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storiesofsvu · 3 years ago

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A Redemption Earned Ch 1

No official pairing yet. Future Heather Dunbar x reader. Jackie Sharp x OC (Nat). Past Heather Dunbar x OC (Nat) Warnings: language, mentions of past bad behavior, alcohol consumption, an angsty flashback. (The faceclaim/other girl in pics is Becca, for reference).

Returning to D.C had always been something on Heather’s ‘to do’ list, but it was still something she felt massively unprepared for. She’d attempted a return nearly five years ago, but things simply hadn’t worked out, she wasn’t ready, hadn’t done enough work, so she relocated once again. But now, a case had come up, one that required someone with her experience and skill set, even being in the family law jurisdiction, she was the one everyone wanted on it. She hadn’t been far, the drive into Washington not taking that long, but she’d been thrown right into things. Her office was far from leased, much less set up, she’d be opening her own firm branch, a sister branch to the one she’d been at these past five years, but in her familiar Washington territory. Which meant it had to be a prime location, have enough space for multiple attorneys and up to her expectations if she was heading it.

All of that considered, and that she was freshly back in the city, she was living out of an Airbnb at the moment. It was at least a suite so she was able to set up a mock office there for working through the case and trying to pull in other business and do whatever else she needed. However, it wasn’t in the state to want a client in there, things were a little bit of a hectic disaster. She was still trying to figure out if she was even going to start up the firm and move back to Maryland, or if she would be able to stay in D.C this time, everything was still a little up in the air, but right now her focus was this case, and meeting with her client.

Which is how Heather found herself walking from the car and around the corner to The Capital Grille. It was fine dining, proving both that she was worth the rate she was charging, and that her client wasn’t about to shy away from something on the fancier end. It was also a near half hour drive away from The White House, far from capitol hill, and out of territory that she figured she’d run into anyone who had the potential and desire to humiliate her. It was simple enough to check in at the hostess stand, she only had to wait a few moments for someone to come up to her and say her table was ready and to follow them. Her phone buzzed, pulling her attention and gaze down to it as she followed the host, winding through the restaurant.

“Oh come on!” Becca exclaimed, swatting her hand across the table to her father, “you know I’m right!” A wide smile was on her cheeks as he nodded, his laugh growing louder through the grille.

Beside Becca, Nat rolled her eyes, a laugh still echoing on her cheeks as she shook her head, taking the time to glance away from her best friend as movement through the restaurant caught her eye. The laugh stopped, and her eyes widened, her hand darting out to clasp around Becca’s wrist, pulling her attention from teasing her dad.

“Oh my god.”

“What?” Becca asked, her brow furrowing as she followed Nat’s sightline, “fuck!” She whispered.

“Did you know she was back?”

“How the fuck would I know that?”

“She sends you holiday cards?” Nat suggested, their whispers getting more frantic and quieter as Heather got closer, “not to mention she’s your mother.”

“I only opened them to make sure I wasn’t burning money!” She hissed back.

Across the table from Tasha, Rob’s laughter paused, a brow raised at the two girls, “I’m assuming I shouldn’t turn around right now?”

“Not if we don’t want her to know we’re talking about her.” Nat murmured.

“Think it’s a little late for that.” Becca picked up her glass, muttering into it as she tried not to look over at her mother as she was presented with a table.

Halfway through the dining room Heather froze, first stumbling in her steps then full-on stalling. That laugh. She knew it. And there was absolutely no doubt where she knew it from.

Twenty-nine years of marriage would do that to a person.

She said a silent prayer, then glanced up from her phone, searching for the direction Rob’s laugh came from, hoping it was a work thing, or even better, that he was alone. She wasn’t entirely sure how things would progress if he happened to be on a date. It didn’t take long to find the table, Becca was deep into a now hushed conversation, Natasha sitting beside her. Of fucking course Nat had to be there too, running into one ex wasn’t karma enough, she needed to run into her ex-sugar baby too. The one who had somehow ended up a part of her family while she was basically banished.

The hostess suddenly spoke, dragging her attention away from the table, the one they were seating her at a mere one table over from. She flashed them a small smile, waving them away before they could try and ramble on about specials and drink features. She dared a glance over to the table filled with people from her old life and this time accidentally caught Rob’s eye, who, rather than glancing away, gave her a warm smile and a nod of the head that she returned. A brief glance around the table and she was met with a professionally polite smile from Nat, no doubt perfected from her five years as the VP’s chief of staff, and an awkward look from Becca.

Heather settled herself on the side of her table that the girls were at, knowing if she accidentally caught eyes with anyone again, Rob was the best bet. She pulled out the case file, making sure her phone was on the table in case she got any work calls, and was quick to order a glass of wine when the server came by. It wasn’t often that she drank anymore, but all things considered. She needed some sort of buffer.

“You haven’t heard from her?” Becca’s hushed voice asked Nat who shook her head, “I mean, you were the one who never actually blocked her number?”

“Yeah, but once she found out Jackie was a legit thing, she backed off, disappeared aside from that one run in like, five years ago when I picked up a shift at Salt Line.”

“And like, nothing? No texts? No her creeping your social media or anything?”

“Girls…” Rob nearly chuckled, “this is starting to sound like a teen drama on showtime…”

“Sorry.” Nat murmured, sitting back in her chair, “just…really unexpected. Wait…have you heard from her?”

“No.” He sighed, pausing for a drink, “a couple of relatives called when my dad passed, but that was it. I get the same cards as Becca does. She’s probably back for legal work, who knows if she’s staying, but I think it’s best if we all remain polite and friendly. It’s not like either party searched out the other, it was a by the chance run in.”

“Yeah…” the two younger girls replied, thankful for the distraction of appetizers arriving, having something to focus on aside from Heather ten feet away from them.

It wasn’t that anyone was particularly angry at the other anymore, it had been six years since everything blew up. The table of three only had to look at Heather to know that either things had changed, or she was at least appearing that things had. She looked more modest, still properly put together, but less attention grabbing than all those years prior. Before everything went to shit, she would’ve marched right up to the table, been full of remarks and come on too strong.

Instead, she smiled softly, and settled in at her own table, distracting herself with the menu as she tried to forget that night all those years ago….

The door slammed shut behind her, the noise echoing through the vastly empty and trashed house. Heather had tried everything she could, Becca wanted nothing to do with her for nearly a decade already, and now Rob had blocked her number. The man who made a vow to be with her til death, the one she thought no matter what happened, would be by her side, had turned his back completely.

Although…. all of that was one hundred percent her fault, and she had no one to blame but herself. At least she realized that much right now.

She thought she had one last resource, that maybe, just maybe, Nat would crumple, would see how far Heather had fallen from grace, and rethink saying no. She knew Natasha had enjoyed their time together, that it had been hard for her to cut Heather off at first, there was something there still, making the girl drift back towards her. But when Heather had shown up at her apartment that night, she was blindsided by Jackie. It wasn’t just Jackie being there, she’d been prepared for that, their relationship was all over the tabloids already, but that’s all she thought it was. A media relationship, not one where Nat actually loved Jackie…one that would send Heather packing.

Heather dumped everything by the front door, kicking out of her shoes, her phone managing to stay in her hand as she moved through the eerily empty house. Tears were already blurring her eyes, the self hatred burning through her. Then she tripped over something, swearing loudly, a frustrated ‘FUCK’ yelled through the house. As she glanced back and down to what was in the way, and a choked sob bounced off the walls, a pair of Jordan’s shoes strewn on the floor carelessly.

It was something that she’d normally grumble over, yelling out to her son to try and fucking pick up after himself. She’d usually toss them back towards the welcome mat, or the bottom of the stairs for him to put away himself. Tonight, instead, she was reminded that he was gone forever. And not in the way everyone else was. She still had a chance at hopefully getting her family, friends and career back, but Jordan was dead. And she was slowly realizing that it really was because of her, the way she’d let him do whatever he wanted, how she’d shoved his wrong doings under the rug and made sure he was never responsible for them. She’d never see her son again, only a slab of stone in a windy field, and that was probably the closest thing to family she would have for years, if not ever.

Heather absolutely hated herself that night, everything about her was a fucking joke, and it was all because of her. She managed to grab the bottle of scotch from the liquor cabinet before she dropped to the kitchen floor, tears taking over her face, blurring her vision completely. Large gulps of amber liquid burning its way down her throat as she tried to forget. She’d been on track for one of the best political careers in the last fifty years, and everything had come crashing down. Because she wasn’t able to stay faithful to her husband, she had to be the one seeking out young and vulnerable girls to take advantage of. She actually had a decent chance of becoming president of the United States until her secrets and dirty laundry were aired for the entire world to see. Then again, it was her fault that her husband found out about the affairs, it was her fault that she physically assaulted Natasha, and once on camera.

She choked back another cry, her hand coming to cover her face, attempting to wipe away a few tears before taking a swig of scotch. She wished she could take it back, that at least she could have controlled herself in public, that the arguments could have waited until they were private. Nat had nothing to do with Jordan’s death, she was simply protective of Becca and stepped in at the worst moment. Not that Heather wanted to hit her daughter, she was caught up in months of emotions she hadn’t been able to process. But right now, she was still mad, and as much as she knew it was her fault, part of her still blamed everyone else.

Heather hated that the sun was still up, she felt like the way she was feeling deserved darkness, but the world was still awake, and she hated it. Grabbing a paper napkin from the counter she wiped at her face, blowing her nose before taking another large swig of scotch. Taking a heavy breath, she thought about what she still had, what she could look forward to, how she could move on. Her law licence was still active, it had to have been while she was solicitor general, and she’d kept it after that to help out friends whenever needed. She would have to fall back on that the next few years and try to keep her political law career afloat while she herself tried not to drown. That thought calmed her a little bit, reminding herself that she had something to fall back on.

As the sun began to sink in the sky, and the scotch moved through her body, she thought about calling her mother. She’d only left that morning, but always seemed to know what to say and do, she’d been the only one helping Heather through the funeral process, through the process of losing her son. With a heavy sniffle, and the desire of some kind of comfort, Heather reached out, picking up her phone. Though that was then she noticed a handful of notifications via email and a couple of other apps, a text from an old partner at her old firm before she moved up.

‘I know things are shit, but check your email’

‘Heather…I’m so sorry, especially if rumours are true….’

“What?” She muttered, taking another swig of scotch before flipping to her email app. A dramatic gasp leaving her lips when she found it.

She wasn’t being called before the bar, they’d already made their decision. She’d violated a very heavy rule when she, as a prosecutor had made Jordan’s DUI disappear. Not to mention the other shady legal shit she’d secretly done over the years. Her fall-back plan was gone. She no longer had a law licence, for a year at least.

She’d really done it…she quite literally had nothing left.

“FUCK!” Heather shouted, her phone wasn’t just thrown, but plummeted across the room, smashing into the glass door hard enough to crack both it and the phone screen. Her life was fucking over.

She convulsed into sobs, something she never thought she even could, she hadn’t felt this much emotion in years. Which, made it all worse, she yelled, screamed, sobbed….for hours, wishing she had someone to turn to, but knew there was nothing.

It was only hours later, her body completely exhausted, the bottle of scotch now empty that she sniffled, glancing up around the room. Her head tilted at the sight of a folded card under the island, wondering if it was something she’d dropped, or a weed dealer of Jordan’s she shifted forward, pulling the card out. She couldn’t help but laugh at the card reveal. It was the one that Rob had left with her a few weeks after serving her with divorce papers. It had multiple names and phone numbers on it, therapists and psychiatrists, ones that he thought could help her.

She nearly crumpled it, wanting to toss it down the garburator and pretend it never existed. But Natasha’s voice rang through her brain,

“Heather…please…talk to someone…you need it…”

The card turned over in her hands a few times, blurred by her tears before she let out a small huff, figuring if that many people thought therapy was right, maybe she should stop listening to her mother and those who made more sense.

She cried herself to sleep that night.

And the next morning set up an appointment with a therapist, and a following two days to clean out the house before her real estate agent showed up so that she could rent the place out in the meantime. She may have been broken and had no idea were to go or what to do, but she knew a change was needed, and there were plenty more to come.

Becca, Rob and Tasha were working their way through their meal, appetizers finished, drinks refilled, doing their best to not look over to Heather’s table too much, or talk about her in order to give her privacy.

Heather on the other hand was still working through her case file, trying to have as much organized as possible before her client showed up. Right as she closed the file, taking a sip of wine, her phone pinged and upon reading it, she let out a frustrated groan. It was right as her server had come around, so she asked for the bill to be settled, it was only when the young man asked if he wanted her entrée to go or to be scrapped that a voice rang out from beside her.

“She can join us.” Rob offered, only after looking at the girls who nodded. Heather’s brow furrowed, her head tilting as she looked at the table,

“Are…you sure?” her gaze moved through all three of them who nodded and gave their approval before she stood.

Trying not to be awkward, she picked up her glass of wine, moving over to the table, taking a place beside Rob and across from Becca.

“Thanks…”

“Just because you got stood up doesn’t mean you should have to miss out on enjoying a nice meal.” Rob commented quietly and Heather scoffed a laugh.

“I was meeting a client!” she sucked back some wine, “dating is the last thing on my mind right now.”

“So… you are back?” Becca asked cautiously, digging into her food as a distraction.

“For now, yes.” She let out a soft sigh, “I picked up a case in this jurisdiction, and the sister firm in Baltimore I’ve been working for wants me to head an office out here. Somehow the Dunbar name still holds some positive meaning and they think it would be a good idea.”

“Are you still family law?” Nat asked over a bite of her meal and Heather nodded.

“Strictly. As much as I would love to dip back into the waters of political law, I know it’s not a good idea, and honestly, I really do enjoy the work I’m doing now.” She was pleasantly surprised with how open the younger woman seemed to be with her, all things considered, she’d figured she would have gotten the cold shoulder, then again, Nat had five years of political bullshit under her belt now. There was no doubt she could fake her way through an uncomfortable situation. Either way, it was helping to calm the fluttering in her chest. “I’m kind of surprised you can even be here?” she raised a brow and Nat nodded her head to the left,

“Secret service is three tables over.”

“Ah.” Heather glanced over, now noticing the hidden in plain sight officers, her gaze then drifting over the rest of the table, landing on Becca this time, “what’s with the side eye?” she asked softly and Becca nearly snorted.

“Maybe because the last time the four of us were all together you punched someone in the face.”

“Becca!” Rob chastised as Nat blushed, her eyes darting down to her food in an attempt to avoid the subject entirely. Heather felt her chest tighten, letting out a small sigh as she glanced over towards Nat,

“And I will never be able to apologize enough for that Natasha.”

“Ooohh!” the younger woman practically gasped, and Heather flinched that it sounded like disgust, “please, the only person that calls me Natasha is Underwood.”

“I…figured Nat was too personal, and the last thing I want is to impose.”

“Just…” the younger woman shrugged, “go with Tasha, a happy middle ground.” She took a sip of her drink, “and…the rest of that… is a conversation for another time.”

“Of course.” Heather nodded, letting out a sigh of relief at the knowledge that that door was open for communication, and that hopefully she would be able to show that she wasn’t the same person who had hurt Nat those years ago. A buzzing vibrated against the table and Tasha was quickly distracted with her phone,

“Fuck…” she muttered, “I’ve got to go.”

“Oh c’mon, just pretend you never got it!” Becca protested, partially not wanting to be left alone with just family.

“I can’t exactly ignore the Oval Becks.” She replied, beginning to gather her things, pressing a kiss to the top of the girl’s head before turning to Rob, “thanks for lunch. It’s on us next time.”

“Friday, right?”

“Yeah.” She turned back to Becca, “you’ll be there?”

“Yes.”

“And uh…” She glanced to Heather, “I’ll…get in touch, maybe? I’ll need to talk to Jackie...”

“The ball will always be left in your court.” Heather assured, giving her a soft smile.

“Thank you.” With a smile returned, and a small wave to the table, Natasha whisked from the restaurant.

There was a bit of an awkward pause, family now left with only each other as the waitress came by to refill waters. Heather’s shoulders slumped at the way Becca was stabbing at her pasta, she knew that this wasn’t going to be easy, she wasn’t going to be welcomed back with open arms. And for it to be sprung on all of them out of nowhere certainly wasn’t helping. She couldn’t help watching Becca, examining how much she’d grown up, a pang of guilt shooting through her. She’d missed so much of her children’s lives already, leaving the help to raise them and then shipping them off to boarding school, now she’d missed the last six years because she’d fucked everything up. There was no opportunity to watch Jordan grow anymore, and Heather made a silent vow to herself in that moment that as long as Becca wanted it, she wanted to be a part of her daughter’s life again, and this time a real part. She watched Becca let out a heavy sigh, dropping back in her chair and taking a hefty swig of her cocktail.

“I hope you know that I truly am sorry about how I treated you, both of you, and about everything.” Heather spoke quietly, her voice much softer than the other two were used to hearing it. It was a surprise for both of the adults when it was Becca who replied first, her gaze still trained on her drink as her straw stabbed at the ice cubes.

“I know.”

“But…” Heather started, wondering where this was coming from, and why she hadn’t heard it earlier. Becca let out another little sigh, leaning forward against the table.

“When you first started sending cards it was the same old bullshit, a wad of cash or way too large cheque, half the time the only actual handwritten thing was your signature, or your initials. I gave all the money to dad to help fund his research grant. Then a couple of years ago there was a shift, you actually wrote little messages, and I could tell it was you, not some assistant spewing off generalized bullshit. Then Gramma called me out of the blue all pissy in a huff that you weren’t returning her phone calls anymore, it was clear you’d cut her off. You also kept your promise and never reached out to Nat, which…honestly…I thought you’d be hounding her for years, even with Jackie around.”

“That was it?” Heather asked quietly and Becca shook her head.

“Last year on my birthday you wrote a full-page letter, and signed the card ‘Love, Mom’.” Becca glanced up across the table and Heather could see the starting of a misting of tears in her eyes, “you hadn’t told me you loved me since my thirteenth birthday….”

“Oh god…” Heather’s hand flew to her mouth, “I didn’t….I didn’t even realize…”

“Yeah…there was a lot you didn’t even realize you were doing. I read that letter like, twelve times. It kinda felt like I actually had a mom for once.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“I know.” She huffed lightly once again, “and there’s part of me that does accept your apology, at least for that.”

“I was an absolutely terrible mother. Looking back there were so many things I wish I had never done. I wish I was more involved in your lives, that I actually carved out the time that you needed from me. I’m hoping that you’ll give me a chance now? I’d really like to get to know you again. The real you.”

Becca glanced between her parents, lingering more on her father, hoping for some guidance. She knew that Heather had definitely improved, and that she’d been working on herself, she could tell that based on the letters, and her behaviour today. Rob gave the tiniest nod of assurance that he trusted her to do the right thing and Becca’s gaze moved back to Heather.

“Yeah… that could be nice.”

“Thank you.” Heather did the best to breathe in the tear of relief that was threatening to fall, “there’s a…luncheon, mixer, thing they’re hosting next week that I’ve been invited to. If you’re free, maybe you could join me?”

“Eww, one of those stuffy gala things?”

“No.” She laughed this time, “it’s much more casual. I’m sure they’d even be fine if you showed up in jeans.”

“How would you know; you don’t own any jeans.” Becca teased with a small grin on her face and Heather playfully rolled her eyes, watching the way Becca’s eyes narrowed slightly, seemingly examining her.

“What?”

“Nothing.” The girl replied, taking a sip of her drink, “I’m just trying to figure out if those are blonde highlights or if you’re going grey.” Heather let out a slightly offended scoff, but it was accompanied by a laugh.

“It’s....blonde highlights….to cover up the grey…” she murmured into the rim of her glass, causing Becca and Rob to chuckle.

“You’re making progress. You would’ve bitten my head off for something like that before.”

“I’m doing as much as I can. Believe me.”

“I do.”

It was for the second time that meal that a phone went off, buzzing on the table top and Heather let out a soft sigh, folding her napkin onto her plate.

“If I don’t get going I’m going to miss this next meeting.” She pushed back her chair, surveying the other two, “thank you, for letting me join today. I hope I get to see you again soon.”

“Oh”—Becca’s hand darted across the table, snatching her mom’s phone. Practically a ploy to see if Heather would snatch it back or get defensive about Becca potentially going through her private phone. Heather instead said nothing, watching as the girl scrolled through a few things, typed something in and then handed it back to her, “text me…about that luncheon thing. Could be fun.” She shrugged and Heather smiled softly at the two of them.

“It could. I’ll see you around.” With another wave to the two and a quick goodbye, she left the restaurant. Back at the table, Rob turned back to his daughter, a curious expression on his face.

“Well?”

“She didn’t insist on picking up the cheque.” She offered and he laughed.

“Moving in the right direction.”

“One step at a time….”

___________________ @ms-calhoun @naturalxselection @yesterdaysgone @hbkpop @giftedchildturns40 @anya-casablanca @svulife-rl @borg-queer @swimmingstudentchaos891 @alexusonfire @jamiethetrans @natasha-danvers @oliviaswifeyy @mysticfalls01 @cmmndrwidw @bumblebear30 @svushots @yourtaletotell @cerberus-spectre @emskisworld @ex-uallyactive @addictedtodinosaurs @imaginaryoperagloves @multifandomlesbianic @annegilletteslostwh0r3 @drduckthief @whimsicallymad @mmmmokdok @ladysc @momlifebehard @mmemalwa @holycrapraewth @poisonedcrowns @wannabe-fic-reader @when-wolves-howl @dead-of-niight @fighterkimburgess @lannister-slings-and-arrows

#heather dunbar #heather dunbar x reader #house of cards #a redemption earned #heather dunbar series #house of cards fanfiction

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word-scribbless · 4 years ago

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Smile Again Part 1

Note: This is part one of my new Hotch series!!!! There is a whole lot of just back story in this one and setting the scene! More cuteness to come! A lot of slow burn fluff and some hurt comfort not really full blown angst!

X female reader

Summary: JJ’s cousin Y/N has been through a lot in her 37 years of life. She’s moved to Virginia to start to move on with her life,until meeting Aaron Hotchner throws a wrench in her plans in the best way.

Masterlist ——— Series masterlist

———————-

Y/N Y/L/N had just moved to Virginia to be closer to her best friend and cousin, Jennifer Jareau. If she were being honest this isn't how she'd imagined her life at 37 would be when she was younger. If you asked her then she'd have told you that she saw herself married with kid number 2 or 3 on the way, not a widow running from her past. Life has its own ideas for the way our lives will go though doesn't it. Y/N had a few things on her side however, she had her dream job as a translator for a publishing company where she worked remotely. She also had a loving, if not overbearing family to lean on, and lean she did. For the past three years Y/N was living and helping out on her parent's farm in Pennsylvania. She recently decided it was time to move to be closer to JJ, and the publishing company she worked for. She loved all the help and support her family gave her but she also needed to start over fresh and she knew that meant moving on physically as well. It wouldn't hurt to also get away from her family treating her like glass and closer to her cousin that, while just as overbearing at times, knew she was capable of more than grieving the death of her husband, and her hopes for the future.

She knew after the first week of living in Virginia near JJ that she made the right move, she finally started to feel like a human again. Y/N loved living in an apartment not far from her favorite cousin and her family. She especially loved that she now got to watch and hang out with her favorite little kids, Henry and Micheal, whenever JJ and Will both had to work. That morning Y/N was woken up at 4:30 in the morning to the ring tone she saved for JJ, Spice World, at top volume.

"Ugh, I never thought I'd say this but it's too early for spice girls." she grunted as she picked up the phone.

JJ chuckled and said "Sorry my dear. Wil is away for training and we just got a case that they need me on do you think..."

"I'm on my way" Y/N cut her off "I'll stop for coffee and bagels"

"You're my favorite person," she says.

Y/N rushed to get ready and grab her go bag. She learned quickly to keep one after she moved to Virginia and picked up more munchkin sitting duties, as she calls them. She headed to JJ’s favorite coffee shop, which was quickly becoming hers too. She arrived at the Jereau-Lemontague house quickly and was getting settled in on the couch when she heard JJ’s phone ring.

“Jayje, a handsome man named Hotch is calling” she whisper-yelled into the kitchen looking at the photo icon of Hotch on her cousin’s screen.

“That’d be my boss, He’s single by the way” she winked as she took the phone.

“Shut up” Y/N replied with an eye roll.

“Hey Hotch” JJ answered.

Y/N could make out most of the conversation from where she was perched drinking her coffee. She could tell that JJ’s boss was telling her that he was running behind because someone named Jessica had an emergency and couldn’t watch Jack. She assumed Jack was his Son as she heard JJ respond that Will was away too so he couldn’t watch him.

“Psst” Y/N called trying to get JJ’s attention without being rude. “Jack is Henry’s best friend right?”

JJ nodded.

“Tell him to bring him over, I’ll watch him. The more the merrier right?”

“Hang on Hotch” JJ said, turning to Y/N “you’re sure? He’s a great kid, you'll love him, but that’s a whole other human.”

“I’m sure! Tell him” she gestured to the phone.

“Hey Hotch. My cousin,Y/N, is watching the boys. She's amazing with them and she says Jack is welcome to join the party.” After a bit of convincing Hotch agreed with many ‘thank you’s. Before she knew it the very handsome man (who was even more handsome than his picture) showed up at the door with a very sleepy little boy in his arms.

“Hi I’m Y/N, JJ is just grabbing her bags, I’ll show you to Henry’s room.” she smiled.

Hotch got jack settled on the un-used bunk of Henry’s bunk beds and kissed him on the head. Y/N led him out of the room and turned to him.

“I know you don’t have much time but do you have anything specific you need to tell me?” She said handing him a note with her full name and phone number on it.

“Thanks. He’s pretty easy going but I wrote down some basics that I usually give to baby sitters. JJ trusts you though, so I do too.”

“Thank you. Call whenever you want okay? Be safe, and keep my Jayjee safe too.” She smiled.

“Always” he nodded.

Hotch and JJ decided to carpool to Quantico for the briefing.

“Y/N seems nice.” Hotch says as he drives, face serious as usual but JJ can see the softness. She knew Y/N and Hotch would get along. They had more in commen than most people knew, but unfortunately that included a big lose and both Being very closed off to new relationships. However she had hope.

“Yeah, she’s my very best friend. She’s amazing with kids too so Jack is in very good hands.” She smiled.

“I can tell” he replied.

“I’ve missed her, she was back in PA for the last few years but before that she lived in Maryland so it wasn’t too bad of a drive. Still this is way better."

“Does she work with children for a living?” he asked, trying to seem his normal nonchalant self, but not truly caring because he knew JJ saw straight through him anyway.

“No she is a translator for a publishing company. She translates books to and from other languages. She studied linguistics and Languages in college and has her PHD. She’s basically the whole package!" She said with a wink, causing Hotch to chuckle.

“Why so many questions? You interested boss?” she asked jokingly.

“wh-, I-, she’s watching my kid, I was just...” Hotch stumbled in a way he prided himself on not doing often.

“It’s okay, I think she’s interested too.” She said quietly.

“What?”

“She had the look after you talked” she laughed at Hotch’s confused face.” It’s a look I’ve only seen a few times but it means she’s interested so do what you will with that just be careful with her. She’s been through a lot.”

“JJ” Hotch warned firmly.

“I know I know, I’m dropping it!” she said and stuck to her word, changing the conversation to their kids and their adorable antics.

Throughout the case JJ and Hotch each called Y/N every night to check on their little ones. JJ made sure to check on Y/N too while Hotch usually kept their chats short but couldn't deny he enjoyed talking to her. She found herself looking forward to his call each night, she knew it was stupid but she let herself enjoy the butterflies a little bit anyway.

She had also been enjoying her time with not only 'her boys' but also Jack. Jack is a sweet kid and she loved talking to him about school, and soccer, and his family. One night before bed, after Michael and Henry fell asleep, Jack asked Y/N if she had any favorite stories.

“Of course I do, my mom used to tell me a story about fairies every night before bed.” Y/N replied.

“My Daddy says that my Momma used to sing me special songs before bed.” Jack said with a sad smile. “Daddy sings them sometimes but they make him a little sad, I wish he had someone to make him happy.”

“He has you sweet boy” Y/N cooed and kissed his head.

“I know but I mean besides me” Jack said.

“You don’t have to worry Jack, because I like to think that no matter how much someone hurts, there is always someone else out there that will make them smile again.” She assured him and smiled as he cocked his head to look up at her. “I lost someone who made me smile too, but I still find new people who make my life happy. My cousin and her family, you…” she smiled

“My daddy?” Jack asked.

She smiled and said, "Yeah your Daddy too, I don’t know him very well but he has to be great to have a kid like you!” she chuckled.

“He’s the best.” He said as he snuggled into her side, “You lost some one you love, like how daddy and I lost my momma?”

“I did” she nodded. "His name was Connor, he made me very happy but I know he looks over me and keeps me safe. Just like your Momma does for you and your Daddy.”

Jack looked up at her and smiled as he started to tell Y/N all about what he remembers about Hailey and how he feels. Y/N snuggled up close to him, listening and adding in here in there until he falls sound asleep.

She knew that when Aaron and JJ come back she’ll have to talk to him about this but for now she’s just happy that that that sweet little boy feels comfortable enough to open up to her. Their conversation however had her begin to think about Connor, and the day her whole life got turned upside-down. Hearing Jack talk all about his mom made her almost want to open up about her own feelings about her late husband after all this time, but for now she’s just curl up with some tea and JJ’s Netflix account.

————————-

Thank you to @winterscaptain for the encouragement and help.

#criminal minds #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds fanfiction #aaron hotchner x imagine #aaron hotchnerx reader #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fanfic #hotch x female reader #fem!reader #female!reader

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mulderist · 4 years ago

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Wicked Game

Chapter 1 // Chapter 2 // Chapter 3 // Chapter 4 // Read on A03

Washington, D.C - 1948. Fox Mulder is a detective on the top vice unit; scandal, corruption, and lies come with the territory. He is forced to investigate a fellow officer and finds the lies go much deeper than the truth.

tagging @today-in-fic

CHAPTER 5

The phone rang three times before she answered. My jaw ached as I tried to mask the slur in my voice when I told her who was calling. I realized it was a long shot ringing her number but I needed something to get my head on straight. I told her I was in Georgetown and as luck would have it she did not have a shift at the hospital that evening. She accepted my invitation to have a drink. I confirmed her address and I said I would wait outside the building to meet her, adding to look for the forlorn gentleman with a grey fedora. We disconnected and I exited the booth then walked to the curb to hail a cab.

Scully’s apartment building was tucked into a quiet tree-lined block on Q Street. In a town built on history this neighborhood dripped vintage charm with neat colonial rowhouses and brick sidewalks. I paced a slow line in front of the staircase then stretched a foot on the bottom step. The sound of a door opening and heel clicks on brickwork caught my attention. There she was. A vision in a short-sleeved olive green sweater with a high neck, wide-leg trousers gave way to dark t-strap shoes that peeked out from under her pant cuffs. Her ginger-red hair was pinned up halfway and decorated with a small flower. I straightened up and tried to smile as she landed on the last step.

“God, what happened to you?” she questioned before I could even greet her properly.

“And hello to you too.” I replied.

“Oh, your cheek,” Scully frowned, “This reminds me of when we first met.” She inspected my face without laying a finger on me. I tipped back my hat slightly so she could get a better look. In the afternoon sun her eyes processed a diagnosis and she reached out a caring hand to touch my jawline but withdrew it quickly. Fingers formed a loose fist instead as her hand dropped slowly towards her hip. I cleared my throat.

“Serves me right for interrupting someone’s lunch, huh?”

“Must have been someone important for them to leave a mark like that,” Scully said, stepping back and adjusting her handbag. I shrugged then said,

“No, just me being a nosy cop.” I found myself staring as she smiled.

“So now that we’re here, where are we off to?”

“There’s a little place I visit when I’m in the neighborhood.” I slipped my hands in my pockets and gestured with a nod down the block. She joined me at my side and we strolled for a few silent moments. Her presence helped to mute the extra noise in my head. Though with each intersection we crossed I was still checking my corners, making sure we weren’t being followed. After the little scene I caused at the restaurant my guard was up. I knew I could never be too comfortable with my surroundings and I certainly didn’t want to put her in danger.

We walked farther down Q street and crossed over to 33rd to a small bar named The Blue Note. I opened the door for her and followed inside. It was your standard set-up with a small stage on the side arranged for a jazz combo. Too early for a gig, so the jukebox in the corner played the matinee performance. Regalia from the university littered the walls but in a more dignified fashion, like the proprietor was trying to distance the establishment from looking like a run-of-the-mill college bar. Still, it was dark, smoky, and my kind of familiar. Only a couple of bar flies had landed to start their day-drinking. I ushered her through a fresh haze of cigarette smoke to an empty spot at the far end of the bar. She took a seat and I adjusted my barstool, sitting close but not too close. Scully caught the attention of the stout bartender.

“I’d like a vodka tonic and my friend here will have?”

“Whiskey.”

The man nodded and scuttled back to fix our drinks. I put my fedora on the bar and ran a hand through my hair.

“Can you tell me about this case you’re working on?” Scully asked as she placed her handbag in her lap. I thought about how much I wanted to divulge so I kept the names and places to a minimum.

“It involves a drug ring, fairly standard for the vice unit. However the fly in the ointment is that it also involves an investigation into my partner.”

“Wait, the one who was buried at Arlington?”

“The very same,” I answered as the bartender delivered two short glasses. I grasped the drink and raised it, she mimicked the motion. “Cheers,” I said before taking a long sip and swirling the ice cube around. Scully sampled her drink as well and I continued.

“The papers painted it that he was killed in the line of duty. Now, I was there that night. It was the same night I got a hot lead kiss on the shoulder and I think my partner was bumped off in a deal that went sour.”

“Your partner was a hophead?” she asked as she twisted the bottom of her glass on the bar napkin.

“I didn’t suspect he was a hophead,” I said after I downed the last of my whiskey, “but the medical examiner ordered blood work that confirmed he was sky high.”

“Did you see who shot at you?” she asked after a beat, tracing a fingertip along the edge of the highball.

“No, but we did get a match on the weapon. So all I need to do is take him in .”

“Let me guess, that’s who gave you the bruise.”

“Very perceptive Scully. It was one of his goons actually.” I said as I rubbed my left cheek and glanced reflexively over my shoulder. She held her glass close to her lips and thought for a moment before taking another sip to finish it off. Scully pressed her lips together and focused on her now empty glass. I caught the change in music from the jukebox; a heavy piano piece that fit the tone in our little corner of the bar. I flagged the bartender and ordered another round. She was hesitant at first on the refill but I guess she didn’t mind my company and decided to stick around. Time seemed to slow to a halt, dripped down like molasses on a winter day.

“Enough about me and the DCPD, I want to know your story.”

“My story, Mulder? I don’t think I’m as interesting as all that,” Scully said as she glanced at her hands, admiring the tidy red varnish on the nails.

“Try me,” I replied as our second round arrived and my attention was now only on her.

“Let’s see...you already know I’m a nurse,” she began with a gesture, “I’ve been one since before the war. Schooling was no cost and once the conflict started I opted to stay home in Maryland to fill the nursing shortage. My brothers had gone through the gauntlet at the naval academy and were sent to San Diego then the South Pacific respectively. It would have broken my mother’s heart if I joined up and got shipped off too” She paused and took a drink. “My sister and mother stayed in Annapolis but in ‘45 I headed to Washington to continue with medicine. There was more I wanted to learn and more ways I felt I could help.”

“And that’s how you ended up in Georgetown?”

She nodded and softly exhaled.

“After I buried my father, I buried myself in studies, work, and other hobbies. I figured if I kept myself busy enough I wouldn’t have time to think about the loss.” Her shoulders shrugged and she absentmindedly toyed with a strand of hair then swept it behind her ear.

“Any travel in that time?” I asked, hoping she had an answer. I was shit at small talk when I wasn’t using my badge.

“California after the war ended to see my brother Bill and his family for Christmas, then last year I took the train up to New England for a change of scenery.”

“Ah, I’m familiar with that area. My parents live on Martha’s Vineyard.”

“It’s really lovely. I was fortunate to visit in the fall.” A hint of a smile crossed her lips as she recalled the memory. A pleasant silence then fell between us. More small talk followed, less personal this go around. Filler subjects like the weather and sports weaved their way into conversation. I was pleased to learn she was a baseball fan and was hoping for a better season than last year.

The bar was getting more clientele and as much as I wanted to stay and extend my friendship with Mr Jack Daniels, I figured we should make it last call. I paid our tab and escorted Scully outside, placing a featherweight touch on her shoulder as I guided her through the open door. The air felt cool as the sun hid behind passing clouds, setting up for another storm. She thanked me for the drinks and though she was a captain’s daughter who could certainly hold her liquor, I offered to walk her home.

As we turned the corner and walked back up the block I still felt that we weren’t alone. I kept a close stride next to Scully as we neared her building. She ascended the steps and I joined her at the door. This time her hand found my cheek.

“I hope to see you again,” she said as she gently stroked my jawline, “But next time without any occupational damage.”

“Can’t make any promises, doll,” I said moving closer, feeling her fingers twitch, catching a flutter of her eyelashes as she exhaled. My gaze was soft, hypnotized by her features. She grazed the stubble on my skin then Scully raised her chin and placed a soft sweet kiss on my injured cheek.

“Take care of yourself, detective.”

Through the narrow pane of glass on the building’s door I watched her walk up the stairs, she looked back over her shoulder giving me a final flash of that flower nestled against her red hair. As I turned and walked down the steps I noticed a car parked across the street and a man with a sharp suit and glasses leaning against the side.

“Are you following me?” I called out once I was on the sidewalk, my hand on the butt of my weapon.

“This is your surveillance detail?” Skinner questioned.

“Chivalry isn’t dead yet, Captain.”

“Something’s come up. Get in,” Skinner said as he motioned to the car. I walked around the front of the cruiser and opened the passenger door joining him inside.

“I heard about your incident with Carlo Lodi today.”

“Word travels fast.”

“You’re damn right it does, Mulder. This city is more connected than ever. I had a conversation with our friend Alex Krycek when he returned the squad car you lent him. Seems that he was privy to information regarding a Vincenti heroin shipment tonight.”

“Ha! What did you have to trade for that info?” I asked. He tensed his jaw then said,

“Continued protection. It appears he’s been sitting on this since we first interrogated him.”

“Jesus Christ.”

“There will be a boat arriving at the Navy Yard tonight. Small crew. They are going to make a transfer to one of the warehouses, but it’s up to you to find how they’re moving the shipment from there.”

I took a moment to process the details of my assignment.

“Will I have back-up?”

“Via radio. Do not engage after you make the mark. Follow standard tailing procedure.”

“If you’re going to send me on a suicide mission, can you at least drop me off in Alexandria. I could use a shower and something to eat.” Skinner gave me a sideways glance and turned the key in the ignition, bringing life to the cruiser. He shifted into gear and we were on our way back across the Potomac.

#i wrote this #historical au #mulder pov #xf fanfic #my fic #noir fiction #wip

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pedros-mustache-main · 4 years ago

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when your love reaches me (ii)

summary: 1978 is decidedly not 2020. nor is your life ever the same when you meet a guitarist, curly haired, soft spoken, and true.

word count: 8.5k+ (once again, i got carried away)

warnings: screwed up historical timeline, suggestive moments (not 18+ but be mindful), language, innuendo, slight angst; truly, this chapter is mostly fluff which is surprising coming from me and probably explains why it was so hard to write :)

a/n: thank! you! for such a lovely response to the first part of this mini-series! truly means a lot. :) also: mega shoutout to @deacyblues who really helped me with this one; she’s the mvp of this chapter! this one is formatted a little differently than the first and the last part (which for some reason i’m ~nervous~ about), so let me know what you think. xoxo!

part i

in this chapter: snapshots of what life is like on the road alongside the one you love.

october, 1978��new orleans

as much as it can be, life is bliss.

you’ve been on the road for days, slept on a bus more than in a proper bed, survived the flagrant display of hedonism in new orleans, argued with brian about how long he hogs the bathroom in the morning, and barely eaten anything of substance, but still you’re happy.

he makes you happy. you make him happy. that’s all that matters.

you’re on the bus, headed for the airport. the next leg of the tour is florida—two nights there—then two nights on the east coast—maryland and connecticut. it’s late, nearing midnight, and the bus hums down the highway at a consistent and comfortable speed. for the most part, it’s quiet. there’s a soft conversation somewhere at the front of the bus; you think it’s gerry, yet again going over the schedule, but you could be wrong. flashes of light stream through the windows as you pass under street lamps, and you curl a little closer into brian’s side. he shifts in his sleep, mumbling under his breath.

he’s tired. they all are. it’s only been a few days, but after the party in new orleans and with the waning energy after the initial concerts, the boys are settling—settling into tour life and the long nights and early mornings. life on the road isn’t easy, and you don’t blame them for catching whatever sleep they can when they can.

you’re settling too. it’s been nearly two months since you left home. you’d thought you’d be more desperate than you are. sometimes, you see a trinket in a shop window or hear anna say something that reminds you of your baby sister. other times, crystal will make a joke that reminds you of your brother. in those moments, you miss home more than anything in the world. but then brian will walk by, headed for the stage, and trail his fingers across your shoulders in a silent moment of affection, and you’re happy where you are.

so long as you’re with him, you’re happy.

brian’s eyelids flutter open when the driver skips over a pothole. he groans, rubbing at his temples. “fuck,” he breathes.

you push yourself off his chest, enough to meet his gaze. “feeling okay?”

he peeks through his fingers. “i think i got run over by a train.”

“well, that’s what freddie’s parties will do to you.” you poke his ribs, grinning. “you’re lucky you lot have a few days off to recover.”

“trust me,” he says plainly. “it was built into the schedule.” for a moment, his eyes scan your face. one long finger comes up to brush your cheek. “how’d you manage to get out unscathed?”

you shrug and resist the urge to lean into his touch. you can’t tell him the truth. he wouldn’t understand if you explain that your grandmother once read you an article about “saturday night in sodom” and the night freddie mercury almost broke louisiana. instead you twirl a lock of his hair around your index finger and say, “i’m good at moderation.”

leaning back against the headrest, his arm circles your waist, squeezing at the flesh below your hip. “remind me to get a few tips next time.” he closes his eyes, his lips parting as he falls back asleep. you smile, snuggle against him, and pinch yourself.

nope—still not dreaming. thank heaven.

november, 1978—detroit

by the time you reach michigan, the rhythm of the tour is set. everyone has their role to play, and each part is played to perfection. your part is slightly more fluid than most, but, alongside anna and john’s wife veronica, you manage to find your way most of the time.

it can be awkward, though. you have no musical talent, no ability to haul or set up lighting rigs. really, your role is very clear: you’re around to keep brian entertained and as relaxed as possible. whatever he needs, you do it—even if that means letting him muss your hair or mark your skin too much during a lengthy drum solo.

at first, you can’t stand knowing everyone else knows when you’ve had a quick shag in the stairwell or showed up late to sound check because brian got too handsy in the lift on the way out of the hotel. you’ve never been so open about a relationship before, least of all the physical aspect of it. you like to keep private things private, but that doesn’t work so well when you live hotel to hotel with the same thirty people. any bit of juicy gossip can fuel the band and the roadies for days on end. they’re worse than a group of church-going busy-bodies.

but that was a week ago, and you know better than most that much can change in the span of a week. brian’s lingering kisses or the quickes in a broom closet don’t make you nervous anymore. you don’t care if you get caught because lord knows roger and anna or veronica and deaky or any number of the crew are doing the same a hallway over. it’s all a part of the thrill of being with him, loving him (you refuse acknowledge it—the love—even to yourself; it’s too soon to love him, though you know you do).

on the first night of the two gigs in detroit, you catch brian in the hallway before he goes out on stage. you’d stepped out to grab a bottle of water and nearly missed him in the process, but when he sees you, he lights up with a smile. he pauses. roger quips for brian to make it quick as he rushes after john, drumsticks in hand.

“go get ‘em, tiger,” you say, slugging his shoulder with your fist lightly.

he catches your arm and lifts your hand to kiss the bone of your wrist. god, he makes you melt. “you gonna come watch from the side?” he mumbles against your skin. he’s looking at you through his dark lashes, thoroughly enjoying the way you squirm from side to side.

you nod and untangle your hand from his grasp. “eventually, yeah. crystal said he wants to show me the view from up top.”

brian rolls his eyes with a good-natured huff. “watch out for that crystal. he’s trouble.”

“sorry—what was that, mate?” crystal, rushing down the ramp toward one of the dressing rooms, pauses behind brian. “did you say i’m trouble?”

brian glances over his shoulder. “would you deny it?”

crystal hesitates, runs a hand over his beard. “no, but i don’t think my contract includes taking slag from my boss.”

shaking his head, brian laughs and heads up the ramp toward the stage. you call after him, and he turns as he continues walking, red special over his back, eyes wide and expectant. lifting the camera that’s perpetually around your neck with one hand, you blow him a kiss with the other. the camera captures his reaction: a wide grin, flushed cheeks, legs mid-stride. he disappears around the corner, and the hallway fills with the sound of cheers and applause when queen finally takes the stage.

you meet crystal’s eyes and wait for him to say something. you don’t have to wait long.

“you two are disgusting.”

“you know, if you had actually brought me my drink at the disco, we might not be here.”

“to think i could have been saved the horror of having to go to bed each night scrubbing my brain of all your disgusting happiness.”

reaching out, you touch crystal’s elbow and pout your lower lip. “oh, crystal, are you lonely? do i need to find you a friend?”

he scoffs and twists to shake the hand on his elbow. “please,” he drawls. “i’ve got no issue there.”

you stick out your tongue, and he moves down the hallway, but you follow close at his heels. “so, will you really show me the view from the scaffolding?”

“aren’t you afraid of heights?”

“absolutely, but i want to see it anyway. ratty said it was the best seat in the house.”

it takes a modicum of more effort to convince him—you have to promise to buy him a bowl of ice-cream next time the group goes out—but eventually he gives in. after leading you through a maze of wires and boxes, he climbs the lighting rig suspended over roger’s drumset. you hesitate at the ladder. you are afraid of heights, but you based on the way ratty went on and on about how “fuckin’ amazing” the show is from above, you’d like to think you can put your fears aside for the experience. palms sweaty, you wipe them across your jeans then scramble up the ladder. crystal sits on the narrow walkway, laughing, legs dangling over roger’s head. he pats the spot beside him, and you shuffle closer.

“what do you think?” he asks, spreading his arms toward the view.

once you’re settled and able to calm your racing heart, you look out over the stage. your breath catches in your throat. “ratty was right—for once,” you whisper.

you can see everything from here. most of the time, when you’re confined to the wings, you can barely see brian or barely see deaky. you never see roger, and you can rarely see the audience. from the scaffolding, you can see it all: freddie strutting across the stage, roger pounding the drums, deaky bopping in a tight circle, brian tearing into the guitar. from this angle you catch the way they work as a well-oiled machine, perfectly in-tune with one another. you can see the audience, too, and the way their faces shine with joy. the crowd looks like the sea, the way it moves up and down and side to side with the time of the music. it gives you a whole new appreciation for the roadies, too, and the way they work tirelessly to make this happen, often without proper thanks.

crystal nudges you with his shoulder. “take a picture,” he says. “to remember.”

you don’t have to be told twice. you raise the camera, peer through the viewfinder, careful to get your feet and crystal’s in the frame, and snap a shot. when you pull back, you see brian looking up at you from below, and you hope you got him in the frame, too.

november, 1978—philadelphia

“[y/n]! get over here!”

at the sound of ratty’s frantic voice, you pause in the stairwell and look over your shoulder. he’s hunched over a smoking amp, waving toward crystal and another roadie—phil, you think. when he catches your eye, he points to the spot beside him. you’ve never seen him so alarmed and, as much as you want to get away from backstage and find a couch to nap on, you hurry to his side.

“what is it?”

“the fucking amp broke! deaky’s muted and so’s brian.”

you cringe. “his amp’s gone bad, too?”

“no! something else. i don’t fucking know. he just needs this wire.” ratty shoves a wire in your hand. it hangs loosely in your palm, and you get the feeling you know what he’s going to ask next. “you gotta go give it to him.”

you shake your head, mouth gone suddenly dry. “ratty, you have to be joking.”

he straightens. “do i look like i’m joking, [y/n]?”

he looks, truthfully, like he’s on the verge of tears. but you don’t say that. you just grimace and mutter, “please don’t make me do it.”

“sorry, gotta be done. just make it quick!” he takes a hold of your shoulders and pushes you out of the safety of the wings before wheeling around on his heel at the sound of crystal calling his name.

legs frozen, you stand just to the right of deaky, still partially obscured by the walls of the wings. deaky continues to play, despite the fact that no one can hear him. you can almost see the steam coming out of his ears. he looks to the left and the right, searching for someone—anyone—to come and solve the issue. when he looks to his right, he sees you and his face relaxes for the briefest of seconds. he shuffles closer.

“is that for me?” he asks, nodding to the wire in your hand.

“no, sorry! it’s for brian. he’s got issues, too.”

“fuck! this is a fucking shitshow!” he cocks his head toward the other side of the stage. “go give it to him then!”

you realize belatedly as you run across the stage that you’re not wearing shoes. your socks slide against the slick floor, but you manage to stay upright, your vision tunneled on brian. you try not to think of the hundreds of thousands of eyes watching your every move, wondering who on earth you are and why you’ve taken to the stage like an invader.

roger and freddie are still going, riffing off one another to keep the energy high. they’ve started some sort of call-and-response game with the audience, so when you make it to brian’s side, you have to shout to be heard.

“ratty told me to give you this!”

brian’s angry, in rare form. his jaw is clenched tight, his temples throbbing. he looks ready to burst, and you wince when he grabs the wire from your hand. “for fuck’s sake, [y/n]! what is going on tonight?” he rips a wire from his guitar and replaces it with the new one.

you can only offer him a paltry shrug. “couldn’t tell you.”

fiddling with an amp behind his back, he gives his guitar a few experimental strums. sound blasts through the amps, and you resist the urge to lift your hands and cover your ears. relief surges through your veins; you give him a thumbs up. at the same moment, deaky plucks at his bass, which fills the stadium with its deep tones.

oh thank heaven. you did not want to be in the greenroom after the show if everything hadn’t gotten fixed.

before you can turn to leave, brian grabs the back of your neck and kisses you hard. your cheeks feel like they’re on fire, well-aware of the way the audience cheers as the touch lingers. you pull away first.

“thank you,” he whispers. he gives your rump a solid tap as you turn to make a beeline for the wings.

you think you’ll curl up and die when you rush past freddie and he says into the microphone, “ay, that’s brian’s girl!” he grabs your wrist and crushes you against his side, and you have the wherewithal to laugh even though you really want to stamp on his foot and run away. “she’s our little savior tonight, huh? a good luck charm!”

you finesse your way back to the wings, your skin hot with embarrassment, and flip ratty the bird as you make your way to the greenroom.

november, 1978—st. louis

there’s a show on thanksgiving day—sold out, much to everyone’s surprise—but after the concert, you gather around a long table in the hotel conference room. the carpet beneath your shoes is a pale purple, the table flimsy, the chairs uncomfortable plastic. someone’s laid a brilliant white tablecloth with a traditional thanksgiving meal, and the smell of roasted turkey and sweet potatoes and stuffing warms any of the cold still lingering on your body. you sit, squeezed between brian and crystal, across from anna, who winks at you as she lifts her cup to receive a helping of red wine.

“i’m fuckin’ famished.” crystal doesn’t wait for everyone to be seated or gerry to say a few words of toast. he grabs the basket of rolls and hands you one.

rolling your eyes, you take it and place it on the side of your plate. it’s the hotel’s china, a cream with mint trim. “you could wait and try to pretend like you have good table manners.”

beside you, brian snickers into his cup—a mug, really—of wine. his arm is slung over the back of your chair, his fingers circling lazily on your shoulder. you shift in your seat to lean into his touch.

crystal pulls a face. for a moment, you think you’re staring into the face of your elder brother. that’s exactly something marcus would have done. your gut clenches, and you have to look away, reach for brian’s knee, before you begin to cry. how long’s it been? three months? you miss the sound of your mother’s voice, the way your father worries after you in your flat. you miss it all; you always will.

“excuse me, excuse me. i’d like to say a few words.” gerry stands at the head of the table, tapping his fork against his cup. lingering conversations fade as everyone turns to face gerry. “not one for speeches,” he starts.

“then sit down!” it’s john, from the end of the table, who interrupts. veronica elbows him hard, and he doubles over in a combination of a laugh and a wheeze.

gerry smiles through tight lips. “thank you, veronica. as i was saying, i’m not one for speeches, but i think tonight’s as good as any to tell you how happy i am to be a part of this. we’ve got a hell of a lot more to do, but i’m thankful for what we’ve accomplished so far. anyway, that was shite, but it’s how i feel. eat up. happy thanksgiving.”

there’s a chorus of happy thanksgiving and glass clinking against class. you sip at your wine and smile to yourself. you’d thought of what it would be like to celebrate thanksgiving before, but never imagined it would be like this. you wouldn’t have it any other way. not with roger slingshotting a green bean across the table or freddie grilling dennis about what type of butter he used for the mashed potatoes.

you fill your plate, thankful, among other things, for the chance to eat a full meal alongside your new family. there’s a deep satisfaction in your chest. though there’s some part of you that still feels ridiculous wearing checkered trousers and dark turtlenecks, you think you feel more at home here than anywhere else.

“[y/n]?”

lifting a bite of cranberry sauce to your mouth, you turn your head to meet brian’s eyes. he’s leaned forward, his chin dipped. beneath the table, his fingers settle on your thigh, and he squeezes gently. you quirk an eyebrow as you chew, waiting for him to speak.

“i’m glad you’re here.”

you swallow, put your fork down, press the hand that’s on your thigh, smile. “i’m glad i’m here too.”

something stiff and slimy hits your forehead. you jostle in your seat with a gasp. a green bean lands in your lap, and you look up, eyes wide. across the table, anna’s laughing behind her hand, roger grinning widely.

“roger!”

he shrugs. “sorry, love, couldn’t help it. perfect target!”

“if i didn’t respect all the hard work poor dennis put into this meal, i’d shove your face in that bowl of potatoes,” you warn, pointing to the bowl of starch in question.

roger frowns, though his eyes sparkle with mischief. “brian, control your woman! she just threatened me!”

brian, wisely, lifts his hands in surrender, leaning back in his chair. “oy, she can handle herself, mate. don’t drag me into this.”

from his place beside roger, freddie slaps a hand on the table. “no fighting at my thanksgiving or i’ll kick you all out and eat by myself!”

“would you all please shut up and pass me the turkey?” crystal leans into your arm space, reaching in vain for the plate of meat just out of his grasp.

rising, you hand him the plate and cross to the front of the table. you clap your hands together to grab everyone’s attention then place your hands on gerry’s shoulders.

“i think you all know what time it is,” you say, grinning as a few of the roadies groan and duck their heads. you lift your camera. “squeeze in and look pretty.”

heart clenching as you look through the viewfinder at the collection of people you hold so dear, you snap your picture and sit down. without hesitation, brian takes your hand in his, and you sit together, hand in hand, for the rest of the meal.

december, 1978—london

you would be lying if you say you aren’t surprised when brian invites you to his parent’s home for the holidays. the tour has a month long break now that the american leg is over. once it starts up again in january, they’ll be off, gallivanting over continental europe. truthfully, you’d assumed you wouldn’t go back on the tour. you’d assumed you’d continue to crash on anna’s couch, make a few extra dollars at the diner, maybe look into enrolling in a few classes come spring.

you’d assumed the fairytale would be over.

there’s nothing official between you and brian. sure, you love him to bits. when you wake up in the morning, roll over, and see his sleepy eyes already looking at you, you know that for the rest of your life you will never feel for someone the way you feel for him. if he asked you to stay with him forever, you would. if he asked you to marry him, you would. you’ve known him for only a handful of months, but, fuck, he owns you. time doesn’t seem to matter when love’s involved. still, he’s never really put a label on what you are. not that he needs to; you’re just as fine without one. but with the break and then the touring starting up again, you’d just thought that would be it. he’d find another tagalong because lord know he’s could have his pick of the litter.

but he seems genuinely offended when he asks you to come home for christmas and you confess, “oh! i thought that you wouldn’t want me now.” the words sort of fall out of your mouth in a tumble, before you can really consider what you’re saying, and your hastiness shows because his forehead creases in a deep frown.

“why would you ever think that?” he asks it in the middle of the airport baggage claim, with the crew and band milling about, waiting for their luggage. it’s quiet, some ungodly hour in the morning, so you wince when he speaks a tad too loud for your liking.

“i just thought that...” you shrug and look away when his frown deepens. “don’t look at me like that, brian.”

“like what? pissed?” he scoffs. “i’m pissed ‘cause you know how i feel about you, [y/n]. at least i thought you did.”

you’re saved having to make a response by freddie dropping the last of your bags at your feet. he kisses your cheek, wishes you a happy christmas, and asks you take a dramatic photo of him leaving the airport, headed out for a night on the town all by his lonesome because his friends won’t join him in the fun. you oblige, though your heart isn’t in it because brian radiates frustration at your side and you’re jetlagged. you just want to go to sleep, really. it’ll be better in the morning.

after wishing well to the rest of the group, you follow brian out into the cold. it’s frigid, and a gentle snow has begun to fall, glittering in the harsh lamplight. you stamp your feet to try and generate some warmth in your legs as you wait on the curb for the cab. the tension between you grows thicker with each passing moment, but you can’t find the words to say.

in all honesty, you figured he looks at you as nothing more than a good time. and that’s okay with you because it makes things less complicated. you aren’t sure what you will do if he actually wants you, wants you for good. because it’s always in the back of your mind—how you don’t belong here, how you don’t belong with him—and if he feels something more than a general liking for your kisses or your ass or your tits, you don’t know what that will mean for your future. it scares you. so you say nothing, and he says nothing.

the cab pulls up the side of the road, and the trunk pops open with a soft whoosh. the driver hops out, rambles something about how big of a fan he is and how brian is such an inspiration, and you can’t help but roll your eyes as you lug your bag to the trunk and dump it in unceremoniously. you slide into the backseat of the car, cross your arms over your chest, and sulk. brian follows suit, sulk and all, seconds behind you.

the driver either ignores the tension in the backseat or is oblivious because when he takes the driver’s seat and turns to ask you both where you’re headed, he’s all smiles and flushed cheeks.

brian doesn’t answer. neither do you.

the driver’s smile begins to fade as the moments pass by.

“you really didn’t realize that i love you?”

you suck in a sharp breath at brian’s confession, eyes darting to his, which bore so deep into your soul you wonder if he can see into the very depths of your heart. you wonder if he can see the way you’re at war with yourself. there’s part of you that wants to jump his skinny bones and forget everything you left behind; that part is dangerously close to breaking through the surface. but you care for him enough to shake your head in an honest answer. he sighs.

“well, i do.”

“oh,” you whisper, turning your face to your lap. “sorry.”

there’s an edge to his voice when he speaks again, and it makes you squirm. “that’s it? just sorry?”

you force yourself to meet his eyes. it’s hard to make out exactly what he looks like in the dim lighting of the cab, but you know he’s not happy. “i didn’t want to assume anything,” you admit. “this is all terribly out of character for me.”

“what is?”

you know he won’t give the driver an address until you speak the truth, so you close your eyes and grit your teeth. “all of it—you, queen, the tour. i have absolutely no idea what i’m doing or how i’m supposed to act.”

“you’re supposed to act like yourself, [y/n]. that’s what i love: you, not what you think you’re supposed to be.”

swallowing hard, your eyes slide back to him. his shoulders have dropped from their tense hunch, and the lines in his forehead have smoothed. he looks more tired now than anything else.

“if i’m being honest,” he continues. “i think i’ve loved you since you called crystal out on the tour bus that first night.”

you smirk, remembering the way you thought he’d turned to glance back at your after your outburst. lip caught between your teeth, you shift in your place to face him better.

“if i’m being honest,” you say. “i think i’ve loved you since i stepped on your stupid clog in that disco.”

he doesn’t laugh like you thought he would. his eyes just dart back and forth between yours for a moment before his hand slides across the bench to skim your splayed fingers.

“so, christmas at mine?”

you nod, chest soaring when he scoots closer, his warmth invading your cold bubble. “christmas at yours.”

december, 1978—london

freddie throws a new year’s eve party, and you all but have to drag brian to it. all he wants to do is stay home and fiddle with the telescope his father got him for christmas, but all you want to do is go to freddie’s party with the man you love and kiss him as the clock strikes midnight. you end up cutting a deal: you’ll both go to the party but leave right after midnight so he can catch what’s left of the night sky.

as you dress in a decidedly not-winter-appropriate outfit, you tease and tell him he’s such a grandpa. he just pushes his hips against your backside, pushing you into the bathroom counter, and you gasp at the feeling of his desire pressed against your leg. you have to brace your hands on the countertop when he leans over your shoulder and nips at your ear, muttering, “don’t think grandpas get riled up like this, love.”

now at the party, leaning against the wall with a flute of champagne in your hand, half-listening to veronica’s story about john attempting to cut his own hair, you can’t stop ogling brian from across the room.

he stands beside roger and some business executive from the record label. he’s wearing the suit jacket you like: it’s black with white pinstripes. it’s buttoned halfway up his chest, but, as is customary, the crisp white dress shirt beneath his jacket is barely buttoned at all. you can make out the outline of his sternum, a silver necklace dangling against his skin. his trousers are dark and tapered along his narrow waist and legs. he looks good enough to eat, and you still hum with the electricity he’d shot through you back in the cramped bathroom at his parent’s home.

mumbling an half-hearted apology to veronica, you set your empty champagne flute on the marble mantlepiece and cross the floor with purposeful steps. it’s rare you get like this—so worked up you might explode—but with the recent revelation of his feelings for you and the way he stands there, so nonchalantly beautiful, you think you might burst if you don’t do something.

sidling up beside brian, you curl your arm around his elbow and smile at the men with whom he’s in conversation. roger grins right back, like he can read your mind and knows what you’re up to; the business executive’s eyes falter a moment too long on your chest, but that’s fine because at least it means you look good. you can work that to your advantage.

“mind if i steal him for a moment?” you ask, already tugging at brian’s wrist, question dripping with sugar and honey.

the business man’s eyes flick up from your cleavage to your face. “well, we weren’t exactly—”

“go ahead, love.” roger waves you off with a wink. “i can finish up with mack.”

mouthing a thank you to roger, you curl your hand around brian’s and pull him down the crowded hallway to a small coat closet. there’s heavy jackets and fur-lined coats strewn about the room, bags and purses and briefcases too. it smells slightly musty despite it being the largest coat closet you’ve ever occupied. you don’t waste a moment. with one hand, you shove the door closed and with the other you grab the lapel of his jacket and pull his mouth down for a bruising kiss.

brian laughs against your teeth, his hands skimming around your waist to settle in the small of your back. “what on earth’s gotten into you?”

you shake your head. the strap of your dress, thin as it is, falls down your shoulder as you trip over your own feet in an effort to perch yourself on the single bench in the room. “nothing,” you huff. “just want you ‘s all.”

he helps you with the stubborn zipper that runs along your spine, his mouth working on your throat, still chuckling. “i can work with that.”

january, 1979—berlin

anna studies you from across the room, one leg dangling over the other. she picks at her nails while she stares, her eyes narrowed in thought. you let her inspect you for a few moments, but her stare soon becomes too much to handle. her eyes are heavy and intense, so you slam your book shut.

“what?” there’s an edge on your voice, but she doesn’t take notice, just shrugs.

“do you think you’ll get married? you and brian?”

with a sigh, you toss your book to the coffee table and swing your legs to the carpet. “that’s a ridiculous question.”

“no it’s not!” anna’s eyes follow you as you pad across the floor to grab an apple from the buffet along the wall. “it’s obvious you love each other.”

leaning against the table, you bite into your apple. music from the stage filters through the air vents, attempting to drown out the thoughts swirling through your head. you might let it, too, but anna’s question pricks at the girlish ideas of marriage you’d buried so long ago.

“me and roger,” she continues. “i know we won’t get married. he’s an epic shag and almost too much fun, but i don’t love him. i mean, i do, but not the way you love brian. and he definitely doesn’t love me the way brian loves you.”

you arch a brow. “i didn’t realize everyone had so many opinions about my relationship.”

“sure we do. crystal’s started a pool on when brian will actually pop the question. my money’s in the spring. i think i picked april fifteenth. we’ll be in tokyo then and they’ve got gorgeous cherry blossoms. can you imagine how romantic that’d be?”

you do imagine it for a moment—him bending down to one knee, cherry blossom trees swaying with a gentle breeze, your hand clasped in his, finger weighed down by an engagement ring. you fiddle with your ring finger, feel the emptiness there, and wonder what it would be like to actually, truly marry him. you’d say yes, if he asked, but that would also mean giving up any lingering hope of returning to your natural life, wouldn’t it? you still aren’t sure if you can do that.

besides, you know he isn’t going to ask. there’s no reason for him to. he loves you; you love him. that’s it; that’s all it needs to be.

february, 1979—zurich

you’re walking hand in hand along a quaint street in zurich’s city center. the air is cold, but brian’s hand is warm, and you feel impossibly safe by his side. not for the first time, you have to pinch yourself. before leaving home you’d rarely traveled and never extensively, but in the six months you’ve been away, you’ve seen more of the world than you ever dared dream you would—and it’s all because of him.

you slide your hand from his palm to the crease of his elbow and lean against his side. he glances down at you and moves his arm around your shoulders. he smells like laundry detergent and roger’s cigarette smoke. the scent makes your head dizzy with affection, so you have to ask him to repeat himself when he speaks.

“how much film have you used up? for your camera?” he asks again, drawing you out of the path of a jogger.

you tally the sacred tubes tucked neatly in your suitcase. “four canisters so far.”

he smiles, clearly proud of himself. “i guess i did pretty well with that gift, then.”

rolling your eyes, you poke his side, but the grin on your face is secure. “don’t flatter yourself. i don’t want your ego getting too big.” looking away from his pretty face, flushed with chill and sparkling with amusement, your steps falter. “oh, that’s nice!”

you say it before you can stop yourself, but the jewelry displayed in the window of a small accessories shop truly is nice. there’s a wide array of necklaces, bracelets, and rings sparkling in the overhead light. just the sight of a diamond ring makes your heart flutter, and you think back to your conversation with anna in berlin. you pull your eyes away from the wedding bands and focus on the necklaces.

brian steps behind you, circles his arms around your stomach, and settles his head on your chin. “do you want something?” his breath tickles your ear, and you immediately shake your head.

“no, just looking.”

he squeezes you against his body in protest. “come on. let me get you something.”

“brian, it’s too much.”

“it is not! you haven’t let me get you anything this whole time!”

you turn around in his arms and plant your hands on his lean chest. “i don’t need anything. you’re present enough as it is.”

he huffs. “that’s shite. we’re going in there and we’re not leaving till you pick out something you want.”

in the end, you choose a necklace with a pearl set against a fanned-out silver flower. it’s dainty, light against your collarbones, but it reminds you of brian. pearls are formed out of grit and determination, just like he is. it’s a silly metaphor, but when you see the necklace for the first time, that’s what springs to mind. you don’t tell him as much. you just let him pay the shop woman and hook the necklace around your neck.

later, when you’re lounged around the hotel lobby, waiting for the boys to finish changing from the show so you can go to dinner, crystal points to the necklace.

“new bling?”

you touch the pearl with your fingers and nod. “he insisted.” you level him a pointed stare. “i heard you’ve got a bet going on as to when brian will ask me to marry him.”

crystal has the decency to blush, and he swings his legs over the arm of his chair so he can sit straight. “yeah, well, we gotta do something to keep entertained.”

“i want in.”

he laughs, loud and echoey in the sparse lobby. “what?”

“you heard me: i want in.”

“you think he’s gonna ask?”

you shrug. “maybe. a girl can dream.”

shifting, crystal unearths a square notebook from his back pocket. he reaches for a discarded pen on the glass coffee table at his feet and puts the cap in his mouth while he flips through the pages of his notebook. “what day you want?”

“what day’s not taken?”

“uh... march first. we’re in paris then.”

“fine. put me down for march first.”

crystal pencils your name in and opens his palm. “it’s forty pounds to enter.”

you startle forward, sputtering, “forty pounds?!”

“you’re getting in pretty late, sweetheart! take it while you can.”

“how much do i stand to win?”

he calculates slowly, mumbling, “forty times twenty-eight... about five thousand.”

you scoff, shaking your head. “i don’t know whether i should be offended or impressed.” withdrawing your pocketbook, you slap the forty pounds in his palm.

he curls his fist around the money and shoves it in his pocket. “thank you and good luck.” he winks as the boys round the corner from the elevators, talking quietly amongst themselves.

brian comes to stand behind your chair, his hands on your shoulders. he glances between you and crystal. “what’s going on? you look like you’re up to no good.”

rising from your seat, you grasp his wrist and kiss the back of his hand. “oh nothing. crystal was just brushing me up on my maths skills.”

buzzing with giddiness, shocked at yourself but not unpleased, you grin wider when you hear crystal whisper to freddie, “she took march first” on your way to the car and freddie says, “dammit it! i got february twenty-eighth. he likes the first of the month.”

february, 1979—madrid

you stare at the calendar tacked to the dressing room wall. it’s your birthday.

you didn’t expect to feel so sad. freddie’s planned a party for this evening, something outrageous and ostentatious, and you’ve been anticipating it all week, but now that the day is here, you don’t feel excited or thankful or even the slightest bit happy. you just feel empty.

if you were home, where nature intended you to be, you’d likely have woken up to a flurry of happy birthday text messages. your roommate rachel might’ve made you breakfast in bed, and you’d have gone to dinner with your family before returning home to open presents. it would have been simple, easy and uninspired, but just the way you like it.

this morning you’d woken to brian pressing a kiss to your temple as he rushed out of the room, already late for a day set aside for brainstorming the new album. he couldn’t help the schedule; that’s just the way it fell. so you’d gotten ready by yourself, eaten by yourself at the hotel’s cafe, read by yourself on your room’s terrace. crystal had shouted his well-wishes on his way out of the hotel by the time soundcheck rolled around; anna had brought you a muffin as you slid into the car beside her. you knew you would celebrate later as freddie had promised, but that didn’t stop the ache, the yearning, in your chest for something more familiar. now standing in brian’s dressing room, alone and in silence, it takes everything you have in you to not break down and sob.

you miss home. you miss your parents. you miss your brother and sister. you miss your phone and your keurig that takes too long to pour and your subscription to netflix. as much as you love brian, you miss where you belong, the time in which you belong.

you don’t realize you’re crying until the door opens with a click, and brian steps in. he’s halfway through a sentence about wanting to find something to eat before the show starts when he sees your tears and stops talking. rushing to your side, he takes your shoulders in his large hands and bends to catch your eyes.

“[y/n]? what is it? what’s wrong?” he sounds worried, painfully so. this must be the first time he’s seen you cry in such earnest. sure, he’s seen you shed a few tears on occasion—when you’re irritable and he’s being stubborn; when roger and crystal’s antics make you double-over in laughter; when he does something particularly endearing—but he’s never seen you like this.

you wrap your arms around your stomach and shake your head, tears flowing all the more. you wish you could unburden yourself and tell him the truth. he deserves that. but you can’t answer his questions. you don’t know what’s brought you here or why, and he’ll probably only think you’re crazy. you think you’re crazy.

he stops asking you what’s wrong and leads you to the couch. the faux-leather squeaks as he sits, drawing you to his lap, your head cradled beneath his chin. he rubs soothing circles up and down your back, humming, until you’ve settled enough to blow your nose and wipe what little makeup remains from your eyes.

you exhale, sitting upright in his lap. he has one arm draped over your hips, the other still working along your spine. you can feel his eyes searching your profile, as if he’s trying to discern the cause of your turmoil from the patterns on your skin.

you don’t say anything. you just twist and press your mouth to his.

god, you love him. it’s not the fact that he’s brian may and that’s he opened up a world previously unknown to you. it’s him: his height which makes you feel safe, his hands which love you so well, his intelligence which dazzles you day after day, his kindness, his vulnerability with others, his wit. you love everything about him and more.

but you don’t belong here. the thought has been plaguing you since you arrived, and you suspect it will haunt you until nature returns you home—if nature returns you home. you are meant for the days of roaming wifi and overpriced coffees on every street corner. you are meant for skinny jeans and simple eye makeup, youtube and internet shopping.

you miss it all, but you love him so dearly—would marry him, and have his children, and die by his side if he asked—but you don’t belong here.

your mouth moves rough across his as you straddle his hips, hands clawing at the hair around his shoulders. you’re crying again. you can taste your tears, salty and warm, and you wonder if he tastes them too. he kisses you despite the tears or maybe because of them. whatever; it doesn’t matter. you just want to forget, to feel good, to feel him.

pulling back, you breathe heavy, chest brushing against his. his eyelids are heavy with lust, his throat flushed. he lifts a hands, brushes his palm down the side of your face, his thumb swiping out to wipe away a tear.

“what do you want?” he asks.

you take the moment to memorize his face, every line, freckle, and marking. you run a finger long his lower lip and whisper, “you.”

he frowns. “you have me.”

a lump rises in your throat, and you push it back before meeting his gaze. “always?” you aren’t sure what you mean by always. your head is so muddled, so torn, it likely doesn’t matter what you really mean. just as long as he answers the way you want him to.

he does.

“always,” he says, and you sigh in relief before kissing him again.

march, 1979—paris

march first, the day you picked in crystal’s proposal bet.

it’s drizzling, but you insist brian accompany you to the louvre on your last afternoon in france. together, you race to the museum, hair damp and frizzy, laughing as you check your coats and grab maps of the exhibits. you wind your way from room to room, commenting on the masterpieces hanging along the walls. brian listens as you spout the wealth of useless knowledge you’ve stored in your head for a later date. he asks questions; he nods and hums in approval; his hand rests in the curve of your back.

by the time you reach liberty leading the people, you’re sure he’s as bored of hearing your voice you are. you pause, study the painting, and sigh in contentment. the room is quiet, only an older couple in the far corner, standing side by side. the man is much taller than his wife, like brian’s taller than you. the woman leans into her husband’s touch when he presses her shoulder, and you wonder absentmindedly if you will experience old age alongside brian.

“i want to give you something.” brian breaks the silence with a voice that is on the edge of trembling.

you look up at him, brow furrowed. “you know i don’t like when you give me things.”

“i think you’ll like this.” he gasps his right hand and twists at the ring on his pinky. as you watch his movements, shaky and unpracticed, your heart stops in your chest.

oh my god.

the words thrum through your veins like a mantra. the air in your throat goes cold, your eyes glued to his hands. you think you might faint when he grasps your left wrist and places the ring in your palm. mouth open, you stare at it: it’s silver with a flat face, small and plain. there’s something engraved on the smooth circle and, after you blink your tears away, you see it’s a flower with three drooping bell-shaped buds.

he notices your inspection and nods to the ring. “it’s lily of the valley, supposedly may’s flower of the month, or so my mother has always believed. you saw our house. she’s obsessed.”

you swallow past the moisture gathering in your throat and look up, unable to form a sentence. he shoves his hands deep in his pockets and shrugs.

“it’s not so much of a proposal as it is a promise.”

“a promise?” is all you can manage to squeak.

“i want to marry you one day,” he says matter-of-factly, like it’s the simplest thing in the world, like it’s what he was born to do. “but you know how things are right now. we’re busy and money’s tight and—”

“okay,” you breathe.

his brow puckers. “what?”

“i said okay. i’ll marry you—one day.”

his lips spread in the most heartbreakingly beautiful smile, and you know for a fact that you are doomed: doomed to love him forever and always, until you’re both dead and buried and the world continues to turn even though you’re gone.

“well, mr. may, are you gonna make me put it on myself?” you wiggle your hand and pass him the ring which he dutifully slides on your middle finger.

still holding your hand in his, he leans down to kiss your forehead. “i’ll put a proper ring on your finger one day,” he mumbles against your skin, clasping the back of your head to his lips. “promise.”

as you stand in the middle of the louvre, held in the arms of the man you love, you remember: you’re five thousand pounds richer now. you won the bet. the thought makes you laugh and hug him all the tighter.

april, 1979—toyko

if you had known nature would choose that day make her mistake right, you likely wouldn’t have gone back to your hotel room for your sunglasses.

but you didn’t know, and it was painfully sunny outside.

freddie suggests the group takes a walk around toyko to enjoy the sights and the last of the cherry blossoms before the evening’s soundcheck. though you’re tired from a late flight, you aren’t going to turn down an afternoon of simplicity, not when the tour is so close to finishing and you might never experience this feeling of family again. you’re walking with crystal out of the hotel, bag slung over your shoulder, camera around your neck, arguing with him about whether or not the clouds in the distance mean rain. he says yes; you say no.

“it’ll just pass over us,” you say, shielding your eyes from the sun. “it’s too bright to storm.”

“clearly you’ve never been to japan before.” he pauses when you stop walking, turning to look over his shoulder while you backtrack toward the entrance.

“i’m gonna pop back inside for my sunglasses anyway. i’d rather have them.” you wave your hand. “don’t wait for me. i’ll catch up. tell brian i’ll be there in a minute.”

he shrugs and pops a toothpick in his mouth. “you know freddie’s a fast walker so be quick.”

nodding, you turn fully on your heel and rush back into the building. the lift is too slow, so you take the stairs two at a time. by the time you reach the door to your room and finesse the key into the stubborn lock, it’s raining. you groan, thumbing your nose at the rain-stained window, but grab the sunglasses anyway before racing down the stairs.

your camera bangs against your chest, your bag slapping against your hip. the stairwell is cool concrete, and the sound of your shoes echoes on the stairs as you wind down the floors.

thunder booms overheard, and you gasp, stalling on the steps. it sounds close. maybe you should have grabbed your umbrella...

reaching the bottom of the stairs, you pull the door to the lobby open and stumble into an empty concert hall, all too familiar and entirely unwelcome.

your heart plummets to your stomach.

“oh fuck.”

~*~*~*

taglist: @bhmay @grigorlee @teenagepeterpan @just-my-sickly-pride @perriwiinkle @ubernoxa @anunknownnebula @coincidence-ithinknots-blog @captvinswaan @ineloqueent

#brian may #brian may fic #queen #queen fic #j writes #brian may x reader

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nancypullen · 4 years ago

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Where Is Home?

We talk about retirement a lot. A LOT. The mister wants out of the south because he hates the hot, sticky weather. I want out of the south for a variety of different reasons. He tears up when he thinks about leaving this house. I get excited thinking of a house with better storage, maybe even a walk-in closet and a big pantry. He loves the idea of townhouse living and all of the freedom it provides. I love the idea of half a football field between me and a neighbor. I wouldn’t mind being snug against a neighbor if we were in a walkable little town and I could have a white picket fence. As we age into our golden years I want to be on city water and city sewer. I do not want to be ninety when the well runs dry or the septic system has a fit. Nope. No, thank you. We have discussed towns from Maine to Arizona and are constantly trading articles about property taxes and real estate markets. Night after night I search Zillow, Realtor, Trulia (oh, those handy dandy crime maps!) and so on. I’ll send Mickey a house in Maryland to admire and mention that it’s just two hours from the world’s cutest grandgirl. He responds that he loves it. Then I send him a townhouse near Tucson and he says the same thing. I’m getting nowhere with this guy. Side note: Yes, I know Arizona gets very hot, but it is not humid. HUGE difference. Also, Arizona has two enormous positives - we could escape allergies and my hair would behave. If you had my hair you’d know that’s more important than the property taxes. Two major negatives would be that it’s too far from family and I can’t imagine never experiencing another autumn. I’m happily willing to give the townhouse idea serious consideration. I know that Mickey would love to never weed eat and edge another yard. Remember the good old days when no one did that? My main issue with townhouses is that they all tend to be multiple stories - sometimes three floors. Wherever we retire, that’s where we’re going to die. I don’t want to be unable to navigate my own home when I’m old. Same reason I refuse to have a basement laundry, I don’t want to drag baskets of clothes up and down basement stairs when I’m a little old lady. You know damn well a cat would trip me and Mickey wouldn’t miss me until he got hungry. Of all the chores I’d be willing to expire while doing, laundry is not in the top three. We’re not lottery winners so our options are limited. When we sell this house we’ll make a tasty profit that will allow us to find a comfortable home - nothing fancy, but we won’t be in a box under bridge. I can make any home pretty, but the bones have to be good. I’m more concerned with structure and mechanics. Who needs a beautiful house with a bad roof or an hvac system on its last leg? The region definitely determines what you get for your money. For the same price you can have this sort of square footage in the south (complete with inground pool)...

or you can opt for proximity to Portland, Maine and get this.

The second house is new construction, but it’s itty bitty, has well water and septic, and is missing the all-important garage that we’d need up north. This is a struggle, people. We just want a nice little house in a nice little town, hopefully one that will meet our needs as we get older. Other items on our wish list? Small town living with easy access to a larger city and a decent international airport. Part of my hunt includes exploring each town’s library website (a vibrant, busy library says a lot about a place) as well as their Facebook page. Looking past the mouthy keyboard warriors that lurk on every page, you can still get a good idea of the town’s vibe. Let’s see - fair property taxes, decent cost of living, small town feel, good airport, seasons...sounds like we should stay put and just endure long, sticky summers, right? Ugh, no. Our reasons for wanting to relocate are so much more than just the summers. Soooo, months and months of searching keep leading me to one state that ticks all of our boxes and then some. Minnesota. A myriad of cute towns surround Minneapolis and St. Paul, all with easy access to the fabulous airport. I’m crazy about New Ulm (I love a town with lots of festivals) and I wouldn’t be heartbroken to live in Mankato, Owatonna, or a number of others. Real estate is affordable, taxes are fair (and are used wisely!), all four seasons are present and accounted for, and quality of life seems really good - from healthcare to education to crime, they seem to have a handle on it.

and you knew there was a but, right? We could happily move there knowing that we’d be close to at least one of our kids. Matt lives in Minneapolis and the thought of having him nearby warms my heart. But he’s weighing the pros and cons of an opportunity that would take him to the east coast and more likely to far flung parts of the world. It’s quite possible that he’d be gone in a flash and we’d be in Minnesota, once again far from family. Right now we’re a day’s drive from everyone except Matt. Truly, we could do it in a day but it would be a miserable thirteen to fourteen hours. I have scoured Maryland and settled on a little place called Ocean Pines. It’s okay, a bit further than I’d like to be from airports, etc - it’s between two to two and a half hours to Baltimore, D.C. or Philadelphia’s. That also means it’s just two hours from my favorite little girl. That would be HEAVEN. But who retires to one of the most expensive states to live in? Would it make our golden years miserable? Who wants to pinch pennies when you should be enjoying life? HELP!! Where is home? I left Alaska more than twenty years ago, the mister was a Florida boy - we don’t want to live in either place. I love the prairie, he loves the mountains. At one point we were looking at real estate on Prince Edward Island (affordable and gorgeous!) but Canada doesn’t want us. Seriously, we filled out the online immigration form. We wouldn’t be able to live there year round and I can’t imagine having to go squat across the border for a couple of months every year once we’re old and rickety. There are pros and cons to every place we’ve looked. No spot is perfect and we have to decide what we can and can’t live without. If someone could just plop this house down next to my grandbaby I’ll shut up about this forever.

Imagine that house surrounded by hydrangeas in the summer. I don’t think that’s too much to ask - just a little pink house near some people I love. Some snow would be nice now and then. What a lovely dream. This boring blog post has been brought to you courtesy of my latest level of boredom. It was either this or go dust the bedrooms, so you had to pay the price for my laziness. My plan for this evening is to watch the Golden Globes and through that maybe find something interesting to watch. We’re approaching the first anniversary of when we locked down here on the Pullen spread and we’ve run out of shows to binge. Remember how naïve we all were when we thought we’d watch Tiger King and then lockdown would be over? At least we’re headed in the right direction now. That’s something. I’m thrilled that my mother is fully vaccinated and so is Dr. Matt. A handful of my dear friends are also protected now. I’ve lost some friends to this horrible virus, including the husband of a dear Rat Patrol member. Our little group now includes a widow for the first time. There’s been so much heartbreak over the last year. I’m ready for it to stop. Okay - what a crazy, rambling post. I think I’ll go dust. It’s probably more productive. If you’re still here, you deserve a cookie. Treat yourself! If you happen to know of the perfect town (I really just want to live in Stars Hollow) send me a message! I’ll put my dust rag down and check it out! Sending out lots of love on this drippy Saturday. Stay safe, stay well, stay sane. XOXO - Nancy

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sapphicunicorn · 5 years ago

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Docile by K.M. Szpara (science fiction/gay)

Docile is a science fiction parable about love and sex, wealth and debt, abuse and power, a challenging tour de force that at turns seduces and startles. To be a Docile is to be kept, body and soul, for the uses of the owner of your contract. To be a Docile is to forget, to disappear, to hide inside your body from the horrors of your service. To be a Docile is to sell yourself to pay your parents' debts and buy your children's future. Elisha Wilder’s family has been ruined by debt, handed down to them from previous generations. His mother never recovered from the Dociline she took during her term as a Docile, so when Elisha decides to try and erase the family’s debt himself, he swears he will never take the drug that took his mother from him. Too bad his contract has been purchased by Alexander Bishop III, whose ultra-rich family is the brains (and money) behind Dociline and the entire Office of Debt Resolution. When Elisha refuses Dociline, Alex refuses to believe that his family’s crowning achievement could have any negative side effects—and is determined to turn Elisha into the perfect Docile without it.

TW: rape

I think we all can agree by now that I love hype trains. Whether it’s a video game or a book, or even an anime, I will find that hype train and join it and cherish it… until the day of reckoning appears. Let’s not bring names into this but we all know what happened with a certain science fiction video game, how it promised to bring something new and exciting with beautiful graphics and unexplored worlds. Docile is my No Man’s Sky. I want so much to love this book for the promises it made, and yet the execution left me empty. Besides the listed dub-con, which I could easily skip over while reading, everything sounded exciting and I thought we would explore this dystopian world of debt and dismantle the system. When I finished Docile and closed the book, my actual words were: “Yikes.”

I’m going to spoil the ending right now and no, I’m not sorry. They get together in the end! Now let me explain why I hate this. Why it’s the stupidest ending possible. Why it makes a book that I could stomach absolutely make my skin crawl. We follow Elisha Wilder as he applies to become a Docile, a person willing to give up autonomy in order to work off debt. They’re only given seven rights, one of which is to refuse a drug called Dociline. Dociline turns a person mindless; they’re totally compliant to any order and the drug is supposed to help erase memories of their traumatizing term. Because Elisha’s family has a bad history with Dociline, his mother still walking around like a drone after working her term, he decides he’ll refuse the injection. Alexander Bishop III is the heir to the Dociline company. While he’s working on a new serum, he’s informed he needs to take on a Docile because… boardroom politics? Which is how he finds Elisha. Alex is riding on the hope that he can ignore his new Docile while pleasing the board of directors and continue his work on the new Dociline serum--until Elisha, exercising one of his remaining rights, refuses Dociline. Alex uses this as an opportunity to prove he’s capable of anything, including stripping a man of his right to his own body and mind without the use of Dociline. If he can do that, surely he can run the company in the near future. Later in the book, Alex has nearly molded Elisha into the perfect slave when Alex has his “change of heart” after the major traumatizing event. Major, but not the first. Elisha still has nightmares--screaming-himself-awake, apologizing-for-interrupting-Alex’s-sleep kind of nightmares--from a previous experience and yet Alex never, over the months they’re together, gets him help. But at this point, Elisha is so broken he truly believes he’s in love with Alex. He believes Alex punishing him is his form of love and Elisha pours his heart out because he literally cannot function without Alex. Immediately after this event, when Alex should be worrying about Elisha’s physical state (but not mental, because this was what Alex wanted), he decides to end the contract and take Elisha back to his family--where Elisha has already been rejected once. Abandoned, broken, Elisha is expected to become a normal human again. Here’s the thing: there’s no dub-con. There’s no dubious consent anywhere in this book. It’s rape, plain and simple. Alex rapes Elisha as a means to control him, every single time. Don’t even consider there’s romance--don’t shelve it with your romance novels, don’t mark it on Goodreads as romance, don’t tell your friends it has romance. If you think this deserves to be marketed as a “dark romance,” just don’t. Please. Don’t even put this in with your BDSM books. One of my guilty reading pleasures is the BDSM genre. I do my research, figure out if the authors are really part of the lifestyle, and make informed purchases. I have many, many books that feature what could be considered “dark romance” and even live-in submissives. I’m not trying to climb onto a high horse while discussing Docile. I’m not trying to sound “holier than thou” or as if I don’t like the book because I’m too busy clutching my pearls. I’m saying if you come to Docile expecting it to resemble a BDSM dynamic--like many other reviews claim--it doesn’t. This is a story about slavery, not submission. Personally, I feel like this reads as a futuristic companion to C.S. Pacat’s Captive Prince--another story about rape and slavery, with the exception that Captive Prince had some world building. Docile does not. We see both condensed sides of the debt system--as a Docile with Elisha, as a Patron with Alex--and we’re told about the ways Dociles are protected, how Patrons have to check in every few months and give their Dociles family visits. We’re told about debtors’ prison. We’re told about hordes of Dociles living in Alex’s facility. We’re told about the wasteland where Elisa lived outside the city--was that ever explained? And we’re introduced to Empower Maryland, the underground rebellion, who I thought for sure would start to dismantle this system. Instead, we get courtroom drama thanks to them. But this dystopian world is never expanded on! I appreciated the dual POV. I feel we needed the chance to see Alex explain himself, but it doesn’t redeem him. Personally I felt both POVs were similar; sometimes I’d forget who we were following because the voices were nearly indistinguishable. Neither POV felt "real." They simply filled in their roles. And the ending--holy heavens above, the ending. It majorly upset me because it’s not responsible at all. Stockholm syndrome does not make a relationship! Do you truly want to love your abuser? You want to try a “real” relationship with a man who enslaved you and broke you? There’s no middle ground--Alex and Elisha cannot ever, in any form of fiction, have a real relationship. I’d have liked it more if Alex had shaken Elisha’s hand and thanked him for a few life lessons he’s late to learn. I’d have enjoyed it way more if Elisha spat in Alex’s face. Neither character grew from their situations. If we had avoided the ending, maybe gone with an ending where Elisha gives Alex a verbal lashing and walks away, then I’d say they learned something. Elisha falling into Alex’s arms after everything that happened is just irresponsible. Elisha blatantly admits he can’t tell if he’s in love with Alex or if he’s still brainwashed! But sure, let’s try a “real” relationship! In my opinion, there is only one redeeming quality in Docile. Between Elisha and Alex, we see two different families. Elisha’s big and caring, and flawed. Alex’s small, mostly friends, and carefully planned. Everything Elisha did, he did for his family. Although they turned against him after becoming a Docile, by the end, they were supportive and helped how they could. And when Alex’s family turned against him, he found comfort and support in his friends. All in all, Docile isn’t a bad read. It’s just boring, bland. The high society parties weren’t anything special. The pseudo-science is easily forgivable. The courtroom drama went on for so long and it felt like it didn’t really belong. It was just an odd ending to everything that happened--especially Elisha and Alex getting together. Yikes.

#book reviews #booklr #trigger warning #docile #science fiction #dubcon does not exist #km szpara

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marvelmando · 5 years ago

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tempest [p.parker x o.c.] - nine

notes: posting is my way of procrastinating doing my anthro homework. on a completely different note, i dyed my hair purple. ...it’s been an eventful couple of days, to say the least.

contains: swearing, canon-typical violence

pairing: peter parker + fem! o.c.

word count: 3.6k

previous chapter next chapter tempest masterlist

MARIN WOKE UP THE NEXT AFTERNOON DETERMINED TO FIND A SOLUTION TO HER PROBLEM.

The first thing she did was chug down two full glasses of water. Then, feeling much more energized, she left to go to the kitchen. If she was going to do some detective work, she was going to need a lot of brain food.

After snacking, she made her way to an unoccupied computer. She wasn't entirely sure what she planned on finding, but she figured research was the best first step.

Distantly, she recalled the buzz surrounding Midtown's homecoming, and that it was supposed to be that night. She pulled up the school's website, scouring any information on Peter or Spider-Man. Most of the results were about the incident at D.C., which was no help to her. Peter was only mentioned once or twice, but only for things like the band or Decathlon team, and those articles were dated for the previous year.

Exiting out of that website, she tapped lightly against the desk out of habit, trying to think of what to search. After searching up the Vulture, the only articles she found were recounts of the ferry incident, or about the actual bird. None of them revealed anything Marin didn't already know.

Frustrated, she searched up Tony Stark and sorted the page from most recent to last. After scrolling for a minute through headlines discussing everything from Iron Man to his relationship with Pepper Potts, one article caught her eye.

STARK TOWER RELOCATING? OR IS IRON MAN GOING BROKE AFTER SIGNING SOKOVIA ACCORDS?

Marin clicked on it, skimming through. They were relocating the Avenger's tower? With a quick search on Tony's old bodyguard, Marin found Happy Hogan's cellphone number. She jotted it down on a nearby piece of paper and ran to the landline.

She dialed in the number and waited for Happy to pick up.

"Hello?" A gruff voice said on the fourth ring.

"Hi, um, is this Happy Hogan?" Marin chewed on her lip.

"Yes, who's this?" He sounded cross. "And how'd you get my number?"

"Um, Google, sir." She answered. "And I'm... my name's M—Liz, I'm Peter's girlfriend? I know he works for Mr. Stark, and I was calling to check up on him." Marin nearly used her name but realized that Tony had probably told Happy about the crazy mutant that corrupted his protégé.

"Shouldn't he be at school?"

"Yes, and I checked his apartment, and he's not there, so the Tower was the first place I thought to call, since he's always at the internship, anyway."

"Well, actually," Happy's voice pulled away, mumbling something that Marin couldn't distinguish. "Peter lost the internship. Aren't you supposed to know that? As his girlfriend?"

"He... didn't tell me?" Marin winced, both at the terrible lie she'd got caught in and the realization that Peter lost the internship. Of course, she thought, he would lose it too, along with his suit. It only made sense, and Marin cursed herself for not thinking of it before. "But he still might be there, and I'm worried. Are you guys busy? Would you mind if I stopped by to take a quick look?"

"Sorry, kid, moving day's today, and we can't have any more teenagers running around with all this dangerous stuff out."

"Moving? Moving where? And what stuff?"

"Upstate—does Peter tell you anything? And what we're moving is classified, I'm afraid."

Marin laughed. She didn't expect Happy to let her, but she was getting all the information she needed. "Oh, okay. Thanks anyway."

"No problem, kid. Hope he turns up." Happy said. "Hey, be careful with that! That suit costs more than you and I combined!"

Marin heard him say the last part before he hung up. Slumping into a nearby chair, Marin grabbed the paper and jotted down everything she knew.

After a minute of staring down at her notes, her eyes went wide. "Oh, shit." She muttered to herself, grabbing the paper and running off to find Lucy.

+++

"So... you think he's gonna steal from Stark?"

"Think about it—remember how I said that the Vulture guy was more likely to keep dealing than stay low? This is the perfect opportunity for him, Lucy. All of this expensive, high-quality tech in one place, practically begging to be stolen by just the guy crazy enough to even attempt it. He did it before, in Maryland, and he's desperate. He's gonna make one final big move, and this is it."

"That... makes a lot of sense, to be honest." Lucy conceded with a grimace, and James looked ready to concur.

"I know." Marin panted, running a nervous hand through her hair. "Now I just gotta warn—"

"Marin, Lucy, and James—see me in my office, now." Demanded Charles' voice. The three mutants exchanged a similar, panicked look.

"Nuts."

+++

Marin frantically watched the sunset through Charles' office window. Homecoming would be starting only a couple hours from then, which also meant that so was moving day.

"What the hell were you three thinking!" Logan hollered at them. "Stealing the jet in the middle of the night and taking off to god-knows-where—"

"Queens," Marin interjected.

"I don't care!" He snapped. "And you two!" He addressed Lucy and James. Lucy looked slightly bored, while James did have the decency to look ashamed. "I can see this one pulling a stupid stunt like this, but you two know better than to stoop to her level."

Marin frowned deeply. "Hey!" Logan glared at her, and she cowed back.

"You three were extremely reckless and irresponsible, not to mention putting yourselves at risk by traveling unaccompanied." Charles shook his head at them, his forehead creased with disappointment. "What do you have to say for yourselves?"

"I was fixing a mistake that you made, Professor." Marin leveled a look at the man, whose eyes widened at her tones. She figured that if there was ever a time to take one final stand, it was now, and she might as well go all-out. That, and she was buzzing with adrenaline, making her braver than she really was. "My friend was told your lie about my past, and I had to go and explain to him why you were wrong about me killing my parents."

Marin took a deep breath. "You all might as well know that my father drowned my mother, and committed suicide by electrocution. Just so we're all being clear, here." Charles' face softened with sympathy. She found that it was much easier to say now that she'd already told Peter, even if the words burned her throat on the way out. "I went to Queens to tell Spider-Man my story and to right your wrongs, as well as right my own. Lucy and James were kind enough to join me, but they are not responsible for my decision in any way. I would've gone with or without them, but I'm grateful that they wanted to help me still." She sent them a quick smile.

"But my friends in Queens are in danger—those weapon dealers are planning a heist to infiltrate the transportation of extremely valuable and dangerous item to the new Avengers headquarters upstate." She explained, but Charles's frown returned.

"That is unfortunate, Marin, but it is not our responsibility to stop them."

"You're wrong, Professor." Marin crossed her arms. "It is my responsibility to help my friend, to help Spider-Man stop this guy from making dangerous weapons and selling them to people on the streets. I will not let him go alone, not when I know for certain that I can help." She stared him down, tilting her chin up defiantly. "No matter what you say, I will go help him. You'd have to knock me out and chain me up to stop me. And I can assure you, it won't be easy—or clean."

Charles stared at her wearily as he considered her claims. "All right."

Marin blinked. "All right?"

He nodded. "Yes, all right. I admit that I'm growing a bit fond of this steadfast side of yours—even if the delivery was slightly disrespectful."

Marin smiled sheepishly. "Sorry,"

"You may go help your friend, but it will be up to Lucy and James to decide whether or not they want to accompany you on your mission, and to what extent. You are apparently capable of piloting the jet by yourselves. If you must do this, Marin, that is fine, but I will not jeopardize the lives of any unwilling participants. This mission is yours and yours alone."

Marin sat up straighter. "I've got this in the bag, Charles."

+++

Marin, James, and Lucy were on the jet, speeding towards Queens when a call came through. A face popped up on the jet's screen, and Marin was relieved to see that it belonged to Ned.

"Marin!" He cried, looking exasperated. "Thank god you picked up, Happy hung up on me right away, and—"

"Ned, what's wrong?" Marin interrupted his rambling. Ned was wearing an earpiece, and his bowtie was undone, hanging around the collar of his blue dress shirt.

"It's the Vulture! He's—"

"—hijacking the Tower's transport, I figured it out!" Marin nodded.

"We know! And he's also Liz's dad!" Ned pressed, typing away frantically at a keyboard out of Marin's line of sight. Her eyes widened dramatically.

"What?!" Marin shrieked, causing James and Lucy to flick their gazes to her nervously.

"Yeah! Peter's going after him right now—stole Flash's car and everything!"

So much for keeping Peter's identity a secret. "Ned, that's great, but where is he?" Marin jostled on her feet as she clutched to the backs of Lucy and James' chairs for balance. "Send us the location, we're almost near Queens!"

"Toomes is at an old industrial building in Brooklyn—tenth and forty-third avenue." Ned informed them. "You'd better hurry, Peter got there a couple minutes ago."

Marin nodded, and James plugged in the new location. "We'll be there soon!" And with that, she terminated the call. Glancing at the map, Marin noted that they were just flying over Manhattan. "Get me in low—I'm gonna jump."

James nodded, beginning the sequence to open the jet's ramp.

"Where do you want us to meet?" Lucy asked, maneuvering the yoke so that the jet was skimming the water of the East River. Marin summoned her energy, the jet bathed in a blue glow.

"I'll call for you," She steadied her feet, preparing to jump. "I can take it from here. Thanks for your help, guys."

Marin never thought she'd ever be able to jump out of a moving plane, but feeling the comfortable embrace of the blue energy support her, she soared confidently through the air.

She caught sight of the warehouse, and even from that distance, Marin could distinctly hear the crashes of metal on cement coming from inside the building.

She watched in horror as the front side of the warehouse collapsed, concrete chunks of the walls and roof raining down on top of Peter.

"No!" Marin cried, landing to the side of the warehouse roughly. The Vulture appeared from out of the alley on the other side, looking extremely pleased with himself. Then he looked in Marin's direction, and she darted to hide behind a large pile of debris before he could notice her presence. She would have plenty of opportunities to take him down later—but now, she had to get Peter to safety.

She didn't move until she heard the mechanical swooping of Toomes' wings fade into the distance. Moving around the rubble, Marin heard Peter's grunts and cries for help.

"Hello?!" He called out, desperate and in pain. "Hello!" Marin's heart cracked. "Please, hey! Hey, please, I'm down here—I'm down here! I'm stuck, I'm stuck—I can't move! I can't—!" He sobbed, breaking off with a series of heavily panting breaths.

For some reason, Marin couldn't move. She couldn't speak—her throat was contracting around her tongue, and her mouth refused to open. A memory flashed through her head, something that Peter had said the night before: I'm not Spider-Man without that suit. All I am is a stupid teenager who can climb walls and flip around. I'm no one if I'm not Spider-Man.

You're not no one—you're Peter Parker, she'd responded. Standing there, listening to Peter desperate calls for help, something clicked inside her.

Marin had wanted to be a hero since she was six and watched as her mother died, helpless, in the hands of her husband—Marin had wanted to be a superhero since she was twelve and watched a group of the bravest people she'd ever seen fight to save the world from an army of aliens. All she'd ever wanted was to save people when they couldn't save themselves.

And yet, she couldn't help Peter. But it was because she knew him, even after just two weeks, she knew the kid from Queens—the nerd, the hero, the selflessly kind boy who just didn't believe in himself. But she believed in him. She knew that he didn't need that suit to be Spider-Man, the superhero. She was beginning to realize that sometimes, you are the only person that can save yourself.

"Come on, Peter." He was chanting, bringing Marin out of her thoughts. "Come on, Spider-Man. Come on, Spider-Man. Come on, Spider-Man. Come on, Spider-Man!"

She watched in awe as the rubble shifted, and Peter's body emerged. He saved himself.

"Peter!" Her voice returned, and she sprinted to help him escape the concrete. Peter fell into her, leaning heavily against her. "Oh Peter," Marin supported his weight as best as she could while he fought to catch his breath. "You're okay... you're safe now."

His breathing wobbled, but he wasn't crying. He lifted himself from her arms and bent to retrieve the mask that was lying in a small puddle of water. Reaching to touch it, Marin drew out all of the water soaking in the fibers like she did the night he fell into the lake and pushed the mask back to him.

Peter looked like he was about to say something, but she saw something else had caught his eye. Looking above her head, Marin turned to follow his gaze.

It was Toomes, perched on top of a nearby billboard, watching the sky.

"C'mon," Peter pulled his mask back on, as Toomes prepared for takeoff. "You can still fly, right?"

Marin nodded, calling the energy forward. "I'll be right behind you."

Peter took off sprinting to catch Toomes before he launched. He vaulted onto the billboard, taking a running start and attaching a web to the Vulture's wings. In the distance, Marin noticed a large plane emerge from the Stark Tower, and once in the air, the panels changed to reflect the clouds above it. She recognized the technology as similar to the kind installed in the Institute's jet.

Marin didn't want the Vulture to spot her—which could have been easy, as even donned completely in jeans, a shirt, and jacket, she still glowed bright enough to catch someone's eye.

She kept far out of Toomes' possible peripherals, watching as Spider-Man flailed in the air behind him. The Vulture tilted and rocketed straight upwards, disappearing through a dense layer of clouds.

"Nuts," Marin muttered to herself, pushing her body faster.

A voice crackled to life in her ear. "Marin!" It was Lucy. "What's the update?"

"Spider-Man and Vulture are catching a flight, and I'm chasing after them."

"What?!"

"Bad guy's hijacking the Tower's camouflaged plane and we're going to stop him!" Marin huffed, growing impatient. Lucy said something, but Marin wasn't listening. She broke through the clouds and saw Toomes' wings sealing themselves to the bottom of the jet, Spider-Man clinging on behind him.

Now that she didn't have to worry about Toomes seeing her, she flew as fast as she could to catch up to Peter, who looked like he was struggling to stay stuck to the plane's exterior. He tried shooting a web forward, but the wind pushed it back. He lost his grip and momentarily went flying, but Marin pushed his body back onto the plane.

"Need a hand?" Marin shouted to Peter over the wind.

"I got it!" Hand moving over hand, Peter crawled his way to the wings.

Suddenly, Marin felt her head go fuzzy, her eyes blurring dangerously. The blue surrounding her faded ever so slightly, causing Marin to drop a few feet in the air.

"Marin!" Peter yelled to her, at the same time as a small drone popped out of the Vulture's wings. "You good?!"

"Yeah!" Marin shook her head, trying to snap out of the daze she was in. She found it incredible her powers had lasted this long already, but she felt herself beginning to lose control. They needed to stop the Vulture soon.

She heard Peter groan as he tried to pry the wings from the plane, and she floated over to help him. Changing tactics, Peter began kicking at the wings, until they finally jolted out of place. Over the rush of the wind, Marin heard a faint alarm sounding from inside the plane. Looking back, she saw Peter's hand braced on the plane's camera—the one that recorded the view of the exterior as a template for the cloaking technology.

"Peter!" Marin shouted, throwing a hand out to warn him. "The camera! He knows we're here!"

"What—" Suddenly, the wings fell out from underneath the plane, and Marin noticed the glowing green points that told her Toomes had attached himself to his wings again. Nuts.

Peter lost his footing, holding onto the plane with just his hands. Once he got his feet back on the metal, he crawled up the side of the plane. "Just a typical homecoming—ergh!—on the outside of an invisible jet—agh!—fighting my girlfriend's dad!"

Marin's eyes went wide. "'Girlfriend'?!"

"Duck!" Peter screamed, ignoring her protest. Marin dropped in the air just in time for the Vulture to soar right above her, the tip of his wing scraping alongside the panels of the jet where Peter's head used to be a second ago.

As he tried to fly away, Peter attached a web to Toomes, and then one to the plane, stopping him in midair. Then, both webs snapped and Peter flew right toward the engine.

"Peter!" Marin hurried to catch him as he shot web fluid into the turbine and keeping the motor from chewing him up.

"I can't believe that worked!" He cried hysterically, but the propeller dislodged from the shell, sending Peter flying back with it.

Moving instinctively, Marin reached out with her hands, and grabbed the propeller with a blanket of energy, suspending it in the air beside the wing.

"Whoa!" Peter exclaimed. "I didn't know you could do that!"

"Neither did I!" Marin's shout trembled from the exertion, her arms wobbling as she tried desperately to keep the engine in her grasp. Once Peter had climbed onto the wing, Marin released the energy trapping the propeller. They moved together to the top of the plane.

Glancing back, Marin saw the Vulture flying straight at them. "Behind you!"

They dropped to the plane, narrowly avoiding him. But Peter rolled, near the remaining engine that was now caught on fire.

Marin moved toward Peter, only to be clipped on the arm by Vulture's metal talons. She shrieked in pain, losing her grip on her energy. She briefly flew back but was caught by Peter's web on her good arm.

The Vulture jumped his was to Peter, his wings surrounding him like an impending omen of death. Marin got a hold of her powers again, lashing out at the Vulture with a bright blue burst of energy. He easily dodged it, attacking the web that held Spider-Man to the plane. Peter flew back, but Marin caught him.

Toomes seemed to realize that they were too stubborn to let him win and instead abandoned them to hack at the top of the plane. "I'm not going home empty-handed!" She heard him holler.

Marin suddenly realized that the plane was dropping in altitude. "Oh, my god!" Peter cried out next to her, and following his gaze, Marin gasped. The plane had broken through the clouds, giving her a view of the city they were plummeting toward.

Peter shot a web at the right wing and Marin crouched onto the exterior, forming a sheet up energy underneath the belly of the plane. Spider-Man pulled up on the web as hard as he could, aiming the nose of the plane toward the Atlantic, and away from Staten Island. Marin screamed with the effort of keeping the jet as level as she could, and watched as they approached Coney Island.

Peter's web snapped, and Marin felt the energy drain from her. Unfortunately, this also meant that she lost her ability to fly, sending her slamming back into the side of one of the engines. "No!" Peter called, and grabbed her hand with a web from his left wrist, as he held onto the plane with his right.

The beach grew closer and closer, and the plane jerked as the right wing hit one of the rides and crashed into the sand. Marin and Peter screamed as they were tossed through the air, trying desperately to cling onto the plane.

With a mighty snap, Peter lost his grip on the wing as the web holding Marin broke, hurling them right into the sand, and they tumbled violently down the length of the beach.

The red and orange glow of fire was the last thing Marin saw before her vision went completely black.

taglist

@dark-night-sky-99 @pushmeinablackhole @demi-starzak @-thatgirloverthere- @yourwonderbelle @silver-winter-wolf

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fanfictionandmore · 5 years ago

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The Kreizler Institute | The Alienist + Mphfpc

[Chapter Three | Watched and Followed]

Jade's POV:

As the weeks went by the better the weather improved, which put me in high spirits. I found myself spending more time at Stuyvesant Park as a result. At this very moment I was sitting underneath a large tree drawing in my sketchbook. Usually I'd be reading in this situation, but something told me not to be be seen out in public with the book I was currently reading. So I followed my gut instincts like I normally do.

The sun was bright and the sky was blue with a few white clouds floating past every once in a while. Due to the warmer weather a good deal of people were walking around the park with their dogs and whatnot. So when I started feeling like I was being watched, I didn't think much of it.

But when the feeling didn't go away I couldn't ignore it. I looked around and caught a glimpse of a man sitting at a park bench not too far from where I was. He had all black clothing on; it looked kinda like he was wearing a suit. I also noticed that he had a walking stick with him that was leaning against the seat of the bench.

'Maybe he's just out people watching.' I thought inside of my head to can my nervousness a little. But I couldn't help but wonder why he chose to watch me out of everyone else in the park. It made me a little uncomfortable to be perfectly honest. Instead of staring at him I turned my attention back to the drawing I was working on. Oddly enough I was drawing the young man I had seen in the window of 283 E, Seventeen Street.

I'm not sure why, but I wasn't able to get the story of that house being haunted out of my mind. It was like some kind of seed that had been planted and now the seed was sprouting roots. I always found ghosts and paranormal phenomenon interesting even when I was a teenager. But what really stuck in my head was what my uncle said that Caleb Carr thought about the house.

Apparently Caleb doesn't think the house is haunted, but he thinks something is going on. 'If he thought he had squatters then why hasn't he contacted the authorities?' Wondered, and that's why I think he knows something about that house that he isn't confessing to. And maybe even my uncle knows about also. I pressed my thoughts to the back of my mind as I continued drawing.

Eventually I glanced back to the park bench and noticed that the man in black was gone. It made me feel less nervous but in a strange was I kinda missed him. On that thought I decided it was probably time to head back to my uncle's place. During the walk back I wondered what we were going to have for dinner tonight.

My pleasant thoughts of delicious food were interrupted when I suddenly got the feeling that I was being followed. 'Great. First I was being watched and now I'm being followed.' I thought inside of my head. I quickened my pace slightly because I didn't feel like getting kidnapped and have something horrible happen to me. I've watched plenty of crime shows and whatnot to know how situations like these end sometimes.

I didn't feel completely safe until the door of my uncle's home was shut and locked behind me. When I walked in I found Alfius laying on the couch taking a nap. I knew he probably didn't intend to fall asleep, but the warm sun from the window is what made him do so. I smiled and decided to let him sleep. Quietly, I headed upstairs to my room to read a tale or two.

As I read I got a strange feeling in my stomach like I had a few weeks before. So I sat the book aside and went into the bathroom. To my surprise nothing happened, but the cramps in my stomach started fading away. 'You're probably just hungry or something. Or maybe you are something that didn't agree with you.' I thought inside of my head as I retired to my bed.

I read three more stories out of Tales of Peculiar before I chose to go check on my uncle. Once I entered the living room I seen that he was awake. "Good evening sleeping beauty." I joked, which made him laugh. "When did you get back?" He asked me curiously as he stretched. "A few minutes or so ago." I replied with a small smile.

"Is that the time? My goodness... how long was I asleep?" He said after he checked the time on his wrist watch. He stood up and placed a hand on my shoulder before he spoke again. "How about we eat dinner at Delmonico's tonight? I really don't feel like cooking and I'm sure you don't either." He said, and I agreed with his suggestion.

After he made himself look less rumpled we got into his car and headed to Delmonico's. One of the restaurants I've come to love during my stay here. Apparently Caleb Carr and my uncle go there often; so often that the employees know them by name. Not to mention the fact that they know what they usually order when they dine there as well. It was a actually kind of amusing.

When we were seated at a table that was off to itself a little, I noticed that some people were talking about the way we were dressed. But it didn't bother me too much. Especially since my uncle was known by the staff. It wasn't like we'd be kicked out for the way we were dressed. But I imagine some places are like that, even I'm this day and age.

A waiter came by and asked us what we'd like to drink. My uncle ordered a bottle of wine, but I ordered a water instead. "You are old enough to drink alcohol, aren't you?" My uncle joked. "Yes, but I can't have alcohol due to the medications I'm on." I replied. "Oh yeah... I forgot that you're diabetic." He said with a look that said he was sorry. But I knew he didn't mean any harm by the joke.

Some people don't know that alcohol is very harmful to diabetics, because it raises blood sugar levels. And if you aren't careful, it can cause a diabetic to become hypoglycemic. Plus most medication for the disease advises the taker not to consume any kind of alcohol, especially wine. Wine is the worst because grapes are loaded with sugar.

It doesn't really bother me that I can't have alcohol, especially since it doesn't taste very good anyway. My thoughts were pressed to the back of my mind when the waiter came back and took our orders. I was so hungry I think I could have eaten a horse... not literally though. My uncle and I talked about the wonderful weather as well as my lovely afternoon in the park.

I was getting use to the vacation life and I really didn't want to go back to Maryland. But I knew I eventually would, because my parents would be worried if I didn't. When our meals arrived Alfius and I went silent as we enjoyed the delicious food what had been made for us. I think the food is what I'll miss the most when I go back home to be honest, but I'll miss the city and my uncle as well.

'I should try and convince my parents to come and visit New York sometime.' I thought but I knew not to hold my breath. My mom and dad hate city life. I don't mind it, but I do like the advantage I have of being able to get away from the noise and people. After we ate our meals my uncle treated us to dessert. We ended up sharing one because I don't think we could have eaten a whole one by ourselves.

I paid for dinner even though Alfius tried to convince me not to. We were in good moods as we walked out of the restaurant and onto the sidewalk. As we were walking to his car my stomach started cramping again. But this time it was sharp and much more painful than before. It was like my insides were being crushed into a vice. I wrapped my arm around my stomach and leaned against the side of the building. "Jade, what's wrong?" My uncle asked curiously.

I broke out into a cold sweat and was suddenly reminded of when I had my kidney stone back in the twelfth grade. My thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a blood curdling scream; The hairs on the back of my neck to stand on end. The first thing that popped into my head was a mugging or something. But when I turned in the direction of the scream I was horrified by what I saw.

A hugely tall figure was standing in the middle of the street. It looked like the character from the popular creepypasta, Slenderman. Except it was way more frightening. It's skin was a pale gray and long tentacles were protruding out of it's mouth. That's when I noticed that the tentacles were holding something... a girl that looked no older than twelve.

She was still screaming as two of the monster's tentacles entered her eye sockets. The stabbing sensation in my torso suddenly became too much for me to bare, and I emptied the contents of my stomach onto the sidewalk. My vision got blurry but it cleared just as the tentacle monster dropped the girl's body to the ground.

That's when I was aware of the crowd that were screaming all around us. It was like the noise was suddenly turned back on. People were running in fear while others just stood in shock. A determination to go towards the girl urged me to crawl. I could feel my uncle attempting to stop me, but to no avail. The monster was leaving. It climbed the side of a building with ease and quickly disappeared.

When I eventually reached the girl's side I knew she was dead. Her body laid lifeless on the pavement even though there wasn't a drop of blood present. The moment I realized what that creature done to her I started to get tunnel vision. The last thing I remember is total blackness after I felt the warmth of the pavement on my own face.

The sound of beeps and shuffling feet faded into existence as I began to come to. When I opened my eyes I was nearly blinded by how bright my surroundings were. I blinked a few times before my eyes adjusted to the lighting. Then I saw two people seated near the bed I was I laying in. That's when I realized that I was in a hospital. "Alfius... Caleb..." I said, trailing off slightly as I rubbed my eyes.

"She's awake!" I heard Caleb say. "Thank god!" My uncle said. Then I felt a pair of arms gently wrap around me. It took a while for my senses to get fully adjusted to everything. But after some less than satisfying hospital breakfast, I felt fine. A little tired, hungry, and sore but other than that I was feeling pretty good. That's when I asked what had happened and how I got where I was.

Alfius told me about how I suddenly got sick when we were leaving Delmonico's. Then he got a little choked up when he told me about a twelve year old girl getting killed just feet away from us. That caused goosebumps to spread all over my body, and not in a good way. I suddenly remember everything. But what was burned in my memory was the tentacle monster I saw.

"Her eyes were missing." I said softly, and Caleb quickly looked at me with a very serious and intense gaze. It was like he knew of a deeper meaning to what I had just said. And I think he realized that I noticed. "What?" My uncle asked with furrowed brows.

"Alfius, why don't you go to the nearest diner and get us some actual breakfast. I'm sure Jade is starving." Caleb said, placing a hand on his friend's shoulder. "Sure. What do you guys want?" My uncle asked curiously. "I trust you have good judgement." Caleb replied. It was obvious to me that he wanted to get my uncle out of the room as quick as possible. For what? I wasn't exactly sure.

++++++++++++++++ A/N: Thanks for reading!!

#the alienist #caleb carr #mphfpc #miss peregrine's home for peculiar children #ransom riggs #oc #my oc #fanfiction

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doomedandstoned · 5 years ago

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THE DESERTFEST DIARIES: Destination Antwerp ‘19

~By Willem Verhappen~

Photographs by Stefanie Dörnbrack and Willem Verhappen

Day 1

The good beer, tasteful food and beautiful inner city, together with the fact that even though I live close to it, it makes me feel like I’m on vacation, make that Antwerp ranks high on my list of favorite cities. Every once in awhile my girlfriend and I like to spontaneously cross our southern border to go shopping (seriously, check out Chelsea Records if you're ever there) or watch a movie in their massive cinema complex. There is however one weekend when nothing can stop me from going to Antwerp and that's the weekend of Desertfest. For three days, Antwerp turns into the Mecca of all the music I -- and since you're reading this, probably you, too -- hold dear. So on the 18th of October I made my fourth pilgrimage to this epicenter of riffs.

My timing could hardly have been better, since my friends with whom I was going to share a hotel room for the next three nights showed up at pretty much the same time. After dropping our stuff at the hotel, we went downtown to meet up with some more friends and have a pizza and some beers.

With some proper groundwork laid, as we say in Dutch, it was time to head to the Trix, as the venue's called. There was some discussion as to whether it was faster to go by tram or subway, so we decided to turn it into a race. In the end, we still all ended up going by subway, since there didn't appear to be a tram going that way. I was told, however, that the subway was way quicker than the tram the guys took in previous years. That still counts as a victory in my eyes.

When we arrived at the venue, we were greeted by the sign shown at the top of this article. What a way to get your crowd hyped up for all the goodness that was to come.

The first band we got to see, was Monomyth. The band, featuring former Gorefest guitar player Boudewijn Bonebakker, plays an addictive mix of styles ranging from kraut- and space rock to more progressive and psychedelic exploits. The Dutch instrumental rockers might be reminiscent of acts like My Sleeping Karma, but with five people, there's never a boring moment.

After that first headbanging session, it was time for some more partying with desert rockers Nebula, where the title of their new album 'Holy Shit' sums up the experience quite well. This was followed by my first Duvel beer of the day and the Dutch '60s heavy psych inspired wolf pack named Temple Fang, both at the cafe. For a band that hasn't even released a single yet, they've got quite the following. Taking into account that two members used to be in the cult band Death Alley, gives some understanding as to why. Witnessing them live makes you a believer yourself.

As a music collector and lover of artwork, I decided to pay a visit to the merch area. I was very happy to see that my personal artwork favorites Branca Studio decided to take the car to bring some of their t-shirts to Desertfest. Now I finally have my very own "Doom life" shirt. Could my day get any better?

Of course it can! With some more cds and some less money in my pockets it was time to go to the main all for Truckfighters. When we walked through the door, one of my friends asked when the show had started. This was more than five minutes before the show actually started, but the hall was already crowded. This was the first time we had difficulties getting in before a band started playing, but it turned out to be only the first of multiple shows where this phenomenon occurred.

As you might know, Truckfighters was on a hiatus for a couple of years. Lucky for us, the Swedes have returned. I'm happy to say that the show hasn't really changed. You still get your high energy rock show lead by Ozo. Dango still runs through the crowd shirtless. There's still a different drummer than the last time you saw them. And of course, every place turns into absolute mayhem once they play Desert Cruiser. Honestly, the only thing that changed is Dango's beard. That's fine, but other than that, a Truckfighters show is perfect as it is.

Sadly, there wasn't much time to catch my breath, for after witnessing a bit of Beglian band 30,000 Monkies, Yatra was about to take the upstairs stage. I wasn't familiar with the Maryland doom crew, but someone (sorry, I don't remember who) recommended them to me. I cannot thank that person enough, for Yatra is by far my favorite discovery this Desertfest. It was the first doom band of the eveningThis trio spices up their low 'n' slow doom with a whiff of black metal dirt, just the way I like it.

Since I've never been much of a Zeal & Ardor fan, I decided to socialize and go looking for stories instead. That's when I ran into the Yatra gang, who were talking with Dango from Truckfighters. The latter mentioned to me that we can expect a solo record from his hand somewhere in the near future. Needless to say, this encounter needed to be documented, as shown in the picture above. Afterwards I decided to check out some Z&A, only to arrive when they started Devil is Fine. It was a good reminder of why I'm not a fan.

The first day ended with a banging show from Polish psych doomers Sunnata and a fun after party. I had to promise not to write about the after parties, even though I could write an entire article on just that. Let's just say that lots of fun and beer was had by all, up to the point where we were kicked out of the venue.

Day 2

Saturday started, not entirely unexpectedly, with a hangover. Usually I get over them pretty quick, but this one kept lingering on for quite some time. Not even the great sandwich I had, seemed to have any effect. The thing that eventually cured the hangover, was Bismut. The Desertfest website describes them as "instrumental psych desert metal", which is an apt description for these young Dutch hounds. We're treated to some heavy spaced out jams, mixed with some colorful shredding. Day two is a go!

The Admiral Sir Cloudesley Shovell put up one of my favorite shows this weekend. This is their second year in a row and third in total of playing here and if you've seen them live, you know why that is. The band are like the demented love child between MotÃ¶rhead and Hawkwind (like that would ever happen), blasting some dirty biker rock, but with some stoner groove in there. It's also the first band I witnessed on the Canyon stage that made full use of the video screen.

Not every band can be a winner and if there's a loser this weekend, it's Fireball Ministry. Personally, I really enjoyed their distinct brand of desert rock, featuring vocals from both guitarists James A. Rota II and Emily Burton. The only point of critique is that Emily should stick to background vocals.

Even though the band gave their everything, they we're playing to a half filled hall at most, with many people leaving after a song or two with some just taking a couple of pictures. These pictures were of course from former Kyuss bass player Scott Reeder. This behaviour made the band look more like a freak show than anything else, which is too bad, since Fireball Ministry deserves better.

The Desert stage is far more crowded for Church of Misery. I can't say I'm surprised, since the Japanese quartet knows how to deliver a solid slab of old school doom metal. For 50 minutes, the band proved to know exactly how to keep heads banging in unison.

Following Church of Misery, I decided it was time to give the muscles in my neck some rest. And what better place to do that than in the food and relax area. This is like the school yard where all the cool kids hang out, drink beer and smoke, but mixed with a food truck festival. I'm usually not big on festival food, but the food here is certainly an exception. From homemade fries and vegan burgers to Mexican and tribal food, there's something here for everyone. It's a great place to just sit down, eat and talk to random people.

This moment of peace was very much needed ahead of Bongripper. This was one of the most crowded shows of the festival. The band created a most impressive wall of sound, or should I say wall of noise, during their show. Although the show was very impressive, I'm still surprised by how insanely crowded it was.

After the intense show from the Chicago doom crew, desert rockers Steak are a welcome change of scenery. They might be from London, but these guys sound like they came straight from the California desert, although with some Pink Floyd thrown into the mix. I was very charmed by their sound, since it sounds familiar, but with a British twist. Highly enjoyable.

At the Desert stage, we remain in the instrumental musical spectrum with Pelican. This was one of the shows I looked forward to the most. The post-metal from these Americans manages to find that sweet spot between heavy dark riffs and a touch of light. The hour of playtime was over way too soon.

The other band I was really looking forward to, was Dopelord. I'm not sure what's happening in Poland that's causing the rise of so many good old school doom bands, as proven by Dopelord's recent excellent 4-way split with Weedpecker, Major Kong and Spaceslug, but it's clear these guys are leading the revolution. This show had everything I love: great songs, heavy riffs, exploitation cinema on the background and rowdy crowd. There even was a new song, called 'Hail Satan' and some moshing during the epic 'Reptile Sun'.

On my way to Ty Segall & The Freedom Band, I heard some music coming from the Vulture stage that caught my attention. Crowhurst was supposed to be performing here, but they had to cancel last minute. Their replacement were the Antwerp locals Your Highness.

Earlier that day, I was told they were a doom band and that I would like them. That turned out to be very true. The band plays traditional doom metal, but with a hardcore ferocity. I clearly wasn't the only one who enjoyed their show, judging by some of the most intense mosh pits I'd seen all weekend. I was so entertained that, for the first time in four years, I missed a Desertfest headliner. Not that I mind, these guys are worth it.

There's no rest for the wicked and Inter Arma made sure of that. The death/black.sludge doom band pretty much set the Canyon stage ablaze. It was past midnight but that was no excuse to take it slow. Vocalist Mike Paparo was running the stage like a ravenous beast. The band was a great warm-up for yet another night of mad partying.

Day 3

Usually the last day of a festival is somewhat of a cooling down. Festival days are long days and involve lots of walking and a lot of things to take in, resulting in you being exhausted, both physically and mentally. For this Desertfest, being tired was not an option, since the lineup is nothing but spectacular. Luckily for me, I woke up relatively fresh. I still don't know how I pulled that off, but I'm not complaining.

Since not everyone was as awake as I was, the first band we got to see was Wolvennest. I've seen the band perform many times in the past four years or so and I've yet to grow tired of their music. Their excellent mix of black metal, doom, psychedelic and krautrock still entrances me every show. And every show, they seem to get better. At least it helped me clear my mind in preparation for the rest of the day.

Wolvennest may have brought me to a higher plain, but after that it's a slap back to reality, courtesy of The Progerians. Their sludge mimics their hometown of Brussels. It's dark and nasty, but with just enough melody to make it appeal to the masses. This makes it a good warming up for the impressive set from Lord Dying, although they look towards more progressive and psychedelic horizons.

Monkey3 is one of those bands that always manage to deliver. Their instrumental space rock usually attracts quite the crowd and that was no different here. Sadly, nature called, resulting in me not being able to get back to the Desert stage. On the other hand, I did get to see High Reeper. These guys manage to play an energetic, balanced mix of stoner rock and Sabbath-y doom metal. A perfect blend of old school and new school.

The NOLA sludge kickers of Eyehategod are on a roll today. The band is clearly in a good mood and frontman Mike IX Williams is playing the crowd like a fiddle. The crowd, on their turn, is eating the slow, nasty blues raw. This was without a doubt my favorite show of the day.

After EHG I'm in doubt, stay where I am and be assured of a good spot for tonight's headliner, or go and see Un. I decide on the latter, even though many people seem to be saving their spots. I don't regret it though, since the Seattle band delivers some beautiful, heavy funeral doom. Especially fellow Seattle natives Bell Witch come to mind while riding Un's emotional roller coaster.

When I got back to the Desert stage, some 20 minutes before showtime, I was happy to see that it wasn't as crowded as I'd expected. I managed to get a nice spot in the center of the hall before the countdown started for the band all of Desertfest was clearly waiting for.

At a quarter to 11, the famous audio recording leading up to the moon landing started playing. What happened next felt like a ritual. Joints were lit across the audience, with some also being passed along through the crowd. People moved towards the stage like Muslims to the Ka'aba.

At 11, the almighty Sleep took the stage. Even though it was my fourth time seeing them in 15 months, the band still manages to impress me. All through the weekend, bands have been projecting everything from band logos to movies on the backdrop, but not Sleep.

Sleep doesn't need a backdrop. Nor a dynamic light show, for that matter. Sleep is all about the music. And the music is all that matters. Witnessing a Sleep show is like witnessing a voodoo ritual. The band's goal is to get you in a trance, to get you to follow the smoke to the riff filled land. For 75 minutes the music is all that matters.

Black Pyramid holds the thankless honour to close off the festival after Sleep. Their psychedelic brand of metal sounds good, but honestly, Sleep is still stuck in my head. Judging from the size of the crowd, many people have decided to head home early, but not us. We stayed until the bitter end.

On monday morning, to my great joy, the headache remained absent and I was feeling relatively fresh. I was looking forward to my own shower and couch, not necessarily in that order, so I was packed and ready to go in no time. My friends had some more difficulties to get their motor running, so we ended up getting brunch at one of the countless Panos sandwich bars in the city. Of course, we ran into some familiar faces there. Going over the weekend, we could all agree it was a festival with many highlights and next to no low points. Another one for the books. Why can't all festivals be like Desertfest? I'm not being melancholic, I'm seriously asking.

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izzy-b-hands · 6 years ago

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Taken

New Sledgefu fic! Shoutout to @the-heebiejeebies for their wonderful Sledgefu art, but specifically this post: https://the-heebiejeebies.tumblr.com/post/185210101902/the-heebiejeebies-im-gonna-get-that-boy which inspired this fic! Go check them out and give them a follow!!

There were, unfortunately, a lot of places they couldn’t be open about themselves. About their rings, their lives together.

But Eugene could not get over the times when they could.

He noticed it first at a sort-of reunion with Burgin-really just a coincidence that he had been visiting family that happened to live in the city, and ended up attending a local all-military function that Snafu had insisted they try going to so that Eugene might work through his reluctance to be around anything like it.

“After all, you’re only going to be able to avoid it for so long. I know you know that, but I don’t like seein’ you hurtin’,” Snafu said as they walked into the city building that had been reserved for the event. “No pressure to this-just show up, shoot the shit with a bunch of other assholes, eat some food and go home. You can do that.”

“Yeah,” Eugene replied, half-meaning it. He was still nervous around it all, and it had wrecked his stomach before they’d made it out the door, but he had made it. Any progress was important progress.

“Holy shit, look who I found!” Burgin’s voice was like a shock wave in the otherwise quiet room, but it was a comforting one all the same.

“Who let you in here?” Snafu shouted back as they met in the middle of the hall.

“So this is where you two ended up! My god, how are you both?” Burgin grinned as he motioned for them to follow him to an empty table in the back of the hall, away from the set up buffet and the rest of the crowd.

“We’re good. We’ve settled down,” Eugene replied. “Much as anyone can after...”

Burgin nodded. “Settled, huh?”

Snafu’s eyes caught Eugene’s as they both watched Burgin eye their rings.

“Yeah, I figured. There was a bet going for a while there. Lost money on it, too, since neither of you made a move while we were out there,” Burgin smiled. “Good to see you’re happy now.”

“You...you mean you’re...” Eugene stammered, ready to bolt if needed.

“Look. What you do in your house is your thing. I’m just glad the two of you are happy, living-” Burgin sighed. “Better to live how you want. Happy and free, with someone you love.”

Snafu smiled, in a shy way that Eugene rarely saw. “Man, you had us scared for a minute there. Not everyone-I mean, we know-ah, hell you know what I’m gettin’ at, right?”

Burgin nodded. “I do. You’re safe with me. There’s a few others here-not a lot, and they’re careful too from what I can tell. But I seem to be a magnet for finding them. If you want me to introduce you, I can. Let you know who’s safe to talk freely with and who isn’t.”

“But you aren’t-” Snafu started.

“I’m not,” Burgin agreed. “But I must have a trustworthy air about me, as I should. And I can tell, sometimes. Hell, had you two figured out way back on the field, along with some of the other guys.”

“Is that so? And how long exactly did you know we were gonna end up together?” Snafu teased.

“Y’know when this asshole first got to Pavuvu?” Burgin said, gesturing to Eugene, who couldn’t help but blush at the memory. That day felt worlds away from where they were now.

“I knew right about then. Listenin’ to you go ‘taken’, ‘taken’, ‘taken’, fuckin’ with him like that. Now you went ahead and did it again,” Burgin laughed.

Eugene smiled, and looked at the ring on his finger. “Taken.”

“Exactly,” Burgin nodded. “I presume he didn’t throw a sandal at you to claim you?”

“No,” Eugene said, grabbing Snafu’s hand and holding it gently. No one was looking over to them, too busy with themselves. They were safe enough. “You’d have died to see it. There’s a real romantic in this one.”

Snafu blushed and shrugged. “What can I say? It does somethin’ to you, finding the right person.”

“I get it,” Burgin said. “Got Florence waiting for me back home. I’d do anything to keep her happy.”

“Florence made it?” Snafu said.

Burgin nodded. “She made it. I was worried for nothing. Now I don’t know what I’d do without her.”

They talked along that vein for the rest of the night-sharing what they’d gotten up to after coming back home, eventually comparing the strangeness of home to their time spent on the battlefield. Eugene waited to feel sick, to want to run as they talked about it, but the discomfort wasn’t as bad as usual. Present, but not enough to make him bolt from the table and hide.

They left after far more hours than Eugene had expected they’d spend there, with an agreement to have Burgin over for dinner later that week before he left Maryland.

“Taken, taken, taken,” Snafu hummed as they walked home. It didn’t feel quite safe enough to hold hands, but every now and again they’d brush their fingers together and hold on, just for a moment before letting go.

“You like that, huh? That you took me,” Eugene smiled.

Snafu smiled back. “Yeah. But not just that-that you took me. We’re taken, but we’re each other’s. I like that a lot. Feels all warm and safe and soft...I don’t know I’m blabbering.”

“You do know,” Eugene replied as they neared the apartment. He grabbed Snafu’s hand fully, not just feeling brave enough for it, but like he had to. Like he’d waste away without Snafu’s skin, his warmth, on him right then. “Don’t try and deny just cause it makes you get all mushy and cute.”

In the apartment, with the door safely closed and locked, they let themselves finally fall against each other, touching and kissing like they’d been away from each other for years, stopping only to retrieve the Vaseline from their bedside table.

“Taken,” Snafu whispered in his ear as they fell to the couch, clothes littered across the living room floor.

Eugene didn’t have enough breath to whisper it back at that moment, light-headed under Snafu’s touch, but he did later as their hands found one another, hard and wanting and begging for touch.

“Taken,” he murmured against Snafu’s neck, just loud enough that he knew Snafu could hear him.

Snafu nodded, but seemed focused completely on Eugene’s touch.

“Tell me,” Eugene demanded softly, running his tongue up Snafu’s neck before gently biting at it and making Snafu gasp. “Who do you belong to?”

Snafu smiled. “Where has this been hiding?”

Eugene moved to suck at the skin of Snafu’s shoulder as he kissed every bit of him that he could reach. “Stop being smart and answer the question.”

“Ooh I like this,” Snafu sighed dreamily.

Eugene slowed the motion of his hand, and waited for Snafu to react.

“That’s just unfair,” Snafu whimpered.

“Answer, and maybe I’ll move again,” Eugene smiled.

“Like an angel born in hell,” Snafu laughed. “Lookin’ so pretty, but so damn cruel.”

“I’m waiting,” Eugene hummed as he moved to the floor to kneel in between Snafu’s legs, letting his breath hit the sensitive skin of Snafu’s cock.

“You,” Snafu replied shakily.

“What’s that?” Eugene asked playfully, licking a stripe up Snafu’s cock.

“You. I belong to you,” Snafu whimpered as one of his hands moved to Eugene’s head, playing with his hair even though Eugene knew he really wanted to push his mouth down.

“That’s better,” Eugene said, moving to exactly where he knew Snafu wanted him.

It was the best symphony, listening to Snafu whine and moan as he worked on him. And it was only for him.

A hand reached to his arm to let him know he couldn’t take anymore, but he didn’t move. They alternated, between swallowing and not, but he knew Snafu loved it when he did.

“Jesus,” Snafu breathed when he was back to earth. “You are...I’m a blessed man, you know that?”

“Yeah,” Eugene smiled as he moved back onto the couch. “So am I. Your turn now.”

Snafu pushed him onto his back and crawled between his legs eagerly. “Yes sir.”

“Taken,” Eugene murmured as Snafu’s mouth took him in.

Snafu moved to whisper one last comment. “Mine.”

#text post #LeeH writes #Sledgefu #this one I didn't intend to go smutty #it just kind went there and I'm glad it did lol #it was a fun one to write #writing after work so forgive any typos #if I catch them later I'll edit and fix them asap I promise

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emoselenas · 5 years ago

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woodland creatures tour - day 8 (falls church)

finally got around to starting the final journal. life picks back up so quickly for me when i return from going anywhere, really, so it’s hard to stick to little projects like this. but i probably could have benefited from writing this sooner after the actual last day of tour haha. it’s funny how we only leave for a week or so but it feels like our lives shift so drastically during that time. it really does take time to snap back into reality and accept normalcy.

after a good night of bullshitting until super late (we tried to put on hot ones around 2:00 am but all passed out shortly after) we grabbed coffee and breakfast at coffeeology (i THINK that’s the name) in greensboro. we stopped at a shop literally across the street from the venue we played last year, new york pizza. seeing that place again reminded us of playing to literally our tourmates destination dimension and maybe like 3 other people in the room, versus the couple dozen we played to last night. the main band that played the gig that night literally sat outside the entire show with their friends and only came inside for when they had to play. it was disheartening, to say the least. this time, we didn’t play to a crowd that was there for us, but we played to so many more people who actually stayed inside to watch us.

i wish i could remember this drive, i didn’t have any work to do so i think this was the day i bought untitled goose game and i was playing it a little bit haha. we listened to some music and just enjoyed the trek to our last gig on this run. of course, we started to hit traffic as we approached falls church, which is in the DC area for anyone not familiar. however, we were still making okay time. we could make a detour to drop our bags at the hotel in vienna, get food, and then run our dual band cover of uneasy hearts with pulses. forgot to mention this in the jacksonville journal lmao, i approached kevin with this idea for the last show of tour super casually and we did end up deciding as a whole to go through with it!

the hotel in vienna was such a strange spot, but it was kind of cool? we stayed at the vienna wolf trap hotel hahaha. all of the decor was SO DATED but it was still pretty okay. the guy at the desk was nice, we somehow got on the topic that we were a band on tour rand he gave us late check-in for free! ended up not needing it. but it’s the thought that counts haha. we arrive to the venue and jaime’s girlfriend rebecca is there to greet us :’) poor girl drove their RV all the way down to virginia alone, and that thing drives slowly. but then that meant jaime could ride back up to jersey with her which was good.

it is insane how at home we feel at falls church. i guess everyone south of maryland is just way fucking cooler than the northeast lmao, but it’s like pulling up to play somewhere at home in jersey and running into old friends. i can’t get over that we have that in a state hundreds of miles from home. it was good to see familiar faces and be back at the vfw. our friends’ band to michigan, with love was also on the gig, and our newer friends in science penguin joined us on the show as well! it was an all-around homie fest. i rolled up to the venue with the remainder of the trulys i purchased the night before, and shoved the box in the fridge haha. i was ready to just chillll.

because we have played here a handful of times, it is also now tradition to walk across the parking lot and go get korean fried chicken at the restaurant next door. it fucking sucks, we always arrive just in time to eat before doors and i normally can’t eat jack shit because of fried/spicy food being horrible for my voice. i ordered bibimbap and then 12 wings to go, for after the show lmao. or a snack after we play!! but i ended up forgetting to FUCKING eat them AND they just sat out overnight in the van so they were toast. goddamnit. i think the restaurant is literally just called bbq fried chicken, the way they fry their chicken is just perfect. the sauces are all delicious and everything besides that on the menu is also tasty.

i wanted so badly to break my last set of tour curse. it’s definitely a self-imposed, silly, superstitious thing, but my last set of tour iS ALWAYS HOT GARBAGE. i always for sure mess up. and this was probably the best last set of tour i’ve had but still not my best performance all of tour haha. i got lost the bridge of murder mountain and couldn’t hear my bandmates for some reason? fucking embarrassing but!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! i cannot stress enough how much fun it was. it truly was. fucking, we’re about to play pixelated and i’m trying to give my SHPIEL about not being a JERK musician and i hear the sounds of “smooth” by carlos santana featuring rob thomas faintly playing through my in-ears. i rip them off and i’m like, what the fuck is going on LMAO. surprise, the pulses. gang were behind it, and tyler, taylor and kevin come dancing up to the stage. i was DEAD. we never do last day of tour pranks so we were fuuuully unprepared hahaha. it was so funny. my meme now takes on a whole new meaning!!

most importantly this show felt like such a fun celebration of tour. pulses., as they did all tour, hyped us up during almost every song and went off for synapse fires. we are too fucking lucky to have them as friends. they really helped make every set and every show feel worth the hours of travel and sometimes stress. to look out and see their faces in the crowd and singing the words uplifted us each night. it’s unfair that we live so far apart. it’s like how they say your soulmate could be literally anywhere in the world but you won’t know until you go look??? it’s like that but with finding supportive friends. i’m not sure if we’ve stressed this enough but this tour gave us strength to keep going as musicians, due in part to their friendship. we always joked like how the fuck we’re supposed to just go on not playing shows together or seeing each other all the time but it really does suck lmao. i was in my feelings in both a good and bad way, soooo i immediately scurried off the stage to go grab a truly the second we were done HAHA

it’s always so sad to watch your friends play their last set of tour, too. well moreso bittersweet! but you know that it’ll be your last time seeing them play for a while. i enjoyed every single minute. i love watching them play hometown shows, too. halfway through we jumped on stage to do the uneasy hearts cover, completely unrehearsed, and i’d say we did a pretty damn good job. such a fun way to send off the woodland creatures tour. i had always wanted to do something like this, where two bands play on stage at once (holla me versus i nd the artwork of). the energy the whole song was so infectious, it was fun to see people in the crowd go off too. also, fucking KRIS KHUNACHAK shot this video with TWO ANGLES holding both his cameras at the same time. i still can’t get over that.

youtube

i love that pulses. played you already know as their closer, it was the perfect way to wrap up their set and the best bookend to the setlist they chose. kevin would get on the mic every night and speak to the crowd, dude is just really good at being a performer and resonating with people. in jacksonville he sat down and everyone followed his lead haha. it was fun to dance one last time with everyone as we watched pulses. kill it before the tour came to an official end. we then gathered outside to take group pictures. it’s the part you don’t wanna get to, because it signals farewells in the near future, but we took some really great ones.

post-gig taco bell plans were foiled, but someone recommended the silver dollar diner nearby. diners outside of jersey are normally horrifying but i trusted the people we were with. we piled back in our vehicles and rolled 20 heads deep to the diner. it was actually a really sick diner with tons of vegan dishes and pretty tasty food. i got chicken noodle soup, red wine and an ice cream sundae because i am a freak of nature. we ate up like 3 tables and sat altogether, just bitching about having to return to real life the following monday. but also, trying to plan the next time we would see each other. already!! and!! talking about doing more shows together. we try to work with different people all the time but there are a select few bands we would tour with or gig with again and again and again and pulses. are one of them. after how much fun this run was it’s pretty hard to imagine not doing this again. it just... makes sense. so much sense. and it feels wrong to not do it again lmao.

goodbyes were bittersweet. we huddled in the parking lot by our van to say goodnight and see ya later, one by one. fuckin, tyler is moving to nashville very soon so we all probably won’t see him for a hot minute :’----------( thankfully everyone else really isn’t that far if we planned a weekend trip to meet halfway or if we wanted to make the trip out to each other, thank god!!! i don’t know what i would do if i couldn’t always have a part of this tour with me, somehow or some way.

afterword

was thinking of adding a lengthy epilogue but it’s essentially just me openly sobbing in the van the entire ride home hahaha. you’d think that every single time it would get easier to come home but it doesn’t. i know why touring impacts me as much as it does emotionally, but when the bittersweet acceptance of coming home pours over into tears like it does, i feel kinda silly. i’m sure that there are musicians who are constantly gigging that would love nothing more than to be home more, and i know that if i was in their shoes i would come to dread touring, too.

i really, truly wish i was in a place, or that my bandmates and i, were in a place to tour more often, but for now we have what we have. and that’s okay. i want to share something beautiful our friend charlene posted today that deeply moved me:

This is the moment. I’ve made it.

People always ask me “what are you gonna do when you’ve made it?” I need you to understand something; I’ve already made it. I am living out my dreams. It’s not easy and obviously I would only hope that’s I will continue to grow, to reach bigger goals, to push the limits. But I’ve already made it. This is the moment. I won’t let myself miss out on the beauty of life that’s right in front of me because I’m too worried about something that may or may not come tomorrow. This is the moment.

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differentnutpeace · 4 years ago

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How To Sign Up For A COVID-19 Vaccine In Your State

The COVID-19 vaccines are here, but if it's your turn to get vaccinated, how are you supposed to sign up? หวย บอล เกมส์ คาสิโนออนไลน์

The answers vary by place, so NPR created a tool to help you understand how things work in your state and connect you with local resources. And we're sharing guiding principles and advice for navigating the process below.

Search for your state below. (There are a few large cities with their own immunization plans that you'll find on our list as well.)

Please note that the information in this tool is subject to change, as states roll out new processes and new providers get the vaccine. Always check with your state health department for the latest guidance.

Advice for navigating a patchwork system

It helps to understand how the system works as you set out to get the vaccine. Here are some tips to keep in mind as you proceed.

1. First, understand the big picture. As you try to navigate the vaccine system in your state, be aware that there are multiple points of entry for those seeking a vaccine. Although the federal government pays for and distributes the vaccines, it's up to state and local health departments and the private sector — hospitals, clinics and pharmacies — to actually schedule and give out the shots.

In many states, the different systems don't talk to one another. So when it's your turn to get signed up for a shot, you may need to look for available appointments in all three of these separate streams, depending on your state.

2. Keep an eye on pharmacies. In addition to sending vaccines to states, the government is sending vaccines directly to chain pharmacies through the Federal Retail Pharmacy Program, which launched in early February.

Find out which pharmacies in your area are giving out vaccines by using the CDC's VaccineFinder tool, which launched Feb. 24. VaccineFinder is designed to show up-to-date information about which local pharmacies have doses in stock, and you may be able to book an appointment online, directly with the pharmacy, if you're eligible in your state.

In most states, this tool only shows pharmacies that get vaccine directly from the federal government so there may be additional pharmacies with vaccine — check your state in our tool for ways to search for those. In Alaska, Indiana, Iowa and Tennessee, you can see the complete list of providers using VaccineFinder, and more states are expected to include complete lists in the coming weeks.

3. Remember the vaccine is free. You can get it if you don't have insurance. If you are insured, your insurance is required to cover the costs of administering the shot. Make sure to have your health insurance info handy in case when looking for an available slot in case that information is needed to register.

4. Be patient and persistent. There are not enough doses available right now for people who are currently eligible and demand is generally high, so you might have to persevere.

It can certainly be frustrating: Hotlines can be jammed. Sign-ups can fill up the minute they open. Providers don't always schedule second doses, leaving people who succeeded in getting an initial appointment to scramble to set up their second dose within the recommended window.

Even insiders are struggling with the chaotic system. Claire Hannan, who runs the Association of Immunization Managers, could barely figure out how to get a shot for her dad in Maryland. "He's on the pre-registered waiting list for our county since Jan. 15, and we haven't heard one thing," she says. "Who could possibly be ahead of him? He's 95!" (She was ultimately able to get him vaccinated in another county.)

If you're feeling exasperated, remember that because of the patchwork nature of the system, local health departments don't have all the answers.

"They don't universally have access to the systems that tell you where vaccine is within their jurisdiction," explains Adriane Casalotti, chief of government and public affairs at the National Association of County and City Health Officials.

5. Look for local advice. Some tips that can help you find a slot are specific to a local area or state. You can find local guides from the media or places like AARP and GoodRx. Follow your state and local government on social media for specific tips where you live and maybe news about mass vaccination sites opening up with available slots.

Also search for Facebook groups — like this one in South Florida or this one in Oklahoma — and other local volunteer efforts that have sprung up to try to help folks navigate all of this.

Some states, like California, are hosting mass vaccination sites. In addition, state and local health departments, as well as select medical centers and pharmacies, are giving out shots in many places.

Patrick T. Fallon/AFP via Getty ImagesIs a better system coming?

From the current state of affairs, it seems obvious that health officials should have realized that once vaccines were out, they were going to need an effective and equitable way to bring people in to get their shots. But immunization managers across the country had their hands full getting ready to mobilize quickly for the coming vaccines, says Hannan.

The vaccine distribution patchwork is not easy to fix because it's a reflection of the patchwork health care system, a mix of public providers like health departments and private providers like hospitals and clinics that don't always play nice together.

"I can't tell you how complicated it is to have a federally financed vaccine being distributed through a state-based system, with a health care system that's private-sector based," Hannan says. "These three things are completely separate and operate in their own kingdoms. So, trying to marry all of this and to track it in real time with data connections? It's incredible that we are where we are."

SHOTS - HEALTH NEWS

How Is The COVID-19 Vaccination Campaign Going In Your State?

A central promise of the Biden administration was to offer more assertive federal leadership over the COVID-19 public health response. Recently, officials have acknowledged the confusion and promised they're "looking at various options" for something more clear and centralized.

The launch of the CDC-backed VaccineFinder to help people find providers near them with vaccine in stock is helpful, but doesn't solve the sign-up problem — people still need to reach out to each clinic or pharmacy individually to try to book an appointment.

In all likelihood, the patchwork of public and private sign-up systems will continue. "At this point, it's probably too late in the game to set up a system to connect everything," Hannan says. "So it's really almost better to just communicate to people: 'Here's where the vaccine's going and here's what you need to do.' [Right now,] we're not even doing a great job of that."

It is worth noting: the patchwork might not be pretty, but people are getting vaccinated — more than 66 million doses have gotten into people's arms so far. More than a million shots are given on average every day across the country.

And more and more vaccine is coming. "I feel like we're turning a corner," Hannan says. With a promising production outlook and "potentially another vaccine coming on, I feel like we're in a good place — I do."

Audrey Carlsen designed and developed this lookup tool; Rhitu Chatterjee, Deborah Franklin, Maria Godoy, Richard Harris, Pien Huang, Kristen Kendrick, Rosemary Misdary, Yuki Noguchi, Akilah Wise, Julia Wohl, and Carmel Wroth contributed research and reporting.

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kinaaadman · 4 years ago

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Living Among the Dead: Day 118

m.y.f. gueco

photo by: pinterest

Day 116

A brown haired guy slowly walked behind a car, peeking to a pack of Goners. He sighed as he tightly held his knife. A mini store is just 3 feet away from him, but he can’t go any near, since the pack is roaming around the store.

It’s been almost 4 months, since the patient zero has infected patient one, until all of the human race is about to end.

He decided to enter the car and start it, to attract the attention of the Goners. As the car starts to make sound, he ran and hide behind a near car. The Goners starts to attack the car and making unpleasant noise.

He maked a signal, ran around the store and opened the back door.

10 minutes pass…

The brown haired guy walked out the store, and a red haired guy followed him while eating a bag of chips.

“Why don’t we go to Maryland?” The brown haired guy paused and raised his eyebrow.

“And where did you get that idea from, Daryl?” Daryl handed a note to the brown haired guy. And he read the note.

If you survive, go to Maryland.

“Hey! What are you doing?!” Daryl tried to stop the brown haired guy from tearing the paper. But the pieces of papers immediately flew away.

“What is wrong with you Rick?!” Rick just shrugged and start to walk.

“We can’t find enough food for a week, we’re low in ammo, and Washington is dead, full of rotting Goners!” Rick stopped and look back.

“And we can’t take the risk to go there. Do you know how far Maryland is?! We’re in the god damn Washington, it’s 2,220 miles from here!”

“We can look for a car and scavenge enough gas. We need to try Rick.” Rick pause for a while and stared at Daryl.

“Okay, fine. But you’re the one, who’s going to that.” He returned to the store and sleep down the counter.

As time goes by…

Rick woke up soaking in cold sweat and holding dearly his MP5 gun. Trembling in fear, as he recall his nightmare. Daryl died, as he shoot himself.

He directly point his gun to the back door as he heard a sound, a tiredly soaking in blood Daryl came in. He jumped and ran to him, checking for bite marks or wounds.

“I’m fine. Just tired.” Rick helped him to seat in the counter. He ripped his clothes that made Daryl yelp.

“Don’t be a baby, I already saw everything back in the camp.”

“I was jus-just startled.”

Rick looked every inch of pale white Daryl’s body to look for a wound or scratch. He then get a bottled water and damped a cloth, when Daryl stopped him.

“Why are you wasting the wat-“

“Could you just shut up?” Rick starts to clean the blood stain in Daryl’s body.

Daryl couldn’t stop staring at Rick. He never did this to him, even back in the military camp. He would just stay away from him, to avoid getting stained. Then he felt a sensation in his stomach.

“What are you staring at? You being gay to me?” Rick smirk and throw a new shirt.

“How many bullets left?” Rick opened a can of sardines and started to eat.

“I used 20 bullets, so maybe around 20. And you have 24, plus the remaining bullets you have in your gun.”

“Damn it. Maryland better pays.” He gave the remaining sardines to Daryl and stood up.

“Eat, then sleep. We go when the sun rises.”

Day 117

Cold breeze and fresh air flashed to their skin, as they pass by the landfields. After a long time, they felt peace. They would exchange anything, just for a day like this.

“It’s nice, right?” Rick looked at Daryl, he smiled and nodded.

“I wish it wi-“

SCREEECH!

They stopped when they saw a man and woman, waving at them. They looked at each other.

They slowly get out of the car, and approached them.

“We have food and water, but we run out of gas. We could exchange food and water for gas.” The woman smiled warmly.

“Yeah, we can enjoy the food together. My wife’s a good cook.” The man stepped forward.

Daryl seemed to be pleased, excited for new people. While Rick, is cautious, analyzing if they should be trusted.

“No thanks, we have eno-“

“What are you saying? We don’t have food for tomorrow, there’s only 2 cans left.” Daryl pulls the hem of the shirt of Rick.

“I don’t trust them.”

“You don’t trust anyone, besides me.”

“And that keep us safe.” Rick look at Daryl sternly.

“We’re good. Thanks for asking.” Rick’s about to turn around when he saw a M16 rifle in the woman’s back.

“But weren’t asking.” Then the man started to shoot.

Rick immediately pushed Daryl, but a bullet shot Daryl in the shoulder. He pulled him behind the hays.

He pulled Daryl’s mini uzi gun and started shooting them. They shouted in pain and starts to crawl.

He checked Daryl. Seing he passsed out, he cursed.

They started to shoot again, he peeked and saw that they’re crawling back.

Then they shoot again, he analyzed that they have 30 rounds of bullets. They got at least more than half of the bullets.

He lifted his gun and shot 2 times, they backfire. He repeated it, and exactly as he thought, they reloaded.

He smirked and stood up, aiming at them. Looked at them, and mercilessly shoot them multiple of times.

He returned to Daryl, sat him besides him and tried to wake him up. Fear, pain and anger start to overflow. Tears slowly fall on his face, till they flood and blur his eyes.

“Daryl, wake up! Come on, man!” He wiped his tears, but silence answered him. He put his ear to his mouth, to see if he’s still breathing.

“I-I’m fine…” Daryl whispered. Rick gasped and tightly hugged Daryl. Thinking how painful it is to lose him.

They stood up, and approached the van. Rick left Daryl few feet away, and check if there’s still someone in the van. Nothing to see, he comes back to Daryl and helped him lean on the van.

“I’ll be back. I’ll just get our things, then fix you.” Daryl nodded.

He immediately took their bags, with their few canned goods and ammo.

As Rick walked back, he heard a child babbles. He slowly and cautiously approached the van, aiming his gun and ready to shoot.

Then he saw Daryl holding a year old baby. He furrowed his eyebrows in curiousity. Daryl look back at him with a smile and excitement.

“Where did you get that thing?” He walked pass them and checked the van.

“First of all, it’s not a thing. It’s a baby, a baby boy. And I saw him inside the van.” Rick paused and looked at Daryl. He rolled his eyes, as he saw guilt in Daryl’s eyes.

“I don’t feel guilty for killing them. They shoot us first, they shot you.” He look inside the van, and saw a box of food supply, water bottles, and baby formula and bottles. He smiled and looked back, he saw Daryl playing with the baby, he frowned.

“Drop that thing, and let’s go!” Daryl looked at him dead shock.

“You didn’t just said that.” Rick scoffed.

“I just did, and I’m not telling it again.”

“We can’t jus-“

“Why not?! They shot you, Daryl. They almost killed us!” He angrily punched the van, that cause the baby to cry.

“For Christ’s sake! I hate baby noise, they crap smelly, the-“ Daryl stopped Rick from talking, by kissing him. Rick’s eyes widened in surprise, an unfamiliar and odd sensation in his body emerged. Without realizing, he’s kissing him back.

They stopped to breath. As they breath, they deeply and meaningfully looked at each other.

“Let’s go, before it gets dark. I’ll fix my shoulder, just drive.” Daryl tapped Rick’s shoulder and leave him speechless.

“Idiot.” He smirked and approached the van.

3 hours passed…

“How’s your wound?” Rick looked at the rear-view mirror, as he drives.

“Fine, good thing the bullet went through.” Daryl starts to play with the child again, and Rick just shooked his head.

Then the car slowed down, Rick looked at the dashboard and saw the gas is empty. He hitted the wheel in annoyance.

“We need to walk, Maryland is near.” He looked back at Daryl, and the baby.

“How are we suppose to bring that thin-“

“Karl. That is his name.”

“Whatever. What do you suggest Mr. Tagg we do?” Daryl smirk.

A while…

“Did you put your silencer in your gun?” Daryl nodded.

“Your knife?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Let’s go!” Rick lit the cloth and throw it to the van, it immediately burn. The Goners start to approached the van and create noise. The slowly walked, far away from the van.

They were covered in blanckets, with blood and guts from Goners. To disguise like them. While Karl is hiding in Daryl’s blancket.

Suddenly Karl started to cry, getting hungry. Daryl and Rick looked at each other, as they immediately take the baby bottle from their bag.

Some Goners heard the noise, and started to approach them. As Rick got the bottle, he gave it to Daryl.

Rick started to stab Goners’ heads. Blood splattering to his face.

“Run! Find a nearest shelter!” He said, as Daryl ran to looked for a hideout.

As Goners starts to crowding Rick, he pulled his gun and start to shoot them. Kicking and pushing them, to prevent them getting near.

“Ahhh!” Rick looked back, and saw Daryl bitten by a Goner. He ran to him and shoot the head of the Goner.

He looked at him teary, Daryl just smiled sadly as he pulled his gun to fight. They nodded and started to shoot.

Packs of Goners started to surround them, adding that Karl started to cry again. Feeling that death is about to take them. They held each other’s hands and kissed, for the last time.

Boom! Boom!

They tremble as grenage thrown near them. Rick hugged Daryl, to cover him.

They looked up as the explotion stopped, and bright light is focused on them. They slowly stood up.

A man approached them, big, muscular and hairy one. He smiled at them warmly.

“We came to help you. Are you okay?”

“Who are you?” Rick pull Daryl behind him.

“We are the Hope, a community here in Maryland. We have foods, medical facilities, and security.”

“How can we know you’re telling the truth?”

“Come with us, and see.”

“You should go Rick, take Karl with you.” His forehead furrowed.

“What?! No, you’re coming with us.”

“No! I’m bitten, but you and Karl aren’t. Please take them!” Daryl looked at the man.

“Please! Just go, and leave me here.”

He took off his blanket, and gave Karl to Rick.

“Can’t we take him there, until he become- I’ll deal with it when he turns.” Rick looked at the man.

“I’m sorry we can’t take the risk.” He clenched his fist.

“Put us in a room, then if he turn into a Goner. I’ll kill him. I ju-just can’t leave him here. I want to give him everything before he dies. Please!” Rick kneeled as he beg. The man stood him up.

“Okay, fine. Make sure to end it, okay?” Rick nodded. He looked back at Daryl and smiled.

“Why Rick? Why?” He pulled him closer.

“Because I love you.” The he kissed Daryl.

Day 805

A brown haired guy walks down the stair, taking flower from the table. He enters a room, smiling at a red haired boy. He offered his hands, and the boy took it.

They passed few people, greeting them with warm smiles, they enter a yard. Full of cross statues, names were engraved and dried flowers besides them.

A red tomb with an engrave says “Here lies Daryl Tagg-Hax”. They sat near it, as he put down the flower.

“Karl this is Daryl, a very good friend of mine.” Rick pointed the tomb, and smile sadly.

“He’s already 4 years old, Daryl. But still can’t say a word.” Slowly touching the tomb, a tear fell on his cheek.

“Da-da.” Karl giggles. Rick looked eye widen at Karl, joy and satisfaction arise to him.

“Maybe I’m wrong, Daryl. Maybe.”

#creativewriting #12jotham_group_three #dead #shortstory

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anctilbrayen · 4 years ago

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car insurance point system

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car insurance point system

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wineanddinosaur · 4 years ago

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Next Round: Wallenpaupack Brewing Is Using Homebrew Kits to Connect to Customers

Airing between regular episodes of the VinePair Podcast, “Next Round” explores the ideas and innovations that are helping drinks businesses adapt in a time of unprecedented change. As the coronavirus crisis continues and new challenges arise, VP Pro is in your corner, supporting the drinks community for all the rounds to come. If you have a story or perspective to share, email us at [email protected].

In this “Next Round,” VinePair Podcast host Zach Geballe speaks with the founder of Wallenpaupack Brewing Co., Becky Ryman, and the team’s head brewer Logan Ackerley. With their headquarters nestled in Hawley, Pa., Ryman and Ackerly discuss the seasonal flux in business, and how Covid made this summer one of their busiest seasons yet. Wallenpaupack Lake is about 20 miles from New York, and as the weather changed, thousands flocked to Hawley to escape the city. However, to make it through the early spring, the team had to get creative.

In this episode, Ackerly and Ryman describe how they brought the taproom experience online and designed take-home gear to keep their business afloat. From 15-beer quarantine kits, to a do-it-yourself homebrew set, the team won the hearts of locals and is now ready to extend its reach a little further.

LISTEN ONLINE

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OR CHECK OUT THE CONVERSATION HERE

Zach: From Seattle Washington, I’m Zach Geballe. And this is “Next Round,” a VinePair Podcast Conversation. We’re bringing you these conversations between our regular podcast episodes in order to examine how we move forward as a drinks business during the Covid-19 crisis. Today, I’m talking with Becky Ryman and Logan Ackerley from Wallenpaupack Brewing Company in Hawley, Pa. Thank you both for joining. And first of all, where is Hawley, Pa.?

Becky: Thank you for having us. So Hawley, Pa., is located in Northeast Pa. We’re on the East Coast, and we’re out in the Poconos mountain regions, near Lake Wallenpaupack, which is the third-largest lake in the state of Pennsylvania.

Z: Gotcha. What’s the nearest town that most of us who don’t live in Pennsylvania would have heard of?

B: So if you’ve watched “The Office,” you’ll know Scranton. That’s actually where I went to college. It’s about 40 minutes from Hawley.

Z: Excellent. And can each of you, maybe starting with you Becky, explain how you got into the craft brewing?

B: Sure. So, my story’s a little bit unconventional. I come more from the business world. As I mentioned, I went to the University of Scranton. I’m actually a CPA and a cousin of mine started a brewery called Marker 48 in Hernando County, Fla. And just something that he thought his community would enjoy. He was really interested in beer, and I had always wanted my own company. I wanted to be a CEO and run something that I was really passionate about. And I fell in love with craft beer, through his influence, and just got into it on my own and just love the industry.

Love the people, love the vibe. And dabbled with homebrewing a little bit, enough to be dangerous, but not enough to do what Logan does every day. But enough to be a good partner to him on the business side. And, three years ago, we opened the doors, and it’s been a whirlwind ever since.

Z: Gotcha. And Logan, how about you? How did you get into beer?

Logan: So mine was probably just a little after college. A brewery opened up two miles from my school. And my buddy and I would just go as customers and have a couple of beers every once in a while. And they ended up needing some help behind the bar. So we both got jobs there as bartenders. And then I just worked my way up through the ranks.

Z: Gotcha. And how did you two get connected?

B: So we had a brewer at the time and quickly realized when we first opened that it was going to be a little bit bigger than we’d anticipated, and had advertised for some initial help in the group.

Logan came to us, with lots of experience in all the things we were looking for right before we opened. Our first brewer actually left for another opportunity, and Logan stuck it out and became our head brewer, and has run our brewery now for about two and a half years.

Z: Gotcha. And so one thing, before we get into some of the specifics about how you all have been dealing with the pandemic and all that, is we’ve talked to a lot of breweries on here, but I would say the vast majority of them have been in big cities for the most part, or at least pretty good sized cities.

And you guys are more, in my understanding, a little more in the country. What is it to have a craft brewery in a space like that? What’s your clientele? Maybe pre-Covid or now, where did they come from? Are they mostly locals? Are they a lot of people who are visiting the region for vacations? How does that work?

B: Yeah. So we’re super seasonal here. A lot of that has to do with the lake and how things change throughout the year, outside of the building.

In the summer, the population around here pretty much quadruples. We get tons of visitors from everywhere. A lot of people actually come from as far as Maryland, Delaware, a lot of second homes in this area. So, we’re not a city year-round, but in the summer, we become one.

It gets pretty populated up here. And, a lot of the flow throughout the rest of the year, you do get people from the Scranton area, Wilkes-Barre, that way. And we’re very close to the New York and New Jersey borders. I actually live over in New York, and it’s only about 20 miles away. Logan is from New York, too. So we do pull a lot of influence from New York. And then we also pull a lot of visitors from New Jersey because we’re located in what’s called the tri-state area. So even though we don’t have a big population here year-round, throughout the rest of the year, we have a huge support from the local community.

Our local community is awesome. They come in all four seasons. And then throughout the rest of the year, we do get more of that transient, visitor population and the second home owners.

Z: So, what’s the last six, seven months been for you all? I mean, obviously, you probably didn’t have the summer you anticipated. How has that gone?

B: Yeah, it’s been a little bit funny. So, March was certainly scary. It started out that every hour we were getting new information about what we had to do, what we couldn’t do, what we could do, there was certainly a lot of confusion and a lot of communication in-house to keep on top of the ever-changing regulations and rules.

It just seemed they were constantly flowing. It was a fire hose. And we did unfortunately have to make some decisions in-house to lay off some of our employees, but we tried to do it quickly, rip the Band-Aid to make sure we were here long-term. And my staff was super understanding, and we got through that really well, I think, and right away, we realized we had just canned a bunch of beer and had a pretty full cooler and we needed to find a way to move it.

So, my team really pulled together. I mean, everyone showed up and really worked hard every day to come up with ways to get through it. And we worked real hard on our to-go side and just pushed take-out, pushed all the to-go gear. Fortunately, our market sales stayed pretty solid throughout this.

And that was a big carrier for us early on in those couple of months. But, by June we were able to start getting open and although we didn’t have the summer we’d hoped with lots of people in the group elbow to elbow cheersing beer glasses, we certainly still had a lot of support on the take-out side.

The population up here was very large this summer. I think every home on the Lake was occupied. I think every dock slip on the Lake was occupied. There are literally thousands of boats on Lake Wallenpaupack. So, people were really seeking that outdoor adventure and open space to spend their summer. So we actually had a solid summer, despite everything, which we’re super grateful for.

Z: Gotcha. So Logan, I’m curious as a brewer, one thing that we’ve certainly seen and heard from breweries across the country is, with a shift, at least for most of them, does that extend away from the taproom into bottling and canning beer? That has different realities, have you had to change anything as far as your production or your recipe or anything day-to-day? Where less of your beer is being served on draft and more of it is in can or bottle?

L: I mean, we haven’t had to change too much other than logistics . We don’t have our own canning line. We use mobile canning. So we have to schedule canning runs, at least a month in advance with the canning company. And then obviously we have to produce that beer, make sure we have tanks to move it, and carbonate it, and can off of. But we’ve actually had three of our top five biggest production months in the last four months. And so it’s been crazy on our side. We’ve been busy with pumping out a ton of cans, brewing more than we ever have. So, we haven’t really had to change the way we do things. We’ve just had to do it a lot more.

Z: Gotcha. And, one thing you mentioned in another piece of this that I’m curious about is you didn’t get to have people packed into the taproom elbow to elbow. One of the things that we’ve heard from craft breweries, from drinkers , is a thing that they love about craft beer — beer in general — but I think specifically craft beer, is that convivial, communal experience. What have you been able to do to at least have some of that? And then especially moving forward into fall winter when outdoor spaces are either not accessible or at least only for the very hardy, what does that look like for you guys?

B: Yeah, so playing on my comment before that I had made, we really got creative back in Covid throughout the summer, and that’s to continue this winter. We did some things like quarantine packs, take-home beer and dinners. So we tried to take the experiences that people enjoy about our brewery, variety of beer and socialization out of a beer pairing food event, where we do food and beer and have conversation, and encapsulate those experiences into a piece that people can take that home and still get a piece of that.

And we did a lot of videos on social, and tried to just come up with different ways to say, “Hey, we’re still here, because there’s still the faces you see at the brew pub when you come to visit. And, we’re thinking about you, we appreciate you buying our products, supporting us, during these really hard times.” And just engage more on social media and just keep that conversation flowing and keep our beers, ourselves, and our whole brand relevant. It was quite a group effort on that front.

Z: Can you go into a little more detail? What are the quarantine packs? How, how is that different than what you are offering previously?

B: Yeah, so in house, we would do flights, we’d do tastings, all that stuff. We pride ourselves in having a really robust tap list. Logan does an awesome job of exploring different styles. If you come in, we’re not just a hazy double IPA brewery. We dabble in that style, but we do lagers, we have a cream ale that’s a flagship. Our hefeweizen has stuck around for a really long time — it’s practically a flagship now, too. So, we do a really nice breadth of beer styles. So with the quarantine packs, it just so happened, we had a certain amount of years, it was 15 years at the time, in cans. ‘Cause like I said, we just came off a pretty heavy brewing and canning cycle prepping for spring when we would get busier.

And we were able to put together these boxes. So you got a can of each beer, you would drink one per day. Cause all this started, they said, oh, 14 days of quarantine, and you’ll be fine. So I ended up putting up a 15th beer in there to cheers on the last day, and hope we all make it through the 14 days.

And it actually turned into this pretty neat thing. And each day we did a video, featuring different staff members. And we’d post it so you could virtually cheers with us at 5 o’clock every day, we did some virtual happy hours, too, in conjunction with it. So, people really enjoyed that. They enjoyed that remote socialization, the ability to hear about these beers from our perspective each day, whether it was in a funny way that we presented it, or a more serious way, having a conversation about what beer was about. But, it was pretty cool. People really got behind it, and it was just a neat way to give them some variety, explore our beers, in the sense that they couldn’t come in and actually do that.

Z: Gotcha. And then I think our own Cat Wolinski — who’s the person who connected us and was visiting you guys a couple of weeks ago — mentioned you also did some take-home homebrew kits. Is that right?

B: Yeah, Logan, you want to talk about that?

L: Yeah. So, as part of part of a video that we were doing with the quarantine packs, we ended up basically taking it through a couple brews on our pilot system. So we figured , the quarantine lasted longer than the two weeks, as we all know. So we figured people were probably looking for something to do while they’re stuck at home. So we put together these homebrew kits, which gave all the grain and hops for a recipe that we wrote for an IPA, ’cause everybody loves those. And we put those together, sold them, and then we recorded a video so that they could brew along with us, while they were doing it at home. So those went over pretty well. We have a couple really good homebrew clubs around here. So they seemed to really enjoy it. It kept people busy.

Z: Gotcha. You weren’t worried about creating competition?

L: Never. That’s the best thing about this industry, is that we work together better than probably any other industry I know. I’m not too worried about whether somebody wants to make more beer. I’ll gladly drink it.

Z: And is that something where, if down the road, you need to hire someone else, maybe it’s someone who’s already got some experience working with your recipe?

L: That’s not a bad idea. We are potentially looking for some more help in the brewery in the coming months. So keep an eye out for that.

Z: Who needs online job listings when you have this podcast? I wanted to ask another question that’s just about this experimentation and connection. Becky you mentioned, actually you both mentioned, doing online engagement via social media. Have you also done some Zoom tastings or things like that, or do you find that it’s just easier or more effective to post on social?

B: We did some online happy hours through Facebook Live. Just so it was open to anyone who wanted to participate, or they could replay it later. We did leave it open for questions, “Ask the brewer.” We got pretty good reception from that. We did that a few times, and it was nice with everything open this summer. We were able to see our customers, all of our friends through the industry this summer, but we were all a little fearful, I think, that as things start to get moved inside again, we’re going to lose that. So we have been talking about revitalizing, especially these online happy hours and stuff, just in the event that people don’t want to come out or are a little bit trepidatious about it. So, yes, it was definitely a good way to keep people engaged.

Z: And then, either the easiest or hardest question I’ll ask, depending on your perspective: Can each of you tell me what your favorite beer of yours is right now?

L: Well for me right now, we actually just released it last Friday. We did a Dortmunder lager, which is just a nice pale traditional German style lager, but then we took that and threw it in Chardonnay barrels for four weeks. So not a ton of time where it’s going to pick up a lot of the oaky character, but you get just a little bit of the oak and a little bit of the wine grapes. All in a nice light lager. So it’s just really drinkable, and I love traditional lagers. So, it’s perfect for me.

Z: Awesome. Becky, how about you?

B: I’m currently drinking our wet-hop farmhouse ales. Every fall, we get a really nice hop harvest from a local hops farm called Avery Mountain Bines and Twine. They’re up in Pennsylvania, about an hour from us. And this year, Logan, myself, one of our assistant brewers John, and our operations manager Sean actually got to go to the farm and participate in the harvest. We were actually helping pick the binds that we wanted for the beer, watch them go through the machines, pull them all off.

We were sorting out leaves and everything else that came up along with them and actually bagging them right alongside the farmers that grew them, which was a really awesome experience. So, I’m pretty partial to this one for having that experience with them. But also because I think this is the best farmhouse ale we’ve come out with. We’re really having some high hopes, maybe doing some competitions with this gear this year. So this is definitely right now my go-to.

Z: Very cool. And then last question for you guys. If people are interested in the beer, I mean, obviously they can come to Pennsylvania and check out the brewery, but are you available, either in the state, or regionally, or what? If people are interested in the beer, how do they get their hands on it?

B: So regionally, right now we’re self-distributed in eight counties, so it’s mostly the northeast part of Pennsylvania down into the Allentown areas where we stop for now. We are actually launching, by the end of October, our online beer sales within the state of Pennsylvania. So we will be able to ship direct to your home if you are within the state by the end of the month. So that’s a big deal for us. We’re pretty excited. We were hoping to launch it this summer, but as I said, it was a little busier than we’d anticipated, which was a great thing, but we do have the product now planned for the winter to get that going.

Z: Well, thank you both so much, really appreciate the time and the insight. And it’s cool to hear about some of the really creative ways you’re connecting to the community, even when it’s a little more difficult than in years past. So yeah, we’ll keep an eye out. For those of the listeners who are in Pennsylvania, check out the brewery, check out the online sales.

And thank you both again so much for your time.

B: Thank you for having us.

Thanks so much for listening to the VinePair Podcast. If you enjoy listening to us every week, please leave us a review or rating on iTunes, Stitcher, Spotify, or wherever it is that you get your podcasts. It really helps everyone else discover the show. Now, for the credits. VinePair is produced and hosted by Zach Geballe, Erica Duecy and me: Adam Teeter. Our engineer is Nick Patri and Keith Beavers. I’d also like to give a special shout-out to my VinePair co-founder Josh Malin and the rest of the VinePair team for their support. Thanks so much for listening and we’ll see you again right here next week.

Ed. note: This episode has been edited for length and clarity.

The article Next Round: Wallenpaupack Brewing Is Using Homebrew Kits to Connect to Customers appeared first on VinePair.

source https://vinepair.com/articles/wallenpaupack-brewing-becky-ryman-logan-ackerley/

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