#4th of july bad. hot take of the century i know

[0vergrowngraveyard]

4th of july is such sensory hell i hate it. people talking, the dog barking, fireworks going off, extremely faint music playing. im so overwhelmed im going to lose it

[elliyoyo]

Happy Century, Captain (Steve Rogers/Reader)

It’s Steve’s 100th birthday and I couldn’t not write something for it! This is posted so late, but I’ve just been so demotivated lately. I’m sorry for the hiatus and I’m sorry for how short and bad this fit is. However, I put all of my exhausted, 4th of July effort into it, so I hope you enjoy!

Also, this is a kind of sequel to Getting Lost In The Mall from my 12 Days Of Christmas Challenge! Not a necessary read to understand this, but it’s the reader buying an important part of this.

Words: 1462

Warnings: Swearing, surprises, Steve being an oldie, nudity, and some sexual references (but no doing the diddly)

“Steve, wake up, babe… I’ve got a surprise for you,” you whisper, nudging your boyfriend for the third time this beautiful morning. And for the third time this beautiful morning, he groans and buries his face even deeper into his pillow. “You can’t keep avoiding getting up. I know it’s your birthday, but you need to roll out of bed sometime.”

“No. I don’t hav’ta.” He wraps an arm around you and pulls you closer, now putting his face in your shoulder. “Jus’ a few more minutes? Please (Y/N)?”

“…I would give you that pleasure, but you’ve been begging for a few more minutes since 10:30 and it’s almost noon.”

His head shoots up and he almost shouts, “It’s almost noon?! What?!” He pushes himself up and into a sitting position, holding his head to try and combat the spinning in his head.

“Woah, hey, cool it! It’s fine, I don’t mind us spending the day in bed, I just had a little present I wanted to give you.” You sit up next to him and kiss his cheek, trying to get him to stay sitting on the bed so you can tell everyone he’s up.

“But we just slept half the day away,” he whines, peering over at the clock sitting on the bedside table.

“Okay, okay, how about this— you get in the shower and get ready while I make us both some breakfast?”

“Yeah, okay. I’ll only be like 10 minutes, I promise.” He kisses your cheek, then your temple, then your cheek again, and finally plants a longer kiss on your lips. You can’t help but smile and kiss back, but as soon as you had started to, he pulled away to head into the bathroom. After the door closes and you hear the water turn on, you run out of the room and down to the main room.

Everyone sees you run in and their full attention is immediately drawn to you. You end the silence in the room with, “He’s showering, so he’ll be out, dressed, and down here in a max of 8 minutes now.”

“Nat,” Clint says. “Let’s get the cake from the fridge.” Natasha nods, following him as he jogs to the kitchen, knowing it was a pretty big cake. You catch the remote Tony throws at you to control the windows and lights for when you come in.

“Alright, Vision, can you make sure that when (Y/N) presses that button, the banners come down?”

“Of course, Mr. Stark. Would you also like the confetti to fall?”

“Oh shit, yeah, I didn’t even think about that. Just have everything kick in when they press it,” he says with a shrug. Natasha and Clint come back with the cake, so Tony runs over to help them set it down gently and light the candles on top of it.

You were going to go with 100 small candles, but you didn’t think the fire department would appreciate their sixth call this year being on Independence Day. Or their sixth call happening at all. So, to save them and the whole team the trouble of putting out a burning tower, you settled for five candles. A “1”, two “0”s, and two stars (one red and one blue) to show a little patriotism as well. You put the candles into the cake and gave everyone a thumbs up.

“I’ll clear my throat, then five seconds after, I’ll press the button and we all say happy birthday, okay?”

“Got it!”

“Yep!”

“Wait, like, on five? Or after five? I want to be exa—”

“Loki. It doesn’t matter. Anywhere around five is fine, just not before it.” You roll your eyes at the cheeky grin on the trickster’s face and quickly head back up to your bedroom to get Steve down to the main room.

You knock on the door a few times and call, “Steve? You decent?”

“I’m always more than decent, (Y/N), c’mon.” He laughs a few times, the noise bringing a smile to your face. What brings a bit more than a smile is the fact that he is not decent at all. He’s only got a towel loosely hanging onto his waist, seemingly about to come off at any slight movement.

“...Steven Grant Rogers, I know it’s your 36500th day on Earth, but do you want it to be my last? You’re too hot to be doin’ this shit to me!” You go up to him and wrap your arms around him, pressing a few kisses down his back and shoulder.

“Mm, maybe we should stay in bed,” he suggests, turning around to face you. His towel drops even further down his hips and you have to put an honest effort into staying standing and not looking down.

“Baby, I-I already made breakfast, we can’t.” Your words say one things, but your arms wrapping around his neck say another. You pull him down into a small, short kiss, but lean back to talk some more. “I put so much work into it! The pancakes are your shield and the hashbrowns are little stars! We can’t just let it sit unappreciated.”

He pauses for a moment, pressing a few mindless kisses to your neck, but slowly sighs and turns back around. His towel drops completely and he walks to grab a pair of underwear and some pants from his dresser. He throws his clothes on quickly, getting one more kiss on your lips in before tossing his shirt over his head.

“Okay, I’m ready. Let’s go grab us some delicious Captain American cuisine,” he jokes, his arm slipping to your waist. You keep one hand tucked in the back pocket of his jeans and the other gripping the remote for the lights.

“Alright, to the kitchen!” You step out of your room, nudging the door closed. You two make your way down the hallway to the main room, where you clear your throat a few times to get your point across.

“You okay, (Y/N)? Do you need some water?”

“No, I’m fine, Steve. But uh… you might get a little taste of cardiac arrest after this,” you mumble, slipping out of his arms and into the darkness. You press the button and throw your arms up while the lights turn on and the banners saying HAPPY BIRTHDAY CAPTAIN, HAPPY CENTURY, and AN OLDIE BUT A GOODIE (the last one courtesy of Tony).

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY!” The entire team cheers and shouts, some jumping up and down, some blowing noise makers, and Bucky simply walking over to give him a big hug with a smile plastered on his face.

“...You guys… Wait, babe, you were in on this?” At his surprise, you smile sheepishly and clear your throat again, this time out of embarrassment.

“Yeah… I hope the cake makes up for the fact that I didn’t make the pancakes or the hashbrowns.” At the mention of the cake, he looks over at it and smiles at the messy icing, obviously hand done by the team with love and no prior experience. There’s a small cartoonish drawing of him is icing with the words Happy 100th, Steve! Here’s to another 100!. He tears up slightly and has to take a moment to recollect himself.

“This is perfect. So perfect. Thank you so much, you guys.”

Everyone cheers again. Now some people have drinks and some have wrapped presents in their hands. Before anyone can get too reckless, you feel your back pocket, making sure the present was still there. He’s turned the other way so you decide it’s finally time. After months of waiting, you’re finally going to do it. You give everyone “the look” and quiet them down.

“I know it isn’t time for presents, but uh… Steve?” You take the small, shittily wrapped box out of your pocket and give it to him. “Open your first present.”

He gives you a confused look, but starts tearing apart the wrapping paper regardless. He gives the small velvet box a look with eyebrows drawn together and an open mouth, but his expression turns to shocked as you take it and get down on one knee.

“I know you’re supposed to be doing this. You probably dreamed of getting down on one knee forever before the whole being frozen thing, but here I am. Now, on your 100th birthday, you cradle robber, you…” Everyone laughs at that, giving you a comedic moment to pause and let the tears flow freely. “Steven Grant Rogers, will you marry me?”

The room is dead silent for a solid fifteen seconds, but after that you hear a loud, choking sob along with the words you’ve been dying to hear since you laid your eyes on him.

“Yes, I will marry you, (Y/N). Absolutely.”

[jxpper]

Baby, You’re a Firework

Stories From Summer - Part Nine

WC: 2k

Ao3

Summary: While Jim feels down on his luck, Joyce decides to try to get his spirits up by taking him to see 4th of July fireworks. But maybe the stops along the way are what count the most.

A/N Sorry if this is cliche af.. I had a hard time with this lmao. 

For Joyce Byers and her clan of excited kids; plus one tired Police Chief, Fourth of July had gone off without a hitch. Honestly, the mother didn't know how she had possibly managed to take hold of one of the busiest holidays with six kids, three teens, and Hopper, but she pulled it off pretty damn well.

Every year, one of the party member's parents decided to host for their children's Fourth of July party... this year Joyce got lucky and ended up with all of the kids. It wasn't a problem really, but she did feel overwhelmed with Steve, Nancy, Jane and Max as new additions. Instead of just the four boys, this year it was a fourth of the Hawkins population she had under her wing.

Joyce was extra thankful this year because Hopper had offered to help host the party at his old trailer. She accepted the offer before the words were done leaving his lips and sealed it with a grateful kiss.  There was a bathroom, a lake, and plenty more room than what she could offer.

The entire day really couldn't have gone better. The kids spent almost the entire time swimming in the lake, playing games, or just running around screaming. Truthfully, it had warmed Joyce's heart to see everybody she loved having the times of their lives. No tears, no monsters, just pure happiness surrounding everybody.

By the time ten at night rolled around, all of the hot dogs and hamburgers had been eaten, everybody had tan-lines and sunburn, and the nine kids were back at the dock awaiting the fireworks.

"Are you sure we shouldn't take them to the park? The whole town is there to watch the fireworks." Hop asked as he lit a cigarette and passed it to Joyce. They had decided to stay back on the trailer porch, cuddled up in a blanket while everybody was down by the lake.

"No, Will said that they were sure they could see the fireworks from here." Joyce smiled as she curled her head closer into the crook of his neck. "Anyways, I'm not sure we could pry them away from the water." she laughed.

The cracking boom in the sky startled Joyce before she saw the red and yellow sparks decorating the sky. Without a word being exchanged, Hopper tightened his grip around her body, attempting to relax her from the noise.

"Hop," Joyce whispered under the loud crack of another firework.

"Yeah, Joy?" he replied, pressing a small kiss to her temple.

"Do you remember the first time we watched fireworks together?" she grinned as she thought back to one of her happiest memories of the two of them.

Jim poked his tongue at his cheek, trying to bite back a smile. "'Course I do. July 4th, 1956. And we weren't really watching them as much as we were laughing through them."

July 4th, 1956

Jim looked up from his book as he heard a familiar pattern of footsteps rushing up the stairs. He could always tell it was his best friend from the sound of her feet skipping every other step.  Before he could even blink, fifteen-year-old Joyce Horowitz burst into his room with a smile plastered on her face. "Jimbo! Get up!" she shouted excitedly, brushing the excess hair from her pony-tail out of her face.

"You really don't know how to knock, do you?" Hop groaned, closing his book and sitting up on his bed to face her. Ever since they were 5 years old, her manners lacked. At least when she was around him they did. Maybe that was just one of the perks of a comfortable friendship... or maybe she just didn't care.

"Nope!" Joyce replied as she plopped down on the end of his bed. "Why didn't you show up at the park? The whole town is down there getting ready for the firework show and we're gonna miss it," she complained as she looked around his bedroom, staring at his rock band posters.

"Jo, you know I can't leave. Mom is getting worse and.." Jim couldn't even think of finishing that sentence, but Joyce knew where he was going. Hopper's mother had fallen ill around Christmas with breast cancer and as she was nearing the end of her expectancy, he had begun feeling guilty whenever he left her side.

"Hop, your dad said he wants you to go watch the show with me. He's downstairs right now with your mom and she's eating dinner. If anything, that's a good sign. You know she's gonna want you to go and enjoy yourself, so come with me... please." In all honesty, Joyce was more worried about Hop than she was worried about his Mom. Her best friend had barely left the house since school ended and he seemed to be growing depressed. Ever since they were kids he had been just as fun-loving as she was, but that persona was quickly disappearing.

Jim hesitated for a few moments, trying to decide whether to go with his heart of his head. Before he could answer, Joyce jumped up and pulled on his arm. "Please Jimmy, pleeeeeaaaasseee!"

"Alright! Just don't do that!" he chuckled lightly, finally pulling himself out of bed to follow her out of his room, and of course, skipping every step on the staircase just like she did. As they ran through the house and out the front door, Hopper's eyes widened as he saw Mr. Horowitz' Oldsmobile parked in his driveway. "You drove here? You're only 15, Joyce!"

"Yeah, are you gonna stand there all night stating facts or are you gonna get your ass in the shotgun?" she laughed, jumping in through the open window and shoving the key in the ignition. "Goodness gracious, great balls of fire!" Joyce sang along with the radio as she turned up the volume and sped away.

After a five-minute drive full of Joyce's glorious lipsyncing, she and Hopper pulled into the parking lot of the Hawkins High School football field.

"What are we doing here, Joyce? I thought we were going to the park." Hop questioned as they stepped out of the car. She dragged him out of the house for a firework show, not a short game with the pigskin.

"Nah, we're just stopping here for a minute," she replied, trailing towards the fence of the field. "Help me up over the fence, I wanna show you something." With a hesitant sigh, Jim lifted the smaller teen up and hoisted her over the metal gate. If she was gonna put him through this, she better have at least one bottle of liquor.

"Do you remember what happened on this field, Hop?" Joyce walked backward, keeping her eyes set on him as she smiled. "You scored your very first touchdown on this field. I remember it like it was yesterday. Hawkins J.V. vs. Loch Nora, we were so close but we were still five points away and Loch hadn't lost a game all season."

Jim gave her a bashful smile, biting the inside of his cheek as he thought back to that day.

"With just a few seconds left it seemed like all hope was lost but there comes Jimmy Hopper, barreling down the field. Coach Stevens didn't think you could do it but you ran in like a knight in shining armor with that football in your hands and you scored in the last second. Your first touchdown, Hop! Right here. Every single soul on the bleachers nearly crapped their pants and the whole team had you on top of their shoulders!"

Right as Joyce finished her lecture, pink and green lights lit up the sky over top of them; only adding more dramatics to her story. "See! Even the sky is clapping for you!" she shouted, almost doubling over laughing as Jim finally broke out into a full-fledged smile.

"What are you doing this for, Joycie?" he grinned, putting his hands in his jacket pockets as he walked closer to her.

"You're lost, Hop. I'm gonna help you find yourself by reminding you of what made you who you are." Joyce smiled softly, grabbing his arm and running back to the car as golden fireworks cracked over them. Climbing back over the fence and walking back to the parking lot, Joyce started the car and began driving towards the Hawkins Elementary school.

Pulling into the round-about drop-off, Joyce parked the car and turned towards Hopper ."Remember what happened here?" she smiled, putting a cigarette between her lips and lighting it up.

"Enlighten me."

"Kindergarten, Mrs. Tanner's class. Ten years ago I marched in with my Mary Jane's and plaid stockings. I looked around the room and I found you sitting in the back of the class while you were coloring." Joyce raised her eyebrows, hoping he was following her story.

"You walked up to me, poked me in the shoulder and said 'I'm Joyce and you're my new friend, okay?' and I was fine with that." Hop belted out a laugh as he took the cigarette from her.

"You had no choice, from that moment on you were stuck with me." she smiled along with him, hoping her point was starting to break through to him. It was the first time she had seen Hop laugh within months and it was like music to her ears. Watching her best friend wither away had almost brought her down with him.

"I guess it isn't so bad." he started. "I mean, you and Benny are the only real friends who have stuck with me this far. I'm really thankful for that, Joy." the mood in the car went from hilarious to deep within a second. Joyce could see in the lines of his smile that he really meant it. Breaking the moment almost instantly, a red white and blue firework lit up the sky above them, the boom filling up the gaps of silence.

Next was the hospital. Driving past Hawkins Memorial, Joyce looked at him and felt a smile creeping on to her face. "Here is where it all started. For 10 years I've listened to your mother continuously tell the story of your birthday."

"And Jimmy, don't get me started on Jimmy. 18 hours in labor with him just to have him come out lookin' like his father!" The two of them recited in unison, mocking Joanne Hopper's favorite line of the century. While they both nearly fell over from each other's impression, three more bright and booming fireworks rained over the sky.

The more they drove and the more memories they were reminded of, the louder and more intense the fireworks became. As if they were matching each of Jim's renewing smiles, the firecrackers sounded as if they were cheering him on.

They drove around town for who knows how long, telling the stories of everything that shaped Jim Hopper into who he was. From his first broken arm at the skate park to the first time he ever kicked Lonnie Byers ass behind Bradley's Big Buy. Joyce's personal favorite was the lake that Jim had caught his first Largemouth Bass in. He and his dad entered a Father-Son competition and he had almost won with a 26-inch fish... until the damn thing flopped off the line and pulled him into the lake with it. Joyce couldn't stop laughing whenever that story came to mind. By the end of the night, they both had stomach aches from the laughter and the sky had filled with colorful fireworks with each story told.

Finally finishing their route, Joyce pulled into the busy park. Hundreds of people stood around in the dark as the lights danced in the sky, earning oohs and ahhs from handfuls of children watching.

Before she reached to open the car door, Hop's hand reached out and touched her shoulder. "Joyce." he looked at her intently, searching in her eyes for the right words to say.

"Yeah, Hop?" she whispered, hearing her heartbeat thudding in her ears.

Just as the firework's grand finale began, Jim gently pressed his lips to hers. As if all the sounds of cracking booms disappeared, Joyce could only hear pure silence as she leaned into his kiss.

Pulling away breathlessly, the two of them looked at one another with a mixed expression of shock and happiness.

"Thank you, for everything."

_____

Still curled up with Joyce, watching the kids play in the lake as the fireworks began to end, Hopper looked down and smiled at her. Leaning over, he gently placed a chaste kiss on her forehead.

"You reminded me of who I was that night and you helped pull me out of an abyss I had been stuck in. Thank you, for everything."

Tagging my SFS buddies

@freshxbloom @strange-thangs @maplestreet83 @martiegalwrites @she-who-the-river-could-not-hold @janeswheeler @cstlebyrs @formerlyjannafaye @michael-hearteyes-wheeler @jane-el-hopper @themikewheelers @elizabthturner @the-proud-princess @itcouldbendoritcouldbreak @scottsclarke @the-most-beautiful-broom @hannahberrie @dancingskygreen @mileven-and-contemplation @mikeswheeler @moodyandmoonyeyed @earlgreyteagirl @janehopperseggos @stevemossington @thezoomermax @bubblynancy @writer-lia @partwayhappy (sorry if i forgot anyone)

[frogsagainandagain]

favorite lyric from every fob song

i’m so sorry this is so long please skip this is mainly for me to be able to reference

*songs with incredible lyrics throughout that it was extra hard to choose one or two

honorable mention:  and maybe next time/i’ll remember not to tell you something stupid like I’ll never leave your side

calm before the storm:  you said, between your smiles and regrets: “don’t say it’s over.”

switchblades and infidelity:  walking out on the show is walking out on you/and walking out on you’s still the best thing that I ever did.

pretty in punk:  well I’ve seen your boyfriend/and i don’t think he treats you right/but that’s none of my business is it?

growing up*:  i’ve dried my eyes, now it’s “rushmore”/i’m deep with futures like chicago/no, glenview never meant a thing to me/she never meant a thing to me

the world’s not waiting (for five tired boys in a broken down van):  we’re all “hasbeens” and “never-were’s”

short, fast and loud: good god i wish i was tall

moving pictures:  where can I go when I want you around/but I can’t stand to be around you

parker lewis can’t lose (but i’m gonna give it my best shot): in the meantime just talking with my shoes/converse with my converse

tell that mick:  stop burning bridges and drive off of them

dead on arrival:  i know I’m not your favorite record/but the songs you grow to like never stick at first

grand theft autumn: you need him/i could be him

saturday:  and i read about the afterlife/but I never really lived

homesick at space camp:  landing on a runway in chicago and I’m grounding all my dreams/of ever really seeing california

sending postcards:  when you go i will forget everything about you

chicago is so two years ago*:  she took me down and said:/“boys like you are overrated. so save your breath."          bonus:  with every breath i wish your body will be broken again

the pros and cons of breathing:  i want to hate you half as much as i hate myself

grenade jumper:  living like life’s going out of style.

reinventing the wheel:  i can’t wake up to these reminders of who i am:/a failure at everything… 18 going on extinct.

patron saint*:  and when it all goes to hell/and when it all goes.

my heart is the worst kind of weapon:  we are salt - you are the wound

it’s not a side effect:  and think of all the places/where you’ve been lost/and then found…out/in between my sheets/in between the rights and the wrongs

our lawyer:  we’re only good cause you can have almost famous friends

gin joints:  i used to waste my time dreaming of being alive (now i only waste it dreaming of you)

dance, dance: joe trohman is lame

sugar:  isn’t it messed up how i’m just dying to be him?

nobody puts baby in the corner: you look so good in blue

dark alley: joke me something awful just like kisses on the necks of "best friends”

atavan halen:  i’ll be stuck fixated on one star/when the world is crashing down

sophomore slump*:  cause i swear i’d burn this city down to show you the light

champagne:  they say, “you want a war? you’ve got a war.”/but who are you fighting for?

i slept with:  douse yourself in cheap perfume it’s/so fitting, so fitting of the way you are

sixteen candles*:  she said, she said, she said, “why don’t you just drop dead?"       bonus:  so say what are you waiting for?/kiss her, kiss her

get busy*:  i used to obsess over living,/now I only obsess over you

XO:  to the "love”, i left my conscience pressed/between the pages of the bible in the drawer

snitches and walkers:  show me a starry-eyed kid/i will break his jaw

the music or the misery*:  it’s true romance is dead, i shot it in the chest then in the head.      bonus:   and if you wanna go down in history then i’m your prince      bonus bonus:  i went to sleep a poet, and i woke up a fraud

thriller:  i can take your problems away with a nod and a wave/of my hand, ‘cause that’s just the kind of boy that i am

take over, breaks over:  don’t pretend you ever forgot about me.

arms race:  i wrote the gospel on giving up/(you look pretty sinking)

me & you:  the best way/to make it through/with hearts and wrists intact/is to realize/two out of three ain’t bad/ain’t bad

hum hallelujah*:  i thought I loved you/it was just how you looked in the light.

golden:  and i knew that the lights of the city were too heavy for me

thnks fr th mmrs:  get me out of my mind and get you out of those clothes

don’t you know:  i could learn to pity fools as I’m the worst of all/and i can’t stop feeling sorry for myself

the after life of the party:  put love on hold,/young hollywood is on the other line

tunnel of love:  got postcards from my former selves saying: “how’ve you been?”

doldrums:  you’re wrong/are we all wrong?

fame > infamy:  “there’s too much green to feel blue”

you’re crashing*:  the headline reads “the man hangs”, but the jury doesn't                bonus:  baby boy can’t lift his headache head

ringing in my ears: new york eyes, chicago thighs

ginasfs:  threw caution to the wind,/but i’ve got a lousy arm

hard to say:  but don’t get the wrong idea/we’re gonna shoot you

lullabye:  when you wake up the world will come around

disloyal order*:  what a match, i’m half doomed and you’re semi-sweet        bonus: boycott love/ detox just to retox 

i don’t care:  say my name and his in the same breath/i dare you to say they taste the same

winona:  bop bop ba dop

america’s suitehearts: why won’t the world revolve around me?

headfirst slide:  i don’t just want to be a footnote in someone else’s happiness

(shipped) gold standard:  plant palm trees on lake michigan before it gets cold/i gotta feel the wind chill again before i get old

(coffee’s for closers)*: i will never believe in anything again/though change will come

donnie: i’m the one/who charmed the one/who gave up on you

27:  you’re a bottled star/the planets align/you’re just like mars/you shine in the sky

tiffany blews: dear gravity, you held me down in this starless city

wams*:  what makes you so special?/i’m gonna leave you/i’m gonna teach you/how we’re all alone

nosebleed:  goes to the desert the same war his dad rehearsed/came back with flags on coffins and said,/”we won, oh we won.“

west coast smoker:  got my degree in the gutter,/my heart broken in the dorms of the ivy league

pavlove:  i want to make you as lonely as me/so you can get, get addicted to this

the phoenix:  wearing our vintage misery/no, i think it looked a little better on me

light em up:  a constellation of tears on your lashes/burn everything you love, then burn the ashes

alone together:  but i don’t think i’m coming home and i said/i’ll check in tomorrow if i don’t wake up dead

where did the party go:  my old aches become new again/my old friends become exes again

just one yesterday:  letting people down is my thing, baby/find yourself a new gig/this town ain’t big enough for two of us

the mighty fall:  two’s a whole lot lonelier than one

miss missing you*:  baby, you were my picket fence           bonus:  i will sing to you every day/if it will take away the pain

death valley:  undress to impress/you can wear the crown but you’re no princess 

young volcanoes:  come on make it easy/say i never mattered  (basic ik)

rat a tat*:  i’m the lonelier version of you/i just don’t know where it went wrong \

srar:  how’d it get to be only me?/like i’m the last damn kid still kicking/that still believes 

the king is dead:  the may never think and wonder why, dear christ/every time i see you i just want to paint the walls white

art of keeping up disappearances: erase the conclusion/but never meant to clear up/any of the confusion

hot to the touch:  if it’s never been broken/can’t believe in it/now you’re just a problem/for someone else to fix

love, sex, death:  but out of every pretty pretty miscalculation/you have got to be my all-time favorite

eternal summer:  i can’t do this again/i need more oxygen

demigods:  what if we were demigods?/they’d take to our knees/raging at the half of our sins

american made:  when i was younger i couldn’t wait for the days to pass/now i know they’ll never last/and i just want my childhood back

caffeine cold:  don’t breathe life into a monster then/complain when he destroys it all again

irresistible:  too many war wounds and not enough wars/too few rounds in the ring and not enough settled scores/too many sharks, not enough blood in the waves

ab/ap:  i think i. i fell in love again/maybe i just took too much cough medicine

centuries: heavy metal broke my heart       bonus: we are the poisoned youth

the kids aren’t alright*:  and i still feel that rush in my veins./it twists my head just a bit too thin./all those people in those old photographs I’ve seen are dead.

uma thurman: the end of the fucking song

jet pack blues*:  did you ever love her? do you know?/or did you never want to be alone?

novocaine:  if you knew, knew what the bluebirds sang at you,/you would never sing along

4th of july:  you are my favorite "what if”/you are my best “I’ll never know”

favorite record:  and i confessed, confessed to you/riding shotgun underneath the purple skies

immortals:  i try to picture me without you but i can’t

hotel in nyc:  a birth and a death on the same day/and honey I only appeared so i can fade away/i wanna throw my hands in the air and scream/and i could just die laughing on your spiral of shame

young and menace?? champion?? i’m sorry who?? what?? huh???

hold me tight or don’t:  i got too high again/when i realized i can’t not be with you/or be just your friend/i love you to death but i just can’t/i just can’t pretend/we were lovers first/confidants but never friends/were we ever friends?

the last of the real ones:  'cause you’re the last of a dying breed/write our names in the wet concrete

7-9 legendary:  i want to choke (u)/and get sick off of you/like secondhand smoke

alpha dog:  i want to put the midwest home again

austin we have a problem:  i gave you pretentious./i gave you indifference, but you only wanted undressed and defenseless.           bonus: hey! everyone’s an underdog.

catch me if you can:  oh dear lord,/please let me into heaven, for just an afternoon.

from now on we are enemies:  a composer but never composed/singing the symphonies of the overdosed

guilty as charged:  i got greater expectations than oliver twist

hand of god*:  it’s not gossip if it’s the truth/i’m sick of always writing songs for you to slit your wrists to

lake effect kid*:  i’ve got the skyline in my veins/forget your night times/summer love on a gurney with a squeaky wheel/and joke us, joke us/till lakeshore drive comes back into focus

mskwyditd (demo)*:  we sold our souls in dark hotel rooms/we slip tongues and lie like “i will see you soon”

star 67:  maybe we could talk this over/but i swear to god/and i’ll have this phone to my head.

we don’t take hits, we write them:  and my life is holding our heads to this gun/you and your new boy think you can come in and keep me off, but you’re wrong

yule shoot your eye out:  and all i want this year is for you to dedicate your last breath to me/before you bury yourself alive

[andie--forrester]

independence day - self para

At first it’s half a thought, brushed away. 

Those letters on the box are so menacing. DANGER: RISK OF TSS. Leaving a tampon in for too long can lead to a life threatening condition known as toxic shock syndrome! Do not leave a tampon in for over seven hours! She flips in her book to one of the chapters she skipped. She only read the part that explained the sudden uterine apocalypse when it struck over two years ago. There were organs she didn’t even know existed– weird. But there’s a whole chapter about TSS. She studies, reads the stories about women in the ‘80s who died because their own blood turned into poison. Not right away, though. They got sick first. That’s when the idea creeps in. She shuts the book, figures that would never work. She watches Oprah until His truck pulls into the driveway, then she turns the TV off and slips back to her room. She doesn’t like being around Him one week out of the month. They’re a bad pair when her moods fluctuate and her eyes roll harder and her tongue forgets to be quiet. He seems more disgusting, more grating than usual, like sitting in the same room with Him pulls on her muscle fibers and makes her want to scream. So she talks back and gets in trouble and neither of them are happy. So she keeps her distance. She wants to read a book, not the one about the uterus and fallopian tubes and whatnot, one about something cool. But when she opens one about Susan B.,– she needs a feminist on her side right now– she gets interrupted by that thought again. She has to work harder to make it leave this time. She’s only a couple chapters in when He invades, encroaches on her land, wants her to watch a movie. She has to fight to keep her eyes from rolling, but gets up. Leaves Susan B. on the bed with the thought. She sits on the far end of the couch, head in her hand, imagining a party at Versailles with Marie, ignoring The Shining. She’s seen it too many times now, and she’s tired of all His movies. He pulls her across the cushions, plays with her hair. It makes her feel like there are lice running down her scalp, so she scoots. He keeps a hand in her hair, so she scoots again, off the couch, to sit on the floor. He pulls, turning the lice into angry bees, stinging. “Ow,” She complains, bitterly, heaving herself back up next to Him. He doesn’t say anything, drops her hair, because He’s won the battle. That’s all it is to him, control. She wants to make friends with some of those Native American tribes from the early eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. She thinks maybe they’d understand her, and she them. They both had cruel, selfish white men steal things from them. An identity, a life. They could teach her how to scalp Him. She switches from imagining Versailles to the West Texas desert, from Marie to the Jumano people, from dancing to destroying Him. But they aren’t just knives and blood, they’re her friends, too, and she climbs mountains with them once He’s gone. It’s way better than The Shining. When the movie’s over, she lets out a sigh because her dream world is gone, too, and He’s still here. She retreats, and He doesn’t stop her. She pauses in the hallway, eyes wandering toward the bathroom. She doesn’t kill the thought right away this time, lets it grow as she shuts her bedroom door. Susan B. once again gets pushed out. The idea is stronger. The uterus book slides back into her lap, she reads the TSS chapter again, grabs a pen because some of this is important. She circles the symptoms: high fever, low blood pressure, vomiting, rash. How does one fake a fever? Oh well, skip it. Low blood pressure? Not that one, either. Vomiting might work, she remembers when she was ten and He let in some kind of bacteria or something and she wanted to sit in the refrigerator because all her skin felt hot and cold and her stomach wouldn’t stop moving. Just stick your finger down your throat and get it over with, He’d said, tossing her a damp washcloth. Rash? Fuck, just puke won’t be enough to make Him think something’s wrong, unless it’s another 24 hour sweating-vomiting-crying extravaganza. She doesn’t know how to fake fainting or organ dysfunction, either. So don’t fake. That thought hits harder than the first one. On one hand, she could fucking die, but He’d have to take her to the hospital, right? He doesn’t want her dead, or she would be. Right? She figures if she’s gonna do it, now’s the time. She slips into the bathroom, puts one in, crosses her fingers. It’s hard to sleep knowing she’s either about to die or finally be free. She finally reads about Susan B., though. Finally falls asleep when they put her in jail. She doesn’t notice any difference when she wakes up, but maybe her blood isn’t bad enough to make her throw up yet. She’ll wait. He’s already gone somewhere. Shit, what if she dies before He comes back? Maybe she should’ve thought of that. Still, she doesn’t want to turn back. Not yet. Maybe when the low blood pressure kicks in, whatever that feels like. She clicks past Oprah, stops when she sees red, white and blue flags, people cheering– it’s a parade. Her eyes find the calendar. July 4th, Independence Day. She finds herself smiling, whispering I’ll see you later. She gets more nervous with every hour that passes. How long does it take to poison your blood? She’s a wreck by the time He gets home, only waits a few minutes before she blurts, “My muscles hurt!” He just looks at her, surprised by the outburst. “What do you want me to do about it?” She swallows hard. “I think my blood pressure’s low. I– my kidneys, they’re–” He tilts His head. “What the hell are you talking about?” Her voice gets smaller. Fuck. “I’m sick. I think.” He crosses His arms. Tears start to prick her eyes because He doesn’t believe her and her body won’t fucking cooperate. How hard is it to die from a tampon? The box made it sound so easy. He gets up, walks over, comes closer until she wilts, can’t look at Him. He turns and heads for her room, comes back with the book, left open on TSS. “What the fuck is this?” No answer. “You thought you could trick me?” She wants to melt. Now would be a good time for the organ dysfunction. Or just fainting. His hand cracks across her cheek. She takes a deep breath, makes the tears slow to a stop, glares. He grabs her jaw, gets closer. “I’m not stupid. And you’re not clever. If it came to it, I would let you die. You’re not that fucking special. Go.” She knows He doesn’t mean to her room. But she takes the tampon out first. Maybe dying would be better than staying here, but there’s a little spark inside of her that encourages: live. Fight.

Another thought invades when He changes the rules, makes her feel smaller, more trapped, more tired. He’s exhausting.

It needs to not involve her imminent death this time, in case something goes wrong again. But His words, meant to cut her down, you aren’t clever, feel more like a challenge than anything. People thought Marie was dumb, too, but she somehow got the King to fork over money for dresses and dogs and parties rather than food for peasants. Sometimes He comes home and she’s in her room, quiet, reading, sleeping, whatever– and He raises His voice: Ally! Sometimes even Alexandra! It’s like a wave of paranoia hits Him, like He knows she could be gone– even though she’s too scared to even look at the phone or the window or the door for too long, even though she knows she’d spend an eternity downstairs for touching the doorknob, it’s like He’s afraid of what she might do. One afternoon, as she opens her bedroom door, pokes her head out, calls I’m here, she wants to laugh. She’s always been afraid of Him, despite that part of her that trusts Him, knows He’s the only person she has, but He’s afraid of her, too. She stores that, and it produces an idea that night, in the middle of dinner. She’s busy staring at her food, ignoring Him. He chews. Ignore. He drinks. Ignore. He talks. Ignore. She just has to make noises occasionally, like she hears a word He says. She needs advice from Harriet. She knew how to escape. But there are no swamps to hide in here, no tall trees or bushes or darkness to conceal her, and she doesn’t ever know how long He’ll be gone. She could make a break for it tomorrow and He could come back ten minutes later, drive His dumb truck a mile out and find her in the middle of the desert. Harriet doesn’t seem to think that’s a good enough excuse. Trick Him, then. He thinks you’re too dumb to outsmart Him, prove Him wrong. She mmhms, because she knows He said something, but it’s not as important as Harriet. You are clever. You can end this. She gets up, puts her food down the garbage disposal, sticks her plate in the dishwasher, and goes to her room. He doesn’t even have time to say anything. She’ll need Him out of The House for a long time– what would keep Him out? Why didn’t other Caribbean nations declare independence when Haiti did? She blinks hard, not sure where that thought came from. They were afraid their slaves would revolt, duh. What’s He afraid of? She sits up a little straighter. If she makes Him think she’s already revolted, He’ll panic. Look for her. She grabs her notebook, flips past all the Dear Chrises to a blank page, rips it out. - I’m sorry, she writes, a little uncertain at first. I’m sorry it came to this. She leans in. But I can’t do this anymore. I can’t live with you. Her hand spasms or something, writes something bad. I HATE YOU! She considers restarting, but grins. She’s never gonna see Him again, might as well let it all out. You’re a huge asshole and most of the time I just want to punch you in the mouth until you don’t even look the same. You make me think of everyone bad who ever lived, like Andrew Jackson and Henry VIII and Hitler and Stalin. You hurt me and you act like it’s okay and IT’S NOT!!! She shakes her hand out. I’m tired of your dumb fucking rules and I’m tired of how you smell and look and breathe I WISH YOU WOULD STOP BREATHING!! so I’m leaving. Bye forever, you can fuck yourself with a knife. - Alexandra P.S. You ARE stupid and I AM clever. She puts the pen down, reads over it, adds a HA at the end for good measure. Its very existence makes her nervous, so she hides it inside the notebook until He’s gone the next morning. She places it at her spot at the kitchen table, takes a deep breath, and returns to her room. She turns off the lights, slides under the bed, closes her eyes, and waits. She can’t tell if she falls asleep or if He gets back sooner than usual, but she hears the front door close before she expects it. A moment passes before the “Ally?” comes. She presses her lips together tightly. “Ally!” She peeks into the darkness, then closes her eyes again. He’s quiet for a moment. “Alexandra!” She presses her hand into her mouth because the urge to yell I’m here is strong enough to push tears up into her eyes. She wants to leap out, fix it with an I’m sorry, I was asleep, destroy the note before He finds it, but Harriet and Marie and Joan and Abraham and Rosa and Susan B. hold her back. She hears His feet, opens her eyes, and His shoes are right there. His voice thunders right above her, Alexandra!, a tear drips into the carpet. He leaves quickly, keeps looking. Not in the bathroom. No, not the basement. Not in His room or the back yard or the kitchen. Her heart feels like it’s exploding out of her chest, knows He’s seen it when He curses and the door slams again. His truck fires off into the desert. She can’t laugh, can’t move, she’s stuck. Her friends aren’t talking, her toes are numb because she’s in a tight ball and she’s too afraid to move, like when He breathes in her face and she wants to turn into smoke and drift away. She has to go now, cut through the back yard, climb over the fence, run as fast as she can, wherever that truck didn’t go. But all she hears is Him. Stupid bitch. I make the rules. You’re mine. She doesn’t know how to fight. If she did, she would’ve done it a long time ago. She wouldn’t have let Him lock her away or touch her or do this to her. The carpet is rough and itchy, but it’s there and it absorbs the water that’s leaking out of her eyes, so she buries her face in it and cries until He comes back, still cussing, and she can’t stop and He storms in, His hand finds her under there, pulls her out by her wrist. He’s so angry that He doesn’t talk this time, just walks. Down the steps. Grabs the cuffs. They’re too tight, but He doesn’t listen. She doesn’t come back up for a long time.

The last thought was different. No planning, just fighting.

She remembers feeling the two halves splitting, one afraid and obedient and crying under the bed, the other courageous and smart and strong and everything He didn’t want her to be. She remembers putting down the knife, but grabbing the cutting board. She remembers the first hit, remembers seeing Him fall, remembers how her arms felt: tired, but good, blood splattered on her skin. It should’ve been gross, but it felt like those people on the podiums with the medals every couple of years, national anthem playing, torches, staring into the heavens. They’re the best at skating or gymnastics or running. She is the best of the two of them, the best at surviving, the best at fighting. He might’ve won more, but she won at the end, when it counted most. She remembers opening the door, remembers the smell of the air. She remembers the sun, hot and baking, she remembers laughing, tilting her face upwards. She remembers how warm and new the concrete step off the porch felt, unlike the cement. So when she’s sitting in the hotel room in Dallas the night before the flight to New York, staring out the window, she has another thought. She’s not a prisoner now, but there’s so much she hasn’t seen. She hopes her parents won’t freak out. She decides to leave a note, a nice one this time. I need to explore. Please don’t panic. - Andie. They’re not quite used to the name yet, still let Alexandras and Allys slip out, making her wince. That’s not her anymore. Chris seems to get it, even if it hurts some little part of him that wanted things to be simple, to just have his sister back without having to get to know her all over again. She knocks on his door lightly, surprised at how quickly he answers. He’s still up, still dressed. He looks equally shocked. “What are you doing up?” She shushes him, afraid their parents will hear next door. ( But they’re not Him and there will be no punishment this time. ) “I have to see stuff,” She hisses, peering past him out the window, blinds drawn back. He hesitates a moment, sighs, then slips into his shoes, grabs his room key and slides it into his pocket. “Alright, what do you wanna see?” She doesn’t even know what there is to see. “Everything.” She gets ahead of him, bounces out of the lobby and into downtown. He doesn’t know his way around here; Austin would be a different story, but Dallas is foreign to him, too. “Let’s just walk! Come on,” She grabs his hand, pulls it, steps out in the street without even looking because she’s breathing in so deeply her chest seems to lead her blindly toward the new air, the neon lights, the sparkling of the buildings, honking horns. She looks like she could cry, but a laugh comes out instead. Reunion tower is flashing and when she turns, the hotel is, too, rainbow lights for Pride month, and for the shooting a few nights before. She keeps going, passes fountains and bars and cigarette smoke– it makes her pause, something new, and Chris pulls her along and sticks a piece of Nicorette in his mouth. She stops when they seem to reach some point of perfection, maybe what she sees as the center of the cluster of buildings, hotel and tower visible, and beams. “Take my picture.” He does, grinning, hardly believing his camera is focusing on her. It’s the first picture since the one on the poster. She is not MISSING anymore. She’s here, and loved, and free.

[ngdunbar-ct]

The Century Mark

Hey everyone!

I made it to Breckenridge on Wednesday, after hiking 100 miles over 6 days.  I have enjoyed every minute of the Colorado Trail so far, despite having some really bad blisters on the balls of my feet.  After 100 miles, it had become apparent that I needed a footwear change.  The Icebug trailrunners I was wearing up until this point were just too flimsy for this type of terrain.  I used running shoes on my SHT thru-hike, but the SHT was primarily a soft, muddy footpath.  The Colorado Trail is a footpath on bedrock, loose gravel, and is overall much more rugged.  My feet are all torn up, but there are no exposed raw spots on the bottoms of my feet.  There is a rough layer of dead skin that has separated and hardened.  My goal in tending to my feet is to keep them clean, maintain the layer of hardened dead skin while doing whatever I can to get the layers of skin underneath to heal quickly.  Other than the feet, my body feels stronger than when I started the trail last week.

A minor toe blister.

So far the trail has been a lesson in the fragility of environments, natural and man-made.  The first six miles of the trail is a stroll up Waterton Canyon, winding its way with the Platte River.  Along the way you pass by significant water delivery structures, necessary to sustain the constantly growing human civilization in the sprawling I-25 corridor.  At the end of the canyon sits the Strontia Springs Dam, the largest man-made structure along the trail.  Another 10 miles past the dam I reached the South Platte River where I filled up on water.  It has become a pattern for me on the first day of a thru-hike to perhaps over exert myself.  I covered 22 miles on the first day.  I was not planning on this, I think the excitement of starting a journey like this got to me a little bit.  I camped the first night in the Raleigh Peak area.  Day 2 was a long, hot walk through an area of Pike National Forest which was devastated by a human-induced wildfire in May, 1996.  Torrential rain came in the months after the fire, causing lahars that wiped out ecosystems.  The area today looks a lot like a page from Dr. Seuss’ The Lorax, teaching hikers yet another lesson in environmental fragility.

As I approached Kenosha Pass at the end of segment 5, where US 285 crosses the CT, I was starting to get cravings for real food.  You know, as in not backpacking just-add-water food.  All the literature I read said Kenosha Pass is an easy hitch into the tiny town of Jefferson, population 18.  The literature also said the burger stand in town is only open Thursday through Sunday.  It happened to be July 3rd, however.  Would the burger stand be open on a Monday before the 4th?  I decided to hitch hike into town and find out, and boy did it pay off.

This is the Hungry Moose Caboose’s Trainwreck Burger.  1/2 lb patty with basically everything including a fried egg.  Not pictured is the BLT and two Dr. Peppers I also consumed during my pit stop.  After lunch, I hitched a ride back to the trailhead at Kenosha Pass and hiked only a couple miles and camped for the night at Guernsey Creek.

The weather has been good so far.  Thunderstorms came the first night, but I have yet to see lightning since.  My favorite parts of the trail so far have been the Lost Creek Wilderness, and Georgia Pass.  Both had uniquely breathtaking terrain and vistas.

This was taken along the N. Fork Lost Creek in the Lost Creek Wilderness.  The trail followed a nearly straight, 6 mile long meadow with a babbling creek somewhere under all the brush.  This was one of the hardest days on the trail so far, rising 3000 ft. over nearly 10 miles.

I took this looking west from the top of Georgia Pass.  It was a beautiful day up there, perfect temp, no wind, not too hot.

Saw some mountain goats atop Georgia Pass.

After crossing over the Continental Divide at Georgia Pass, I was only a day from my first resupply in Breck.  Unfortunately, as I descended through the Swan River drainage on Wednesday I was greeted by huge plumes of smoke across the valley.  It was a stark contrast from the breathtaking scenery I saw from the top of Georgia Pass a day earlier. 

The Peak 2 fire, which broke out the morning of my approach to Breck, just happened to flare up right smack dab in the middle of the next CT segment.  Some neighborhoods in Breck had evacuation orders, and the Sheriff even issued a statement telling all residents to prepare for evacuation, should conditions worsen.  There were helicopters dumping buckets on the fire, planes dropping retardant, and when I reached the lobby of my motel, there were firefighters checking in ahead of me.  I chatted with one of them and he told me they were bringing in firefighters from all over for this fire, due to the catastrophic potential for property damage in the Breckenridge area.

The sunset over the Blue River valley, enhanced by smoke from the fire.

I talked to another firefighter in the parking lot of my motel last night and he said the fire is still 0% contained.  As of this morning, that number has grown to 7% containment. So, I will be skipping segment 7 and taking the bus over to Copper today, where a free bluegrass festival just happens to be going on this weekend.  I’m not sure what the lineup is, but I will try to see some music on my way through.  I am headed for Twin Lakes, where my next resupply will be.  I am looking forward to seeing upcoming segments of the trail, including Tennessee Pass, Holy Cross Wilderness, and Mt. Massive Wilderness.   I gotta get going, so I’m just going to dump some photos below for your enjoyment.  As always, thanks for reading!

Looking at Buffalo Mountain from Frisco.

Looking at the Ten Mile Range and Peak 2 fire from the Swan River Drainage.

Damage to the forests from the mountain pine beetle infestation.  Crews pile the wood for prescribed burns, as to not let the amount of fuel get too high.  The devastation became very apparent on the approach to Breck.

It was sad to see the contrast in the health of the forests.  Lost Creek Wilderness had beautiful, healthy looking forests.  As you approach civilization, the destruction from the pine beetles seems to increase.

An aspen grove in Lost Creek Wilderness.  This was the first aspen grove I encountered along the trail.

Not sure if this was an elk or a bighorn.  Lost Creek Wilderness.

I don’t remember exactly where I took this.

No thanks, I’ll just stay on the CT.

Looking towards Jefferson from early segment 6.