#like the odds are always massively stacked against you and it's a miracle if you manage to not die? yeah this is definitely how dnd works

[its-captain-sir]

started watching neverafter and FULL PARTY KILL IN THE THIRD EPISODE????? OK

[realfuurikuuri]

Chapters: 10/? Fandom: Mao Mao: Heroes of Pure Heart (Cartoon) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Series: Part 1 of Mao Mao: The Hero Without an Arm Summary:

MissingArm!AU: When escaping the cave, it wasn't his tail that got crushed. In exchange for his innocence, he gained a sordid past. The Pure Heart Valley seemed like a good place to escape. To start a new life with a new family to forge a new identity. However, when the past rears its ugly head Mao Mao's forced to step up or be put down.

AN:  I'm back with a late chapter, but to make up for that it's longer than usual. Yay! Again, I'm not very good at predicting how long all of this will be. With this whole Corona thing, I've found enough time to actually get this out in between everything. I hope this chapter at least puts you guys under quarantine and everyone not under quarantine at ease. As always follow @spookylovesboba whenever you can find her and enjoy the chapter.

Badgerclops blinked a few times, trying to get his eyes to adjust to the sun before he realized he was just tired. He watched the blue smudge, which he guessed was Adorabat walking up the steps. She waved at him so Badgerclops waved back, or she tripped and fell, he couldn’t tell. He started the aerocycle’s motor, flying back because he had it in reverse, and flying the right way when he fixed it. He wanted to go back home, get some sleep, check on Jǐngtì, but he figured he should probably pick up supplies while he’s in town.

The early morning air was cool, but it was slowly warming up. He checked on the blob since he was heading that way. It was still in the taped barrier. Looking at it he had to wonder if it had gotten bigger. He couldn’t be sure. He hadn’t slept since… before he went camping. He was nearing his third day without sleep and by god, it was starting to show. His mind was covered in a thick haze that made his head burn. His vision was cloudy, considering his eye was prosthetic, couldn’t have been good.

The supplies shop wasn’t too far from the fountain square. He was surprised to find Penny and Benny running it. (He could swear they did deliveries) who handed him a receipt written in crayon. He wasn't sure if that was legal; Mao Mao was the one who knew the laws, not him. Badgerclops stood off to the side watching the three-foot fools try to tie the stack to the back of the aerocycle. He made sure to give them some gummy worms as payment before taking off again. He was sure that was illegal, but who's going to arrest him?

Badgerclops went in low when he saw HQ. Too low, in fact. Badgerclops jumped off at the last second, watching the aerocycle carve a ditch across the front lawn. He stumbled towards HQ to poke his head inside. The noise hadn’t woken Jǐngtì. He was peacefully asleep. He almost envied the little bastard. He couldn’t envy anyone who called Mao Mao their dad. Much like his father he would be a great help with fixing everything. Badgerclops tapped his chin, considering waking him up before he relented with a sigh. Let him sleep , he told himself.

Badgerclops stepped back outside to examine the aerocycle. The supplies on the back weren’t damaged, but the aerocycle certainly wouldn’t be flying. A real crock of shit considering he had to pick up Adorabat in like… six hours? Would six hours of sleep be enough? Would he even have that much free time? He had to fix the house and even worse, he forgot to buy furniture!

Badgerclops harrumphed as he sat down to order it all, using his arm instead of a computer as he should’ve from the start. He went for 2-hour delivery even though it was $40 extra, mostly because he wanted to see if they’d actually do it, before he took the supplies off the Aerocycle. The stack was heavy and tall, making it hard to walk and even harder to see.

Getting it through the door was easy considering he didn’t have a door, or a doorframe, or the walls surrounding it. That didn't stop him from tripping over his own feet, landing with a loud and undignified scream. He could feel the weak house foundations begin to shake.

Badgerclops lied there, waiting for the shaking to stop or the floor to give in.

By some miracle the house settled back down. The floor only gave a disturbing groan when he forced the supplies off. He peeked over at Jǐngtì who was still asleep. Kid could probably sleep through an earthquake , Badgerclops thought to himself, stopping just short of mumbling it out loud. Knowing his luck that probably would wake him up.

Badgerclops’ luck held out more than he thought when he sorted the supplies to find it all in one piece. He sorted the plywood, slicing it into boards with a laser so he could fix the floor. It was tedious and tiring, especially when he had to stop to nail down the boards every so often. When he finished he overlooked his work. It looked fine, until he realised that he cut the new boards too large.

It was fine. It was fine. It was fine. Fuck, no it wasn’t! This was going to bother him all the time if he didn’t fix it .

Badgerclops pulled up every board he just placed to cut them again before placing them back down. He looked over his work again, even breaking out a ruler to make sure he got it right.

Next he had to fix the door. He cut around the broken edges of the wood, using the leftover planks to seal the massive hole. He then set up the door frame and door. He probably should have done the wiring for the doorframe later because he shocked himself time and time again trying to set it up.

That was enough for now , Badgerclops told himself as he sat down. Fatigue had given him a headache that drummed inside his skull. He wanted to just lie down on his new floors and fall into a coma, but he knew himself too well.

If he stopped now he wouldn’t get this done in time. He pried himself out the chair, painfully leaning over to get the polish, varnish, and felt-block to buff the damage out of the wood. He dragged himself to a part of the wall, right next to the kitchen’s entrance, that had three large gashes running across it. He squirted the polish and began rubbing it down. The damage didn’t go away. Badgerclops rubbed again, this time putting a little bit of elbow grease. The damage still didn’t go away. Badgerclops rubbed with all his might. Until the felt-block was snatched out of his hands by Jǐngtì.

Fuck! He didn’t even know he was awake. Jǐngtì glared at him, waving around the felt-block. “You forgot to take off the plastic,” he said.

Sure enough, the felt-block was still wrapped in the thin cellophane packaging. Whoops. Badgerclops reached for it;  Jǐngtì threw the package aside. “What are you doing,” he asked.

“Just trying to buff some chips in the wall.”

“Those look like scratches.”

You know, now that he actually paid attention they did look like claw marks. Badgerclops took out the golden finger and held it to the scratches.

“You think this made the marks?”

“No. That didn’t make the scratches. The finger doesn’t fit. The point enlarges to quickly and metal would leave much finer impressions in the wood.”

“Where’d you learn to spot tracks.”

“From my mom. She’s a bounty hunter, isn’t she?”

“Fair point, but who made those marks then?”

Jǐngtì unsheathed his claws and held it to the marks,” I don’t know. Mao Mao certainly didn’t make these. They don’t match cat claws.”

“Wait, so does that mean Mao Mao got into a fight with a third person?”

“I suppose?”

“Then who was that third person?”

“I don’t know. Maybe you’ll get an idea after going the fuck to sleep.”

With that Jǐngtì hobbled off and went back to sleep. Badgerclops might as well follow his lead. He went to sleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.

* * *

Badgerclops woke up the sound of his alarm? No, it was the doorbell. At least he knew it worked. Jǐngtì was still asleep, or maybe he wasn’t. He liked faking it alot apparently. He probably was awake. Whoever was at the door spammed the doorbell like they were pretending they were Mao Mao if he hated doorbells. Badgerclops got up, stretched and went for the door. The door took a bit of effort to open. Huh, going to need to fix that , he noted to himself.

On the other side of the door was Penny and Benny. Aw shit . He totally forgot about the 2-hour delivery, considering their furrowed brows, their clenched fist, and the hellish fursy in their eyes Badgerclops probably had them waiting quite some time. At least they waited.

“We waited four hours ,” the pink one screamed at him.

“And I don’t regret it, now where’s the furniture I bought?”

They unloaded the furniture off the truck. Badgerclops expected it to be in pieces like an IKEA puzzle, but it was all in one piece. Good, saved time. Badgerclops went to wake Jǐngtì up, but the bedspread was empty. He kept an eye out but didn’t look for him. Jǐngtì was bound to show up sooner or later. He was directing the duo as they set down the furniture when he felt a hand brush up against his back. His heart nearly jumped out of his chest.

Jǐngtì gave Badgerclops little more than a glance as he toppled over. He was too busy sorting through a bunch of candy and knick-knacks in his hands.

“You’re just like your dad. Too sneaky for your own good.”

“Don’t compare me to him.”

Badgerclops quickly changed the subject. “Where’d you disappear to?”

“Just took those two’s wallets and went through the truck,” he said flatly,” look at these goobers. They didn’t have any cash, just... this .”

He showed Badgerclops the random crap he stole. Sure enough, the gummy worms he gave them were mixed in.

“You shouldn’t steal.”

“I’m not going to stop.”

“That doesn’t mean stealing is okay, even if Penny and Benny are... odd. I didn’t know they ran the supply store and the delivery service, but I’m not going to judge them for it.”

“They don’t run both shops,” Jǐngtì said. “The ones who run that shop are Lenny and Jenny, their twins or something.”

“What? They don’t have twins.

“Are you sure? How many times have you seen those two doing different jobs? It's all different people. Like nurse Joy. A bunch of different people who look alike.”

Badgerclops felt the need to disagree yet he couldn’t find any counterargument. The valley having a large litter of twins wouldn’t even be that bizzare.

“Huh, Badgerclops slowly nodded,” I didn't know that.”

Jǐngtì raised an eyebrow. “Did you know I also wrote gullible on the ceiling?”

“I’m not gonna fall for that.”

“So you’re too smart for that, but not enough to realize that dozens identical twin duos doesn’t make any sense?”

“Do you just make things up to mess with people?”

“Yes. Was that not clear?”

They continued the conversation until Penny and Benny walked up to them and held out their hands. Badgerclops didn’t know what they wanted, so he took a guess and gave them a high five. That wasn’t the answer. Their brows furrowed and he could see veins popping on the yellow one’s neck. Gross.

“So, what do you want little guys-”

Badgerclops was immediately taken aback when they screamed,” we want to get paid.”

“Alright, alright. Geez just take my gummy worms and go.”

They did take the gummy worms, but they did not leave.

“This isn't enough,” the pink one said.

He handed them some more gummy worms, but they still didn’t leave. “This still isn’t enough,” the yellow one said.

“Well, how much do you want?”

“Enough to cover the 2-hour delivery and then four hours waiting so six hours.”

“Doesn’t feel like six hours-” Badgerclops stopped, realizing that he forgot again.

He turned back outside to the aerocycle. “Right, haven’t fixed it yet,” he groaned, looking for an alternative.

Penny and Benny’s truck was looking rather fine.

“Hey, Jǐngtì. Hold those two down for a bit,” he shouted over his shoulder,” I gotta pick up Adorabat.”

Amazingly enough, the doors were unlocked. It's been a while since he drove something with wheels. He’d have to manage.  First came the ignition, and he doesn’t have the keys. He was about to find some other way when Jǐngtì tossed him the keys.

“Didn’t you say that stealing is wrong,” the kid snidely asked.

Badgerclops started the engine, “do as I say not as I do,” he called out as he headed into town.

* * *

Badgerclops managed to arrive early by his standards. Adorabat wasn’t the only one waiting on the school steps, at least. Badgerclops honked the horn to get her attention. She started looking for the noise when he kept honking the horn. Badgerclops had to lean out the window and wave at her to get her attention.

“How was school,” he asked.

“Skewl was fine.”

He never understood why she pronounced ‘school’ like that. Was it a regional Pure Heart Valley dialect?

“Where’d you Penny and Benny’s truck,” she asked.

“I borrowed it,” he lied, driving off.

On the way, he passed by the blob again. This time he was sure it had gotten larger. More concerning, it had taken more sweetipies hostage. He’d have to deal with that sooner rather than later.

“Is Jǐngtì still home,” she asked abruptly.

“He likes disappearing, but he should still be there. Why do you ask?”

“He kinda scares me.”

Badgerclops would disagree if he didn’t understand why.  Jǐngtì had kidnapped Adorabat. Kidnapping makes a horrible first impression. He would have thought that was obvious if he and Tanya hadn’t done it. He guessed that was one thing he had in common with his mother. He would ask if Mao Mao scared her, but he decided that was a question for Ol’ Blue or someone better at parenting.

* * *

Badgerclops drove back to HQ. Jǐngtì had tied up Penny and Benny were sitting on them to keep them from leaving, although it looks like the sweetipies had given up trying to resist. He let the sweetipies go at Badgerclops’ behest, cutting the rope only to have it turn into a leaf. They quickly got in their truck and left. Badgerclops wasn’t eager to stop them if it means he didn’t have to pay. Almost assuredly not legal, but Badgerclops wasn’t going to arrest himself, now was he?

He had to commend the kid's work ethic. He finished getting all the furniture in himself without being told. Or maybe he just wanted to sleep in an actual bed tonight. Badgerclops ordered pizza before finally getting the TV working. The pizza arrived, and the three of them stayed up late into the night. He put her and Jǐngtì to bed before putting the final touches on the repairs.

He was done before dawn, but having a working TV was reason enough to stay up till dawn. Creeaak . Badgerclops turned his head to find Jǐngtì silently sneaking out.

“Where you going,” he asked.

“Probably back to the Sky Pirates.”

“You can stay if you want.”

“Nah, you have to pick Mao Mao today, don’t you?”

That was today, wasn’t it?

“Well, you’re always welcome to come over.”

“Yeah, well… uh, next time my dad isn’t here I wouldn’t mind spending the night again.”

“I’ll be sure to do that. Oh! Before you go,” Badgerclops quickly got up and gave the kid a hug. It wouldn't have been so awkward if Jǐngtì didn’t go freakishly stiff. “Woah, you good, little dude?”

“Yeah, just didn’t expect that.”

They said quick goodbyes as Jǐngtì left. With a few hours to spare Badgerclops figured he might as well get some sleep.

* * *

He meant to pick Mao Mao up at 10 in the morning, instead, he brought him back at noon. It would've been later if Adorabat didn’t beat against his stomach like a drum to wake him up. He carried Mao Mao inside because the fool refused to use his crutches. He looked over HQ with a weird look in his eyes and a flicker of the ear.

“You good,” Badgerclops asked.

“Yeah, just put me down for a second.”

Badgerclops obliged, but he still had Mao Mao lean on him for support.

“Things... look different,” mumbled Mao Mao/

“ I had to buy some new furniture and stuff-”

“Mao Mao!” Bagderclops was interrupted by Adorabat flying in from the kitchen. She slammed right into Mao Mao’s chest for a hug; wouldv’e knocked him off his feet if Badgerclops wasn’t there.

“I’m glad you're back,” she said.

“It’s good to be back,” he said, accepting her embrace.

[cheadle-yorkshire]

[fanfiction] Hunter x Hunter - This Year Of Mine

Title: This Year Of Mine Pairing: Ging x Pariston, Ging x Pariston x Cheadle, slight Ging x Cheadle Word Count: 2551 Summary: It is the Year of the Rat. Each year, when it is their turn, it is customary to allow the members of the Zodiac Twelve the chance to indulge in some personal manner. The occasion means something different to each of them, and not all of them celebrate in the same way. Pariston has some ideas about the tradition. A/N: I'm back, and with something new! :D I've missed the Zodiac Twelve so much. It's been so long since I've written for them!! But I've always wanted to write something for the Zodiacs to celebrate the Lunar New Year, and since it's the Year of the Rat, there's no better time! Takes place post-Should You Choose To Accept It. I hope you enjoy! [Ao3]

This Year Of Mine

It's early in the morning, rain misting over listless gray clouds, the weather unusually tepid. What traffic fills the streets of Swaldani City is sluggish as if to match. Meetings have been called for all of the members of the Zodiac Twelve to appear, and those that are early congregate in the halls with cups of coffee or stale donuts left over from the previous day.

For once, they don't have to chase down Ging Freecs. The boar of the Zodiac is seated in his chair, head bowed, likely in the middle of a nap. The others do not bother him, but from the doorway Cheadle regards him with an uncharacteristically doleful expression. The energy in the Hunter Association headquarters is an odd combination of elements—some lifeless, some peculiarly energetic. It's almost enough for everyone to forget that it is actually something of a holiday. Not all of them celebrate the occasion, and not all in the same way—but for each of the Zodiacs, when it is their turn, it is customary to allow them to indulge in some personal way. Piyon, more than any of them, takes the opportunity to fill the space with conversation.

“I have lots of weekend plans,” she is saying to the others around her. “I'm going to a concert, and I have dinner reservations at this new place opening downtown by some of the embassies. Lots of Gourmet Hunters are going, and I got an invite through them.”

“Some of us like to eat, too.” Saiyuu looks up from his phone for the few seconds it takes to speak, then cants his neck back down to keep scrolling. He's leaning, his posture horribly slumped, against the wall outside the main conference room. “You shouldn't say things like that if you're not going to invite everyone.”

“—And I was thinking about catching a movie. The weather's dreadful for being outside,” Piyon continues, undeterred. “What about you?”

Beside her, Cluck balances a stack of folders under one arm, the other clutching a paper plate rimmed with overdrawn flowers against a blue plaid backdrop. The donut she selected is square and plain-looking, the top folded in a style popular from the countries to the north.

“Several years ago, I attended some cultural festivals held around this time. I remember it was fun,” Cluck says. “I might go again. I haven't decided.”

She takes a large bite. Saiyuu's face creases, as if remembering something unpleasant.

“That's right,” he says, more to himself than the others. “I threw a lunch, when it was my year.” The corners of his mouth pull down even further. “Didn't I get in trouble for that?”

“You expensed a lunch,” Piyon reminds him cheerfully. “From that awful Eastern Yorubian place you like so much.”

“I put the leftovers in the fridge.” He scratches at his chin. “I ate well for a week.”

“The communal fridge,” Piyon adds, with a far more sour tone. “When it's my turn, I think I'll do something different. But I do like the idea of a party.”

Cluck takes a few more smaller bite of her donut before coming to a consensus.

“I hate the jelly kind,” she says to Piyon, who has a sugar-encrusted donut stuffed in a napkin to keep from getting powder on her fingers or clothes. “It's too sweet. I'm really not feeling it today, either.”

From the doorway, Cheadle's ears twitch.

“Did Ging do anything last year to celebrate the Lunar New Year?” Piyon asks. “I can't remember.”

“No.” Saiyuu coughs into one elbow, then clears his throat. Cluck wrinkles her nose.

“Ging's boring,” she agrees. “He doesn't celebrate anything. Birthdays, holidays. It's a miracle he's here at all, really. I expected we'd have to drag him in by that unwashed scarf of his.”

“It was an ordinary day,” Saiyuu says, exhaling loudly. “There are so many of those.”

Cheadle's ears twitch again. She adjusts her posture to let Botobai and Geru pass by as they enter the conference room.

“There's an expectation you do something,” Cluck continues. “It's your animal, after all.”

“He doesn't dress up. He hasn't changed his face. It's no surprise he wouldn't celebrate the year of the boar.” Piyon shrugs before taking delicate bites of her donut.

“I remember—this was before you were a member, Piyon—when it was Botobai's turn, he threw a massive party at his family's compound, outside Swaldani. It was a picnic—even his great-grandchildren were there! We all spent the time eating together and having fun. There was no talk of business, or meetings, or boring politics. And don't give me that look, Saiyuu! All politics are boring! And at least I put up some decorations, my year. It's been awhile since we've had something truly memorable, is all. I know we've been holding our breath waiting to see what the Rat will do, but I think we deserve a little celebrating, once in a while. We work so hard.”

Cluck ends her speech by folding her arms across her chest and looking satisfied. A bit of crumbs fall off of her jostled plate and onto the floor.

Piyon suddenly tilts her head, the ears on her headband swinging. “Speaking of,” she says. “Has anyone seen Pariston?”

“Uhh...”

“I wasn't looking.” Saiyuu clears his throat again and shrugs.

Cluck dusts more crumbs from the bands that cover her forearms. “We can't start without him, as much as we'd like to.”

“I'll go looking for him.” Cheadle's voice calls out, but before she can take a step Ging is there, his hand at her elbow.

“Let me.” He adopts an easy smile, but his eyes are hard as he glances at each of them in turn. He's never been one for gossip, they know, and while he doesn't care to judge them for it, it becomes very clear he had been listening to every word.

“I'll find our Vice-Chairman,” he says, and begins to amble down the hallway. “It's not like him to be late to anything.”

The path to Pariston Hill's office—the obvious first place to start—takes him up several floors and down another long hallway. Here, the walls and doors are covered with extensive layers of molding, painted white, and the carpeting is patterned and bordered like that of an ostentatious area rug. He comes to a set of double doors, thrown wide open. Inside, a figure stands facing the windows, bedecked in extravagant layers. He turns upon sensing movement, and bestows upon Ging a wide, beaming smile.

Ging takes it all in. “I expected nothing less from you.”

“Really?” Pariston holds his arms out, his thin wrists poised above oversized sleeves. “Do you like it?”

“You're bright as ever, Paris,” Ging says.

“Now, Ging.” Pariston's eyes are dark. “You sound like you mean that.”

“You're keeping everyone waiting.” Ging continues idly, as if Pariston's words had no effect on him. As if they hadn't yet even reached his ears. “You shouldn't.”

“And why is that? I wanted to make an entrance. It is the Year of the Rat, after all. Mine doesn't come around but once every twelve years. It is something to celebrate, is it not?”

“Some of us have things to do.” Ging steps further into the office, adjusting the drape of his tabard across his shoulders. “Places to be.”

“Something that could hold even your fickle attention?” Pariston asks. “Now what would that be?”

Ging's mouth ticks up, his eyes shadowed by the brim of his hat as he ducks his head. The gesture is something automatic, instead of an attempt to hide the expression that overcomes him as he seems to remember something with great fondness.

“The migration of the Giant Lachian Elk. I thought I'd go and hunt them.” At Pariston's cluelessness, he continues. “The creatures live deep in the forest. They're almost impossible to find on their own. But once in their lifetime, the entire adult population will journey as one across the Lachian mountain range for natal philopatry, to reach the flank vent of a volcano. You can't hunt them there, either—the air is too caustic for humans to breathe. I think it will make quite a challenge.”

“Giant elk?”

“They're easily twice as tall as you are,” he says. “Dense, and horned. Not what one would expect. The last migration took place over a decade ago.”

“I see.” Pariston once more adjusts his voluminous sleeves. “You really do things your own way, don't you?”

“I always have.” Ging seems affronted for a moment, but relaxes again as Pariston softens his approach. “I see no reason to do it any other way.”

He pauses, and his eyes catch on something beyond Ging's shoulders. “Some would call that selfish.”

Ging only shrugs. Then, he straightens, turning, just quick enough to catch the last few footsteps before Cheadle Yorkshire enters the office. He has a front-row seat to the way her face drops upon catching sight of Pariston's attire.

He is dressed in a haori of impossibly golden fabric, draped perfectly across his body and belted with cloth in a slightly darker, but no less resplendent color. The nagajuban underneath the haori is a matte, almost bloody red, worn higher on the neck than is typical. Her eyes drop to his throat, then rise back up to take in the full ensemble again.

It could almost match his hair, but then he moves and Cheadle catches sight of the metallic thread woven into the fabric. Her forehead twitches.

“You're late,” she says, and her voice comes out strangled. “...Rat.”

Pariston bestows a sunny smile upon Cheadle, and steps more fully around the side of the desk so that she can see him better.

“But of course! Fashionably late, I hope.”

“You're wearing...that...to the meeting?” The desk behind him holds rows of red bags patterned with wishes for the New Years. Cheadle counts eleven among them.

She points an accusing finger at him, then sweeps it towards the bags. “What are those?”

“I know many of us have adopted only the most passing of customs related to this holiday, but I wanted to take the opportunity to celebrate in the traditional way. These are gifts, of course, for the rest of the Zodiacs! They are typically given to more junior members of a family or business, and as I am the Vice-Chairman, you all are my juniors, are you not?”

Pariston laughs, something overly orchestrated, and turns towards Ging. “There is one for you as well, Ging! I had hoped some of you would track me down, so you can help me with carrying them to the office. I could always ask some of the assistants to help, though. I've given the rest of the building's staff their presents already, of course.”

Cheadle is still trying to stifle a scowl as Pariston continues with his speech.

“Envelopes are traditionally used, but my presents were a little bigger than what one could hold! I hope you like them—I picked things out with you all in mind. The envelopes would be kept under your pillow and slept on for seven nights before opening, supposedly to promote good luck and good fortune. I could try to insist everyone sleeps on these, but knowing my coworkers, I don't think anyone would actually do it.”

He pouts, and then brightens. “On the seventh day, everyone grows one year older! Isn't that something?”

“I thought you didn't like this sort of thing,” Ging says to her, shifting on his feet at the sudden attention focused on him, and the affective way Cheadle reacts. “You seem upset.”

“You weren't there, Ging, but our dear Cheadle elected not to celebrate the Year of the Dog, two years ago.”

He seems surprised. “You did nothing?”

“No. I did not.” Her hands are fists at her sides. “Ging.”

“But you wanted to?” His voice is steady, and he tries to catch her gaze, even as her own wavers.

“Yes.”

“Why?” he asks.

“I felt, at the time, that there was pressure to maintain—I mean to say, to keep such frivolous pursuits from interfering with our work. It is easier for you, Pariston—no one expects you to take things so seriously. It was different for me. So I let it pass by.”

She exhales through clenched teeth, and for a moment there is silence. Cheadle collects herself, her face reddening, as if suddenly aware of just what she has said and who she has said it to. Then, she takes another breath, as if emboldened by conviction.

“The passage of time,” Cheadle says at last, “is something to be celebrated. And yet, it feels like loss, sometimes, doesn't it?”

“Sometimes,” Ging echoes.

Cheadle sets her jaw more firmly. “I don't like celebrating that loss.”

Pariston has another placid, fathomless expression on his face, but he turns to his desk and plucks one of the bags from its surface. Characters are drawn on them as if with brushstrokes, but they are otherwise unlabeled, and he draws it into the air with gusto and places it into Cheadle's hands.

“For you. With all of my blessings for the future.” He waits until she takes it to let go.

“Thank you.” She stumbles over the words, as if they taste sour. “Rat.”

He beams at that, and reaches for a second bag to hand to Ging. The other man has already headed towards the doors, both hands shoved in his pockets. “Come on, Cheadle. The Vice-Chairman can surely manage all of those on his own, don't you think?”

“What?” Pariston is despondent, and holds up an armful of bags as they depart; Cheadle feels the beginnings of a laugh forming in her throat.

“Friends! Come back! My grand entrance-! I had plans—”

As they walk, side by side, Ging glances at her out of the corner of his eye. “You know,” he says, after a pause. “You don't need any of these things for good fortune. Traditions provide structure. But friends, and family, and purpose, above all else, do the rest of the work. Do you see that?”

“I'm starting to.” She folds her arms around the bag, its contents shifting. The shape is awkward, and she tries several different ways to carry it before finally hefting it higher in her arms.

“Good luck with your hunt,” she says to him, adding her customary salutation. “Ging.”

“And you as well,” he says.

“What? I'm not hunting anything right now.”

“Then you must. And your fortune will change. That'd be my wish for you, at least.”

This time, the words come much more easily. “Thank you.”

Despite the gloomy weather, and the melancholy she once felt at the arrival of another year, there is instead a feeling of anticipation—an urge to astonish, like Pariston, and a desire to do things her own way, like Ging. She does not like things that are uncertain, and if there is one thing more unknowable than all else, it is the future. But for now, there is a feeling of excitement for what the future will bring, and a sudden warmth in her heart from her surroundings and the encouragement, however offbeat and unexpected, from her friends.

----------------------

Notes:

1) Lachian is a reference to the Lachin Corridor, a mountain range in Azerbaijan. Natal philopatry is the practice of creatures like salmons and loggerhead turtles to return to the place of their birth to breed. There's no recorded evidence of larger animals doing this, but for the Hunter World it'd hardly be the strangest thing out there, lol. Everything else was made up.

2) My knowledge of traditions related to the Lunar New Year is nowhere near exhaustive and here they're meant to be more analogous to a Hunter World counterpart and not a real-life equivalent. According to the order of the Zodiac Twelve, the four years prior to the Year of the Rat would've been Ging, Cheadle, Cluck, and Saiyuu. Post-Pariston would be Mizaistom, Kanzai, and then Piyon, which is why I chose the characters I did to converse in the beginning.

3) The story was inspired by this HxH mobage game picture of Pariston:

4) Thank you for reading! I would appreciate and value your comments.

[fanfic-scribbles]

Tie a Yellow Ribbon For Me

Fandom: Supernatural

Summary: Roses are red, Violets are blue, Even death can’t keep him From finding his way back to you.

Quick facts: Romance – [established] Gabriel/Reader – Nondescript Reader

Warnings: Angst-ish with a happy ending, many flashbacks handle it, use of ‘sugar’ as a term of endearment for a gender-neutral reader

Prompt: Written for @gabriel-monthly-challenge​’s February prompt: Spin the Wheel. I landed on “A Dozen Red Roses”. Tagging @archangelgabriellives, @archangel-with-a-shotgun , @archangelsanonymous, @ttttrickster, @warlockwriter, and @revwinchester.

Words: 2459

Special Context Note: For people who might not know: “Tie a Yellow Ribbon Round the Ole Oak Tree” was a popular song in the seventies (I think?) performed by Dawn feat. Tony Orlando (I do recommend it; it’s a good song). It’s told from the perspective of a man writing to his lover after having been away for a few years. He tells her that if she wants him still, she can tie a yellow ribbon around a certain tree and he’ll come home, but if he doesn’t see it, he’ll assume she doesn’t want him back and he’ll keep going and never bother her again.

A/N: That summary is a little more sinister than I intended. Sorry, no dark!Gabriel here. Or “The Crow” AU. (Though hm, that’s a possible idea.) This is kind of an alt S5 post-“Hammer of the Gods” where Gabriel doesn’t go to Loki et al. This is sort of similar in premise to some other stuff I’ve written so I apologize to the people who follow me. Ironically, despite the title, this story was actually written to repeat listening of “11 Minutes” by Halsey and Yungblud feat Travis Barker ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ Please enjoy! (PS: In case my formatting gets fucked up, flashbacks are encompassed by tildes (~).)

   You feel like you’ve gotten used to the silence.

Sure, you had periods of it before– spending 24/7 with a sometimes-manic archangel is a pre-requisite for madness– but those quiet moments without him had always felt like in-betweens. Small breaks, or minor reprieves, sometimes purposefully taken, and sometimes just waiting. Gabriel could have popped in at any moment.

Now he can’t.

You can say you’re mostly okay now. Mostly. You’ve lost before and you’ll lose again. It’s the nature of things, just being in the world as it is. Being a hunter in it means you’ll do it over and over and over again.

It doesn’t make it ache any less.

But you’re still going, because it’s what you’ve always done and it’s what you’ll always do. Right now you’re on your way to a small desert town that seems convinced it’s living out the movie “Tremors,” and going by the reports, you can see why. You feel a smile creep onto your lips. Gabriel would have found it funny.

~

“Have you been terrorizing a small city in Wisconsin in your spare time?” you ask and flick Gabriel with your big toe.

“Ooo, Wisconsin. Sounds like a party,” Gabriel says out loud, but the look he gives you asks, ‘Really?’ and he holds out a piece of whatever candy he’s focused on now. You trade him for the paper and take a bite while he skims the story.

He snorts and tosses it down. “Amateur. Credit for style though; there’s worse you could do than a Mel Brooks homage.”

You roll your eyes and finish swallowing. “I’m sure the three victims would agree with you, if they could.” You fold up the newspaper and set it aside from the massive stack of other regional papers that Gabriel had whined about, and yet gotten for you anyway. “I’ll head out tomorrow.”

“So you’re done working now?” Gabriel asks. He sits up and puts a piece of chocolate between his teeth, makes sure half of it is sticking out, and waggles his eyebrows.

You laugh and lean forward, bracing yourself with your hands as you stretch to meet his mouth with yours. Just as you’re about to gently bite on the chocolate, it vanishes, and Gabriel slips his tongue into your mouth instead.

Once you’ve had your fill of each other (for the moment) you can’t help how big you smile. “You’re so cheesy sometimes.”

He grins. “Sugar, you have no idea.”

~

You need a shower.

Badly.

You don’t feel the slime as much as you did when the constructs first exploded, but you don’t count that as a good thing, because it’s still there and you keep getting reminded of that whenever you shift. The day is dry and warm and a wind rushes across the desert landscape. When you step out of the car a strong gust blows past you and you shield your eyes until the air settles back to its steady pace. You get to your room and put your key in the lock when something catches your eye.

All down the sidewalk are cutouts in the concrete, just spaces of dirt that look like they’re supposed to be planters. Some of them have scattered cacti, but most are empty. Yours was empty, you're fairly certain, but now there’s a spindly long-stemmed something, being blown to the side and clinging to the dirt with nothing but tenacity. You kneel down to get a better look and–

it’s a rose.

Your breath catches in your throat. Not even a desert rose; a real, thorned rose, with petals that have obviously been sandblasted for a while and a thin stem that looks sickly.

But a rose is a rose is a rose is a rose.

~

There are flowers everywhere.

Gabriel really likes this place. He’s been here for a couple of months, and it shows; every day he’s seen you (almost every single day, as of late,) he’s given you flowers– a bouquet of twelve red roses. And, as you haven’t exactly had places to put them, he has graciously offered to ‘keep them somewhere safe.’

So of course there are dozens (of dozens) of roses scattered all around the room, still miraculously alive. Heavy emphasis on the miracle.

“You're the one who said I was cheesy,” Gabriel says and sits down, but puts his drink on the side table. Champagne, of course, and he’s even wearing a ridiculous red and black patterned robe. It’s a testament to how much you like him that you are not making fun of him right now.

But you can admit you do like the roses. The petals are soft and they smell nice. You look up from your bouquet to see Gabriel smiling at you. The softness of his expression throws you off and you hide the lower half of your face in the flowers. “Why always roses?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” His smile turns all trickster. “It’s just what they have at the grocery store.”

You hit him with the bouquet hard enough that he falls off the bed. Well, his mad laughter probably helped, but you’ll still take credit for it. Asshole.

~

Someday, sentiment is going to get you killed.

You pick the rose anyway.

The young couple currently having their first date is pretty cute. Now that you’re not annoyed by them blocking the door, you can appreciate the beginning a new relationship. And it’s going to be one; they’re both all soft smiles and longing glances and dumbstruck lovelorn expressions. One of them keeps fidgeting with their hands, and the other shifts an enormous bouquet from arm to arm. You note the roses, of course, but it’s made up of a lot of other flowers too. It’s very pretty– and must have cost a fortune. You smile. Explains the coffee date.

~

“You work too much.”

“You’re a needy guy, aren’t you?” you ask and glance up from the screen. “Five more minutes, Gabriel. Then I’m all yours.”

He huffs and flops onto the table, head in his arms and pouting and grumbling enough to draw attention. You roll your eyes and, while he’s distracted, kiss the crown of his head.

He stops grumbling. But the next time you take a sip of your drink it’s like shoving pure sugar down your throat and you choke.

His smile is almost as saccharine. “I just wanted to make it as sweet as you.”

You stare at him and calmly wipe your mouth. “Twenty minutes.”

He sputters in protest.

“I’ll knock it down to ten if you walk up to the counter, wait in line, and buy me a replacement. With money.”

He starts muttering again. But he gets up.

~

You look at your computer and think about actually trawling for hunts, but, well, your coffee cup is empty and who can be asked to work under such inhumane conditions? You hop off the stool and almost crunch a stray rose underfoot. It must have been dropped by the happy couple by the door. As you pick it up you wonder how you’re going to interject and give it back, but when you stand, they’re already gone.

You look back at the flower. It’s truly lovely; obviously well cared for (and not just shoved in a fridge at a grocery store, Gabriel). You smile at the thought of his indignance, and set the rose on the table. It would be a shame to let it get thrown out, so you’ll take care of it.

Even at the end of the world, there are still mundane monsters to kill. You’re leaving a very shaken family with one less poltergeist and a lifetime therapy to look forward to (at least they have a have a lifetime, now,) when the youngest daughter runs up to you and holds up a rose. “Here! This is for you.”

Though you thank her and take it, the mom echoes your concerns when she asks, “Honey where did you get that?”

“I found it,” the kid chirps, like that’s all you need to know.

It’s a real rose with almost no thorns and a yellow ribbon tied around the stem. That’s an odd thing to just find. But the house has settled and you figure you can burn this and stick around for a day or two, just in case. You thank the little girl again, bid goodbye to her sisters and parents, and as you go you start to tuck the flower away when you see a small embroidered symbol on the ribbon.

An Enochian symbol.

  As you speed away, you barely resist the urge to chuck that fucking flower out the window. You want to. But at the same time, you can’t bring yourself to do it.

Fucking asshole.

~

“I need to understand!”

Gabriel shoves you up against the wall. Not hard enough to hurt, but it does stun you– for a second. His grip is too light and his expression too conflicted for him to convince you what a ‘monster’ he is. “You’re not that kind of person,” you say and stare him down. “So why do you want me to think you are?”

Gabriel jerks, but you grab onto his jacket and yank him back in. “What are you so afraid of, Gabriel?” you whisper. “I’m the one thing in the universe you don’t have to fear.”

Gabriel leans in, close enough to kiss. Your eyes shut on instinct. Or maybe it’s Pavlovian.

“You're the one thing in the universe I have to fear the most.”

Air brushes past your lips, the pressure of his body releases, and you open your eyes to empty space.

~

He had come back within a day, as soon as you had asked, and said ‘I’m sorry’ in every conceivable way without ever saying it with his mouth. (Well, verbally, that is.) At the time, you figured it was fine.

And maybe it was. Now that you’ve had a few days to freak out, get your hopes up and down and all around, you feel a little calmer. You have the roses set aside and the ribbon spread out on the bed while you sit with your Enochian dictionary. Gabriel wouldn’t lead you along willy-nilly. You have faith (just a little) that this means something.

And if this does turn out to be some “Drink your Ovaltine” bullshit you are going to find out how to travel back in time so you can murder him with your own two hands.

It takes a while, but you find the word, and then use a few other dictionaries and translation sites to get it into English. You check it five times, in different ways, and then sit, chest swelling with hope that you’re not sure you can handle.

‘Healing.’

You want to believe, but a rough translation boiled down to its essential part can’t make you Mulder. You put the books away and lean back against the headboard, just trying to process, when something ‘thump!’s against your door. You grab your gun and stay alert as you check the outside area, but as far as you can see, there’s no one.

But there are three roses, piled neatly just in front of the door. You smile. Because really– you’re skeptical, but you’re not stupid. You pick them up and put the flowers to your face while you mind the thorns. You’re pretty good at that by now.

“Okay,” you say and nuzzle the petals. “I’ll wait.”

You find five more roses over the next couple of weeks in utterly random places. On your pillow. In a sewer. In your water glass after you turn away for a second. In the basket you grab at a grocery store. On your passenger seat. That last one makes you ache.

That night, when you open your book and find eight perfectly placed rose petals, you almost cry. Twelve roses. It’s always been a dozen, so that means he’s coming back, right? He doesn’t appear right away, but you go to bed hopeful.

Except he’s not there in the morning.

Or the afternoon.

Or the evening. Or…

It’s late on the third day of waiting and hope is fading fast. You hit your forehead on your steering wheel and whisper, “Where are you?” Did you misread things? Was this set up in advance? Did he mean for you to heal? Was someone messing with–

Your radio comes on without any prompting and you jolt up. You’re so busy trying to look for danger that you don’t recognize the song at first.

“–nt me, if you still want me Whoa tie a yellow ribbon round the ole oak tree…”

You blink. You stop being afraid. And start being annoyed. “Are you fucking serious?”

But the song plays on, and the volume even gets jacked up. “A SIMPLE YELLOW RIBBON’S WHAT I NEED TO SET ME FREE–”

“Okay!” You turn the radio off and sit in silence for a few moments before you burst into tears and laughter both. “Fuck; you’re such an asshole,” you say, with wet eyes and a smile full of teeth.

You consider trying to track down a bonsai or some plastic palm tree, but you’ve waited long enough. Still, when you get back to your room you go through all the motions of getting ready to go to sleep. Once you’re actually sitting on the bed, you put the yellow ribbon to your wrist and manage to tie a messy bow.

You lie down, exhausted by days of constant, immense stress, and sigh. As you drift off to sleep you think, ‘I’m ready, Gabriel.

Come home.’

It happens without fanfare. You simply wake to an arm around your stomach, and a morning still dark.

“Hey,” you say, sleep-addled.

Gabriel chuckles. “Hey.”

You’ve never heard anything so beautiful, even as rough as his voice is. “You sound tired.”

“Yeah.” Gabriel presses closer to you. “Almost getting murdered by your own brother is pretty exhausting.”

“Hm.” That’s a conversation for later. Or never, depending on how stubborn Gabriel wants to be. Either way, not now. Not when you’ve got him back. You turn over and wrap yourself around him. “It’s okay,” you say. “Go to sleep. I’ve got you.”

He gives you a wry smile, but whatever snarky way you expect him to say ‘I don’t sleep’ doesn’t happen. He shuts his eyes, and you hold tight. “I’m glad you came back,” you say. “Even if I don’t have a hundred ribbons.”

He shifts with quiet laughter. “That’s all right.” He holds your wrist and places a kiss that straddles the ribbon and your skin. “I only need the one.”

[aceb133]

Wholesome Week 2, Day 5: Poker Night in the Swamplands

“Are you sure you want to do that, friend?”

Buff Frog looked around nervously, the sweat running down his back. It was a warm summer evening in the swamp, and to even the giant frog the humidity was practically unbearable. His mind felt clouded, and his judgement foggy. He knew, even before he said the words out loud, that he’d made a mistake-but at this point, he had no choice.

“Yes,” Buff Frog said, “I call.”

The monster sitting across the table grinned as Buff Frog pushed a pair of ears of Mewnian corn into the center of the table, joining a heap of coins, chips, dollars, and other odds and ends. Then, he reached over to a ratty deck of cards sitting adjacent to the heap, and flipped the top three.

King of Diamonds. Seven of Clubs. Three of Spades.

Buff Frog looked down at his own hand, and gulped. A minute ago, a nine and a six of hearts hadn’t seemed so bad-but now, he was already regretting his moment of boldness.

Keeping his face stoic, Buff Frog looked back up, and knocked on the table. The other monster grinned, and knocked as well before flipping over the next card.

Ten of diamonds. For a moment, Buff Frog’s heart leaped. He didn’t expect a miracle-but there was a chance.

“So Buff Frog,” the monster said, lifting up a tall glass of swamp water, “Feeling nervous?”

“Me?” Buff Frog said as incredulously as he could manage. “Dogbull, you know I am father. Card game means nothing compared to terrors of raising twelve children. And, I check”

Dogbull grinned, chewing on the end of the bone he always had in his mouth. “Well, let’s see if being a father has made you any better at cards.”

With that, he flipped over the final card: an eight of spades. Buff Frog gripped his cards even tighter, and did everything in his power to keep a straight face. With every ounce of cool he could muster, he casually slid over another ear of corn onto the pile. “I raise.”

Dogbull laughed. “You call that a raise? How about I raise you this?” Taking both hands, he slid his entire stack of chips and corn into the center of the table. “All in.”

Buff Frog knew he shouldn’t take the bait. He could barely afford to gamble in the first place-and he’d already pushed more corn than he was comfortable parting with onto the table to begin with to match Dogbull’s opening bid.

But, looking down at his cards, and looking again at Dogbull’s smug face, he felt a new surge of confidence within him. And so, he pushed the rest of his corn into the center of the table, creating a large pile of relative riches. “I call.”

Dogbull grinned, and flipped his cards. Buff Frog read them instantly-a pair of Kings, giving Dogbull’s final hand three of a kind. No wonder he was so confident.

Butt Frog, smiling, threw down his own cards. “I think you have made the mistake, my friend.”

For a moment, Dogbull appeared incredulous as he read Buff Frog’s straight. Then, he leaned back in his chair and groaned, clutching his face in his hands.

“Been getting lousy hands all night, and of course this is what busts me!” he said, shaking his head.

Buff Frog chuckled as he dragged the pile of winnings to his own side of the table. “Perhaps you shall have better luck next veek, my friend.”

“Oh no, I’m not leaving all my money with you that easy,” Dogbull said, and looked around the table. “Can any of you guys spot me the next blind? You know I’m good for it.”

The assembled monsters groaned, but finally Boo Fly tossed a handful of chips at the bankrupt Dogbull. “Alright, but don’t forget you still owe me from last week,” he buzzed.

“Thanks, Boo.” Dogbull said, and looked back longingly at the massive pile in front of Buff Frog. “Man, if that doesn’t sting, though. I almost had it!” he sighed. “Feels just like when I tried to steal Star Butterfly’s wand.”

“You tried to steal Star Butterfly’s vand?” Buff Frog said, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh sure, a couple times, back in the day.” Dogbull said. “Reckon I came closer than anyone else.”

The assembled monsters laughed. “I think you forget, I vas in Ludo’s Army.” Buff Frog said. “No one come closer than us to stealing vand.”

“Now hold on, it’s not like you were the only guys after that wand.” Meat Fork said, leaning up onto the table and waving his prosthetic fork. “I came pretty close myself, once.” He leaned back in his chair, and scoffed. “Probably closer than any of you, anyway.”

“Oh really?” Buff Frog said, eying the monster suspiciously. “Well, I’d like to hear it.”

“Oh, you will, it’s a good one.” Meat Fork said. “Hey, Boo Fly, you gonna deal or what?”

Boo Fly shrugged, and buzzed up to the center of the table. Quickly shuffling the deck, he threw out a pair of cards to each monster before buzzing back into his seat. “Dogbull, you’ve got the big blind. Rat, you’ve got the small blind.”

“Looks like I’m all in again,” Dogbull said, setting his chips on the center of the table. To his right, a large rat squeaked and pushed out half an ear of corn. To his left, Boo Fly took one look at his cards, grumbled, and folded.

Buff Frog looked down at his own cards. Two of clubs and an eight of hearts-not exactly an ideal hand. Sighing, he threw his cards down and pushed them towards the center of the table.

“What, afraid of giving me back my money?” Dogbull said, grinning.

“Oh, I have no fear,” Buff Frog said, grinning himself. “I’d just like to see you earn it.”

Turning to his left, he elbowed Meat Fork. “So, what vas that about stealing Star Butterfly’s vand?”

Meat Fork nodded, tossing a handful of chips into the pot. “So, this was about, say, oh, six, seven months ago. Now, I was in the Forest of Certain Death, doin’ some contract work for a hydra I knew, when suddenly, I get word that Star Butterfly is comin’ through.”

The rat next to him squeaked, and tossed out another half-ear. With that, Boo Fly flipped the top three cards on the deck: the Jack of diamonds, the ten of hearts, the three of clubs.

Meat Fork considered his cards carefully, and knocked. “So anyway, I got to thinking: You know what Star Butterfly loves more than anything else?”

“Squeak?” the rat squeaked.

“Bad puns?” Dogbull guessed.

“Contemporary jazz?” Boo Fly buzzed.

“That boy she’s alvays running around vith?”

Everyone turned to look at Buff Frog, who shrugged. “What? Is obvious.”

“No, you morons.” Meat Fork said, banging the table. “It’s beating up monsters!”

He paused momentarily to bask in the nods and hums of agreement, and for the rat to raise another half-ear. “So I thought, look, if she likes beating up monsters so much, then maybe she’ll go out of her way to do so, and we can pull off some kind of ambush. And-“ he paused again, looking at his cards, and threw them down in disgust. “Ah, drat, I’ll fold.”

“So let me guess, you got beat up.” Buff Frog ventured. Across the table, the rat had begun glaring at Dogbull, and flipped its cards-a pair of sevens. Dogbull grinned, and flipped his own cards in response-a ten of spades and a six of diamonds.

“Okay, well yeah, but let me get to that part!” Meat Fork said. “So, I got some of my crew together, and we decided we’d play all-dumb like-we’d let her beat us up, like we were wimps, and then, when she didn’t expect it, we’d jump up and take her out!”

He stopped momentarily to watch the ongoing proceedings. Dutifully, Boo Fly flipped over the next two cards-another ten and a five of hearts. The rat squealed in agony and banged its head against the table, as Dogbull chuckled and pulled his winnings across the table. “Guess who’s back in business!”

“So, how did ambush go?” Buff Frog asked, collecting the cards and shuffling them.

“Well, the first part went great!” Meat Fork said. “My buddies and I got together, and we lured the Princess and that dorky friend of hers into the forest. And then, man, did they start whaling on us!”

“Sounds about right.” Boo Fly said, as he and Dogbull tossed in the blinds. “So what happened next?”

“Well, me and a bunch of other guys started playin’ dead, right?” Meat Fork said. “And then, just when the Princess thought we were done for, bam! We jumped back up.” He reached out his left hand and pinched his fingers together. “I was about this close to grabbin’ the wand from her.”

“And then, let me guess, you got beat up.” Buff Frog said, dealing the hand.

Meat Fork shrugged. “Well, yeah. But we came close!” he jabbed his hand-fork around the table. “Probably closer than any of you runts, anyway.”

Buff Frog rolled his eyes, and looked at his cards-a queen and a ten of diamonds. I can vork with this. Reaching into his pile, he tossed out a handful of worn Mewnian coins into the center of the table.

“That’s a pretty lame story, man.” Boo Fly said.

Meat Fork looked at his cards, grunted, and folded.  “Oh yeah? I’d like to see you do better.”

Dogbull grinned as both he and the rat tossed in their chips. “Oh, I think I can. Buff Frog, give us the flop.”

Buff Frog nodded, and flipped over the first three cards: Two of clubs, four of spades, five of diamonds.

Dogbull tried and failed to hide a grimace. “So anyway, this was way back, just when the twerp had first gotten her wand. Now, Boo Fly and me, we go way back, but I didn’t want no part of Ludo’s army-I work on my own terms, you know?”

“Probably for the best, considering how that mess turned out.” Boo Fly said, watching as each of the monsters still in the hand dutifully checked. “I’ll raise an ear.”

It was a modest bet, and Buff Frog could have easily matched it, but he decided to play it safe. “I’ll fold.”

“Same here.” Dogbull said, tossing away his cards. The rat, however, tossed an ear on the table, and stared deeply into Boo Fly’s compound eyes.

“So anyway, I wasn’t stupid. You know that once those princesses get their hands on a wand, no monster is gonna be able to fight them on even terms.” Dogbull said. “And let’s be honest, it’s not like the current princess needed the help.”

The monsters collectively nodded as Buff Frog flipped the next card: Two of Diamonds. Meat Fork’s eye twitched, and the monster sighed at what could only be the sight of a missed opportunity.

Buff Frog laughed, and elbowed his fellow monster. “You have to play to vin, my friend!”

“Yeah, well, I don’t see you playin’.” Dogbull said. “So anyway, I figured if there was any chance to steal that wand from the Butterflies, I’d have to get real psychological. Make it so that she didn’t even want the wand, before she’d even get a chance to get used to it.”

“Not the worst plan I’ve seen,” Boo Fly said, pushing out another ear of corn onto the table, which was swiftly met by the rat. “Not the best, but not the worst. So what went wrong?”

“Well, I angled myself right along where she usually went monster-hunting, and just sat down with my weights, pumpin’ iron.” Dogbull said. “So, when she came up, I played it cool, you know, just pumpin’ iron, doing my own thing.”

“Mmm.” Buff Frog flipped the next card: Seven of hearts. The rat tipped in another half-ear, which Boo Fly eagerly matched.

“Ha!” Boo Fly said, laying down a three and a six. “A strai-are you kidding me!”

The rat cackled madly as it laid down its own cards: a two and a seven, giving it a full house. Boo Fly could only shake his head as the rat climbed onto the table and collected its winnings.

“So anyway, the first part of the plan was right on the money,” Dogbull continued. Buff Frog listened intently as he passed off the deck to Meat Fork, and pushed in his blind. “Star Butterfly tears through the forest like usual, beating the living daylights out of anyone unlucky enough to get in her way.”

He paused momentarily to receive his cards, looking at them with a mild hint of disgust. “So when she reaches me, she stops, and asks if I’m gonna fight her.” He beat his chest. “Now I say, what’s the point in fightin’ ol’ Star Butterfly anymore? She’s got a wand, she’s soft now. Frankly, not even worth the effort.”

Buff Frog nodded, and checked the cards Meat Fork dealt him: two threes. “I can see how that might vork.”

“Well, it did, at first.” Dogbull said, watching as each monster threw in their bets. “She started arguing, saying “Oh, well I’m not soft, I could beat you with one hand behind my back and on one leg, you know, that kinda stuff.”

“So what happened next?” Buff Frog said. “And I’ll raise.”

“Oh, you better believe I’m sticking in this time. And heck, I’ll throw in a bit extra,” Meat Fork said. As he shoved in a small pile of bent quarters and torn bills, the rat, Dogbull, and Boo Fly all folded, leaving Buff Frog alone to gauge Meat Fork’s bet.

He squinted, staring into the monster’s eyes.

Meat Fork blinked.

Grinning, Buff Frog shoved a substantial portion of his own pile into the center, and stared Meat Fork down. The monster looked from the pile, up to Buff Frog, and down to his cards. After nearly thirty seconds of hesitation, the monster groaned and tossed down his cards. “Urgh, I fold.”

“Like I say, you must play to vin.” Buff Frog said, and scooped his winnings back onto his side of the table. Anyvay, Dogbull, you were saying?”

“So, I keep beatin’ her down, saying ‘oh, it’s not worth it, why would I even bother to fight.” Dogbull said. “And finally, she says, ‘oh, come on, I don’t even need this, and she tosses her want right on the dirt. On the dirt!”

“So I put on this big show, getting up, strechin’ my muscles, all that,” he continued. “Meanwhile, I’ve got a buddy who’s creeping up, ready to scoop up the wand her moment her back’s turned. All I gotta do is keep her in the fight for more than twenty seconds.”

“Let me guess, you made it ten.” Boo Fly said.

“Fifteen.” Dogbull said, dejected. “It just wasn’t enough. Second I went down on the ground, she spotted my buddy, and she beat him up too.” He shook his head. “Some days you just can’t win.”

“Ain’t that the truth,” Meat Fork groaned.

Smiling, Buff Frog looked over at the rat, who had just taken the deck from Meat Fork and was beginning to shuffle it. “What about you? Any stories you’d like to share?”

What followed over the next hand and a half was a dazzling array of squeaks, screeches, wild gesticulations, and dramatic reenactments, dramatizing what Buff Frog could only guess was some kind of tale about the rat’s attempt to steal Star Butterfly’s wand. It was, perhaps, one of the most impressive performances he’d ever seen, the only shame being that he couldn’t understand any of it.

“That vas… something, alright,” Buff Frog said as he took his next hand from Dogbull. He peered at the cards-a king and a queen of spades-and tried to restrain himself as he placed his bet, a substantial pile of coins and corn. “But it holds no candle to how close I have come.”

“What, is it the Mewnipendence Day story?” Dogbull said, and took a moment to look long and hard at his own cards. Finally, he shrugged, and matched Buff Frog’s bet, using a substantial portion of his recovered winnings to do so. “Pretty sure you already told us that one last week.”

“And the week before that.” Meat Fork agreed.

Buff Frog raised his hands. “Gentlemen, I promise you, this is tale I have told no one, not even Boo Fly.”

“Then how do we know if it’s true?” Dogbull said. He nodded at Boo Fly as the monster folded, and flipped over the top cards on the deck: a Jack of spades, a seven of hearts, and a four of clubs. “You could just make the whole thing up.”

“What, do you think someone vould really do that? Just come to the poker table, and tell lies?” Buff Frog asked innocently. Each of the monsters looked at each other for a brief second, and burst out laughing.

“Okay, okay, tell us what you got.” Dogbull said, wiping away a tear.

Buff Frog smiled. “I vill. But first, ve shall make this interesting.” He slid another large portion of his winnings into the center of the table, watching each monster carefully as they stared at the relatively massive bet.

Meat Fork looked at his cards, looked back to Buff Frog, and down to the table. Sighing, he threw down his cards. “Buff Frog, why you gotta do me wrong like that?” The rat, however, stayed in, forming a relatively massive pile in the center of the table, greater than any of the night’s previous bets.

Dogbull stared hungrily at the bounty, smiled, and shoved the last of his cash into the pile. “Well, I already bust out once tonight, suppose it don’t matter if I do it twice. So alright, get on with the story.”

“It was just after Ludo and Toffee kicked me out of castle.” Buff Frog began. “I have no shame to admit this vas not good time for me. I had no job, no home, I did not know what to do.

“Suddenly, I got idea.” Buff Frog said, leaning up onto the table. “The reason why I got banished from castle is because I could not steal vand. So, if I did steal vand, Ludo would let be back into castle, and kick out Toffee.”

“In retrospect, I don’t know if that was a bad idea or a terrible one.” Boo Fly said.

Buff Frog laughed. “Vell, ve all know how it turned out in end. But, I have no regret.

“Anyvay,” he continued, “I decided it vould be impossible to go after Star Butterfly by myself-with vand, she could take out dozen monsters, and I am but one. What I needed vas strategy.”

“So what did you do?” Dogbull said as he flipped the next card: the ace of spades.

Buff Frog began to sweat, and decided to check, knocking briefly on the table. “So, I decided to infiltrate her room, late at night, when she vould be sleeping.”

“Isn’t her room, like, super booby-trapped?” Boo Fly asked.

Buff Frog nodded. “Yes, like you vouldn’t believe. She had bear traps at top of stairs. She had swords and spikes all around. And vorst of all were stuffed animals-if I voke even one, I knew I vould be finished.

“But Bulgolyubovs shy not from danger!” he declared, slamming his fist on the table. “I had spied on Star for long time, and knew all her tricks. I disarmed traps. I tied up the animals.” He paused to make a slashing motion, and said “I even clawed eye out of tiny stuffed bear.”

The monsters stared, transfixed by Buff Frog’s tale. “Then what happened?” Meat Fork whispered.

“I made it, right to her bed.” Buff Frog said. “Her vand vas right there. I could have reached out, and had it in my grasp.” He raised his forearm from the table, clutched his fist, and shook it. “There vas nothing she could do. The vand could have been mine.

“But…” he said, leaning back and sighing, “I began to think: why? why did I really want vand? For Ludo? He vas terrible. For Toffee? He vas evil. For the castle? Most of the monsters there were jerks.” He looked back at Boo Fly. “No offense.”

The monster shrugged. “None taken, man.”

Dogbull stared with disbelief as he flipped the next card: a three of diamonds. “So you just left? You let it go?”

Buff Frog nodded. “I left. And I haven’t looked back since.”

He looked down, and considered his options. His straight had failed to materialize. He didn’t have a flush. He didn’t even have a pair. In the end, there was only one move left to make.

Grinning, he shoved the last of his pile onto the table, towards the rat. The rat looked at the pile, back up to Buff Frog’s intensely confident face, panicked, and threw down its cards.

Satisfied, Buff Frog turned back to Dogbull, who sighed and turned over his cards-a pair of twos. “Alright, lemme see that hand.”

Buff Frog shrugged, and turned over his cards. Dogbull looked over and began laughing hysterically, while the rat adopted a look of pure mortification.

“Oh man, talk about countin’ your chickens before they hatch!” Dogbull said, laughing as he pulled up his portion of the pot. “Thanks for the cash back, though, I was startin’ to miss it.”

Buff Frog waved him off as he pulled his final raise back towards him, examining his pile. It wasn’t any bigger than it had been when he’d started the evening, but it wasn’t any smaller-so in a sense, it was still a victory.

Suddenly, a dimensional portal tore itself open behind the table. Out of it stepped Star Butterfly, looking exhausted, and covered in glitter and baby food.

“Oh, hey Buff Frog,” she said wearily. “The kids are asleep. Finally. Just thought you should know.”

“Vonderful!” Buff Frog said. Standing up from the table, he pushed his winnings into a sack, and nodded at his fellow monsters. “Vell, is getting late, I must return to babies. Ve on for next veek?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Dogbull said halfheartedly. He and the rest of the monsters were staring at Star, who was doing her best to swipe a patch of confetti out of her hair.

Smiling, Buff Frog took out his scissors, opened a portal, stepped through it, and disappeared. It was only after he left that Star appeared to notice the table set up in front of her, and began peering at the monsters. “Ooh, are you playing a game? Mind if I join?”

There was a pause as the monsters glanced at each other, not quite sure how to respond.

Finally, Meat Fork broke the silence. “Uh, you gotta ante up first,” he said nervously.

Star smiled, pulled out her wand, and tossed it onto the table.

“Alright,” she said, taking her seat, “Deal me in.”

[nolimitsongrace]

March 6: Do Not Be Staggered Do Not Be StaggeredMarch 6, 2020He [Abraham] staggered not at the promise of God through unbelief: but was strong in faith, giving glory to God. — Romans 4:20When we first began our TV ministry in the former USSR, I traveled long distances to reach cities where I could become personally acquainted with the directors of massive TV stations and begin a relationship with them that would enable me to negotiate for time on their stations. I always traveled with my associate — and in the early days, I often took my eldest son Paul along with me so he could see and experience the miracles God performed to open doors for our TV ministry.On one such trip, late at night, faith erupted in my heart for the expansion of our TV ministry across all the former USSR. I’ll never forget that moment! Prior to that revelation, we had begun to broadcast the message of the Gospel through our TV program, but I never realized until that night how vast our TV outreach was destined to become.After a full day of exhausting travel and meetings with TV station managers — just when I thought I was about to go to bed for the night — a “spark” of faith suddenly ignited in my heart. It was like dynamite had been detonated in my spirit, and I knew that something massive had been moved in the spirit realm. My spiritual eyes were opened in an instant, and I supernaturally knew that this TV outreach was to be far larger than I had ever dreamed.*[If you started reading this from your email, begin reading here.]

I asked my associate for a large folded map of the USSR that we carried with us, and I found myself unfolding it and laying it out on the floor of my hotel room. I asked for a magic marker. As if a divine hand was guiding me, I took that magic marker and begin to circle huge geographic areas where the Holy Spirit drew my attention. I knew the Spirit of God was instructing me to take the teaching of the Bible to these vast territories through our television ministry.There had never been Christian TV in the Soviet Union, so we were breaking brand-new ground. Hence, I knew that all the areas where the Spirit led me to circle were virgin territory for the broadcasting of the Word of God. It wasn’t long before the entire divine strategy was laid out on the map before me.My associate and son watched as the Holy Spirit guided my hand and the magic marker. I circled one region, then another, and another, until a massive chain of connecting circles covered one side of the map all the way to the other far extreme. It reached all the way from Riga in the west, across the cities nestled in the Ural Mountains, all the way to Siberia, and over to Vladivostok in the Far East. Also circled were Estonia, Latvia, Lithuania, Belarus, Ukraine, Moldova, Georgia, Azerbaijan, Armenia, and all the southern Muslim Republics. To top it off, I even sensed the Holy Spirit leading me to circle vast territories in Russia’s northwest lands.When I finished, I looked at my associate and Paul, and they were astonished. They had witnessed an entire vision supernaturally manifested right before their eyes as I moved that magic marker! That night we laid our hands all over those circled areas and claimed them for the Kingdom of God. I even laid my whole body across that circled map and prayed for the anointing of God to open doors we didn’t know how to open. There was no doubt that a major event had been supernaturally birthed by the Spirit of God at that late hour in that hotel room. By midnight, it was conceived, put on paper, and already committed to the hands of God in prayer.When we returned to our office, which was at that time in Jelgava, Latvia (where we also lived in those early years), I took that large map, framed it, and hung it in the hallway of our offices. It became a reminder of the vision God had supernaturally given us — a reminder of where we were to go and what areas we were to tackle to get our programs on the air. At the time I didn’t realize that to broadcast in all those areas would make our TV ministry the largest Christian broadcast in that part of the world — over a network of stations that would reach millions upon millions of TV viewers.But that was just the beginning. Once the vision was conceived and put to pen and paper so others could see it, the work had to begin. That meant I would have to travel intensively to all those regions. But first, God would have to open the doors for me to meet with the top TV directors of the largest stations in all those areas. Since most of them were Communists and atheists who were opposed to the Gospel, this would take a miracle.Step by step, God gave us appointments with powerful TV directors — and we watched as those huge, circled areas were seized by the Spirit of God for the broadcasting of our programs. In a relatively brief period of time, doors began to open; agreements were signed; and our TV programs were broadcasted all over the former USSR. It was a first for Christian broadcasting in the former Soviet Union.Naturally speaking, this all seemed impossible. But exactly at that time, God quickened my heart to the story of Abraham and Sarah. Although they were too old to produce children, God made a promise to them — a promise and vision that seemed too fantastic to believe: that they would give birth to a child in their old ages. Romans 4:20 tells us that in spite of the overwhelming odds that seemed to be stacked against them, Abraham believed what God had told him. It says, “He [Abraham] staggered not at the promise of God through unbelief: but was strong in faith, giving glory to God.”Abraham could have doubted the possibility of having a child, or he could have easily convinced himself that this dream was impossible. But the Bible says that Abraham “…staggered not at the promise of God…” (Romans 4:20).That is exactly how I felt about the vision God had put before me. I knew that God had spoken to me, and as impossible as that vision seemed in the natural, a faith was ignited in my heart that pushed me into the realm of supernatural possibilities. Just as Abraham “staggered not” at the promise of God, I found myself standing in faith, confidently assured, that I had heard from God. Although this vision seemed bigger than anything I could ever accomplish, it was one that had been birthed by the Spirit of God — and I knew in my heart that I could not “stagger” at what God had shown me.Abraham was a man who made many mistakes along his walk of faith, but Romans 4:20 says one thing he did right is that he did not “stagger” at what God had promised him. Regardless of his humanity and blemishes in his character, Abraham knew that God had spoken to him, and he held tightly to what God had promised.The word “stagger” in Romans 4:20 is derived from the Greek word diakrino, which means to waver. It pictures one who is doubtful, constantly changing his mind about what he believes, wobbling in his faith, and vacillating back and forth. In other words, this person is unstable in what he believes.James 1:7 declares that a man who wavers cannot receive what God has promised: “For let not that man [a wavering man] think that he shall receive any thing of the Lord.” And then in verse 8, James likens a wavering man to a “double-minded” man. In Greek, the word “double-minded” is dipsychos, and it pictures a man with two minds. One mind directs one way, and the other mind directs another way. As a result, he is pulled in two directions, constantly fluctuating in what he believes. One day he believes; the next day he doesn’t believe. Thus, even if God has made a promise to such an individual, this constant vacillation will keep him from receiving it. Being “double-minded” is serious business — so don’t be double-minded!Those who do not stagger are single-minded about what God has told them. They stand in a solid, convinced position, and they hold tightly to what God has told them. Heart, soul, and mouth — all are in agreement with that which God has promised. Although they may have imperfections that seem glaring to them personally, this one quality of being single-minded and unwavering is enough to bring the manifestation of what God has promised them, regardless of their other flaws.Abraham took such a position of faith. He was single-minded about what God had promised, and he did not move, budge, or waver. The vision he saw went directly into his heart, and he did not vacillate on believing God would fulfill His promise. That confident foundation of faith carried Abraham through many years of waiting — and because of this non-negotiable stance, he and Sarah received the son God had promised.That is what happened to me in the early days of our ministry in the former USSR. God spoke. I believed. And a sure confidence came into my heart that carried Denise and me through numerous battles and challenges until, finally, we began to see our TV program spread far and wide across the former Soviet Union. Because we did not stagger at the vision God had revealed, the Gospel ended up being broadcasted into millions of homes across the 11 time zones of the former USSR. It may have seemed far-fetched when God first revealed His plan, but God delights in making the “impossible” possible for those who do not waver in their faith!What are you believing for in your life right now?Has God shown you a vision for your life that you know you are supposed to accomplish? God wants to do the far-fetched for you! But like Abraham and others who have seen the impossible come to pass, you must be steadfast and stable in your stance of faith — not moving, not budging, and not wavering. You must resolve to stand in faith and give glory to God that what is impossible with men is possible with God.Today I encourage you to pray the prayer below and speak out from your heart the following confession. Ask God to ignite faith in your heart that will cause you to become immovable in your stance of faith regarding what God has promised you. Never let the devil convince you that your dream is too far-fetched, because with God, all things are possible!MY PRAYER FOR TODAYFather, I thank You for revealing Your plan for my life. When I first understood the greatness of what You wanted to do through me, it boggled my mind. But now I understand that all things are possible to those who believe. Like Abraham and others who have seen You do the impossible in their lives, I believe that I will see my seemingly impossible dream come to pass in my life. You will always do exactly what You have promised to do. Ignite faith in my heart to believe, and help me stand firm, stable, and unwavering in my faith. Help me stay focused until I receive the manifestation of what You have revealed to me about my life!I pray this in Jesus’ name!MY CONFESSION FOR TODAYI boldly confess that I will see the manifestation of what God has revealed to me about my life. Naturally speaking, it seems grandiose and far-fetched, but God delights in doing what seems impossible for those who believe, and I am among those who believe. I declare that my faith is confident and solid — that I do not waver or wobble in my faith! And I do not doubt the vision that God has shown me concerning my life. It’s not a question of “if ” it will happen, but merely a question of “when” it will come to pass. Until then, I will remain spiritually strong and stable, not staggering at the promise of God!I declare this by faith in Jesus’ name!QUESTIONS FOR YOU TO CONSIDERCan you think of other men and women of God in the Bible who received a grand vision and stood in faith until they saw it manifested? Why not make a list and encourage yourself by the examples of others who believed and received the manifestation of their promise from the Lord?How would you describe the vision that God has shown you for your life? Do you understand in detail what God wants to do through you and for you? Have you really meditated on it to the point where it has percolated deep in your spirit and you know that you have it by faith? Are you ready to take action through preparation for that vision to come to pass?What impossible things have you already seen God do in your life? It would be very healthy for you to meditate on those things and strengthen your faith by remembering them

[eddiejpoplar]

Scouring the Gobi Desert for the Fossilized Wonders of the Cretaceous

GOBI DESERT, Mongolia — Dr. Badamkhatan Zorigt was quiet, his fingers tracing the exposed, fossilized remains at his feet. A scattering of ribs and the tucked structure of a hind leg lay all pale white against the red sandstone of the Gobi’s Flaming Cliffs. The whole of humanity’s understanding of natural history hinged here in 1923 when Roy Chapman Andrews found nests of what were originally thought to be Protoceratops eggs during one of his many Central Asiatic Expeditions, confirming for the first time that the ancient reptiles were oviparous.

Badamkhatan looked up at the crowd gathered around him, his deep brown eyes bright with excitement as he pulled a GPS from his pocket to mark the find’s location. It was a new and slender piece of the natural history puzzle. When someone asked what the fossils were, there was no hiding the thrill in his voice.

“I don’t know.”

As the head of the vertebrate paleontology division at the Institute of Paleontology and Geology of the Mongolian Academy of Sciences, he’s part of a small team working to catalog and study the nearly endless trove of Cretaceous-period fossils hidden in that wide, red desert. He has spent his adult life poring over the delicate remains of creatures that called this place home some 80 million years ago. The fact that the weathered sandstone can still serve up a surprise for him is a testament to all that’s hidden out here.

Badamkhatan, or Badmaa as he insists we call him, works out of a small building in Ulaanbaatar, tucked in an alley behind a restaurant a short hike from the expansive, Soviet-era city square. Mongolia serves as the perfect estuary between northern and southern Asia, its culture a finely grained mix of influences from its neighbors. So much of the architecture is Soviet, the signs lettered in Cyrillic, and nearly all of the vehicles on the road are secondhand models from South Korea, Japan, and China. It’s a miracle mix of right-hand-drive JDM Prius hatchbacks with lifted suspensions to contend with the country’s roads (or in some places, lack thereof), hammered, left-hand-drive Land Cruisers, and Mitsubishi Pajeros. There are American-market vehicles, the odd Wrangler or F-150, but they’re few and far between.

We were there at the Institute, two days before, dust and grit crunching beneath the soles of our shoes, the smell of curing resin and earth thick in the air. The place had the feel of a library, quiet save for the tender scratch of tool on stone. Towering stacks of crates and plaster-wrapped fossils lined the main hall, all waiting their turn beneath the careful hands of patient workers.

Badamkhatan Zorigt has spent his adult life combing the Gobi and studying what he finds there. We couldn’t have asked for a better guide.

“The research never ends,” Badmaa said, pointing to a freshly opened plaster jacket, a complete Tarbosaurus skull grinning inside, its teeth longer than my palm. The massive carnivore is a cousin to the famous Tyrannosaurus rex, though Badmaa says recent research bolsters the theory that the beasts were scavengers, not predators. The hypothesis sprang from a close look at intact leg structures, including the ratio between femur and tibia/fibula. The math indicates they weren’t the fast, lethal runners of cinema lore and juvenile nightmare.

“It doesn’t make us very popular at elementary schools,” Badmaa joked.

Badmaa and his team have no shortage of work, thanks in part to a recent Infiniti-supported expedition through the Gobi. The Japanese automaker and the Explorers Club Hong Kong Chapter set out on a 20-day trek in June, covering some 1,000 miles of open Gobi in an attempt to map and document new potential dig sites. Much of that effort was aimed at leveraging drones equipped with lidar (a laser-based, radarlike surveying method used for 3-D mapping that also figures prominently in autonomous vehicle systems) and other imaging devices, allowing paleontologists to scout more ground in less time, with higher resolution than before. In the past, the scientists have had to rely only on grainy satellite images to help direct their efforts, eyeing the topography for the shales and sandstones indicative of the Cretaceous and employing a bit of hit-or-miss guessing.

The expedition unearthed hundreds of fossils, but for the scientists in Mongolia, the drone data is far more valuable, having mapped hundreds of kilometers of open desert down to the centimeter. The expedition identified some 250 previously undiscovered fossil beds, all of which will provide Badmaa and the other researchers at the Institute with years of productive exploration. Once the drone team processes the footage, volunteers can scan the images, identify fossils already on the surface, and tag their GPS coordinates for paleontologists to examine in the field at a later date.

It’s difficult to convey how amazing that is. Just getting to the Gobi from Ulaanbaatar is a feat. Flights from the capital to Dalanzadgad, the closest airport, are unreliable, subject to cancellation due to crushing rain, dangerous winds, or both. Our Fokker 50 touched down in dawn’s dim hours just long enough to dump us on the tarmac and take off again. The pavement ended at the airport parking lot, terminating in a spider web of two-track ruts that sprawled out into the darkness. Seeing a line of gleaming Infiniti QX80, QX60, and QX50 models waiting to ferry us across the desert was a shock after a day in the capital. They looked like a line of high heels in a world of hiking boots.

When asked why Infiniti would commit its resources to a project like the Gobi expedition, the answer was always, “Why not?”

We threw our kit into a QX80 and climbed in, figuring that, of all the machines there, the Nissan Patrol-derived brawler would be best suited to bashing across the desert. It’s two hours from the airport to the Three Camel Lodge, our base camp, and we naively hoped to catch a few moments of sleep before sunrise. Except dozing in a vehicle requires a road, and where we were going, there was no such thing. Our driver calmly aimed the truck at the taillights ahead, dim red orbs in a thick sea of dust, and planted the throttle, ripping across the ground at 60 mph. Our world shrank to what the headlights could touch: scraps of low vegetation, khaki sand, and opaque walls of airborne grit.

These machines had already endured the expedition across the Gobi, suffering more abuse in a month than most Infinitis will see in a lifetime, and they had the rattles to prove it. It was hard to reconcile the vehicles with the place. Infiniti isn’t a brand known for trudging across the wastes. It doesn’t even have an official dealer network in Mongolia. But productive science and exploration have always courted the support of open-minded individuals, organizations, and corporations, be it for glory or profit. When asked why Infiniti would commit to a project like this, the answer was always, “Why not?”

It’s an unusual response from an automaker now, when every answer, name, and paint code must be pressed and filtered through workshops, attorneys, focus groups, and marketing teams. And while it should have come off as a stunt, it didn’t. Because of all the automakers touting themselves as rugged go-anywhere brands, none of them were so bold as to launch themselves at the Gobi. We weren’t tearing across the darkness in a Jeep. We weren’t doing our best to outrun the sunrise in a Land Rover. We didn’t dart through the center of a herd of camels in a Geländewagen. We did it in an Infiniti. Mongolians like to say that it’s better to have seen their country once than to have heard of it a thousand times. Likewise, for men and machines, it is better to do a thing once than to spend an eternity claiming you can.

By the time we arrived at the Three Camel Lodge, we were ragged with adrenaline, the first soft light of the morning just beginning to beat back the night’s grays and blacks. Every sunrise is a gift, but there are slim words for what we saw as the sun rose: land, unfettered by field or fence from horizon to horizon. I was unprepared for the endless miles of sky and the sprawling, green desert. An ocean of it, the sight of which requested a stillness in everyone. A herd of horses watered nearby, more than I’ve ever seen together in one place. Mongolia has more than 4.5 million of them, and the nomads who tend their herds in the Gobi count them by stallion. One male’s harem might hold two mares or 12, plus all of their foals. Mongolia is a country that will not stop amazing you.

Badmaa carefully documents exposed bone fragments, photographing them and noting their GPS coordinates. It’s one of a massive collection of data points the expedition gathered.

The Lodge is its own wonder, a strap-and-beam building with beautiful arched eaves. A place for the weary and wonderstruck. Its owner, Jalsa Urubshurow, met us on the front porch with an open bottle and a warm smile. He’s something of a national legend, having helped bootstrap Mongolia’s tourist economy once democracy came to the country in 1990. He grew up in a Mongolian community in Howell Township, New Jersey, after his parents fled Stalinist persecution in the ’50s, started his own construction company, made his fortune, and helped form the North America–Mongolia Business Council in 1991.

Nomadic Expeditions, a company that specializes in tailoring trips deep into Mongolia for Western visitors, sprang from the council, and the Lodge arose as a logical extension as an ecologically sound, luxury accommodation for those visitors. It’s staffed entirely by Mongolians, all of whom are paid a wage on par with or in excess of what they could make in Ulaanbaatar, Urubshurow said.

Gobi sunrise: The desert shifts by the day. Heavy rains can turn the sea of sand into a fertile green prairie.

The place is without connectivity of any kind. There is no internet and no cell reception—a true oasis. It served as our base camp for two days as we wandered the region in the Infinitis, following our guides deeper into the Gobi, sifting through sand and searching for fossils alongside Badmaa. Fossil hunting, even with the added benefit of detailed drone mapping, requires patience and a keen eye.

“It’s much better to be lucky than good,” Badmaa said.

Most of us are neither, but it was still spectacular when one of the group spotted the find at the Flaming Cliffs the day before we were set to depart. The remains had lain right there in the stone for 80 million years. It was a very real connection, a spark across millennia, to see and touch them now. In a few weeks, once the journalists packed their bags and headed home, Badmaa and his team would return to the find, carefully unearth it, and transport it back to Ulaanbaatar to see where it fits with the puzzle pieces already gathered, to see what story it could tell us.

[jesusvasser]

Scouring the Gobi Desert for the Fossilized Wonders of the Cretaceous

GOBI DESERT, Mongolia — Dr. Badamkhatan Zorigt was quiet, his fingers tracing the exposed, fossilized remains at his feet. A scattering of ribs and the tucked structure of a hind leg lay all pale white against the red sandstone of the Gobi’s Flaming Cliffs. The whole of humanity’s understanding of natural history hinged here in 1923 when Roy Chapman Andrews found nests of what were originally thought to be Protoceratops eggs during one of his many Central Asiatic Expeditions, confirming for the first time that the ancient reptiles were oviparous.

Badamkhatan looked up at the crowd gathered around him, his deep brown eyes bright with excitement as he pulled a GPS from his pocket to mark the find’s location. It was a new and slender piece of the natural history puzzle. When someone asked what the fossils were, there was no hiding the thrill in his voice.

“I don’t know.”

As the head of the vertebrate paleontology division at the Institute of Paleontology and Geology of the Mongolian Academy of Sciences, he’s part of a small team working to catalog and study the nearly endless trove of Cretaceous-period fossils hidden in that wide, red desert. He has spent his adult life poring over the delicate remains of creatures that called this place home some 80 million years ago. The fact that the weathered sandstone can still serve up a surprise for him is a testament to all that’s hidden out here.

Badamkhatan, or Badmaa as he insists we call him, works out of a small building in Ulaanbaatar, tucked in an alley behind a restaurant a short hike from the expansive, Soviet-era city square. Mongolia serves as the perfect estuary between northern and southern Asia, its culture a finely grained mix of influences from its neighbors. So much of the architecture is Soviet, the signs lettered in Cyrillic, and nearly all of the vehicles on the road are secondhand models from South Korea, Japan, and China. It’s a miracle mix of right-hand-drive JDM Prius hatchbacks with lifted suspensions to contend with the country’s roads (or in some places, lack thereof), hammered, left-hand-drive Land Cruisers, and Mitsubishi Pajeros. There are American-market vehicles, the odd Wrangler or F-150, but they’re few and far between.

We were there at the Institute, two days before, dust and grit crunching beneath the soles of our shoes, the smell of curing resin and earth thick in the air. The place had the feel of a library, quiet save for the tender scratch of tool on stone. Towering stacks of crates and plaster-wrapped fossils lined the main hall, all waiting their turn beneath the careful hands of patient workers.

Badamkhatan Zorigt has spent his adult life combing the Gobi and studying what he finds there. We couldn’t have asked for a better guide.

“The research never ends,” Badmaa said, pointing to a freshly opened plaster jacket, a complete Tarbosaurus skull grinning inside, its teeth longer than my palm. The massive carnivore is a cousin to the famous Tyrannosaurus rex, though Badmaa says recent research bolsters the theory that the beasts were scavengers, not predators. The hypothesis sprang from a close look at intact leg structures, including the ratio between femur and tibia/fibula. The math indicates they weren’t the fast, lethal runners of cinema lore and juvenile nightmare.

“It doesn’t make us very popular at elementary schools,” Badmaa joked.

Badmaa and his team have no shortage of work, thanks in part to a recent Infiniti-supported expedition through the Gobi. The Japanese automaker and the Explorers Club Hong Kong Chapter set out on a 20-day trek in June, covering some 1,000 miles of open Gobi in an attempt to map and document new potential dig sites. Much of that effort was aimed at leveraging drones equipped with lidar (a laser-based, radarlike surveying method used for 3-D mapping that also figures prominently in autonomous vehicle systems) and other imaging devices, allowing paleontologists to scout more ground in less time, with higher resolution than before. In the past, the scientists have had to rely only on grainy satellite images to help direct their efforts, eyeing the topography for the shales and sandstones indicative of the Cretaceous and employing a bit of hit-or-miss guessing.

The expedition unearthed hundreds of fossils, but for the scientists in Mongolia, the drone data is far more valuable, having mapped hundreds of kilometers of open desert down to the centimeter. The expedition identified some 250 previously undiscovered fossil beds, all of which will provide Badmaa and the other researchers at the Institute with years of productive exploration. Once the drone team processes the footage, volunteers can scan the images, identify fossils already on the surface, and tag their GPS coordinates for paleontologists to examine in the field at a later date.

It’s difficult to convey how amazing that is. Just getting to the Gobi from Ulaanbaatar is a feat. Flights from the capital to Dalanzadgad, the closest airport, are unreliable, subject to cancellation due to crushing rain, dangerous winds, or both. Our Fokker 50 touched down in dawn’s dim hours just long enough to dump us on the tarmac and take off again. The pavement ended at the airport parking lot, terminating in a spider web of two-track ruts that sprawled out into the darkness. Seeing a line of gleaming Infiniti QX80, QX60, and QX50 models waiting to ferry us across the desert was a shock after a day in the capital. They looked like a line of high heels in a world of hiking boots.

When asked why Infiniti would commit its resources to a project like the Gobi expedition, the answer was always, “Why not?”

We threw our kit into a QX80 and climbed in, figuring that, of all the machines there, the Nissan Patrol-derived brawler would be best suited to bashing across the desert. It’s two hours from the airport to the Three Camel Lodge, our base camp, and we naively hoped to catch a few moments of sleep before sunrise. Except dozing in a vehicle requires a road, and where we were going, there was no such thing. Our driver calmly aimed the truck at the taillights ahead, dim red orbs in a thick sea of dust, and planted the throttle, ripping across the ground at 60 mph. Our world shrank to what the headlights could touch: scraps of low vegetation, khaki sand, and opaque walls of airborne grit.

These machines had already endured the expedition across the Gobi, suffering more abuse in a month than most Infinitis will see in a lifetime, and they had the rattles to prove it. It was hard to reconcile the vehicles with the place. Infiniti isn’t a brand known for trudging across the wastes. It doesn’t even have an official dealer network in Mongolia. But productive science and exploration have always courted the support of open-minded individuals, organizations, and corporations, be it for glory or profit. When asked why Infiniti would commit to a project like this, the answer was always, “Why not?”

It’s an unusual response from an automaker now, when every answer, name, and paint code must be pressed and filtered through workshops, attorneys, focus groups, and marketing teams. And while it should have come off as a stunt, it didn’t. Because of all the automakers touting themselves as rugged go-anywhere brands, none of them were so bold as to launch themselves at the Gobi. We weren’t tearing across the darkness in a Jeep. We weren’t doing our best to outrun the sunrise in a Land Rover. We didn’t dart through the center of a herd of camels in a Geländewagen. We did it in an Infiniti. Mongolians like to say that it’s better to have seen their country once than to have heard of it a thousand times. Likewise, for men and machines, it is better to do a thing once than to spend an eternity claiming you can.

By the time we arrived at the Three Camel Lodge, we were ragged with adrenaline, the first soft light of the morning just beginning to beat back the night’s grays and blacks. Every sunrise is a gift, but there are slim words for what we saw as the sun rose: land, unfettered by field or fence from horizon to horizon. I was unprepared for the endless miles of sky and the sprawling, green desert. An ocean of it, the sight of which requested a stillness in everyone. A herd of horses watered nearby, more than I’ve ever seen together in one place. Mongolia has more than 4.5 million of them, and the nomads who tend their herds in the Gobi count them by stallion. One male’s harem might hold two mares or 12, plus all of their foals. Mongolia is a country that will not stop amazing you.

Badmaa carefully documents exposed bone fragments, photographing them and noting their GPS coordinates. It’s one of a massive collection of data points the expedition gathered.

The Lodge is its own wonder, a strap-and-beam building with beautiful arched eaves. A place for the weary and wonderstruck. Its owner, Jalsa Urubshurow, met us on the front porch with an open bottle and a warm smile. He’s something of a national legend, having helped bootstrap Mongolia’s tourist economy once democracy came to the country in 1990. He grew up in a Mongolian community in Howell Township, New Jersey, after his parents fled Stalinist persecution in the ’50s, started his own construction company, made his fortune, and helped form the North America–Mongolia Business Council in 1991.

Nomadic Expeditions, a company that specializes in tailoring trips deep into Mongolia for Western visitors, sprang from the council, and the Lodge arose as a logical extension as an ecologically sound, luxury accommodation for those visitors. It’s staffed entirely by Mongolians, all of whom are paid a wage on par with or in excess of what they could make in Ulaanbaatar, Urubshurow said.

Gobi sunrise: The desert shifts by the day. Heavy rains can turn the sea of sand into a fertile green prairie.

The place is without connectivity of any kind. There is no internet and no cell reception—a true oasis. It served as our base camp for two days as we wandered the region in the Infinitis, following our guides deeper into the Gobi, sifting through sand and searching for fossils alongside Badmaa. Fossil hunting, even with the added benefit of detailed drone mapping, requires patience and a keen eye.

“It’s much better to be lucky than good,” Badmaa said.

Most of us are neither, but it was still spectacular when one of the group spotted the find at the Flaming Cliffs the day before we were set to depart. The remains had lain right there in the stone for 80 million years. It was a very real connection, a spark across millennia, to see and touch them now. In a few weeks, once the journalists packed their bags and headed home, Badmaa and his team would return to the find, carefully unearth it, and transport it back to Ulaanbaatar to see where it fits with the puzzle pieces already gathered, to see what story it could tell us.