#also on the way to the city that had the cranberry bog there was a funhouse mirror style hall of elevators at this mall we stopped at

[whyisablog]

Had a dream recently where I was trying to get home from boston through the back roads (roads that obviously avoid the highway cause i hate driving on the highway irl) and driving through cities both kinda looked like driving home from work and walking through a mall/trader joes/omega mart, las vegas you know the one.

Anyway after checking a map, which was actually somewhat legible though was far too short of a distance to be plausible, me and my traveling companions passed through this coastal town that featured a salt water cranberry bog maze as it's main tourist attraction. Since we missed out on the local traveling carnival, we said fuck it, and decided to try it out.

The idea here was to go through the maze on your little paddle boat- imagine an innertube from a roaring rapids theme park ride but swan boat style -through the deep water with not only the bog spiders in mind, but also the cranberry dolphins that not only looked and acted like mini orca whales, but frequented the maze with the sole intent to terrorize patrons. Mostly because these paddle boats had open bottoms like flinstones cars and peoples feet looked like delicious, delectable swedish fish to these guys, but that's beside the point. (This was also, very much, a large part of the point.)

These dolphins immediately were the main concern over the bog spiders, as you can imagine. As soon as we found out about the dolphins, we paddled towards the exit.

The dolphins then capsized our vessel and we were forced to wade to the docks for safety.

My favorite part about this was not the burgandy psuedo orcas, but the little nature walk/dangerous jungle style signs warning us about them and the bog spiders, despite the spiders not even making an appearance, though the signs were kind of small and too far away from where the boats tended to travel to be great warnings... Also the cranberry bog looked more like an overgrown yet nicely organized saltwater marsh but taller and more jungle like.

[titan-fodder]

Prima Vista Part VIII

[ previous ]

Rating: E (explicit; mdni) Pairing: Mike Zacharias x fem!reader wc: ~13.2k

Warnings: this one fucking hurts, pining, stupid decisions, miscommunications, explicit sexual content (it’s time for something we’ve been waiting for), yet another party, angst A/N: Read this, but before you murder me remember there’s one more after this. Also, this isn’t the big thing you’ve been waiting for, but I know it’s something a lot of people have wanted to see. Enjoy this ouchie. 

Mike doesn’t feel human when he wakes up. He’s nearly positive he no longer is—body taken over by some creature of the bog with toxic breath. Jesus, what the fuck happened last night?

 Blinking hurts. Shifting his leg hurts. His chest is fucking killing him, feels like he bruised his god damn sternum, and when he moves to sit up in a bed that is not his, overwhelming nausea has Mike groaning and covering his mouth with one hand. 

 “He has risen,” a vaguely familiar baritone voice rings through the air, loud enough to make Mike wave his other hand in an attempt to mute it. Erwin chuckles, paying him no attention apparently as he speaks again, ��Good timing, too. I just came to drop this off.”

 Mike tries to focus his bleary eyes on the nightstand where his friend sets down a bottle of water, a bigger bottle of Gatorade, and several liquid gel pills. 

 “Chill here for as long as you need. I’m just watching the pledges clean downstairs. Want me to bring the trash can over?” Erwin’s concern can’t entirely hide the amusement in his voice. It’s irritating, but also… Mike needs that trash can.

 “Yeah,” he croaks through his palm. “Thanks.”

 Erwin nods and grabs the little plastic bin, setting it down next to the bed. Mike considers just picking it up and sitting with it in his lap, but he doesn’t know if he’ll be able to stay upright for long enough.

 “I’ll be downstairs. If you need anything, you’ll just have to yell because your phone is definitely sitting in a bag of rice in the kitchen right now.”

 “What?” Mike frowns. How even…

 “It got wet,” Erwin states, like that clarifies anything. “Probably in the shower.”

 “Why was I—”

 “We can talk about it when you’re less…” Erwin gestures to Mike’s face with one finger and grimaces as he finishes, “Green. You didn’t do anything too terrible, though, so you can rest easy.”

 He leaves, and Mike chokes down the pills and a few gulps of water before gently laying back down. He has to retrace metaphorical footsteps to get to the last thing he remembers from the night before, and it’s body shots off some blonde clone. His order of events goes: hanging out with Rhi, talking with you and Erwin, Zeke showing up, catching Eren mid-roofie attempt and throwing him out, getting mad at Nile, and then just a lot of drinking. Too much. Of different kinds. That had been dumb. 

 He thinks he spent a little while in the bathroom. Erwin was there. And, Nile came and went. He thinks he may have heard your voice a few times but can’t be sure, and honestly, trying to recall anything from the period of time his brain was literally incapable of processing new memories is a pretty big waste of time.

 Mike spends most of the day in Erwin’s room. He drifts in and out of restless sleep, waking up to drink his water and Gatorade. At some point, one of the kids, Jean, knocks on the door and drops a bowl of soup off, mumbles, “Erwin told me to bring this up here.” Mike hasn’t spent a ton of time around the current pledge class, but Erwin must like Jean if he trusted the kid enough to give him his room code. 

 The soup settles his stomach enough to move around a little more. His headache ebbs into a dull throb, and the sharp ache in his chest fades into that of a bruise. By around five o'clock, Mike is finally able to amble downstairs, give everyone a tired wave, mumble his thanks to Erwin, then drive himself to his apartment. 

 He's still trying to piece together what happened the night before, but he just ends up more confused than before, so he decides to put it behind him and move on. Everyone deserves a wild night every once in a while. 

 *

 Thanksgiving nears. Mike has already made plans to go home to his parents which means he has to turn down the Pike house Friendsgiving offer that Erwin extends to him. 

 He tells Mike that Nile and Hitch will be there, but Marie might show her face, "So, that will be interesting." 

 Some of the brothers who can't make it home will attend. Erwin is bringing Maddie who Mike hasn't heard about in several months, but he's pretty sure that's just to throw him off the scent of whatever Erwin has going on with you. You, who will also be in attendance because apparently your mom opted to go on a girls trip instead of face the family. Mike can't blame her. 

 He thinks maybe he should reach out to you, to ask about the night he blacked out because he has a feeling you can give him some details that others can't, but Erwin assures Mike that you were only in the bathroom with him for a short time. "Just long enough to see you rip your shirt which she seemed a little too happy about."

 Mike doesn't know what he'd say to you anyway. Even after learning that Zeke had blocked his number in your phone. He's still mad that you let the fucker get close enough to do that in the first place, that you had chosen him. It's a wound that just won't heal. Any time he sees you or hears your name, all Mike can think about is why he wasn't good enough. 

 So, he keeps distancing himself. It seems like the most appropriate thing he can do until he decides he'll be able to have a conversation with you without blowing up. 

 Mike's parents are happy to see him when he walks in the door. Scout jumps on him until he picks her up and holds her like the puppy she is not. He isn't surprised when his mom asks about you, if you and Mike sorted things out. The question hurts even if he was expecting it, seems like yesterday you were walking around the house like you'd always been a part of it. 

 Lying is the easiest path to take. He tells his parents that you had to go home for the break, that you couldn't split up your time between two families in just four days, and, of course, they buy it. 

 Thanksgiving day is nice enough. The family travels a couple cities over to Mike's aunt and uncle's house. It's much bigger, has room for the relatives that are able to make it. There are traditional Greek dishes as well as the usual turkey, stuffing, cranberry sauce, etc. A few pictures here and there, entertaining his younger cousins—it's a good time. 

 Until Mike checks his various social media apps and sees the pictures from Friendsgiving.

 They're tame, nothing wildly inappropriate, but they still make Mike scowl as he thumbs through them. 

 One of Nile cutting into the turkey, of Reiner ripping into a drumstick, Connie hoarding all of the cranberry sauce while his best friend, a girl named Sasha, does the same with the deviled eggs. Gelgar looks to be crying with a dot of potato salad in his hair. Marie is indeed there, glaring in the background of a photo where Nile and Hitch are tapping beer bottles together with silly smiles. She looks much happier in the shot of her and Maddie sitting together, laughing over glasses of wine. 

 Mike's heart stutters when he gets to a photo of you aiming to toss food into Reiner's mouth, then of you and Erwin both holding beers in one hand and pointing matching finger guns with the other.

 Thick as fucking thieves. Two peas in a god damn pod. Mike wants to throw his phone out the window of his dad's suburban. 

 There are several more pictures that Mike doesn't bother to look at. He'd like to have a good time with his parents for the remainder of his break, and there's no way he'll be able to do that if he's pissed off. 

 So, he distracts himself. He goes on walks with Scout and plays with her for hours, watches old movies with his mom and dad, calls a couple relatives from overseas to catch up. But, those pictures are seared into the back of his mind, surfacing whenever he has down time. 

 He doesn't have any desire to go back to campus, not if he's gonna see you and Erwin together. His friend can deny it all he wants, but Mike knows something is going on between the two of you, and as he drives back to the college, he finally has the realization that… you might just be a shitty person. 

 Yeah, you have issues, but so does everyone. It doesn't excuse you from—from fucking toying with people, from using them as puppets whenever you need to. Mike wishes he'd never even tempted you to sleep with him that last time. It had felt too good and too right, but apparently you don't feel the same way. You went right back to Zeke once you'd gotten what you wanted, and Mike should have seen that coming. He should have been prepared for it. On some level he knew that's what you'd do, but that never stopped him from hoping that maybe… maybe it would have opened your eyes. 

 Plus, it ruined the entire Jurassic Park franchise for him, so that sucks. 

 He picks up where he left off both in his classes and in his social life. He stays away from PKA as much as he can but still attends meetings when necessary. The lacrosse season is coming to an end, so he tries to make the most of it. Rhi ends up in his bed again, both of them taking what they can from each other. Erwin jokes that he's gonna fall in love with her— "You know what happened the last time you tried to keep it casual," —and Mike nearly decks him in the face. 

 You don't try to talk to him, no texts or calls. When you see each other on campus, you don't spare him more than a sad glance as you pass him. 

 Mike is fine with it. He isn't about to be the one to make the move to talk things out. Honestly, he doesn't know if there's anything to talk out. You dated Zeke, and now you're dating Mike's best friend and trying to hide it. 

 He's mad at both of you, but it's easier to channel that blistering anger toward you rather than Erwin who he has to see on a regular basis. Besides, Erwin has always gotten around. Mike isn't especially surprised that he'd try his hand with you especially after what happened at the ranch house, but fuck, couldn't he have waited until after he and Mike graduated or something? Just disrespectful. That's what it is. 

 *

 "Bro, I do not wanna go to another party," Mike's voice rises in frustration. "Consider me partied the fuck out, okay? I'm tired of 'em."

 "It's not even a party," Erwin tells him. "It's more like a gathering of… like-minded individuals."

 Mike snorts. "Yeah, okay." 

 "I'm not kidding! Like, twelve people at the most. All we're doing is hanging out at the ranch house."

 "Will there be drinking?" Mike questions, moving his head back and forth in a mocking way. 

 Erwin shrugs his shoulders where he sits. "Of course there'll be drinking, but you don't have to partake. I just want you there to chill. Come on, man."

 "Who's going?"

 The blond lists off some of the Friendsgiving group, but he doesn't get to finish because once Erwin utters your name, Mike cuts him off with a loud, "Nope!"

 "Duuuude," Erwin sounds like the frustrated one now, not that he has any right to be. 

 "Don't dude me! Why the fuck would you think I'd have any interest in watching you two giggle and cuddle n' shit."

 "Mike," Erwin groans, rubbing his forehead. "How many times do I have to tell you…"

 "You don't have to tell me anything. I already know what I need to know."

 Standing up, Erwin seems like he's at his wit's end when he barks, "You don't know shit! You're seeing what you want to see without asking either of us! She misses you, dude. I'm just the next best thing."

 "Nice to know your dick game isn't better than mine at least," Mike grumbles. 

 "Jesus Christ, you know what? I don't care. Come to the house, or don't come. Whatever."

 Erwin takes long strides to get to Mike's front door, obviously ready to get away from him. He slams it hard enough to make Mike flinch. 

 He doesn't care how annoyed Erwin is with him. It's partially his fault that Mike doesn't want to go to the gathering, and he should know that. He'll come to understand eventually, and that thought makes it easier for Mike to make his decision. He's not gonna go. He refuses. There's no way. He won't—

 Mike ends up going. 

 After powering through finals and visiting his parents for another few days. He has a mental debate the entire way to the ranch house, swearing to himself, going over the pros and cons. He comes close to turning around more than a few times, but after a couple hours, Mike finally pulls into the large circle drive right behind Levi's black Prius. 

 Erwin is extremely surprised to see him but keeps his mouth closed about it, just tells him, "Room upstairs on the far right is still open."

 Mike drops his stuff off then greets the others—Nile, Gelgar, Reiner, Jean, Marco, and Levi. 

 "Wasn't expecting to see you here," the last states, focused on burning the loose string of his hoodie with a lighter. "Erwin told me you guys had some bullshit argument."

 "Happens sometimes," Mike dismisses as he takes a place on the couch. 

 "I guess. This is why I don't have a lot of friends. Can't put up with stupid shit like that."

 "Oh, is that why?" Mike rolls his eyes. 

 Levi snickers, shaking his head. "Aw man, he was right. You are in a bad mood, aren't ya'? 

 "Man, fuck off."

 They sit in silence for a few minutes. Mike is bouncing his foot where it's thrown over his opposite leg—anxious or angry or some other negative emotion he needs to get rid of. 

 "Party's gonna be a fucking sausage fest," Levi mumbles. 

 Nile passes behind the couch just in time to hear and informs the smaller man, "Not entirely. Maddie, Marie, Hitch, and Mike's little heartbreaker should be getting here soon."

 Mike groans internally but speaks out loud, "This was a mistake. I can't fucking be here if you guys keep talking about her."

 "If you can't handle us talking about her, how're you gonna handle seeing her?" Levi scoffs. 

 Erwin has stocked the bar with craft beer and various wines. Mike considers going ahead and breaking a few bottles open, but he resists—doesn't want a repeat of the forgotten party. 

 They set up a horror video game upstairs and an animated adult series downstairs. Erwin wasn't lying about it being a more relaxed environment than usual, but that doesn't stop Mike's neck from prickling when you arrive with Hitch at around five. Maddie and Marie show up a couple hours later, and Mike can feel the tension that surrounds all four of you. Amusing as it can be, he really doesn't have the patience for cattiness tonight. 

 High quality Chinese food is provided courtesy of Erwin's father's credit card as well as dipped strawberries that Nile keeps feeding Hitch. It gets Marie very heated very quickly, and Maddie has to talk her down in another room. 

 It makes Mike wonder if you would ever let him feed you like that or if you would snort and bat his hand away. What the fuck do you think you're doing, Zacharias? That's couples shit.

 It makes him sigh and slouch on the couch, thankful you're upstairs watching Connie play the most recent Resident Evil. 

 He knows you're not a fan of horror, so the only reason you'd be up there is to avoid Mike. 

 Good. 

 Erwin is the first to open the wine. Maddie won't leave his side, stuck to him like a magnet. The fact that he has to get a drink only furthers Mike's theory that Erwin didn't invite her as a real date. 

 He spends a fair amount of time shooting the shit with Levi. It isn't necessarily the most enjoyable conversation considering Levi's constant smartass comments, but it's better than trudging up to the second floor. 

 Nile fucks Hitch in the bathroom for everyone to hear. Marie starts crying and runs to the porch. This gathering is about as insufferable as Mike assumed it would be. 

 Eventually, you journey downstairs. It was inevitable. You spare Mike a glance and sigh as you make your way to the kitchen to grab a beer—you don't even like beer, so why—

 "Hey, can you grab me one too?" Erwin calls out, and when you hand it to him, he gives you that hundred watt grin Mike knows brings girls to their knees, but while Maddie stares at him with that dreamy look in her eyes, you just snort and gently shove him. 

 "Don't fuckin' look at me like that, Smith."

 Ah, the last name card, the one that you pull to act like you're all aloof when really you're just reeling them in. 

 "Like what?" Erwin asks before taking a sip, still smiling around the rim of the bottle. 

 "You know what."

 Mike chooses then to go upstairs, knowing he steals your attention as he stomps like a toddler throwing a tantrum. 

 Why did he even come here? Was it just to give himself more reason to brood? Solidify that he's valid in being angry? 

 Connie is trembling as his character makes his way through a decrepit house. Jean laughs every few minutes, but he also startles at every jump scare, leaving Reiner to call both of them pussies as he bites into strawberry after strawberry, throwing the stems into a little bowl in his lap. Mike supposes the first years are entertaining enough. He can see why Erwin invited them here. 

 It's close to nine o'clock. Mike is bored out of his mind, can't help venturing back downstairs mostly because he's tired of watching the pledges swear and shout at the video game (including Reiner now) but also out of morbid curiosity. 

 Marie has returned and is sitting in the kitchen with Maddie, both of whom are glaring into the den where you, Erwin, Nile, and Hitch share the couch. Hitch may as well be in Nile's lap, but you're sitting on the back ridge, feet planted on the cushions as you hunch forward and nurse a beer. Your knee is against Erwin's arm, but that's the only point of contact. Still, whenever something funny is said on the TV show, he looks up at you, as if to check that you're laughing, taking it in. Mike can't blame him. You have one of the cutest laughs he's ever heard. 

 Levi and Gelgar are both on plush loveseats on opposite sides of the room, either scrolling or typing on their phones. 

 Again, Mike has to think about how laid back the party is—even if he's a mess. It's so different from the raucous scenes he's used to—blasting music and keg stands and dancing on tables. This would be infinitely preferable if it weren't for the open pit in Mike's stomach. 

 If he could just chill the fuck out, pay absolutely no attention to you and Erwin and the way his fingers slowly wrap around your ankle when you won't stop bouncing your leg. 

 Not together his ass. 

 When Mike gets a text from Rhi, he basically sighs in relief—the perfect opportunity to forget about you for a while. 

 He doesn't bother asking to make sure it's okay with the host, just messages back, what are you doing rn? and immediately asks her to come over, knowing she only lives about an hour away. 

 Naturally, she agrees. One of the only great things about Rhi is that she’s always, always down to fuck. Mike doesn’t know if it has something to do with his size or if she just has a high sex drive. Either way, he’s glad for it.. 

 He meets her on the porch after waiting for what feels like an eternity, just having to sit and watch you kick Erwin’s thigh whenever he says something dumb. He always retaliates by pulling on your little toes which makes you squeak and almost fall off the couch. It’s fucking maddening, makes Mike want to pull his hair out or throw something, just trash the fucking house because Erwin deserves it. 

 But, then Rhi arrives in all her Ugg boot glory, wearing the old, green hoodie that you had given back to Mike a few months ago.

 They walk in, Mike’s hands on her shoulders like he’s pushing her over the threshold. You look up, take the other girl in, then very quickly step off the couch and prance into the kitchen without saying a word.

 Erwin, however, makes up for your silence, wide eyed as he stares at Rhi and utters, “Fuck.”

* You didn’t want to be like Maddie and Marie, jogging to a private place to cry over a fucking boy, but god, you are definitely locked in the bathroom, hunched over the sink sobbing as quietly as you can. Your nose is running, and your eyes are burning, leaking god damn rivers

 It wouldn’t have been so bad if she was just in her normal winter sorority get-up. But the hoodie? The one you wore for months on end, the one Mike would sniff whenever he would lay his head on your stomach, mumbling something about, “Smells good. Might have to take it back.” He didn’t have to say it out loud, but you knew he always felt a little jolt of pride when you’d wear it, like you were advertising how close you were to him.

 So, to see another girl wearing it—to see Rhi wearing it—it fucking hurts. Your throat is sore from holding back those loud, pained cries. Your stomach is rolling like you ate something spoiled. Your fingers ache from digging into the fancy, granite sink. Everything hurts. 

 It makes you wonder if Mike felt like this when you first told him about Zeke, if he feels like this now that he thinks you’re with Erwin—stupid, stupid, stupid. You shouldn’t have waited so long to talk to him. You should have cleared things up right after the party. Now, it’s too late. 

 There’s a knock on the door that makes you sniff and wipe your nose, but you still tell whoever is on the other side (most likely Hitch or Erwin), “Go away.”

 “It’s me.” Erwin. "Let me in."

 "Literally what did I just say?" 

 "If you don't unlock the door, I'll kick it in. It's my house, so I won't get in trouble for it."

 "Oh my god," you grumble before turning the lock on the knob. "Spoiled fucking brat."

 Erwin steps in and closes the door then takes a good look at your puffy face and red eyes. Sighing, he leans against the wall. "For the record, I didn't invite her. Mike must have—"

 "That doesn't make me feel any better," you say, grabbing some toilet paper to blow your nose. "Actually, it makes me feel even worse."

 "I just wanted to make sure you knew."

 "What, d'you want brownie points or something?" You ask sarcastically, making sure the toilet lid is down before sitting on it, bracing your arms on your knees and looking up at Erwin to find him frowning. "Sorry. I'm being a bitch, I know."

 He waves it off. "It's understandable. I'm not very happy with him either. The perpetual shitty mood is driving me crazy."

 You don't know much about that other than it being entirely your fault, so you apologize, "Yeah, sorry about that."

 "If you guys would have just talked it out like adults—"

 "Well, we didn't, Erwin. And, it seems like it's not even an option any more, so…" you hold your hands out in a clueless fashion, like you're at a loss. "I don't know what you want me to do."

 Your voice is thick, straining against the lump in your throat. Vision going blurry again, you shove your palms against your eyes, repeating, no more crying, no more crying, no more crying. 

 "I'm sorry he's doing this to you," Erwin says quietly. 

 You sniffle, almost laugh when you reply, "Not really different from what I did to him. Like," you have to blow your nose again so it doesn't start running, toss the toilet paper into the waste basket next to you. "I don't know if he's trying to get back at me or legitimately moving on, but I can't exactly hold it against him."

 "Still," Erwin takes a couple steps toward you. "Pulling this kind of shit is fucked up. He had to have known it would hurt you on some level."

 "You don't have to, like, take my side or whatever," you state. "I know we're friends and all, but you don't have to coddle me like this."

 "I'm not trying to coddle you. I'm sympathizing. There's a difference."

 "Whatever it is, it's unnecessary," you mumble.

 "Yeah?" Another step closer so that he's right in front of you. "So, you weren't planning on crying in here for the rest of the night?" 

 "No," you're quick to deny, but your lips quirk upward when you correct, "I was gonna go up to my room and cry in there for the rest of the night."

 Erwin shakes his head then pulls you into a strange embrace, pressing your face to his stomach with one hand while the other settles between your shoulder blades.

 Your first instinct is to shove him away, but his shirt is soft and smells like detergent, and his stomach is firm and grounding against your cheek, and the knuckles rubbing up and down the top of your spine are warm and soothing. 

 So, you stay in the slightly awkward position, shutting your eyes and trying to relax, but all you can think about is Mike walking in with his hands on Rhi and the way she looked in his hoodie. Is she cuter than you? Does she smell better than you? Does she treat him better than you did? 

 Tears well up in your eyes once again, dampening Erwin's shirt as they slip over your waterline, and before you know it, you're clutching the material covering the small of his back and crying against him. 

 And, he lets you—just keeps stroking between your shoulders and shushing you with a quiet, "I know, I know. It'll be okay." 

 Erwin is cocky and bold, takes things a little too far sometimes, but, just as you thought last year after he stole that kiss, he is good. Even if he's broken too many hearts to count and completely disregarded people's feelings, he's a good guy. At the very least, he's good to you, and that's what you need at the moment. 

 "What time is it?" You speak into his shirt. 

 "About eleven thirty."

 You hum and turn so that your forehead is resting just above his hips. It could be a suggestive position, but—

 But nothing. 

 You blink a few times, weighing the situation, everything that unfolded tonight—everything that's unfolded over the past semester and… it would make sense. It's not like you've never thought about it before. You're worked up and need to unwind, need to clear your head, and besides, Mike already believes there's something between you and Erwin, so why not take advantage of that?

 Sucking on your bottom lip, you go through a list of pros and cons. The biggest downside is that Mike will be upset with you. He already is, though, so there’s isn’t much to lose on that front. The upside is that you'll be able to forget about him for a while and possibly get an orgasm out of it. 

 "Hey, Erwin…" You're not entirely sure how to bring it up, but it turns out you don't have to. 

 "Don't fucking ask," he huffs. Perceptive bastard. 

 You push away from his stomach and look up at him. "Okay, why, though?"

 His head is hanging back, gaze trained on the ceiling as he admits, "Because if you ask, I won't say no, and it'll only make things worse."

 Something about that gives you butterflies. That's a good sign, means you might be invested enough to finally let your mind wander from Mike. 

 "Mike already thinks we're fucking, though, so unless you don't actually want to fuck me, I don't see why we shouldn't."

 Erwin walks backward until he hits the cabinets. His full lips are pressed into a tight line, and his blue eyes look like a warning. Don't push me. 

 "Do you honestly think you won't walk away from that feeling guilty?" He questions. "We know we aren't sleeping together, that we aren't actually doing anything wrong even if Mike doesn't believe it. But, to actually go through with it?" Erwin lets out a little chuckle and crosses his arms over his chest. "I probably won't feel bad 'cause I'm kind of an asshole, but you? You will feel awful."

 "I already feel awful," you remind him as you stand. "I already feel guilty. If you think I could feel any fucking worse than I already do, you might be overestimating my—my—I don't know—emotional capacity?"

 Moving forward, you nudge Erwin out of the way to get to the sink, splashing cold water on your face to clean it of dried tears. You cup a hand under the faucet, then toss some water into your mouth, swishing, and spitting, and turning back around. 

 Erwin's gaze is dark and not at all subtle when he eyes you up and down. 

 "I might hurt you, you know," he states in a voice that's considerably deeper than before. 

 You raise your eyebrows, unconvinced. "You don't have to worry about me catching feelings, Smith. Relax."

 Mouth tugging up on one side, Erwin smirks in a way that makes you squirm where you stand. 

 "That's not what I meant."

 It takes you a moment to decipher what he's trying to say, but you breathe an, "Oh," when you realize, then another as it truly sinks in. "Oh."

 That's okay, you want to tell him. I want to be hurt tonight. You only want it if it will hurt. If you confess to that desire, though, Erwin might back out—a disappointment considering the way you're starting to get a little excited. 

 "If I can handle Mike, I can handle you," you say, fully aware that he'll take it as a challenge. If there's one thing you know about men, it's that they thrive off competition. 

 Erwin is no different as he slides in front of you, hands finding your hips and pulling them to his. He's already half hard in his khakis, and you stand on your tip-toes, brushing against him as you do, to tilt your head back and hover just under his mouth as you tease, "Don't tell me you haven't thought about it before."

 "You have no idea how often I've thought about it—how often I think about it."

 You nip at his bottom lip, enjoying the way he licks it afterward. "Have you been holding back since we started hanging out—just the two of us?" 

 His fingers dig into your back, just above the curve of your ass, and you already know there will be small bruises left behind. 

 "Do you want me to paint a picture?" He rumbles, and you nod, pressing a kiss to his throat. "Any time I have you in my room I think about fucking you. On the bed. Over my desk. Up against a wall…" A little gasp makes its way out of him as you bite down on the skin you've been sucking on, and Erwin ruts against you a couple times before continuing, voice a little more strangled than before. 

 "Thought about fucking you downstairs on the couch for the whole frat to see, all spread out, moaning like a porn star. I know what you sound like," he whispers, catching you off guard when he suddenly lifts you to set you on the counter. "I've heard the way you scream for Mike." 

 There's a pang in your chest at the mention of him, but it's gone just as quickly. 

 "And, you'd like it, wouldn't you? Being watched." Erwin trails his lips from your temple to your ear, making you shiver when he speaks into it, "You can pretend all you want, but I know you liked it when I walked in on you and him. You liked being on display."

 He isn't wrong. You replay that instance in your head a little more than you probably should. 

 Hearing the fact stated now, though, right to your face has your body heating, arousal flooding you and making warmth pool between your legs. 

 "You can admit it, it's okay. I've known for a while now."

 One of his hands moves to the inside of your thigh then further up, fingers dancing over your covered pussy. It's your turn to gasp. You clutch his shoulders and spread your legs despite knowing there's no way you'll be satisfied with this, not when thick denim is separating you from his touch. 

 "Don't get too cocky, Smith." You try to sound confident, but it's hard to when your breath keeps hitching. 

 "Why?" He grazes his teeth over the sensitive space below your ear, and it makes you twitch in his grasp. "I have every reason to be."

 He goes on to list every other place he's thought about fucking you—apparently just about every setting you've ever been in with him. Each and every Pike party, the locker room before or after a lacrosse game, his Mustang, Mike's Wrangler.

 "That's fucked up," you somehow manage. 

 Erwin shrugs his shoulders, mumbles, "Can't help it," then slots his lips against yours for the first time (or, the first consensual time). 

 You're reminded of Zeke, the way all you did was compare him, only now with Erwin, you have two men who flash through your mind. He's softer than Zeke but just as bold as he cradles your head and slips his tongue into your mouth—tastes sweeter than Mike (probably from the strawberries), but it's not necessarily a good thing. It isn't bad either. It's just Erwin… Different. 

 His hair doesn't brush your cheeks like Mike's does. He doesn't have glasses to dig into your skin. Clean shaven, no coarse hairs to tickle against you, and he's smack in the middle in terms of height. You have to crane your neck more than you did with Zeke but less than you had to with Mike. 

 It's all a little jarring, but you feel this was always sort of an inevitability, at least once you started spending time with Erwin one on one. You never would have let this happen if you had stayed with Mike—if you had actually taken the next step with him—but that's why you started hanging out with Erwin in the first place. 

 You never noticed the way your back and forth was flirty, mostly just you giving him shit about one thing or another, but apparently others read further into it. And, you've had as good a time as you can. The heartache has put a damper on things, kept Erwin mostly off your radar save for the days you woke up frustrated and desperate, but that's what your vibrator is for. 

 Apparently, while you were busy making sure things stayed friendly between the two of you, Erwin's mind was getting away from him. Every god damn time you hung out, he told you, whether it was at the house or out to lunch, walking with you to classes or out to your car. 

 He did make it a habit of touching you, you can admit, but none of it was inappropriate—a nudge to knock you off balance that would result in you hitting him, a prod in the ribs that would result in you squeaking and hitting him. Sticking a foot out to trip you that would result in you…

 Dude obviously likes to be slapped around. 

 There's also the hugs. Up in his room when you feel extra gloomy, he'd wrap his arms around you and sway back and forth. Sometimes he'd sit and pull you with him, turn on a movie and keep a tight hold around your shoulders. There were afternoons you'd walk into his room while he was studying and just pass out in his bed, up too late the night before from worrying and obsessing, in need of a nap before your evening lecture. He'd set an alarm for you, stay up for a while longer before allowing himself to take a break and crawl under the blankets beside to—

 Oh, god, you've been dating Erwin Smith. 

 You have to break away from him to laugh, lightly hitting your head against his chest so that he chuckles and asks, "What?" 

 "I—" You look back up at him, shaking your head to yourself. "I can't believe I didn't fucking see it."

 "See what?" 

 "You and me—"

 "You and I," he corrects, and you shove him. 

 "You and I have just been doing what Mike and I were doing."

 "Uh, excuse me," he holds a finger up. "We have not been having endless sex, thank you."

 "That's not—" You roll your eyes. "I'm saying we've been dating without actually dating. Like, I get why everyone thinks we're a thing."

 "Oh," Erwin nods, sucking his teeth for a second then adding, "Yeah, I was wondering when you would figure that out."

 "Fucker. Did you do it on purpose? Like, just to prove you could?" 

 He frowns, looking genuinely offended. "Christ, what kind of person do you think I am?" 

 "Not twenty minutes ago you confessed to being an asshole."

 His face softens when he snickers. "Okay, true. But, no. I'm not trying to manipulate Mike or you for that matter. You've been upset, and you've put up with a lot of shit over the last few months, and I just figured you could use a friend."

 Staring up at him, you notice the way his face is turning a little red, and you hold your tongue between your teeth as you smile knowingly. 

 "You caaare about meee."

 He scoffs and looks away

 "Heartbreaker Smith cares about a girl," you tease. "How embarrassing."

 "Laugh it up. You would've been miserable without me."

 "I mean, yeah, but still. What's it like having a platonic girlfriend?" 

 He tilts his head to the side then reaches forward to squeeze your thighs. "Is it really platonic if we're about to have sex?" 

 "Absolutely. Hundred percent."

 "You're not even a little worried that it'll become a regular thing and you'll fall in love?" The arrogance is both astounding and amusing. 

 Cocking your head, you take a deep breath, expression one of false sympathy as you pat his stomach. "I'm positive. Unfortunately, my heart belongs to another."

 Erwin clicks his tongue before moving forward and sliding his hands between the counter and your ass. "I'm a little hurt, honestly. I'm used to fucking a girl and having to hide out for a while afterward—always so clingy."

 You squint, can't tell if he's being serious or overdramatizing to annoy you. 

 "You know what? Nevermind. I don't even want your little playboy ass anymore—"

 Naturally, he turns the charm back on right then, getting too close to your face, blue eyes flicking to your lips before he breathes, "Don't lie," and presses a tiny peck to them. "The tough girl act is only believable for so long."

 "Wow, fuck you."

 "That's the idea," he smirks. 

 "Har fucking har. You're so funny."

 Erwin pulls you closer to the edge of the counter and grinds his hips against yours then prompts, "Your room or mine?" 

 "Mine," you reply. "I'd rather you have to do the walk of shame later."

 "Probably a good idea since you won't be able to once I'm finished with you."

 You actually laugh out loud. It would have worked on you a few minutes ago, but all the joking has you a little giggly at this point. 

 Fuck, he is going to make a great distraction. 

 "Okay, calm down. Don't make promises you can't keep."

 "Sounds like a challenge to me."

 "Men," you sigh. "So predictable."

 After minutes more of unnecessary banter, Erwin finally coaxes you out of the bathroom you've both spent far too much time in. Your face has cleared up, the urge to cry subsiding, though your heart still drops in your chest when you pass behind Mike and Rhi on the couch, green eyes tracking you as you walk up the stairs in front of Erwin. 

 This is not the right way to solve a problem, but it'll probably be fun for a while. It's already fun as Erwin kicks the door closed and walks you back to the bed. He isn't even touching you, just watching you with a hazy blue gaze. He isn't smiling, looks like a predator, and honestly, it's ridiculously attractive. 

 "Stop making that face."

 "What face?" 

 "That—that—"

 You run into the bed, wave your arms to keep your balance, but Erwin presses his fingertips to your chest and just barely pushes to knock you back. 

 "What face, hm?" 

 The hair on your arms and neck is standing on end, anticipation bubbling in your gut as you try to crawl higher on the mattress only for Erwin to grab you by the ankle and tug you back down. 

 Damn. He's good at this. 

 "Stay," he commands, straightening up to take his shirt off. 

 He's tan and toned, light blonde hair sprinkled over his chest and above the waistband of his pants. 

 You're reminded of the very first Pike party you went to, the first time you slept with Mike (and can't remember), walking downstairs the following morning to find Erwin in the kitchen wearing sweats and drinking his coffee and smirking at you like he could tell the future. 

 Maddening. He's maddening. 

 You rid yourself of your own top then shimmy out of your jeans. Erwin eyes you hungrily, causing your whole body to tingle. It simultaneously makes you want to cover yourself and spread yourself open for him. 

 "I have been waiting way too fucking long for this," Erwin mumbles, raking fingernails down your torso so that you take in a shuddering breath. 

 "It's been, like, a y-year and a half." Your back arches on its own volition, hips bucking as Erwin scratches over the bones before catching your thong and pulling it down. He kneels at the end of the bed, a familiar scene save for the head of shiny, golden hair.

 "A year and a half of having to look but not touch."

 "Poor little—" you gasp when he parts your folds with his thumbs, staring at your pussy then blowing a stream of air over it. 

 "Do you know how many times I've jacked off to the thought of you? How many times I've slept with other girls while imagining it was you?" 

 You want to make another smartass comment, tease him about being a pervert or in his feelings or something, but you can't find your voice as he licks a long, slow stripe up your slit. You stare at the ceiling, not even blinking as too many signals fire in your brain all at once. 

 Erwin is good with his mouth. Like, stupid good. He has a teasing rhythm, flicks your clit with the tip of his tongue until your muscles are coiled then moves to trace the ring of your entrance, taking his time as you turn from human to puddle. 

 He’s better at this than Zeke who would purposely graze his teeth over your sensitive little bud a little too hard on purpose, would suck on it until it hurt. He liked when you whimpered for him, liked leaving raised welts on your ribs and back from where he’d scratched. The intermixed pain and pleasure never failed to make you come, but the climb up to that precipice was usually precarious for lack of a better term.

 Then, there’s Mike (because of course there is). His mood usually determined how he would take you, hard and fast before a game or slow and lazy as you both relaxed in his room. One thing always stayed the same no matter his disposition, and it’s that he fucking worshiped your pussy—even said it on multiple occasions. He would eat you out like a starving man, lapping at your juices like it would quench his thirst. Some days he would overstimulate you to the point of tears, neverending licks lavished over your clit as he pumped thick fingers in and out of your cunt. Other days he would go down on you like it was a fucking hobby—turn on a movie, spread you out on the foot of his bed, and eat you out while only halfway paying attention to the TV. He could pull multiple orgasms from you that way, letting you come around a finger or two before returning to your pulsing clit. Fuck, you used to make such a mess. He’d spend minutes trying to lick you clean, but you always ended up in the shower afterward.

 You shouldn’t be thinking of that right now, though. You should be thinking about Erwin’s clever tongue and the fingertips just barely brushing over sensitive skin. You want them inside of you, want something to clamp down on, but no matter how much you pull his hair or utter a breathy, “Please,” he keeps the same pace, only moving on when he feels like it.

 He’s doing it on purpose, trying to break you before even getting to the point of fucking you, and if you’re being honest, it just might work. He’s gonna make you lose your god damn mind tonight. Exactly like you want to.

 “Fuck, how much p-practice have you had with th-this?”

 Erwin laughs, stilling your wriggling by curling his arms around your thighs. “Too much, probably.”

 You whine when he continues, but when he starts softly sucking on your clit, you’re surprised at how close you suddenly feel, your legs naturally trying to spread further but remaining immobilized in Erwin’s grip. The threat of not being able to move only intensifies the building sensation in your gut, and soon you’re gasping his name, eyes rolling as you try in vain to buck further into his face. 

 You feel more than hear Erwin groan, a deep vibration that pours over your clit and makes you twitch. He gives you a few more long licks, then pulls back and stands, exposing the way his mouth and chin are covered in a glossy sheen. 

 “Feel better yet?” He smirks.

 You wave a lazy hand, don’t want to fluff his ego too much, so you allow him to witness your borderline stoned state while still jeering, “I’ll feel better when I have your cock inside me.”

 Erwin laughs to himself, mutters, “Eager,” then takes his pants off. 

 Pushing yourself up on your elbows, you give his cock a cursory glance and stop. “Hold on,” then slide off the bed and to your knees. 

 If you’re gonna fuck Erwin Smith, you’re at least gonna appreciate it. 

 He inhales sharply as you place your hands on his thighs, eyes traveling over his length. It’s pretty, above average in size, smooth, with a flared tip that’s currently flushing a dark pink. 

 “I really hate to admit this, but you could be, like, a dick model.”

 He chokes on some kind of snort, and you swear his entire chest turns red. “I—thank you?”

 “You’re welcome,” you tell him, promptly taking hold of his cock and guiding it into your mouth.

 “Oh, fuck, fuck—”

 His skin is soft against your tongue, warm as you take him deeper. His girth stretches your jaw, but you’re still pretty used to the feeling, had to get used to it with Mike because he’s a little bigger than—

 That’s not important. 

 Erwin breathes through his teeth as he places a hand on the top of your head, and when you look up at him through your eyelashes, he lets out a disbelieving little laugh. That confident fucking tease is nowhere to be found as you swipe your tongue over the tiny hole leaking pre then surge forward, almost pressing your nose to his pelvis as you run the muscle back and forth under the base of his cock.

 “Shit, let me—let me lean against the bed,” he says, pulling you off him and chuckling, “Gonna make my fucking knees buckle.”

 You turn where you’re kneeling, waiting for him to get better stabilized before resuming your efforts to ruin this annoying, charming frat boy who is always put together. You suck and slurp and trigger your gag reflex a couple times. Erwin’s fingers scratch against your scalp like he’s looking for purchase. He’s careful not to be too brutal as he pushes you down on his cock, raising his hips to meet your rhythm. His head is thrown back, thighs tensing under your hands as his chest rises and falls with short breaths. 

 You have to work up to it, but once you feel loose enough, you press forward and let Erwin slip further into your throat. His voice sounds like honey when he groans a low, “Hoooly fuck,” letting his head hang down as he attempts to stare at you with unfocused eyes. 

 “Okay, okay, okay,” he huffs. “Keep going and we won’t get to the main event.”

 You pull off of him with a lewd pop then raise to your feet. Your knees are a little sore, but it’s nothing some exercise won’t work out. 

 “Want me to wear a condom?”

 “I don’t care. I’m clean and on birth control,” you tell him. “What about you?”

 “Well, I’m clean, but I haven’t gotten my birth control prescription refilled in a wh—”

 You flick his chest, and Erwin laughs as he bats you away. 

 “Alright. Up on the bed with you then,” he motions to the mattress. “Lay on the edge.”

 You do as you're told, spreading your legs for Erwin to stand between, and you bite your lip when you feel him rub the head of his cock between your folds. You’re still wet with slick—probably dripped onto the carpet when you were giving him head—which makes the glide easier as he teases you. 

 “Ready?” He asks, wriggling thick eyebrows until you smile. He doesn’t wait for an actual answer before he starts pushing in, pressing your legs to your chest as he slowly seats himself in your cunt.

 You’re making that face—eyebrows moving toward your hairline as if you’re worried, jaw dropping open as air is pushed from your lungs. Erwin looks focused, licking his lips as he gazes down at the way your pussy stretches around him. 

 He thrusts in and out at a tortuous pace, apparently waiting for you to start trembling around him before he deems you ready to take more. Every one of his movements is measured, slowly pulling out only to push in all at once. The ridge of his cock drags over your g-spot, pressing firmly against it and making you claw at his shoulders. 

 He feels good, satisfying, but he’s not quite as good as Mike who used to hit all your spots without even thinking about it—somehow making you beg like a whore and sing like a little girl in Sunday school all at the same time. 

 Still, you don’t have to lie when Erwin quickens his pace and pants, “Feel good?” 

 “Fuck—yes, yes, Jesus Christ—”

 He’s pulling all manner of crude sounds from your pussy, wet and greedy as it sucks him back in with every rut of his hips. The angle is perfect—his height paired with the bed on stilts has him hitting your spot every time, and you feel the need to warn him, “If you keep—keep fucking me like this—god—m’gonna squirt.”

 “Fuck yes,” he praises, wetting a thumb in his mouth before bringing it down to massage your clit. He only speeds up as your voice rises, body confused like your muscles don’t know if they should be flexed or relaxed. 

 You feel that tell-tale burning, that urge that only gets stronger the more Erwin abuses your g-spot and presses against your clit.

 “Shit, shit, shit—”

 Erwin groans when fluid starts to trickle from you, pushes more and more out of you while quickly swiping two fingers over your clit. The sense of relief is mind-numbing. You can’t even be upset that your sheets are gonna be damp whenever you decide to sleep. 

 He doesn’t slow down, doesn’t lose his rhythm, just sticks his two wet fingers into his mouth and sucks them clean. 

 You see it now—the skill, the appeal, why the girls always come back to him. It makes sense. He’s devastatingly handsome, especially like this, all fucked out and flushed, hair out of place, lips red and swollen from biting them. 

 Yeah, Erwin is fucking hot.

 But, that doesn’t mean he’s your type. 

 Pulling out, he flips you onto your stomach, and you have to stand on your tip-toes as you lean over the bed. The burn in your calves disappears almost entirely when he slides into you from behind, pelvis pressing against your ass as he curls over you, cupping your tits and tweaking your hardened nipples as he gifts you with a series of shallow thrusts. It makes you whimper and teeter forward, unable to balance and squirm at the same time. Face suddenly buried in the mattress, your cries are muffled by the blankets. Erwin’s hands travel back to your hips, rocking you back and forth on his slick cock. He’s getting a little rougher, pressing into you as deeply as he can, and the fact that you’ll be sore from this tomorrow gives you a strange sense of satisfaction. 

 Only way to get over someone is to get on top of someone else, right? Or, underneath in your case. Being a little more in control wouldn’t be the worst thing, though, so…

 “Erwin, Erwin, fuck—Lemme ride you.”

 There is no hesitation. Erwin slips out of you and throws himself onto the bed, grinning crookedly as he watches you climb over him on unsteady limbs. His patience must have worn out some time ago, because he holds his cock with one hand, using the other to line you up with it, then guides you down his length. 

 You have to sit still for a second, or you would like to, but Erwin is still holding your hips, and he rocks you back and forth in his lap like he knows. He probably does. He’s probably fucked enough girls to notice exactly when their eyes pop open, when they shudder and break out in goosebumps because that pressure is hitting exactly where it needs to, and yeah, he knows. 

 Finding it in yourself to move again, you lean over Erwin, planting your hands on the pillows by his head, then start bouncing on his cock. He hisses in a dark, appreciative way, eyes and hands immediately drawn to your chest. He sits up enough to suck one of your nipples into his mouth, licking and pinching then doing the same to the other. 

 He’s so good—feels so good, knows just where to touch, the exact place to bite on your neck that makes you melt, but how—how does he know that? It’s like he has a sixth sense or—

 Or, he just paid attention to the bruises that Mike used to leave on the sides of your throat. That checks out. 

 Fuck, he used to mark you like he wanted everyone to see, especially that last night. It was almost animalistic, like he had been—marking his territory, Zeke’s voice plays in your head. It makes you frown, and you rid yourself of the thought only to replace it with the memory of Mike’s mouth on your skin, his calloused fingertips trailing down your torso, huge hands wrapping around your legs to pull you against him—

 You whine, glad it sounds like a sound of desperation rather than frustration. You just want to stop thinking about him. Just an hour—if you could go a single fucking hour—

 “Hey, look at me,” Erwin commands in a soft voice. 

 You open your eyes, still hovering over him, and expect him to say something, but instead he just reaches up to the back of your head and pulls you into a kiss. 

 He’s helping move you on top of him, forcing you to take his cock over and over, and like this, so close and breathing him in, you don’t even have the room to think about Mike. 

 Both of your bodies are damp with sweat, and Erwin’s hair is a mess, pushed from his flushed face. He bites down on your bottom lip and tugs, only letting go to ask, “Where do you want me?”

 “I don’t care,” you groan, legs and arms and pussy growing sore. You’re not surprised; you’ve been going at it for a while now. 

 Erwin licks your lower lip as if to soothe it after biting it, tells you, “Oh, don’t give me that option. You know where I’ll pick.”

 Smiling, you straighten up then move to fit your feet underneath you so you can bounce more freely. “You can come inside, dude. It feels good to me, too.”

 “I really don’t know how to respond to being called ‘dude’ when I’m balls deep in a girl.”

 You shrug, “Sorry not sorry,” then raise and drop yourself, feeling in charge for the first time tonight. 

 “Fuck—shit—”

 That feeling is short lived as Erwin goes right back to using you the way he wants. You think for about half a second that he’s finally, really losing himself, but the accuracy of his finger on your clit proves that is not the case. He’s clearly having a good time, but he isn’t at that feral stage that Mike falls into sometimes.

 Before you can dwell on it for too long, you hit your peak, moaning Erwin’s name, hips moving uncontrollably as you ride out your orgasm.

 He’s speaking, mumbling praise or pleas or curses, you aren’t so sure, but after about another minute of fucking into you relentlessly, Erwin comes, shooting line after line inside of you until he’s spent and twitching. 

 With your two previous partners, this is usually when you’d fall forward and cuddle, catch your breath and enjoy the feeling of being all plugged up.

 But, it’s Erwin, huffing and blinking up at the ceiling then finally stating, “That was a dumb idea.”

 It makes you laugh for some reason, probably because you agree. 

 The sex was great. There is a reason girls talk about him on campus, about his sexual prowess or whatever, and if you weren’t too busy suffocating in your little pit of heartbreak, thinking about your best friend nonstop, you wouldn’t mind fucking Erwin again. And, again and again.

 That’s not gonna happen, though. The heat of the moment is fading, every mental faculty returning to you, and despite the fact that you’re still seated on his cock, as you look down at him, you feel absolutely no spark.

 He’s ridiculously attractive, pretty fucking brilliant but with a dumb sense of humor, and you love him. You really do. He’s done a lot for you over the last semester, made it at least somewhat bearable, but… This shouldn’t have happened. 

 Hopefully, it quelled his curiosity, though.

 “I told you it would just make you feel shitty,” he mumbles, but he doesn’t look sad. Sympathetic more than anything, resigned that he’s probably going to have to pick up the pieces of another mess. 

 “Yeah,” you drawl. “You were right.” Your joints pop as you stand, towering over Erwin for once and leaking his fucking cum as you hop off the bed. 

 “It’s been known to happen from time to time,” he jokes absentmindedly, wiping a few drops of white off his stomach then reaching for the tissues on the nightstand. 

 You don’t feel awkward or out of place, but you have no idea what else to say. The only thing that comes to mind is, “I’m gonna take a shower,” as you walk toward the bathroom.

 Erwin moves on the bed, stretching a little before grabbing his pants and leaving you to your devices, but you pause before stepping onto the tile, turn back and pace over to him.

 “Hey,” you start, and Erwin glances up from the button of his khakis. “Thanks.”

 He rolls his eyes, a small smile playing at his lips, and once he’s all zipped and buttoned up, he pulls you into a hug. 

 “I would say any time, but we probably shouldn’t do this again.”

 “Yeah, probably not.”

 You breathe into the space under his collarbone, humming as he gently scratches you back, then break away. “Alright, actually gonna shower now.”

 Erwin nods, “You do that,” then slaps your ass as soon as you turn around. 

 You look at him over your shoulder with raised eyebrows, but he just winks and tells you, “I had to. Just once,” which is fair. 

 You run a hot shower, scrub the shit out of your skin, lather your hair with some fancy shampoo then rinse it off. Once you go through your full routine, you’re happy to change into pajamas and slip into the comfortable bed. You don’t even mind that the comforter is a little damp in various places.

* You don’t stir when the door opens and closes, but you do when the mattress dips. Shifting slightly, you assume it’s just Erwin, falling back into your usual routine by slipping under the covers with you.

 As soon as he lays behind you, though, you know it isn’t Erwin. You recognize that weight, that warmth, that smell, and you are very awake very quickly. 

 “M-Mike?”

 All he offers is a little, “Mm,” to confirm.

 You chew on the inside of your cheek, confused and clueless as to what you’re supposed to do. 

 “Are you drunk again?”

 “No. Little buzzed.”

 Why is he here, then? You want to ask—What is he doing? Why isn’t he with Rhi?

 You start to turn to face him but you're stopped when Mike sets a hand on your back. It's oddly firm, keeping you in place as he grunts, "No, don't."

 "What?" 

 "Don't turn around." His voice is hushed and choppy, like he's gritting out every syllable. 

 "Mike?"

 "I have shit I wanna say to you, and I won't be able to if you're lookin' at me."

 You have no idea how to respond to that, don't know if this is going to be a positive one-sided conversation where Mike confesses deep feelings while actually sober, or if he'll just unload all the baggage you've given him. Either way, you wish you could see his face. Something about having him laying behind you, close enough to feel his body heat, has you feeling very uneasy. 

 But, you nod, "Okay," trying to put on a brave face that he refuses to look at. 

 For a while, he just breathes. You assume it’s because he’s gathering his thoughts or maybe working up the courage to say something, but the suspense is making you shiver under your blankets. You have that terrible feeling in the pit of your stomach, the mix of anticipation and regret you get on the way up to the first drop of a rollercoaster. 

 “Why have you been lying to me?”

 And, there’s that drop. 

 You swallow. “I haven’t been.”

 “Bullshit.”

 “Mike, I haven’t been!” You try to turn again, but his large hand is still right in the middle of your back. 

 “Do you think I’m fucking stupid?” His fingers close around the material of your shirt. You feel it tighten at your chest, making it hard to breathe—harder to breathe. “How are you gonna tell me that right after sleeping with him?” 

 You open your mouth to argue, realize you can’t make a case for yourself, and when you snap your jaw shut again, the sound of your teeth clacking seems to echo in your head.

 Yesterday, you would have been able to talk to him about this and be honest when telling him you weren’t fucking his best friend. Now, though…

 God, that had been such a bad decision. Why hadn’t you just listened to Erwin? Why can’t you fucking listen to anyone?

 “Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Mike mutters. His grip loosens, but you can still feel a light tug at your shirt, the movement of fingers, and you think he might be rubbing over the material he’s still holding. “Pretty sure all of us could hear you guys goin’ at it, so… Thanks for that.”

 You take a deep breath in, squeezing your eyes shut because it sinks in that this is not going to be nice conversation. This isn’t going to result in the two of you apologizing and making love confessions to each other. 

 “I… I’m sorry.”

 Now, you’re grateful for not being able to see his face. You wouldn’t be able to stand looking at him right now, not when you know his expression will be grim—probably angry. 

 “I can’t really do anything with sorry,” Mike sighs. His hand drops from your back, but you make no move to turn over. 

 Your heart is like a hummingbird’s, beating frantically in your chest as that ache rises inside of you again, making your throat constrict and your eyes burn. 

 “Why’d you invite Rhi tonight?” You ask, hoping your sniffle isn’t too noticeable.

 “Why does it matter?”

 You suppose it doesn’t, but you still want to know, “Is it to get back at me, or is it because you’re actually into her?”

 Mike scoffs. “Not that it’s any of your business, but do you think I’d be in your room at three in the fucking morning if I was into her?”

 It’s probably the closest he’ll get to admitting it, but it’s all you need to hear. He’s been going out of his way to hurt you. At least any pain you’ve caused him wasn’t intentional. Until tonight, that is, and even then, you didn’t fuck Erwin to hurt him; you did it to help yourself. 

 Pressing your tongue to the roof of your mouth, you hold back tears and mumble a thick, “Just wanted to know.”

 “Want to make sure I’m still interested? That I’ll keep waiting for you to fucking realize—”

 “I have—” You turn over roughly, pinning Mike’s hand under your ribs as you glare at him, but he manages to put more distance between the two of you when he yanks his arm back and sits up.

 “I can’t do this anymore,” he tells you, and you think you hear his voice waver for a second.  

 The orange light pouring in from the bathroom is the only way you can tell his eyes are wide—worried—and it chills all the blood in your body.

 “Wh-what d’you mean?” 

 “I mean, I can’t fucking do this anymore,” he repeats a little louder, drawing it out like it’ll help you understand. “I cannot deal with you anymore. I can’t keep feeling this way, okay?”

 “Mike…”

 “No,” he stops you, acts like he has something else lined up but bites his tongue and sighs. He sits cross-legged on the bed now, hangs his head as he speaks calmly, “This semester has fucking sucked. I am angry all the time. I can’t focus in class, and I can’t play lacrosse without getting in trouble, and I can’t fuck anyone else without feeling bad—I can’t fucking do anything without thinking of you, and I’m—” he looks at the wall and shakes his head. “I’m exhausted.”

 “I am too,” you tell him, voice cracking as that lump in your throat grows and bubbles, pushing hot tears from your eyes that you quickly wipe away. “Mike, I am too, so can we just—”

 “No,” he cuts you off again. “Whatever it is you’re about to say—move on, pretend it didn’t happen, pick up where we left off, whatever… the answer is no.”

 He seems like he already has his mind made up, came into the room with a plan, and he isn’t gonna let you talk him out of it. 

 So, you stay as silent as you can, sniffing and swallowing and letting the comforter catch every teardrop. 

 “I have been… Right in front of you this whole time. I made myself completely available for a year—was at your beck and fucking call. I was—I mean—I was good to you, right?” He sounds incredulous, like he can barely believe he’s asking. 

 “Yeah,” you manage. “Yeah, you were.”

 “Then, why…? Zeke? And, now Erwin?”

 “Do you want me to try to explain, or do you just wanna rant for a while?”

 Mike glances at you, looks surprised that you’d give him the option. 

 “Honestly, I don’t really wanna hear it. You’ve more than proved your point.”

 Indignation swirls in your stomach alongside your nausea, and you press, “My point being?”

 “That I’m not good enough.”

 Oh, god. No, no, no. You could understand him being angry. You’re okay with him being angry, it’s fine. But, this—this feeling of inferiority? That is so much worse. It makes you sick. This is the last thing you’d ever want Mike to feel. It’s the last thing he should feel because it’s false. He has no reason—he’s too good and too kind and too warm. He’s like… He’s fucking sunshine. He can light up a room, and he doesn’t even know it.

 “Mike, n-no,” your voice breaks, making you sound like a wounded animal. “You are so, so good. You are more than enough, I promise.”

 He snorts in a self-deprecating manner. “Then, why—”

 “Because I’m not good enough. I fucked this up. This is my fault, and I can own that as long as you know that there is absolutely no—nothing wrong with you,” the last part comes out as a squeak as you try not to hyperventilate and cry the way your body is urging you to. Not yet. 

 Mike nods a few times. You can see his mouth moving from the side like he’s biting his lip or sucking his teeth until he agrees, “Yeah,” then adds a quiet, “Whatever you say, babe,” that makes you want to throw up.

 Mike scoots to the edge of the bed and stands. You assume he’s about to leave, let you be alone with your thoughts, so when he rounds the corner to get to your side, you sit up a little straighter. 

 Half of his face is illuminated, casting shadows under his eyes, highlighting the bruise on his neck that Rhi probably left, but your gaze is trained on his as he leans down to you. A finger hooks under your chin, and Mike tilts your face at an angle, kissing you so softly that it’s painful. 

 His lips are warm and familiar, everything you’ve been craving as they cover yours. There’s no tongue, no force, just light pressure as he inhales through his nose.

 You know what this is, what he’s doing, but you can’t prepare yourself because there’s still that tiny string of hope you’re grappling for. He just needs a break. You just need to give him space. That’s all—

 “I love you,” Mike murmurs. His voice is low and honest and slices you open. “I love you so fucking much it hurts, and I just—” He brushes a thumb over your lower lip as he pulls away, and it takes everything in you not to grab his hand and beg him to stay. “It’s like I hate you too.”

 You pull away to wipe your face with the blanket. There’s so much you want to say but have no idea how to articulate it, so all you can do is stare at Mike with wide, watery eyes. He… hates you. He hates you. 

 Straightening, Mike’s expression is suddenly nonchalant, like he just flipped a switch in his brain. “I’m not exactly the social butterfly I used to be, but I wanna have fun my last semester of undergrad—make up for the time I lost fucking brooding over you, so—”

 “I’ll stop going to the Pike house,” you tell him quietly. It’s easier to make the decision yourself rather than have to hear it from his mouth: Don’t come around anymore. I don’t want to see you. 

 “Cool. And, if you, like, see me on campus or anything—”

 You cough, maybe gag, you can’t really tell at this point because wow, this just keeps getting worse. 

 “I won’t bother you.”

 “Cool.” He bends to press another much more patronizing kiss to the crown of your head, then starts walking toward the door. “I’m just gonna try to move on, you know? Start fresh. And, you should do the same. Shouldn’t be too hard for you.” 

 You don’t watch him leave, just listen for the door to click shut behind him before you crawl out of bed, turn the lights on, and start packing your things. 

 You and Hitch drove together, but you have no doubt that she'll be able to get a ride with Nile, and with that thought, you’re out of the ranch house and on the road just as the first rays of the morning sun start shining over the horizon.

 *

 It’s surprisingly easy for Mike to slip back into his old, obnoxious persona, and the remainder of the school year is spent partying, fucking, and cramming for tests he should have studied for weeks in advance.

 But, life is short, and he’s done beating himself up over stupid shit.

 Most of his PKA brothers are happy to have him “back”, and the pledges get the chance to see this of him, but there are times when Mike catches Erwin or Nile shaking their heads at him. He doesn’t mind much. They can both go fuck themselves for all he cares. 

 True to your word, you don’t show your face around the house. There were a few weeks after the holiday get-together where Erwin would disappear for a few hours at a time and come back either tired or angry, sometimes a combination of the two. 

 He attempted to bring you up in a conversation a total of one time, right in the middle of a party where Mike had been eyeing up a sorority girl. He brushed his friend off, easily telling Erwin, “Don’t fuckin’ talk to me about her,” through the crooked grin he was flashing at the little blond across the room. 

 Erwin didn’t bother after that, obviously deeming Mike a lost cause. 

 Mike knows better, though. He isn’t lost anymore. In fact, he’s found himself all over again.

 Every once in a while, he’ll catch a glimpse of you on campus, but whenever that happens, he just turns around and takes a different route to wherever he’s going. He doesn’t want to give you any reason to think you can talk to him—doesn’t want to give you the chance.

 He’s spent too much of his time hung up on you, too much time pining and hurting, and that hasn’t disappeared entirely. Mike can still clearly remember the way you looked at him the last night the two of you spoke, the way your tears twinkled in the dim light. He remembers how strangled you sounded while speaking, remembers the way your shoulders shook as you fought your emotions, remembers the way your lips trembled against his. 

 It wasn’t very satisfying. Mike left the ranch house the following morning sporting a few bruises on the outside thanks to Rhi as well as a few bruises on the inside thanks to you. 

 That entire night had been a clusterfuck—between Maddie and Marie storming off to cry then the little stunt he pulled by inviting Rhi, it had been much too dramatic for a gathering of that size. Mike experienced a wide variety of emotions that night, but the one that stands out the most is the searing rage that threatened to burn him from the inside, the red the clouded his vision as soon as he heard you moan Erwin’s name through the wall. 

 Mike had already been toying with the idea of severing all ties with you, but that’s what pushed him over the edge, watching you put on your little show when Rhi walked in only to turn around and have a grand fucking time with his best friend. 

 It needed to happen. Mike needed to free himself of you. It feels good. Mostly. There are still some days he comes close to giving in, just picking up his phone and calling you, but he resists, and he’s better for it. 

 He gets through his classes, does well on his finals after actually putting in the time to prepare for them, and by the time Mike graduates, he’s already been accepted to the graduate program of his choice and has an internship lined up. The tension between him and Erwin has faded for the most part, which is great since he’s going to grad school in the same area up north. Things look… promising—something he didn’t think possible without you by his side, something he didn’t want to be possible without you by his side. 

 But, now, here he is, unpacking his new apartment with the help of Scout who insists on sniffing absolutely everything. He’s halfway across the country from his parents, away from all he’s ever known, and Mike couldn’t be more thrilled about it. 

 He can go full days without sparing you a thought now, and he hopes—he prays—that one day he’ll think of you for the last time in his life. 

[ next ]

[neworegoncoastcamping-blog]

Oregon Coast Camping: Free Or Nearly Free Spots

Just north of Bandon, Oregon, Bullards Beach State Park provides up RV camping by the ocean with scenic views of the historic Coquille River Lighthouse. Nestled among shore pines, guests can explore the Coquille River Lighthouse, the mouth of the river, and the shoreline. The lighthouse itself is open to visitors daily for guests to study about the building and the area.

A small campground located just north of Tillcum Beach Campground, this area has 42 tent sites and two yurts with loads of ocean views close by. A beautiful state park situated simply south of Oregon Coast Camping area with 23 tent websites, two rustic yurts, two rustic log cabins, and 6 deluxe yurts. This campground is generally a well-kept secret with Umpqua River Lighthouse, which has an adjoining museum and is managed by the Douglas County Parks Department, nearby. Located two miles north of Bandon-by-the-sea, this state park has lots to see and do with nearby Coquille River Lighthouse and Bandon Marsh National Wildlife Refuge. The park has 13 yurts and no tent websites, unfortunately, however does sport a horse camp with eight primitive websites. The close by city of Bandon, the "Cranberry Capitol of the World," has shops, galleries, and eating places available.

We had a nice time and this activity was particularly enjoyed by our teenage daughter. My first thought is that no matter how a lot time you determine to spend on the Oregon coast, it won't be sufficient. The seashores are all beautiful and the residents are friendly and welcoming.

On the southern half, when such amenities are unavailable, replenish with freshwater from streams and rivers. Study the tide tables so you understand what to expect on long stretches of seashore. Officially, the Oregon Coast Trail is 382 miles lengthy, but the precise distance varies depending on the way you select to hike it.

Further south from right here, much more tenting with breathtaking views could be found, making this a fantastic first night’s stop on a trip down the Oregon Coast. Cape Lookout provides easy accessibility to the seaside and a perfect view of the ocean. If you love to hike, you will find eight miles of mountaineering and walking trails via a lush old-growth forest. The campground also offers 13 yurts, six deluxe cabins, 2 group tent tenting sites, sizzling showers and bogs, and one electrical website with water. Our final pick for the Oregon Coast is the Umpqua Lighthouse State Park, situated in the Central Oregon Coast. This is a smaller campground, featuring solely 17 websites with hookups; eight are full hookups and 9 are electrical and water only. [newline]It’s nonetheless got plenty of features that make it a fantastic possibility for that winter camping journey you’ve been dreaming of.

South Jetty Rv & Tenting Resort

The nostalgic 1920’s-era Promenade is perfect for strolling or biking along the beach and the seaside itself is extensive and clean and ideal for taking part in or relaxing. Harris Beach State Park has everything you’ll need, apart from laundry. Amenities include clear shower and flush bogs, firewood on the market, onsite camp host, playground, dump station. And of course, the best amenity of all, the location right on the coast!

Ask An Rv Pro: 10 Tenting Tips That May Remodel Your Travels 311534

Instead, we ventured on to Cape Perpetua Scenic Area and spent at least an hour making an attempt to seize the perfect shot of the Spouting Horn and Thor’s Well. Tillamook is house to the long-lasting Tillamook Cheese Factory where you'll find a way to watch the production of a few of the one hundred seventy,000 kilos of cheese that they produce day by day. It’s additionally blessed with five rivers, five bays and of course the Pacific Ocean so it’s an excellent spot for water activities. About six miles north of Port Orford on the South Oregon Coast. Large, first-come, first-served campsites tucked into the trees; cabins, group and horse camps additionally out there by reservation.

Nestled close to a river, with straightforward accessibility to the path of the autumn. The coastal campground lies a pair miles south of the place the Alsea River meets the Pacific Ocean. The campground gives a selection of single-family campsites, a few which have each electrical and water hookups. The campground gives a wonderful location for whale watching. Most campsites have beachfront views, and sunsets are to not be missed. Many Campendium guests rave about how clean the park is and the natural beauty you can find here while tenting on the Oregon coast.

Devil’s Lake State Recreation area provides RV and tent tenting, and is lower than a half day’s drive north of Beverly Beach. With 28 full hook-ups and 54 tent sites, you can normally discover the proper spot here in the trees but be ready for crowds. This is the one OR campground positioned in a city, Lincoln City to be specific. Summer activity includes boat leases and day use on the lake. Like nearly all Oregon tenting, yurts are also available for an inexpensive payment. Beverly Beach is five miles north of the city of Newport, and can be a state park.

Pacific

Campsites are amongst sparse bushes ¼-mile inland from a sandy seashore at the mouth of the Umpqua River. Campsites inland amongst bushes, but solely a brief walk from Sunset Bay. Nearby Shore Acres and Cape Arago state parks are a short drive away.

The site is along a big creek with mountaineering trails to Alsea and Green Peak falls. There’s a swimming gap, outhouses, and an attractive landscape filled with ferns and bushes. This web site provides a more primitive camping experience, excellent for the camper on the lookout for a chance to find a little bit of solitude and enjoy nature. A chance to camp at Green Mountain is value braving the tough access road.

At the tip of a enjoyable day exploring and wandering, retire to your Oregon vacation rentals on the coast, excellent for watching the sundown, and rely the celebrities. Come expertise a seaside glamping journey, and guide your individual beach camping! These are simply five of the most effective campgrounds situated alongside the Oregon Coast.

If you need an much more spectacular show, go at sunrise or sundown as well and get a shot that can shock even the most skilled of photographers. After heading again to camp from the Circles in the sand appearance, we were enjoying a lazy and euphoric evening. Luckily our canines were around, the rasciliy raccoon tripped over my tent stake, and triggered Zoey into a barking frenzy. Zoey is my canine that is half Cocker Spaniel, part poodle and definitely likes to chase animals of any type. This group was started by a person named Denny, who in an effort to search out that inner peace, you started to attract in the sand.

The answer is to use designated Oregon coast camping when you don’t wish to hunt down the uncommon coastal tenting to stake your territory with your outside recliner chair or tent. Campsites are on a grassy space with some timber, near Floras Lake. A quick trail leads previous the lake to dunes and a long, sandy seaside.

Oregons 12 Greatest Tenting Locations

We went at low tide later in the evening and it looks like folks had already picked the beach for the whole sand dollars. The Bigelow Hot Springs was solely a 0.1-mile trek in if that. Make certain you include water shoes because the rocks usually are not pleasant on bare ft.

For a whole listing of coastal cities in Oregon go to Visit the Oregon Coast website. This park is positioned on the south finish of town in Florence, OR, and is a superb place to name home while you explore the central Oregon coast. Bring your seashore bag and loosen up at Cape Cove Beach on the south side of Heceta Head after your hike. This rocky beach is a great place to watch sea birds and explore tide pools. Heceta Head is house to a lighthouse on the Oregon coast, is thirteen miles north of Florence, and thirteen miles south of Yachats.

With 33 campsites, Jones Creek is a superb spot to cool off from the summer season heat. With swimming holes at every turn, plenty of shaded campsites, and trails to explore at the Tillamook Forestry Center, there's greater than enough to fill a lazy weekend. The nearby Wilson River offers extra swimming and fishing opportunities. On the larger side,Nehalem Bay State Parkoffers a various vary of actions for all visitors. From crabbing to horseback using on the beach, the chances really feel countless. Quite busy through the warm summer months, reservations are really helpful here.

We found this spot listed on UltimateCampgrounds but we stopped in at the BLM workplace inCoos Bay to get the inside track on the world. They did warn us we wouldn’t be the only campers on the market and once we arrived, we understood what they had been getting at. Southern Oregon Coast Camping  near Gold Beach Oregon on Hwy 101 just 37 miles North of the California Boarder close to the Rogue River. In northern California, many of the public campgrounds are within the redwoods they usually refill quickly, so reservations are required during peak months and ought to be made well in advance. If you wish to combine it up, try the close by Yaquina Bay Lighthouse or the Oregon Coast Aquarium.

I hope this text on Free or practically free tenting Oregon coast was value studying. A novel kids’ playground is in fashion with locals in addition to campers. Guests take pleasure in strolling on the seashore and fishing within the surf. Seashore guests have to be cautious of sneaker waves and harmful rip currents. The close-by Sand Lake Estuary offers fishing, swimming, crabbing, kayaking, climbing, and wildlife viewing. Kayak excursions are equipped 7 miles south on Beaver Creek throughout July by the labor-day weekend.

After coming again house we realized we have been zero.25 miles away from where it really was. I don't imagine that path is just 2.5 miles although personally, my Fitbit said I had gone 3.92 miles by the time we rotated. We have been extremely disappointed about missing this feature as this can be a very fashionable trail. Be positive you explore the Tamolitch Blue Pool Trail on Google Maps and drop the little man to see what it looks like on a traditional day. There are a number of areas that appear to be the right spot, however alas aren't any. 1- Continue along the path that can convey you to a total of 10 totally different Waterfalls, every with its own distinctive look.

[myassbrokethefall]

I can see Mulder and Scully ending up in a cranberry bog on a case somehow (Mulder's fault naturally). How would they react to getting climbed by the spiders?

Mulder would FLIP OUT and immediately stride his long stork legs out of the bog as fast as he could, while frantically pawing at his face, leaving Scully completely on her own, and disgruntled, in the middle of the bog in her much-too-big waders, absently pulling spiders out of her hair. 

The cranberry farmers would be snickering as discreetly as they could at the city boy and his discomfort. Scully, to be clear, would not LOVE the spiders or anything, but damn it, Mulder brought her out here to look for some bog monster and he can’t even be in the bog for five seconds because of a few little spiders?!? Come on. She rolls her eyes, flicks a few more spiders off her, toddler-marches out of there after him with her dignity mostly intact, thanks the farmers for their time, takes their cranberry-jelly samples that they were given by the farmers who don’t get a lot of visitors from the freaking Federal Bureau of Investigation and weren’t sure what the polite thing was, and lets Mulder explain emphatically to her in the car about how this lead is a dead end and it has NOTHING to do with the spiders, it’s just, he’s tired of being jerked around by these know-nothing sources, Scully, why do they want to keep the truth from him UGH WHAT IS IN MY HAIR oh it’s a leaf UGGHHH LET’S JUST GO STRAIGHT TO THE AIRPORT SCULLY, EVEN THOUGH OUR FLIGHT ISN’T TIL 7:30, I’VE HAD IT WITH THIS CASE. 

Instead of going straight to the airport though they go to King Richard’s Faire, which is right down the street in Carver, MA, because, why not? Mulder almost passes out at the ticket prices, but puts it on the Bureau credit card and hopes for the best. They do try to casually engage faire-goers in conversation about whether they might have heard anything about a mysterious creature who has been seen near the cranberry bogs around here, but everyone, including someone dressed up in a wolfskin bikini (note: it’s 59 degrees out) and someone in a full pirate wig and waxed mustache and carrying a lightsaber, looks at them like they are nuts. Mulder eats a legge of fowle and Scully gets chowder in a boule, they share a hot cider and are surrounded by bees until Mulder chugs the rest while giving the bees dirty looks like they might possibly be in cahoots with the spiders, Scully makes friends with a blacksmith, they watch a joust, Scully impresses a bunch of SCA types in line behind her (along with the knife guy himself) with her accurate knife-throwing, they watch the candle-making guy and then Mulder buys Scully a cool dragon candle, Scully buys Mulder a purple jester hat with bells and makes him wear it (it will, she says, help her keep track of him), Mulder gets shanghaied into being the audience participant in the comedy magic show to Scully’s great amusement, Mulder tries 4 times to ring the bell with the hammer and finally gets it and high-fives a bunch of bemused nearby children, they overpay for food tickets because the system is very confusing and end up with like 7 things of fudge and still have tickets left over and give them to a family on the way out, and they drive up 495 to the airport still not having solved the case of the cranberry bog monster but feeling like they can live without knowing, thank you very much. 

Thus undisturbed, the cranberry bog monster goes back to eating all the cranberries it wants in exchange for also eating deer ticks, which the Massachusetts cranberry farmers since time immemorial have felt is a pretty square deal. And the cosmic ballet goes on. 

[bonniejstarks]

Kinfolk’s Katie Searle Crafts a Beautifully Imperfect Life

Chantal Anderson

When Kinfolk magazine emerged in 2011, it quickly became a cultural touchstone for a distinct millennial aesthetic that combined rustic twee and Scandinavian minimalism. Like a cross between Martha Stewart Living and your coolest cousin’s Instagram feed, its pages evoked a world of wind-swept daydreams: Maine lighthouses perched above cranberry bogs. Camping recipes for Dutch-oven cornbread and spicy dandelion greens. Long-haired dads in denim jackets cutting down Christmas trees in snowy forests. Photogenic friends gathered in fields of clover.

The magazine inspired legions of devoted fans��despite its modest circulation of 85,000, its best-selling companion books sold hundreds of thousands of copies, and in a certain milieu the name “Kinfolk” was ubiquitous, as if it had distilled an essential vapor of youthful identity. Its devotees fanned copies of the handsome paper magazine on their reclaimed-wood tables and made pilgrimages to its Portland, Oregon, offices. But the magazine also inspired a backlash that ranged from legitimate critique (it featured few people of color) to self-satisfied snark, construing the publication as peddling the absurd fantasy of an impossibly perfect and privileged lifestyle.

A photo spread at the beginning of The Kinfolk Home, a companion book, shows Nathan Williams and Katie Searle, the beautiful twentysomething couple who founded the magazine along with friends Dan and Paige Bischoff, sitting in their Portland loft, on an elegant tweed couch in front of walls striped with sunlight—both of them fair and beautiful and stylish, dressed in minimalist dark clothes. It looks like a life built from sophistication and composure, as if one could summon domestic harmony with style itself, almost like casting a spell.

But as with most glimpses of paradise, this one already held in its frame the seeds of its own unraveling. After Nathan and Katie relocated the magazine from Portland to Copenhagen in 2015, they lost a baby—Katie delivered their son, Leo, stillborn at six months. Just a few months later, when Katie was pregnant with their second child, Nathan came out to Katie as gay, and they decided to end their marriage. At three months pregnant, Katie moved back to Oregon to be closer to her family, preparing to raise their daughter as a single mother.

Katie Searle and her daughter, Vi, photographed in Oregon last December.

Chantal Anderson

It might be easy to look at Kinfolk and simultaneously crave, distrust, and resent the perfect lives it seems to evoke. It’s the same envious resentment we bring to Facebook pages and Instagram feeds, the triple punch of projection, aspiration, and repulsion we often fling at lives that appear more ideal than our own. But in truth, its pages don’t testify to perfection so much as its impossibility: how every “ideal” life is actually a constructed fantasy cast across the troubled fissures of reality, in ways that are more vexed and contradictory than we imagined—and in this human trouble, also more full of grace.

On a crisp evening near the end of 2019, I meet Katie for dinner at Ned Ludd, a lamplit restaurant located just across the street from Kinfolk’s old offices, which are now occupied by “tech bros,” she tells me, who have let the wisteria grow wild along the exterior walls. Named for the original Luddite, Ned Ludd was where the magazine held one of its annual Christmas parties, and the interior feels reminiscent of Kinfolk’s early rustic aesthetic, full of raw wooden beams and brass chandeliers, with hip-hop on the stereo and pine boughs on the bar. It’s clear that for Katie, that Christmas party belongs to not just a different era but to another life.

It has been more than four years since Katie lost Leo, saw the end of her marriage, and moved back to Oregon to give birth to her daughter, Vi; and almost a year since her boyfriend, Joe Ensign-Lewis—the doctor with whom she fell in love just after Vi’s second birthday—died in a car crash when the van he’d rented was struck by a reckless driver. He was in the midst of moving into Katie’s house, where they were going to build a home together.

At 31, Katie has survived the loss of a child, the end of a marriage, and the death of a great love, but her presence holds vitality rather than weariness: Her warmth feels grounded by a solid core of deliberate resolve, her compassionate attention is electrified by intelligence, and her luminous eyes flicker with the competing vectors of disclosure and restraint. Her friend Sarah Winward, an early Kinfolk collaborator in Salt Lake City, calls it a mixture of fire and poise. Petite and slender, almost elfin, Katie looks like a college student, but of course I don’t say this, because she also looks like a person who might get tired of being told, “You look like a college student!”

Over dishes that could have been lifted from the pages of one of Kinfolk’s autumn issues—river trout stuffed with lemons, foraged mushrooms on toast, and a maple shrub soda our waitress calls “agrarian Gatorade”—Katie tells me about her childhood growing up in McMinnville, in the middle of Oregon wine country, a town known mainly for a famous set of UFO photographs taken there in 1950.

At 31, Katie has survived the loss of a child, the end of a marriage, and the death of a great love, but her presence holds vitality rather than weariness.

CHANTAL ANDERSON

Katie’s parents divorced when she was six, and she was raised in two homes: by two lesbian moms who are former members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, and by a still-active Latter-day Saint father and stepmother. Growing up, Katie experienced a deepening cognitive dissonance about the fact that the church taught her that her mothers’ lesbian relationship was wrong—“Their being lovers was as close to murder as sin could be”—but that they were also the most “Christlike” people she knew. She wondered how the Latter-day Saint notion of eternal families, the belief that the devout will dwell in heaven with their families forever, would apply to her own. Her mother, Jill, remembers how Katie tried to integrate the very different worlds of these two homes—one day she came into Katie’s bedroom and saw her sitting in a yoga pose with a crystal in one hand and the Book of Mormon in the other.

Katie met Nathan, also raised a Latter-day Saint, at Brigham Young University–Hawaii. In 2009, when Katie was 20, Nathan proposed in a Hawaiian forest under tree branches strung with hundreds of battery-powered tea lights. Though she had vowed not to marry young, she said yes, because she felt the presence of a divine design larger than her own intentions. When Nathan called Katie’s mother, Jill Searle, and asked for her permission to propose, he told her that he was planning to be a doctor, and that he would always provide for Katie. So a few years later, when he quit his job at Goldman Sachs to put out a lifestyle magazine full of photo-essays on juicing, Jill remembers wondering, “What happened to that doctor thing?” But Nathan was successful at everything he did. “We used to joke that he had the Midas touch,” Jill says, though he never took any of his mother-in-law’s ideas. (She once suggested a large-print issue of Kinfolk called “Old Folk.”)

In the early days of the magazine, it was a “complete labor of love,” Katie says, with all their friends doing the photography and design. She and Nathan packed and shipped the first issue from a friend’s living room. Katie smiles when she remembers the time they photographed hydrangeas spilling out of ice cream cones: how cold it was that day—even though you can’t tell in the shots—and how that chill was part of the grit and the magic; how wonderful it was to muddle through together.

Katie embraced that sense of community, but things shifted over time. As the staff got larger, Katie moved from an editorial role to a managerial one, and Nathan’s commitment to the magazine grew more consuming. Right before they relocated Kinfolk to Copenhagen, they ran it out of the loft where they lived. Katie was pregnant and struggling with morning sickness, but she would still wake up early to get everything looking orderly before the rest of the staff arrived. “It was a nightmare,” she says. The business had invaded their home, a concrete manifestation of how much of Nathan’s life it had already absorbed—an irony, of course, for a magazine committed to the idea of slow living and work-life balance. “We were so busy with Kinfolk, it was just like a hamster-wheel situation most of the time we had together,” she says. “I didn’t really stop for one moment to pause and focus on myself.”

When I ask Katie how much she felt the magazine was her dream as well as Nathan’s, she tells me that she has spent much of her life struggling to identify her own tastes and preferences. For many years, she didn’t realize how malleable she was—how much of the patriarchy of her church she had internalized. “I one hundred percent have codependency,” she says. “And I think a lot of that stuff is from the church.” It taught that her role was to be a caregiver, so it made a kind of psychological sense to spend much of her marriage supporting her husband’s vision: “All the moves we made, all the things we did for the business, were more or less Nathan’s dreams.”

“I one hundred percent have codependency. And I think a lot of that stuff is from the church.”

As we drive on darkened highways back to McMinnville, Katie tells me about how different it felt when she fell in love with Joe in 2018. Joe was completing his psychiatry residency at Oregon Health and Science University and lived with a big-hearted ferocity that thrilled her: He enjoyed simple pleasures like fast food and video games, and got teased for saying, “Guess what? I love you” to his friends and family all the time. Her friend Sarah remembers how Katie talked about Joe in the beginning: He’s just such a dude. He’s such a bro. He’s rowdy. He wears sweatpants. “She loved the way he lived unapologetically,” Sarah says.“It lit Katie up.” Candid and unrestrained, Joe was the opposite of Nathan, who had always been quiet and private. While Nathan brought out the serious side of Katie, Joe summoned her goofy side. “When Joe came into her life,” Jill says, “it was like we got our Katie back.” He’d never heard of Kinfolk when they met, and Katie liked that. Joe didn’t want her silhouette from a Kinfolk photo shoot. He wanted her.

Katie’s parents divorced when she was six, and she was raised in two homes: by two lesbian moms who are former members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, and by a still-active Latter-day Saint father and stepmother.

Chantal Anderson

Joe was devoted to Katie’s daughter from the start. Their first Halloween together, he and Vi dressed as bumblebees, and Katie was a beekeeper with a long white veil. Vi called him Joe Joe. “Joe had a lot of firsts with us,” Katie says—visiting his first pumpkin patch, cutting down his first Christmas tree—and she is glad he got to have them before he died.

The couple didn’t end up getting much time: They met in October 2018, and Joe died the following March. Katie’s grief for Joe isn’t just grieving for the loss of what they had, but for what they never got—the children they might have had, the additional father figure he could have been for Vi. “I don’t regret at all how deeply we fell for each other and how hard we loved each other,” she says. “I’m so grateful for it. We’d never felt that kind of love, and we were able to experience it together.”

Katie and Joe Ensign-Lewis—the doctor with whom she fell in love just after her daughter’s second birthday.

Courtesy of Katie Searle

Halfway to McMinnville, Katie grows distracted and starts fiddling with her GPS. She has realized the route is taking us past the site of Joe’s accident, where she has not yet returned—it took her months to even get in a car. (Her mom would drive Vi to preschool.) In the early days of her grief, Katie felt pressure to perform hope at the end of every articulation of pain, to reassure people that she would be okay. But she learned to push back against her impulse to offer silver linings—to convey hope only if it was what she felt in that moment, and to accept that in other moments, she might feel like doing something else: yelling at the sky with Vi, or driving to a place called the Rage Room with her mothers, where she got hammers and mallets and all kinds of things to break (“The wine bottles were the best”).

When I ask Katie if she has ever just wanted to wail at the universe,“Enough!,” she shares that when she found out Joe was dead, she kept repeating, “ ‘I can’t do this. I don’t want this….’ ” she says. “What kept blurting out of my mouth was like, ‘I remember this. I don’t want this again.’ ” Her body remembered the brutality of grief. She wanted to push it away like a toxin, or an intruder. But driving along the dark Oregon highway, Katie clearly holds her pain close; it textures her sense of self with ragged edges and long furrows of loss. She tells me grief isn’t a tunnel, and the point isn’t to emerge on the other side. You don’t move through it. You learn to carry it with you.

Her body remembered the brutality of grief. She wanted to push it away like a toxin, or an intruder.

Under gray skies the next morning, the air smelling like pine and smoke, Katie shows me around downtown McMinnville. The streets are striated with layers of her history: the boarded-up coffee shop where she used to get steamers in high school, and the sidewalks where she’d run into childhood acquaintances when she returned from Copenhagen, three months pregnant and single. Back then, she often had the impulse to share too much in response to questions about her life: Yes, I’m pregnant, but my husband is gay and we’re getting a divorce and I’m going to raise the baby on my own.

Katie points out the entrance to the hidden speakeasy where she took Joe on their first date, and then the movie theater they went to with Vi one night a week before he died. Vi couldn’t make it through the whole movie, so they left early to get ice cream. These are the ordinary nights that become electric with significance when you realize you will never have more of them.

We eat breakfast at a farm-to-table café that Katie identifies as McMinnville’s first hipster establishment, though back when she was growing up it was a paint-your-own-pottery shop called All Fired Up. At the end of their senior year of high school, she and her girlfriends had a fancy dinner in a little loft overlooking all the pottery, and after they ate, they climbed out a slanted window onto the roof. “Just to give you an idea of how unrebellious we were,” she told me, “this was our idea of breaking the rules.”

But after a few minutes, they thought they heard the cops on the street below and climbed back inside so quickly they scraped their backs on the window frame. “We didn’t last more than two minutes out there,” she tells me. “I was very much a goody-two-shoes kid, and I’m still very afraid of authority.” This is a woman who has trouble jaywalking, and who didn’t start drinking until her mid-twenties. She didn’t cuss at all until her marriage ended; now, she cusses all the time. “I feel like I could say the f-word every few hours when I remember what happened in my life,” she says. Joe cussed constantly. She sometimes pictures him as a young child, teaching himself how: “I have this vision of little Joe standing in front of a mirror and being like, bitch, fuck, damn. Just practicing in the mirror. Seeing what it felt like.”

““I feel like I could say the f-word every few hours when I remember what happened in my life”

After Joe died, Katie wanted to break a few rules in honor of him. She told his brother she’d call him from jail, to bail her out, but her version of breaking the rules has been both less dramatic and more meaningful than breaking the law. She has stopped telling people what she thinks they want to hear, and started being honest about her own needs and desires instead. It’s part of a larger process of self-assertion that’s been happening since the end of her marriage—a process that includes the tattoo across her forearm. She got the first installment—the simple phrase “ilove,” an anagram of Leo’s and Vi’s names—when Vi was a baby. After Joe’s death, she took a group of his loved ones to get tattoos with her. (“You have to remember that a lot of these people are Mormon; it was a big deal for them.”) Hers included a J for his name, and a tiny bumblebee. Katie told me the pain felt right. She even wished it had hurt a little more.

Chad Ford, Katie’s college professor and mentor, points out that Katie getting tattoos with Joe’s family and friends is one of many ways she makes her pain communal. “She’s not just lost in her own grief,” he says. “She also has this ability to share it.” Ford flew out to Oregon a few weeks after Joe died, and though he’d seen her go through other life-altering losses, something about this grief felt more shattering: “She was really at the pinnacle of happiness, as happy as I’ve ever seen her in her life. I think she finally saw a life that she wanted, and then to watch it crumble…. It’s the only time I’ve ever heard her wonder, ‘Am I cursed?’ ”

A sketch of Katie’s tattoo, featuring the letters “ilove,” an anagram in honor of Leo, her first child, who was stillborn, and her daughter Vi, who is three, crossed with a “J” for Joe, her late partner.

Courtesy of Katie Searle

Katie lives in a quaint farmhouse-style home on the same street where her mothers have lived for decades. She bought it two years after moving back to McMinnville, and says setting it up felt like discovering her own aesthetic after years of keeping her preferences submerged. This was the home that Joe was moving into when he died, and their last argument before his death was about what couch to buy. “Nathan was all about form over function,” she says. “But Joe was the opposite.” He wanted a comfortable couch and didn’t care what it looked like.

We sit on the one Katie bought soon after his death—comfortable in honor of Joe, but also stylish, a way of staking her own spot on the form/function continuum marked by these two men—facing a fireplace full of candles, and the massive plastic trampoline that dominates Katie’s small backyard. She tells me she assembled it herself. “The moral of that story was, Read the instructions,” she says. But perhaps the moral is also that a woman who’s been called “graceful” her entire life—“It’s an adjective people are always using about me,” she says—might be other things as well: determined, competent, resourceful, capable of building a trampoline twice her size so she could jump on it with her toddler daughter. “There are two things I’ve done in my life that were physically impossible,” she says. “One was birthing Leo. Second was building this trampoline.”

We will always lose what we love. There is no deeper truth than that, no other way.

Both Jill and Sarah describe Katie as a “memorializer,” and upstairs, in her bedroom, she shows me a shrine dedicated to Leo: ink prints of his tiny hands and feet; the tiny blue knit hat they put on him at the hospital in Copenhagen; his ashes in an urn; a stuffed lion that Vi sometimes takes down from the shelf to play with (though all it takes is one look from her mom, and she immediately puts it back). Katie tells me that bringing the urn through airport security when she was coming home from Copenhagen was “the most public display of disarray and just pure grief that I have ever manifested. I just didn’t want to let it go.”

Katie wonders if it sometimes makes people uncomfortable to see these shelves dedicated to Leo, and I say that maybe it does—but maybe there’s something useful for them in facing that discomfort. There is one kind of beauty that tries to survive pain by covering it, and another kind of beauty that tries to survive pain by expressing it—by integrating that pain into daily life in a way that might allow a person to be fully present. There is a Chinese saying that before you can conquer a beast, you first must make it beautiful; and this is the kind of beauty I sense in Katie’s home—the transfigured beast, the beauty of carrying grief rather than shunning it. It’s not an easy beauty. It’s hard to look at that tiny blue hat. It’s like staring straight at the sun. We will always lose what we love. There is no deeper truth than that, no other way.

When she was pregnant with Leo, Katie tells me, she pictured him as fragile, a lion cub—someone she had to protect. During the period of time between learning about the fatal defects in his heart and terminating the pregnancy, she could still feel him kicking inside of her. “That was a painful time,” she tells me, and these five simple words summon an emotional crevasse that’s hard to fathom.

Before Leo’s delivery, Katie and Nathan had imagined they wouldn’t want to hold him, but of course they did. The first thing Nathan said after he was born was, “He’s perfect.” He was stillborn, but he still looked like an absolutely ordinary baby—just tiny and quiet and still. “Some people don’t understand that I have two children,” Katie says. “I have a daughter and a son.” Katie says that when you lose an infant, you are also mourning “the imaginings of that child…envisioning what they were going to be like, and experiences you’d have with them.” With Leo as with Joe, she is partially grieving what never was.

“We’re all just figuring out how to take each step within that pain,” Katie says about rebuilding her life and creating a home for Vi.

Chantal Anderson

The mussels that Katie cooks for our lunch—simmering in coconut curry, flecked with shallots and bell peppers—could have come from a Kinfolk spread on winter hospitality, but they hold the ghost of an era—its distance as much as its residue. Nathan used to make these mussels for Katie on special occasions, especially when they lived in Copenhagen, where seafood was cheap and plentiful, but she never tried to make them herself. She always felt like an inferior cook in their marriage, so it’s a milestone that she’s pulled them off today. She’s far away from the wife she was then, dressed in the elegant black clothes Nathan always felt looked best on her, and as we eat this beautiful food—tearing hunks from a crusty baguette, breathing in the humidity of the spicy broth—Katie points out the un-Kinfolk-like aspects of her life: her messy counters, the pre-minced garlic she has scooped from an economy-size plastic tub. It strikes me that she’s taken what she loved best about that world—food as a catalyst for gathering and intimacy and care, beauty as a form of holding memory—and left its more constricting elements behind.

After lunch, Katie brings me to Vi’s preschool to watch her holiday recital. Vi sings “Jingle Bells” in her candy-cane-striped dress, carefully concealing a little green bell behind her back until the time comes to raise it high and shake it. When she waves at her mom and grandmothers in the audience, the sense of joy and closeness among all three generations is palpable. But it’s not a joy that has forgotten anything. It holds everything that has come before: Jill holding the body of her stillborn grandson, and then bringing her pregnant daughter back home after the end of her marriage, or standing in the hospital room when Vi was born, punching out of Katie with one tiny fist under a stormy sky full of thunder and lightning.

“I feel really broken, but really whole.”

As we watch Vi in her special reindeer glasses, it feels like the moral of Katie’s story is that no life has a moral. Or, at least, no life has just one. Old morals are joined by new ones. Katie’s story is a story about loss, but it’s also a story about care—a mother’s care for her daughter, that daughter’s care for her own daughter; the kinds of care made necessary and possible by the strange, unforgiving territory of grief. It’s a story about losing the Latter-day Saint idea of eternal family and gaining another sense of family, just as durable, in its place. It’s a story about leaving the beauty of Kinfolk and forging a new sense of beauty in its wake; a story about losing one partnership and forming another one, and losing that one and saying “Enough!” and waking up to live another day, even when it feels unbearable. “We’re all just figuring out how to take each step within that pain,” she says.

Katie’s life is now about beauty as sustenance rather than performance. It’s about letting herself be many things at once: “I feel really broken, but really whole,” she says. “A huge part of me is missing, but I found part of me…. I’m so grateful yet feel so robbed.” Katie no longer thinks of life as a search for happiness as if it were a destination, a place where you could remain in perpetuity. Pain isn’t what you’re trying to transcend; it’s part of where life happens. So she allows the present moment to hold the residue of all the wreckage. She makes the beast beautiful, and lets the contradictions stand—broken and whole, grateful and robbed, missing and found.

A version of this article will appear in the June 2020 issue of ELLE.

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Leslie Jamison Leslie Jamison is the New York Times bestselling author of The Recovering, a critical memoir; two essay collections—The Empathy Exams and Make it Scream, Make it Burn; and a novel, The Gin Closet.

The post Kinfolk’s Katie Searle Crafts a Beautifully Imperfect Life appeared first on Trends Dress.

from Trends Dress https://trendsdress.com/kinfolks-katie-searle-crafts-a-beautifully-imperfect-life/ from Trends Dress https://trendsdresscom.tumblr.com/post/614027662141358080

[rjzimmerman]

“Rewilding” is the process of active intercession by humans to the restoration of a chunk of land to the state it was in before we changed its uses. For example, this story focuses on the “rewilding” of a cranberry bog off the coast of Massachusetts to a coastal wetland, which is was before it was converted to cranberry farming.

If you think about it, “rewilding” is something that goes on all over the place, all the time, but usually without human intervention to steer the land back to the way it used to be. Examples are easy. A farmer decides, for any number of reasons, that he or she can’t farm the land any longer, and there are no buyers. Water has become scarce, or the soil has been depleted or its nutritional value destroyed, or the farm is surrounded by subdivisions. So, the farmer stays in his house, or moves, and the land lays fallow and reverts. It will revert to junk stuff at first, but eventually it might go back to where it was.

Another example: a home is torn down in a rust belt city (Detroit, Gary), joining other homes that are torn down in the urban block, and watch what happens. Green growth, and the earth is healing.

We get involved with “rewilding” constantly in the desert as the Mojave Desert Land Trust (I’m on the board and its President) buys land, typically old ranch land, and we go in with our volunteers, and sometimes with the Marines, to clean it up, shut down the dirt roads, eventually maybe help the plants spread, thus helping the land to heal itself back to its desert origin. 

Excerpt from the story:

Economic shifts have left landowners and communities around the country trying to figure out what to do with fallow industrial space, from abandoned farmland to empty factories and warehouses. Experts say the project here shows one path for dormant cranberry bogs; four similar, smaller efforts already are underway in Massachusetts.

But they say this could also be a broader template for bringing back disappearing habitat that scientists say could be useful in an age of climate change.

“Lands like this can store floodwater or storm surges,” said Alex Hackman, a restoration specialist with the state who has overseen much of the work at Tidmarsh. “The ocean is going to push inland, and it’s lands like this — if we can protect them and re-naturalize them — that make for good places to receive that water in the future.”

After more than a year of intensive work, including seven earthen dam removals and a project to rebuild the stream that had not flowed uninterrupted since the 1800s, new life is returning to Tidmarsh after a century of industrial use. A walk through the property is a stroll back in time. Tadpoles and kestrels are turning up. Cranberries are withering. And the changes offer clues to a crucial question: What does it take for nature to come back?

[obdurare-archive-blog]

This is the brief, fairly temporary version of Hector as the Sole Survivor but I've been making grabbyhands at the Fallouts I follow for a while (and hey, if you know any more, New Vegas or 4, please rec them to me so I can make them ??? by following them).

So. Sole Survivor Hector.

**THERE BE SPOILERS HERE. I know a few of you haven't finished the main quest/Far Harbor so don't look under the cut.

Part of the Immortal verse because I just can't let that one go. I keep making splits and at least it explains the game mechanics lmao. A lot of Nate's sketchy background does not apply to Hector. He did settle down finally...Kinda. Shaun's not actually his biological kid, but that's never mattered (the "I'm looking for my son" is very real with him - not played for sympathy and information, believe it or not). And who knows how long he could have played at suburban bliss had the bombs not dropped before he got itchy feet again, but we'll never know, because the bombs did. Y'all know the drill. Cyro-frozen in a vault for 210+ years, thaws out to see his Nora get murdered and Shaun kidnapped, and then thaws out again for good about 60 years later. The path Hector takes is: Sanctuary → Concord → Sanctuary → Bunker Hill → Goodneighbor → Diamond City → Ft. Hagen → All the way to a Railroad ending for the main quest. 90% of settlements gathered, all dlc settlments included. Covenant cleared out and rebuilt, Stockton's daughter freed. Railroad Code Name: Whisperer Ending: Evacuation sounded, Shaun left to die, tiny Synth!Shaun shuffled off to Sanctuary. Wazer Wifle is kept even after he no longer uses it. Companions Most Used: Dogmeat (constant), Hancock, MacCready, Cait, Nick, Longfellow, ADA, Gage, Codsworth, Deacon. No companions romanced during course of gameplay, though Piper and Curie were in the running. Did romance Magnolia. (Dat high charisma tho.) Did Do: Chem use, alcohol use, extort for more caps, occasionally threaten/intimidate, constant sarcastic responses, steal, lockpick, hack (to his ability), lots of speech checks. Did Not Do: Murder innocents, use power armor much at all, join the Brotherhood of Steel (practically laughed in Danse's face and gave him the middle finger).  Practically every sidequest he found was done. Helped ADA, did not confront Mechanist as Silver Shroud, did spare Isabel. Far Harbor: Max affinity with Old Longfellow, Captain's Dance performed, discovered secret of the cranberry bog, helped clear the Dalton "curse", helped the Mariner, helped Captain Avery, helped Small Bertha. Took Nick as companion. All factions still standing at the end, Tektus still alive but banished. Vault-Tec Workshop: Pulled the teeth on all the experiments, Overseer kicked out and becomes the new one. Nuka World: All the way up through Home Sweet Home - got the power on. Disciples destroyed - NIsha pissed him off and he doesn't take threats well. Ran the raiders a while before discovering the slaves in the marketplace. Nuka World raiders decimated. Other Fun Facts: && Original Nuka Cola over the other flavors in Nuka World. && Spent a night in DC lockup for punching Myrna in the face. && "Home" is Home Plate. && Did not do optional first-time Memory Den quest. && Power Noodles is life. && Frequents the Dug Out. && Actually collects those dorky models of things. && Also collects holotape games. && His "natural" accent starts peeking through around Cait. && Handguns and melee build with the occasional shotgun and rifle. && Killed Lorenzo Cabot. && Collects bobbleheads. && Will absolutely stimpack Dogmeat. && Chems of choice are Mentats and Psycho. && Uses the Boylston Club as a second home base. && Probably wouldn't have had an issue with the Gunners if they hadn't shot at him first. && Was entirely creeped out by Vault 118. && Powerfist and Revolutionary Sword are his weapons of choice. && Does not use heavy guns. && Thinks Piper is really nosy. But cute. There's more, I"m sure, but I think that covers the basics. He's not the shittiest of Sole Survivors, but he's not the greatest, either. He does some pretty shitty things, but he also does some really good things - usually with his own aims in mind. I mean, my dudes, he's still a pirate, after all. Tends to be kind of a smartass, but no one is surprised. Like everything else I can fill in with specifics but. Idk, I think this gives a good idea of how his run went at least? So here. Here is some 4 info finally, though I'll polish it up narratively later and add it to the page it belongs to but for now. /sits this gently down.

[the2travel]

* World Travel Tips : The Most Scenic Train Rides In The U.S.

Travel Tips -

The phrase is “planes, trains and automobiles.” But sometimes it feels like we forget all about the train altogether, favoring a car’s convenience or the speed of a flight. But trains are a great way to travel: You’ll never hit traffic and it’s much less hassle than you find at the airport. And best of all, certain American train routes bring you much closer to this country’s natural beauty, history and wonder than a car or plane ever could. 

Take a look at some of the most scenic train rides in the U.S. below. Book a ticket, then sit back and watch it all roll by. 

EAST COAST 

1. Cape Cod Central Railroad

Route: Ride east from Bourne to Hyannis, Massachusetts  Duration: 2 hours 

This coastal excursions run on approximately 27 miles of track from May through October. Traveling from the Cape to the Cape Cod Canal, you can expect to see sand dunes, woodlands, cranberry bogs and salt marshes along the way. 

2. Amtrak’s Ethan Allen Express

Route: North from New York City to Rutland, Vermont Duration: 5 hours, 30 minutes

This daily route is named for Ethan Allen, the revolutionary war patriot who settled in Vermont. Upstate New York and Vermont both host vast wildernesses, skiing territories, lakes and mountain landscapes. See all of it go by from the first few stops in the Hudson Valley, up through the Catskills, Albany and Saratoga Springs. Stop along the way or ride all the way to the end ― Rutland, Vermont is the state’s second largest city and home to charming B&B’s and inns and several summer festivals. 

WEST COAST

3. Amtrak’s Coast Starlight

Route: Ride north from Los Angeles through Portland to Seattle Duration: 35 hours

The Coast Starlight is easily one of the most beautiful train rides in North America. Ride along stretches of the Pacific ocean, up through San Francisco and past lush forests and snow-covered Mount Shasta. This train runs every day.

4. Amtrak’s Pacific Surfliner

Route: San Luis Obispo to Santa Barbara, Los Angeles and San Diego Duration: 5 hours, 45 minutes

Cruise along the Southern California coast as you travel south from San Luis Obispo to San Diego. Amtrak says that to be any closer to the water, you’d need to be on a surfboard. Jump off the train when it stops in Anaheim for a fun day at Disneyland. The train is easy to catch, with multiple departures a day. 

5. Napa Valley Wine Train

Route: Napa Valley to St. Helena and back Duration: 3 hours

Ride 36 miles roundtrip through pure California wine country beauty in antique Pullman cars. The route itself is more than 150 years old, and you’ll see some of the most expensive and well-known agricultural real estate in the U.S. The trip will also help you get a better understanding of why the geography and climate of Napa make it so conducive to cultivating vineyards. The journey is guided, and riders can choose between wine tours, dining tours or special day packages such as Mother’s Day or Father’s Day tours. The train runs throughout the year. 

6. Grand Canyon Railway

Route: Williams, Arizona north to the South Rim of Grand Canyon National Park Duration: 2 hours, 15 minutes each way

There’s just nothing quite like the Grand Canyon, and seeing it by train means you’ll likely see even more of it. Watch plant life change as you leave Flagstaff behind and keep your eyes peeled for elk, mountain lions, mule deer and ravens flying overhead. The train runs daily. Train crew members provide stories, history, music and entertainment along the way.

7. Royal Gorge Railroad

Route: Roundtrip from Canon City, Colorado, through the Royal Gorge Duration: 2-2.5 hours 

Take in the breathtaking scenery of Colorado’s Royal Gorge on a short guided tour. The area is steeped in American history, including when steel miners descended on the land in the 1870s. Tours include food, drink and storytelling, providing context to the scenery that’ll take the experience to the next level. 

ALASKA

8. Alaska’s Coastal Classic Train

Route: Anchorage to Seward, Alaska Duration: 4 hours

To see the Alaskan wilderness up close while you travel, go by train instead of car. You’ll spot bald eagles, beluga whales, glacial backdrops and alpine meadows as the train passes through the Kenai Mountains, which are rich with wildlife. Trains run every day.

SOUTH

9. Great Smoky Mountains Railroad

Route: Bryson City to Nantahala Gorge, North Carolina Duration: 3.5 hours to a full day, depending on the excursion

There is significant beauty to be seen and fun to be had on this route, which makes long stops along the Nantahala River and in Dillsboro, a small historic town. Jump aboard the Great Smoky Mountains Railroad to see the Carolina mountains and more than 125 varieties of trees and plant life. Country inns, lodges, historic sites and quaint shops line this route along the Great Smoky Mountains National Park region. Trains run throughout year, but schedules vary by season. 

MIDWEST

10. Amtrak’s California Zephyr

Route: Cross-country from Chicago through Omaha, Denver, Salt Lake City, and Reno to San Francisco Duration: 51 hours, 20 minutes

People who dream of driving cross country but don’t actually want to drive should consider the California Zephyr. Scenic highlights include the Rocky Mountains, Nebraska plains, Sierra Nevadas, Moffat Tunnel, Colorado’s Gore, Byers and Glenwood Canyons, Truckee River and the San Pablo Bay and the Carquinez Strait. The train runs every day.

11. Amtrak’s Empire Builder 

Route: Chicago through Wisconsin, Minnesota, North Dakota, Montana, and Idaho to either Portland or Seattle Duration: 46 hours

History buffs and fans of the Wild West will get a kick out of this speedy train which travels daily along the Pacific Northwest and much of the Lewis And Clark trail. Expect views of true American splendor: Vast North Dakota plains, Big Sky country in Montana and incredible views of the Mississippi River. 

There’s so much to see, isn’t there? 

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[thehamptonsbest-blog]

The Hamptons’ Best Chefs: Kevin Penner

Chef Kevin Penner - a veteran of Hamptons kitchens and personal chef extraordinaire - tells his Hamptons story, and shares his philosophy and tips on expanding your palette.

@TheHamptonsBest: What brought you out East? How long have you been working in the Hamptons?

KP: I came out to visit in the early 90s and I was intrigued. There was a good food culture out here, with Craig Claiborne and Pierre Franeyand other people living in the Hamptons. Back then, there were more farmers than farm stands, it wasn’t as crowded, and it was more of a retreat from the city than the extension of the city it is today. I thought it was a good atmosphere. In 1992, I was recruited to open Della Femina in East Hampton (now East Hampton Grill) by the opening managing partner, Drew Nieporent of Nobu. I was there until the end of 2000, when I was the founding chef at 1770 House before going out on my own.

THB: Where are you from originally? Was cooking always a part of your life?

KP: My family always had gardens, and my mother did canning. That was pretty typical in Iowa City, Iowa - the university town I’m from. I went to the University and cooked my way through - that’s how it started, really. After that, I moved to Seattle, where I  worked as pastry chef for Nordstrom. Then I went to Chicago where I was on the team at Charlie Trotter's and Cocco Pazzo.

THB: How did you get out on your own, working as a private chef?

KP: I figured at some point either you open your own restaurant or you do private work… It’s very hard to be profitable in the Hamptons, and after 30 plus years of being in restaurants, I realized I felt limited by the menu. By cooking privately you can do literally anything; Indian, South Korean, Thai - and really challenge your skill and learn new things.

KP: What’s a recent meal you’ve created?

THB:I recently did a completely vegetarian menu with lots of flavors and textures, not boring at all. It was all spice-based cuisine, very Northern Indian-inspired, using cashmiri chili powder, curry leaves, garlic, onions. It’s a much bigger toolkit to work with - with endless permutations. It’s rewarding and exciting.

KP: When you aren’t cooking, what do you like to do?

KP: When I’m not cooking, I’m usually thinking about it. Or in the gardens. I’m doing some canning right now, lots of San Marzano tomatoes. Swiss chard stems can be pickled, and I’m making hot sauce. A garden can provide year-round food products to use. I also like fishing off the point in Montauk - not so much surf casting, usually on a boat. Depending on the time of the year, I like to get out to Napeague, or the cranberry bogs, and forage around.

THB: If you would ever leave Long Island, where would you relocate?

KP:If I went anywhere else, I would go somewhere with a longer growing season. No matter where I go, I want to be near a big garden and to be a part of that experience. I look at cooking as an extension of raising plants or animals.

THB: You like to explore the flavors of the city. Any restaurant recommendations for us in New York?

KP: In the city, the most interesting area to me right now is Queens. The variety of cultures and types of cuisines is so diverse. It’s endless. I enjoy going to explore the Hunan and Sichuan provincial foods of China, and they are well represented there. Manhattan is not as friendly a place for restaurants - there are great ones, obviously - but that experience doesn’t intrigue or inspire me as much. I’m always looking for spices and flavors I haven’t had yet. My recommendation is for everyone to learn that there is no such thing as ‘Chinese’ or Indian or Italian or French food. That’s way too simple and binary. It’s all nuanced, and based on the locally grown crops regionally.

THB: I’m sold. How do we book you? Are you hard to get?

KP: Depending on the time of the year, it can be very hard to book me - other times I have more availability…. The best way is to go to my website at chefkevinpenner.com and send me a message there. Check out my blog, too, for lots of pictures and descriptions of my recent dishes.