s belly, in circles and stripes, creating a pattern.

“I see you have a full bladder.”

“I was told it’d be clearer that way.” Amy clears her throat, avoids Dan’s curious stare as she moves one arm to rest behind her head, propping herself up.

Their doctor - Amy’s doctor - nods, smiles (again!), and she makes a strange noise as she continues to stare at the monitor.

“Yep.” She’s moving her head, craning her neck as though she’s looking for something.

Dan only notices because he’d been watching Amy watch her, watching as her body stiffened at the woman’s silence.

“What?”

He isn’t panicking, and he isn’t losing his cool - mainly because this isn’t his area of expertise and really doesn’t know shit when it comes to medical care or pregnancies or abnormalities, so he has next to no idea if something is even wrong or not.

But Amy seems concerned (well, only slightly), so he’s concerned for her (well, a little bit).

“Is there-”

“No. Sorry,” She shoots Dan a blank look, then proceeds to talk to Amy, “Just took me a moment to find the little nugget.”

Little nugget? Really?

Amy’s eyes are wide, though less than they had been a second ago, and she crinkles her nose, “Is it… healthy?”

Despite himself, Dan finds his hand reaching for her side. Not for her hand, not for her arm. But he fingers the waistband of her skirt, taps one finger along her skin.

“Everything looks good. Hang on just a sec.”

She swivels back around in her stool, clicks on some keys on the machine that make the monitor almost freeze-frame, and then she’s looking over at them again, “And… there’s your baby.”

Shit.

“Fuck.”

“Agreed.”

She holds one finger up to the screen, points at something that looks about the size of a whole fucking fig.

And then the doctor’s standing up, brushing her hands down her white coat, “I’ll give you a moment.”

Dan waits until she’s at least halfway out the door before he speaks, breaks the awkward silence, “You can see it, right?”

Amy nods, squints, “It’s so fucking… tiny.”

He shrugs at that, moves his eyes from her face to the screen again, “Takes after you, then.”

“Oh, shut up. It’s supposed to be that small.”

“Not gonna lie, it does look like you just ingested a whole fruit.”

Amy smirks, leans forward and drops her hands to her lap, carefully avoiding the goo on her stomach. “How the fuck am I gonna carry that thing around when it gets bigger?”

It’s a little surreal, in all seriousness, Dan thinks. He made that. They made that. They made a person.

“Are you gonna start crying like a little bitch now?” She jokes, jabs a finger into his ribcage, and Dan rolls his eyes, swats her hand away.

“Fuck off. It’s just… weird.”

“Put yourself in my shoes. I’m gonna have to put up with two of you now.” Amy says, raising her eyebrows, “I thought one of you was bad.”

“Oh, please, you love me.”

“Correction, I can stand you. Sometimes. On occasion.” She swallows, shifts blue eyes from his own to his chin, “Can you bring her back in here so we can get the scan and leave?”

She’s closed off suddenly, it seems, and Dan has half a mind to strap her to the bed and get her to talk to him. But he won’t, because he has other plans.

“Yeah, you know what, that’s a good idea. I think I’m losing testosterone just being in this fuckin’ building.”

The fucking scan picture doesn’t fit in her purse so she has to rely on Dan to keep it safe in his wallet.

He’s folded the screenshot in half, shoved it inside the right sleeve of his wallet, and forced that into his trousers’ back pocket.

Thankfully, there’d been a bathroom in the clinic so she could empty her bladder before he’d practically dragged her out of the building - hand around her wrist (not too tightly, just comfortably so) - and headed off towards a book store down at the end of the street.

It’s almost like he’d planned ahead, the asshole.

“I don’t have time to read you a bedtime story, Dan. I’ve got work to do.”

She’s shrugging him off when they’re past the doorway, the smell of fresh books encasing them, “As do you, by the way. In case you’ve forgotten, we have a former President to elect as president.”

“Look, I’m only doing this for your benefit,” she’s following him down aisles now, stopping at a section filled with childcare books and manuals.

“Really?” Amy groans, “I don’t have time to read up on this kind of shit. That’s what the internet was invented for. And phones. So that when I need information, I can just look it up, and I don’t have to rely on ‘Mary Sue’s Tip for the Perky Pregnancy’.”

She reads off the title, printed in big bold letters on a book behind Dan, and he shifts to pick it up and wave it in her face.

“You know what? Maybe Mary Sue could teach you some stuff.” He places the book down in her hands, much to Amy’s chagrin. And then another, and another.

It’s like he already knew which books-

“Jesus fucking Christ, is this where you were last night?” Her face is the picture of utter disbelief, mixed in with some glee for good measure, “You’re a fucking pussy, you know what?”

“What?”

“What? Ever since I fucking told you I was pregnant, you haven’t stopped, not once. It’s all ‘Oh, Amy, read this forum’ and ‘Oh, Amy, be careful’.”

She shakes her head, shoves the five books in her hands back over to him, forcing them into his chest. “I’m starting to think you’re actually excited.”

“You think I’d be acting like this if you were anybody else?”

“I don’t know, Dan. I don’t even know why you’re acting like this with me. It’s not like I’m going anywhere.”

He groans, readjusts the books so they’re all weighing in one arm, “Can’t you just be fuckin’ grateful and move on?”

“No.” Amy folds her arms over her chest, blinks once, twice, “No, because you’re being weird, and nice, and caring, and it’s fucking scary.”

He smirks then, shrugs his empty arm, “Maybe I’m just enjoying having some control over you.”

“Is that what you think this is? I let you be involved and suddenly I need you to take care of me, to watch me?” She fakes a shudder, starts to walk towards the exit. “You can’t control me, you idiot.”

“Maybe not. But it’s not like you can get rid of me, Ames.” He nods, pointedly, “It’s not like you want to.”

“I want to.”

“Fine, maybe you do. But the point is, is that now you can’t. I’m here, and I’m gonna be there, and I’m gonna be everywhere from now on. I’m gonna be right beside you whether you still want me to be or not. I’m gonna be standing right here, with you, even if you tell me to leave. Because you asked. Because you let me.”

Amy only stares up at him, all tense and heavy breaths, “You’re a fucking prick.”

“Yeah, well, you’re no picnic, sweetheart.” He informs her, one corner of his mouth turning upward, “And you chose this prick.”

“Believe me, I’ve never regretted anything more.”

“More than agreeing to move in with me?”

She doesn’t understand him. She doesn’t understand this him. And she doesn’t think she wants to.

Original Dan was already complex enough.

Asshole.

“Look, I’m gonna go pay, and then we can go. All right? Will you be happy then?” He’s talking to her as though she’s a child, and she really fucking hates it.

“I don’t think you could ever make me happy.”

“I don’t think it’s happiness you want, Amy. I think it’s comfort.”

He’s brushed past her, making his way towards the cashiers.

“Oh, and you’re gonna make me comfortable?”

The five - no, six - books slide across the counter and Dan is already pulling his card from his wallet, and Amy makes a note of avoiding looking at the picture hidden in a slot.

“I mean, it’s not gonna be a bed of roses or anything, but at least we like each other. At least we fuck pretty well.”

“So romantic.” She keeps her arms crossed, closed off, “Honestly, you’re such a fucking charmer.”

“I’m sorry, Amy, I don’t turn on the charm until the third month of dating. And we’re no there yet.”

“Trust me, it’ll be a miracle if you even survive long enough to turn it on. You have no charm. You’re just one of Satan’s little helpers dressed in a nice suit, with mediocre looks.”

The cashier has been watching them for a moment, amused, scanning the books as slowly as humanly possible, and Amy is peeved.

“Can you fucking hurry up? I’m gotta go home and slit my wrists.”

“Funny.” Dan glares, faking a smile over at the till girl. “My wife’s a little on edge.”

“Don’t you fucking dare-”

“You’d think being married to me would be comforting but, nope, she’s still just a raging bitch.”

“I swear to fuck-”

“A raging bitch with the sex drive of a retired pervert on viagra.” He can feel Amy glaring, fuming beside him, and Dan smirks wider, winks at the cashier girl, “Honestly, it’s just been fucking, and fucking, and I think she’s a little dick-crazy at this point. I mean fuck!” Dan exclaims, throwing up his hands, making a scene, watching as Amy squirms, “

The girl - no more than nineteen years old - just blinks, stares, and her cheeks flush as she chews at her bottom lip. “Okay.”

“D'you know what I mean? Of course you do, you’re fuckable.” He shrugs (with no charm, no suave).

“Would you like to sign up for our new newsletter? It’s, uh, aimed at expectant parents?”

“Yes!”

Slap him! Pull his fucking hair out, right now!

“No.”

He proceeds to give the young woman his email adress, and his phone number even though she doesn’t ask, and when his total is amounted, he pays in silence.

And, by the time they’ve left the store, by the time they’re back in her apartment, Amy is done.

She whacks his chest, beats fists against him, damn near tears his head from his shoulders. <(If she wasn’t so much shorter, she probably could have done it.)

“Can you calm the fuck down?”

“Can you die?”

Dan chuckles, tosses the heavy bag on the floor behind the door, slipping his coat for his shoulders when she’s finally stopped hitting him.

“Why are you here?”

“Because it’s late as fuck and I’m exhausted? Because you have a bed, a pretty fucking comfortable one I imagine?”

“No. No, no, no. If you’re sleeping here, you’re sleeping in here.” She points a finger down at the couch, “And I don’t have any extra pillows so you’re just gonna have to figure it out.”

“Are you fuckin’ serious?” He looks pissed, unimpressed as all hell, and Amy is fucking glowing.

She walks away then, brushing past his shoulder, heading down the small corridor to her bedroom.

Once her door has slammed shut, she makes a point of opening it again just to say, “Goodnight, douchebag.”

“Fuck you.”

He doesn’t sleep.

How the fuck is he supposed to get a good night’s rest on her sofa when it’s not even a fucking pullout?

And it seems she hasn’t slept much either because, when he gets up at three in the morning to take a leak, her bedroom door is open and she’s sat indian style on her bed, legs crossed, a book in her lap.

When the hell had she come into the living room and snatched one of those?

He goes for a piss first, carefully avoiding any floorboards that looks even remotely creaky. But then the water of the tap runs when he washes his hands, and on his walk back, she pulls him up.

“Did you know I have to gain weight?”

Dan leans in the doorway, one shoulder pressed into the wood, and he smiles (faintly), “Like that’s ever been a problem.”

“Fuck off, I’m being serious.” She looks at him (briefly, barely), and then she’s bag to reading, one hand running along her forehead. “There’s so much shit I don’t know.”

He’s really not in the mood for a heart-to-fucking-heart at three o'clock in the morning - or, well, ever - but she looks seriously unnerved and terrified, and he isn’t sure he likes it, likes watching her in pain.

Get a grip, Egan.

“Hey,”

He nears her then, walks closer until he’s at the foot of her bed, and Dan reaches a hand out to grab her leg, wrapping his palm around her ankle, “You’ll be fine.” He squeezes, and Amy holds her breath for a moment, lifting her gaze to meet his own.

“Easy for you to say, you don’t give a shit about anything.”

“That’s not true.” He frowns - for some strange reason - and he sits down beside her legs, hands still cradling her skin, still touching her smooth edges. “You know that’s not true.”

“No, I don’t. You don’t give a shit about your work, not really. You jump from one job to another and it barely even phases you. You’re a fucking snake. You shed your skin like one, anyway. I’m not like that. I don’t adjust… I can’t adjust to this.”

“Ames, come on.” He tries a smile (at least), but he’s only half-sincere because he’s sleep-deprived and also really fucking not in the mood for this kind of chitchat.

“And, let’s be honest, you don’t give a shit about your relationships either, I mean- Christ, do you even have friends or just people that you occasionally fuck or screw over?”

She sighs, heavily, and it’s so un-Amy that he hates the sound of her breath.

“Are you gonna give a crap about this kid?”

“Amy.”

“Seriously.” She nods, mostly to herself, and she plucks his hand off of her leg, holds his wrist between her fingers, “I’m not fucking around. Like, I get that you’re gonna be a dick, and I get that you’re all proud that your dick worked wonders, and I get that you think that you have some kind of weird ownership over me. I get it. I get that you’re a asshole, and there’s nothing I can do to change that.”

She lets go of him, almost as though something, as though his touch, burns her skin, “I fucking hate it, and I fucking hate you most of the time, but what I don’t get is why you’re acting like you give a shit?”

To his own surprise - or maybe it’s intentional - he crawls over the bed, all long limbs and crinkled shirt, and he knits dark brows with a sigh, and she hates the sound because it’s so unlike him.

“I’m not good at this kinda shit, Amy. You know that, probably better than anyone given no one else has ever stuck around long enough.” He almost sounds pained, pitiful , “I’m just- I don’t like not having you around.”

It’s honest, and probably the truest thing he’s ever said to her. But it’s not news.

She already knows how much he likes, enjoys her company. She already knows he likes having her around to keep him busy, on his toes. She already knows that he enjoys messing with her, using her.

“That’s not a reason.”

“What the fuck do you want me to say? Fuck.” Dan gulps, and she watches his throat, watches his façade crack, eyes wide.

He looks childlike, innocent, and it amuses her in some twisted way she isn’t sure she likes, “I’m not this fuckin’ guy, alright? But I’m trying.”

“Why the fuck are you trying?” Amy rasps, “I know you. I know you. I asked you for help. I asked the Dan Egan who calls me an uptight bitch at least once a day to help me. I didn’t ask for this… fucking… Ken doll?”

It’s bad, and she knows it.

Amy closes her eyes, close the book, “I want you to be an asshole, okay? I need you to be an asshole, because this is creeping me the fuck out. We’re not playing house.”

“I know.”

“Look, we fucked, and now we’re fucked. That’s all this is. I don’t want you to buy me dinners or show me off. I’m not a fucking prize. Take me off the fucking pregnancy pedestal. Stop giving a shit. We aren’t those people.”

“I do give a shit.”

“Then give less of a shit.” Amy shrugs, watches as he rolls his eyes, bites his bottom lip. “It’s not like I’m asking a lot of you.”

You have no idea.

He grabs her ankle again (in one hand), and rests his other hand on her knee, “Amy, I don’t give a shit about you.”

I give two shits. I give five shits. I give many shits.

Jesus fucking wept, I give all the shits.

“See?” She smirks, genuinely, and pats the hand on her knee, “There’s my asshole.” She tries to avoid letting her touch linger over his knuckles. But it’s hard, and he catches her fingers in his grasp before she can pull her hand away.

“Does this mean I can sleep with other people now?”

“No.”

“God, you’re a bitch.”

“Maybe try something other than ‘bitch’ now that I’m actually carrying your child?”

Dan’s face lightens up then, and he runs his hand up from her knuckles to her forearm, “Like a pet name?”

“No.”

“You mean you don’t want me to call you pumpkin?” He grins, and pearly whites and transparent charm, “Darling?”

“Fuck, no.”

She goes to pull her hand away - because, honestly, this is a whole lot more time than she’s usually willing to spend letting somebody touch her.

But he doesn’t let go, and she holds her breath until resignation sets it. When it does, she grabs the book on her legs and places it in his lap, randomly settling on a page to read. He lets her, doesn’t oppose.

“Sweetie? Sweetheart? Sweet thing?”

Please be joking.

“You could just call me by my name?”

“Brookheimer?” Dan grimaces, “Baby?”

“Seriously, I’m gonna puke on you if you don’t shut your mouth in the next five seconds.”

“How about I keep my mouth open, but I stop talking?”

He moves the baby book from his lap, watches as her eyes drift over the closed cover. “You can’t be serious.”

“You don’t even have to do anything, just lie there.” His hands fly around the air then, and he’s pulling on her legs again, lying her down flat on her back against the mattress, her head propped up by her pillows, “And, you know, enjoy it.”

“Can I fake it?” Amy squirms when he draws her t-shirt up her belly, scrunching the cloth up below her breasts, warm breath dancing along her stomach.

“No.”

He shakes his head, and she can feel his hair against her abdomen, feel his nose brush against her clothed pelvis, his hands slipping below the waistline of her pyjama shorts.

“Hurry the fuck up then. I’m gonna fall asleep soon.”

Dan laughs (short, cut off), and he wraps his hands around the curves of her waist instead of pulling her shorts down, “You fall asleep on me and I’ll fucking kill you.”

“Then you won’t get your fucked-up little mini-me.”

“True. Maybe I’ll just torture you a little bit.”

“Oh, and how exactly would you do that?”

“I have my ways.”

Amy’s eyes drift to a close when he starts kissing her stomach, from her chest to her navel, “Dan, you suck at foreplay. I doubt you could even get a horny nun wet.”

“Don’t underestimate me, Amy. You’ll live to regret it.”

She can feel his hand slip below the bottom of her shorts, pushing the crotch of her underwear aside to smooth his fingers along her slickness.

“Fine.”

It would have been fine if her phone hadn’t buzzed right at that moment, if Dan’s hadn’t done the same only seconds later.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

He’s up before she can even collect herself, phone pressed to his ear, talking shit down his end. It’s Ben, she figures, given Kent is calling her.

“What?”

She sounds aggravated, she knows, but honestly she has zero fucks left to give at this point. Just as she was getting into things-

“We’re gonna need you to come down to the office… right now. Selina is… how do you say… having a meltdown the size of Washington? State, not capital.”

Of fucking course.

Amy doesn’t think she’s ever gone into work looking so… tired?

Fuck, she looks and feels like hell but it’s not even four o'clock in the fucking morning so, really, who gives a flying fuck?

And Selina is wearing silky pyjama pants, for fuck’s sake.

“Ma'am?”

Her voice is low, and her phone is tight in her hand, Dan is right behind her (as per fucking usual).

“Amy! Yes.” Selina starts, walking over to the blonde, patting her on both shoulders, “I figured it out.”

“You figured what out, ma'am?”

“The perfect campaign strategy.”

Sure you did.

She can practically Dan think as much.

“You’re gonna marry Dan, and we’re gonna get Wendy - Mike whatever’s girlfriend - to write a nice little piece about the two of you, and how you’re coping with this… situation. Okay?”

Yeah, because Dan hasn’t already thought of that or anything.

Yeah, because Wendy would definitely write a little piece about two people working for the boss who fired her husband?

Sure.

“Ma'am, believe me I’ve already proposed-”

“Oh, mazel tov, then.” Ben shrugs, half-assed and careless from his seat on the conference room sofa.

His feet are propped up and he’s holding that giant mug as though it’s his golden ticket to the chocolate factory.

“No.” Amy trails off, disapproving frown evident on her face, “No. I’m not marrying him, and I’m not gonna do any fucking interviews. I’m sorry, but-”

“Amy, I have never doubted you.” Well, that’s some serious bullshit. “You have been my right hand woman since day fucking one and, right now, I need you to do this small,” Selina pinches two fingers, “small thing for me. Okay?”

Sweet fuck, send help.

“People like pregnant people. It’s not my fault you opted out of an abortion. Lord knows I would’ve fucking gotten rid of it because, let’s be honest, your baby daddy’s no prince but, hey, this is where we’re at.”

She holds up both hands innocently, palms facing Amy, and then she’s walking around the room, poking a finger at Kent’s shoulder.

“Give her some stats or something.”

He looks confused, or really rather just baffled, so Dan takes this moment to pipe up, rounding Amy’s side and clearing his throat.

“We could say that we’re engaged,” he starts off, all cunning and smart, and Amy wants to strangle him and his fucking ideas, “right? We get a ring, we get a place, we get a… crib and shit?” He spins around to face the blonde woman then, brows raised, face proud. “Yeah?”

That’s already kind of our plan, genius. It’s not like you weren’t already scanning through apartments earlier.

She breathes out deeply, feels the bones of her neck creak, muscles tightening with discomfort, “We could, theoretically.”

Selina seems intrigued, “And you’d be on board with this, Ame?”

“Can’t be any worse than actually marrying him, ma'am.” She mumbles through gritted teeth.

“Well, you’ve got a real fucking valid point there.” She agrees, clicking her tongue, squinting her eyes in Leon’s direction. “What do you think?”

Where the fuck- Who told him?

“I think if I wasn’t involved in this shit show, I’d be trying to uncover the truth behind the whole thing.”

Definitely a creeper.

“That’s a little dramatic, don’t you think?” Dan pulls a face, “It’s not like it’s a fucking assassination plot or anything.” He points out.

“Realistically, Dan, if word did get out that you were fake fucking then it would be an assassination, of character. Your candidate’s.”

Selina points a finger at him, stares at Amy with wide eyes, “He has a point.”

She scratches the side of her face, sniffles.

“You fuckers better, I don’t know, grope each other in public or some shit because I’m not having my campaign fall apart when people find out you’re not really together.”

Well, it’s not all fake… The fucking is real, at least.

“Ame? You’re gonna have to let him fondle your tit over a candlelit dinner or something, okay?” Selina eyes her, “Blow him in the back of an Uber if you have to, I don’t really care.”

This is just an abso-fucking-lute disaster.

“Sure thing, ma'am.”

“You,” she turns to face Dan, allows Amy the room to breathe and walk over to the water dispenser, “You need to buy a ring. Pronto, buddy.”

“Yeah,” Ben nods, head leaning over the arm of the sofa, eyes closed, “And Amy’s a nice girl, so she needs a big rock.” His adds in his casually monotone voice.

Dan rolls his eyes, stares off at a wall with a blank expression, “Right.”

“Don’t you sass me, Danny Boy.”

“Jesus Christ, do you wanna just pick the fuckin’ ring for me?”

“Boys!” Selina shouts, slamming her hands on the table, startling Gary (half-asleep, dreaming), “Can we not do this right now? I’d like to go home soon. Some of us are exhausted.”

Amy coughs at that, at the sheer hypocrisy of Selina’s comment.

“Well, some of us we’re otherwise preoccupied, but, whatever.” Dan retorts, pulling a pissed-off face, head tilting to the side. He regrets it as soon as Selina as focuses her attention on him.

“Really, Dan?” She glares over at him, raising a brow when he slips his hands in his pocket, walks closer to Amy, closer to the exit. “It’s the middle of the goddamn night and you’re worried about your fucking blue balls?”

Don’t.

“To be honest, it was more about giving than receiving.”

Please.

“Yeah, you know what? I figured you were a giver when Amy walked in here with her legs pressed so tightly together that it looked like she was trying to walk with something shoved up her snatch.”

Fuck.

“Go home. Fuck her. Fix her.” She waves a hand over at Amy, and the younger woman is seriously gonna burst any second. “Ame? If he doesn’t get you to come, you tell me and I’ll happily castrate him for you.”

Amy only hums in reply, picks up her abandoned purse from the table, and turns to face Dan with a serious look. He seems to get the gist because he reaches for his coat and leads the way out of the office.

“She’s insane.”

“She knew you were all hot and bothered, at least.”

“Is that really all you can think about?”

“You closing your legs so tight you’d practically be smothering my dick if it was up there?” Dan shrugs, presses the button to the elevator, “Not gonna lie, that’s pretty fuckin’ hot.”

“I’m not doing that.”

“We’ll see.”

[tuellertrails]

Sunday, June 6 2021

This is an Adventure!

It’s been several weeks since my last blog post, and a lot has happened in that time! It’s exciting to see our progress and the miles that we have walked so far. At this point we are 652 miles into our journey, only 50 miles until we enter the Sierra Nevada Mountains and leave the desert behind. We’ve slowly built up our endurance and become stronger and stronger, able to complete over 20 miles per day on average over the past two weeks, minus a few days of extreme heat where our mileage was less. But no one wants to hear about that! As hikers, our conversations seem to revolve around how many miles we plan to go, what the weather is doing, the difficulty of the terrain, where the next water source is, and what kind of food we’re eating. To regular people, this must seem quite boring! To us, it’s as normal as talking about football around the water cooler with coworkers (or in Landon’s case, talking about Columnar Basalt for 10 minutes with other hikers around the pool).

Despite hiking longer days and doing higher miles, we always seem to be stiff and sore! Especially after waking up in the morning. A few weeks ago, we met another hiker couple who actually met hiking the Appalachian Trail a few years ago and ended up dating on trail and then got married earlier this year. Having done a thru hike before, they told us that this is normal! That we will still feel aches and pains throughout the trail, but we will do so having done more miles and harder terrain as we progress. I have found this to be true! It truly is very rare to wake up and feel excellent. Generally, every day feels rather tough to get moving, and we are very tired when we finally do stop hiking. Our physical and mental fortitude continues to be tested day after day, especially in this last 100 miles of hiking.

Leaving Tehachapi, we entered a heat wave in a rather barren and exposed section of trail. I think of all my time on the PCT thus far, this past week tested me the most. Hiking in 90 plus degree heat climbing up hot, sandy slopes with the blaring sun overhead was one of the hardest physical and mental things I have ever done. We pushed ourselves to either wake up incredibly early (around 4 AM) or hike in the dark in the coolness of the descending sun (until 10 and 11 pm). In the hottest part of the day, we would try to find some shade (not easily found sometimes) and take a rest for several hours. Not even the rest came easily though, as the shade proved to be little relief from the sun, and it was too uncomfortable to sleep much. Water sources were few and far between as well, about 20 miles away from each other (and only that close together due to the kindness of trail angels who maintain water caches for the hikers). We would sit at the water caches and drink several liters of electrolytes to “camel up” before heading out again, carrying 5-6 liters apiece (and sometimes still not having enough). The water weighs your pack down quite a lot, but we have discovered that we prefer to hiker with heavy packs than run out of water. This was another reason for our midday rests, we simply did not have enough water to hike in the extreme heat (nor did it prove to be very efficient). You tend to have to ration your water to a certain extent. Landon and I would set up our tent at night, and have conversations like “if we use 500 ml to make dinner, we can drink 500 ml of electrolytes and that will leave us 1 Liter apiece for the next 7 miles to the next water source. If we wake up at 4, we should be able to make it there with that amount of water before it gets too hot.” Logistics and planning are incredibly important out here. I cannot imagine how much more difficult it would have been to hike the PCT pre internet, pre Guthooks (the amazing app we use that has our maps, shows our water sources, etc). I’m so grateful for modern resources to help us plan our days safely out here!

To those of you like my good friend Tayler, who consistently tells me that I do a poor job convincing her that anyone should ever do this, let me talk a little bit about how incredible this experience is despite the hardships. First of all, the community on the PCT is wonderful. I joke that being on trail is a lot like being back in high school with your friends. You’re all sharing very similar experiences that bond you in a way that only other hikers can completely understand! My best example of this was earlier this week, when we set up a tarp at one of the water caches with our friend Jim. Jim is a lovely person, so friendly and fun to talk to. He is also the dirtiest hiker I have ever seen. He sleeps in the same clothes he hikes in and consistently has thick dirt absolutely caked to his legs. As such, I gave him the trail name Dirtcake, which he seems to have accepted (you can accept or reject a suggested trail name). As we lay under the tarp in our makeshift shade, the temperature being clocked in at 99 degrees by Landon’s fancy watch hanging from his trekking pole, we all laughed as we talked about how miserable and absurd this moment was! The wind was blowing fine grains of sand into us, which clung to our sweaty bodies. I looked down at Jim to see clumps of dirt not only clinging to his legs, but also to his chest hair and speckled across his face as he took a feverish nap. As we drank our hot Propel Watermelon water, we all laughed because this is our life right now, and there is no way around it, only through it, but at least we’re going through it together. At least in these less than ideal circumstances, we can talk and laugh and tell stories and experience life in a way that few people ever do. We can reminisce about having awakened to a beautiful morning in a pine forest just that morning, having filtered cool, clear mountain spring water, and that stark contrast that a few miles and 1500 feet of elevation descent can make. We can tell stories about the worst jobs we ever had and laugh about so and so’s crazy manager, or that one Karen customer that threw a fit that one time 10 minutes before the end of a shift (or about how Jim used to eat leftover food from customers at his high school food service job. He was truly meant for the hiker trash life!) It’s the contrast between these experiences that make little luxuries feel so much sweeter and more appreciated than I ever would have been able to know in my rather comfortable pre trail life.

Our 3 hours of tarp hell, suffered together at least.

Here are some things that I am immensely grateful for currently

- The hospitality of friends and strangers. We stayed for free with two friends in Tehachapi, Mitzy and Kristy, both of whom opened their homes to us to rest, shower, watch movies, soak in a hot tub, enjoy a meal, etc. We’ve also had complete strangers show us great kindness! Two wonderful women gave us a ride from Walker Pass into town yesterday, offering us charging cables for our phones, air conditioning, food in the car, and lovely conversation and company. Even the women running the motel we are currently staying in have been exceptional. They allowed us to do our laundry in their motel washer and dryer, fed us snacks poolside, gave us a discount and opened up an extra room (that is normally withheld) because all the rooms in town were booked. If you are ever in Kernville, CA, please check out Piazzas Pine Cone Inn, it’s an absolute oasis! And I would be remiss to not mention the trail angels who maintain the water caches in the desert. These people spend their own time and money (though we always donate if they have a donation box) to buy and transport water jugs back and forth to these remote dirt roads in the desert, just to help out PCT hikers that they don’t know and have never met. Isn’t that the kindest and most incredible act of service?

Being on trail with these other hikers, the most interesting and dynamic people, surrounded by the beauty of the natural world, is the best cure for cynicism and and upsetting news stories and angry political internet arguments. We’re all working toward a similar goal, supporting each other’s journeys, commiserating and laughing together, learning and growing and hurting and hiking. It’s so hard but it’s so wonderful. A couple of weeks ago, my mom made a comment to me that I couldn’t help but laugh at. She said “You know that you could take all of the money that you saved up for this hike, and just go spend a month or two on the beach in Aruba instead, right?” Ha! Yes Mom, I know. We could do that, and it would be much, much easier. A section hiker named Prospector gave us a button that says “This is an adventure.” And no one remembers vacations the same way that they remember adventures!

So as I sit writing this in the soft and very appreciated bed of our small town motel room, I can’t help but feel extremely happy. I know that in a few hours, I will leave the comfort and air conditioning and replace my heavy pack on my sore shoulders. I’ll put on my extremely worn out shoes that will surely leave my feet sore and give me some new blister or two in the coming days (unfortunately my new shoes never arrived due to a shipping mishap, and I’ve had to wear these about 200 miles past their ‘best use by’ date). I’ll sweat through my clothes and collapse from exhaustion and curse the day I ever decided to hike the PCT. But this is an adventure! You can’t ever lose sight of that. And we’re already 650 miles into this adventure! 25% of the way through! I’m so proud of that. Only 50 miles from the Sierra Nevada’s! Where we will enter a while new set of beauty and challenges, embracing it full on, grateful to leave the desert behind.

Here is my Mantra for the PCT, taken from one of my favorite books (recently read in my pre trail book club) The Book of Longings by Sue Monk Kidd


"Then I would rise, my legs snarled with cramps, my stomach panged with hunger, blisters on my heels—oh, but the world was large and mysterious and I was far from home, journeying with my beloved."

Thanks for reading, see you up the trail!

- Joscelyn

P.S. - I finally got my trail name! I am now AC/DC, which actually has nothing to do with any love of the band or 80s music (though I can get down to Highway to Hell as much as the next person). I was named by another hiker named Southern Hospitality, who gave it to me after hearing me blow up my pad with a miniature air pump that I have carried for the entire trail. As an ultralight hiker, he found it absolutely ridiculous and incredibly funny that I have chosen to carry this. It takes 45 breaths to blow up my pad! I hate it. The air pump is the best luxury and absolutely worth the 3 ounces. Landon’s trail name is Outlast, which he received several hundred miles ago actually. We were sitting in a shelter at a wind farm outside of Palm Springs, waiting out the heat of the day with some other hikers. Someone mentioned that the shelter seemed like a hut that would be built in the Reality TV show Survivor, and Landon told them that he had watched all 40 seasons of Survivor over the course of the pandemic. We spent the next 15 minutes talking about Survivor strategy, with Landon giving his expert tips as a student of the show. Our friend Tidbits told him that he needed a Survivor trail name, and so he was given the name Outlast (Survivors motto is Outwit, Outplay, Outlast). It also seems fitting because you truly have to Outlast the difficulty to be a successful thru hiker!