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jbbarnesnnoble · 4 years

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Through the Flames (Part Five)

Summary: You’re a firefighter with the FDNY. After a fire that ends in tragedy, you find yourself running into some of the Avengers and maybe finding some new friends and romance along the way.

Features: Mentions of fire; minor character death, gun violence; mentions of a New Jersey specific pork based food

Pairing: Sam Wilson/Reader

Notes: You’re on the road to recovery as you recieve devastating news.

Word Count: 2138

You were getting sick of hospital food. You had been kept there for a week. A mild concussion, a messed up shoulder, and a broken wrist. They kept you because of the risk of complications and wanting to ensure you got started with your physical therapy.

“You ever go home, Sam?” you joked when he came into your room with coffee and a bag of food. He had been sneaking you food when he could. The nurse that was usually in charge during the day was a no-nonsense woman who was known to forbid outside food from getting to patients.

“Sometimes. Got your favorite. Don’t know how you stand that stuff. What the hell is a Taylor ham? I asked for pork roll and the guy at the bagel shop gave me a look” he said.

“Pork roll, egg, and cheese on an everything bagel with salt, pepper, and ketchup is a New Jersey delicacy. Taylor ham is what the heathens in North Jersey call it. Taylor is a brand and legally they can’t call pork roll ham,” you said. Sam stared at you before shaking his head.

“You’re...you know what I’m not going to even go there. Enjoy your food. Nurse Hardass was conveniently called away to another room when I got here,” he said. You smiled at him as you unwrapped your sandwich and took a bite.

“You’re the best, you know that?” you asked. The two of you made small talk as you ate. You had been checking in on Garrett daily. He was in a coma. You knew things weren’t looking good. Amanda and Carlos had both been in to see you, the two of them only suffering minor injuries. You were all worried about Garrett. He was like a brother to you, the first friend you had made when you joined the FDNY.

Garrett had been your rock, the reason you never gave up. You weren’t ready for the possibility that he wouldn’t be there. Guilt weighed heavily on you. Sam could tell as he watched you when Amanda stopped by a short time later. Sam’s thoughts drifted as you and Amanda spoke. He was sure you had no idea what Natasha had told him.

“Your girl’s father? He’s ex-HYDRA,” Natasha said. Sam stared at her, mouth open as if he was about to say something, defend her. Natasha held a hand up before he could begin to argue.

“I’m not saying she’s HYDRA. But her father was. You mentioned the fire from when she was younger. Her father had been attacked. He was the only survivor other than her. She wasn’t home,” she said. Sam sighed.

“She said he was working for the governor then. Didn’t say much else,” Sam told her.

“The governor was part of HYDRA,” Natasha said.

“You’re getting awful close to saying she knows something, Romanoff. If you think so, just come out and say it,” Sam snapped.

“We have to consider all possibilities. Like it or not Sam, she is the one thing connecting this all together,” Natasha said.

Sam was pulled from his thoughts by you placing a hand on his arm. He hadn’t even noticed the nurse come in.

“Do you have someone staying with you? At least for the first few days while you settle in,” the nurse said.

“I’ll be staying with her. If not me, one of our friends,” Sam said when he saw the deer in headlights look on your face. You let out a sigh of relief. You signed the papers for release and soon enough, you and Sam were on your way to your apartment.

“You don’t have to stay you know,” you told him. He smiled at you.

“I said I would, so I will,” Sam said. Amanda had swung by your place with groceries after she had left the hospital. Sam got you settled on your couch as he moved around your kitchen, getting dinner put together.

After dinner, you could tell something was bothering Sam. You had turned on a movie you had seen a million times and turned toward him.

“Alright, out with it. What’s bothering you, birdman?” you asked. You knew he hated that nickname, except, it seemed, when it came from you. He sighed.

“Have you ever heard of HYDRA?” he asked. You frowned. It sounded familiar.

“Aren’t they the ones that caused that mess in DC a few years back and then there was some massive data dump?” you asked. You hadn’t paid much attention, aside from checking in on a friend who lived down in DC.

“Yes. They date back decades. They infiltrated a secret governmental organization and other facets of government. We have reason to believe your father worked for them,” he said. You felt like someone had hit you in the stomach, knocking the air from your chest.

“My dad worked for the governor. After that...well. He couldn’t talk about his work. He worked for some government agency,” you said. Sam watched for any tell that you were lying.

“So you didn’t know anything about his work?” Sam asked.

“No. Sam, what’s going on?” you asked. He was about to answer when your phone rang. Amanda’s name lit up on your phone. You answered, only to have your phone fall from your hands as a sob tore through you. You barely registered Sam picking up your phone and talking to her. Garrett was gone. He was dead.

“It’s my fault,” you said.

“It isn’t,” Sam said, pulling you close.

“If I had seen the wire sooner, I could have...I should’ve been...it’s my fault,” you said, unable to get a coherent sentence out. You weren’t sure how long Sam held you. If it was seconds, minutes, hours. He held you until the tears stopped and all that remained were dry sobs. He held you until your sobs quieted and sleep lured you in like a siren’s call. You were vaguely aware of him picking you up and placing you in your bed, under the covers.

In the light of day, neither of you mentioned it and your conversation from the previous night moved to the backburner in his mind. HYDRA could wait. You couldn’t.

The funeral was a few days later. It had been a blur for you. You thought about Garrett’s family, the guilt weighing on you. Sam was a constant. Anything you needed, he was there. You were sure you would have fallen to pieces if you hadn’t had him holding you up. Amanda and Carlos were great, but they had their own grief to work through. Their own grief to handle. Your entire unit did. You knew you weren’t the only one carrying guilt, but you felt like you were carrying the bulk of it. You had been in there with him. You had been the one to see the tripwire. You ran over the fire in your head over and over, replaying it as if it would change things.

You felt awkward in your dress uniform with your arm still immobilized. You knew the Avengers would be there. As would the mayor. You tried to keep your mind off of what Sam had told you. He never did get to continue that conversation with you and there hadn’t been a good time to ask him about it.

“You good, kiddo?” Carlos asked. While you couldn’t carry the casket in your condition, you were among those walking alongside the truck in the procession to the church, his helmet in your hands.

“As good as I can be. Should have been me,” you said.

“Kiddo,” he said.

“I should have seen it sooner. If I had, we wouldn’t be standing here and I...I wouldn’t have to speak at one of my best friend’s funerals,” you said. He pulled you into a side hug, mindful of both your shoulder and the helmet in your hands. The helmet that felt like it weighed a ton.

You moved in time with the others, a steady drumbeat playing. Line of duty deaths always hit hard. The streets were lined. Fellow firefighters and other New Yorkers lined the streets. As the procession arrived at the church, you kept your tears at bay. Amazing Grace began to play on bagpipes as the casket was lowered on the truck to be brought into the church. Garrett’s family was as Irish-American as they came, Catholic through and through.

Entering the church, you had a role to play. Placing the helmet your friend wore at the front of the church, beside the casket. You turned and saw his wife. They had just welcomed their first child six months prior. Guilt washed over you once more. Your eyes darted around. You saw where the Avengers were sat, close to the front with other officials and dignitaries. Your unit was also toward the front. When your time came to speak you took a moment to find your words, standing at the podium.

Sam watched as you stood at the podium, your eyes shining in the harsh lights of the church. You didn’t look like a criminal mastermind. He was certain now more than ever that they could rule you out as a suspect. He had been with you when you found out. Held you while you cried. He was firmly in the camp that saw you as a victim of whatever mess was unfolding. He glanced around the packed church, spotting Natasha standing off to one side, her eyes scanning the crowd. Wanda was in the back somewhere and Clint was perched out of view. As you stared to speak, Sam kept his eyes on you as you made eye contact with him.

“When Beth asked me if I would speak today, my gut instinct was to say no. I’ve been friends with Garrett since I joined the FDNY. And with that, came an easy friendship with his then girlfriend, now wife. Garrett was like a brother to me. He took me under his wing and taught me how to fly. He taught me how to stand up for myself. When I started, I was a quiet girl, who let too many things fly. Garrett refused to let that remain to be the case. Many here will remember Red Branigan. Red was the most senior guy on our crew and Red always gave me a hard time.

It was Garrett that took pity on me. One day after a particularly bad call, Red was just letting me have it because I messed up. I wanted to cry. Garrett looked at me, told me to follow him, and I did. He sat me down and said ‘kid’ to which I looked at him and went ‘you’re a year older than me don’t call me kid’. He smiled and went ‘so, where’s that attitude when Red’s letting into you?’. I looked at him like he was crazy. He told me Red could tell I was holding back, that I wasn’t letting the team get to know me, the real me. So, he was doing what Red does. He was poking the bear hoping for a reaction to break the ice.

Garrett always had my back. I just wish I’d had his. I wish he was here. I wish he would get to see his little girl grow up. Because he deserves that. He deserves to be here. I know that wishing for him to be back won’t change things, but that doesn’t stop me from making that wish. He was my best friend. He was my brother. He was a loving son, brother, husband, and father. We will never forget the life he lived. The happiness he brought into our lives. He lives on in our hearts and we will carry him with us always,” you said, your voice cracking at the end.

As the procession moved back outside to head to the cemetery, a shot rang out. You gasped in pain. It was a moment before chaos unfolded. You watched as Bucky Barnes took off toward something as someone caught you. Your brain caught up to the pain radiating from your shoulder as the initial panic started to fade.

You were in a daze until you got to a medical facility. You knew it wasn’t a hospital. You looked at Sam, a question on your lips. Tony Stark had donned his Iron Man suit to get you away from the scene. Sam had followed behind.

“What the hell,” you muttered.

“We had a tip off that something was happening today. It’s about time we had that chat about your dad,” Sam said as Helen Cho entered the room.

“That talk can wait until after I treat my patient,” Dr. Cho said before introducing herself to you. Your world was about to get turned upside down.

#Sam Wilson #Sam Wilson x Reader #Sam Wilson/Reader #falcon #the falcon #the falcon/reader #the falcon x reader #marvel fanfic #marvel fanfiction #marvel reader insert #Through The Flames

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elizabethemerald · 5 years

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Dreams of Drowning: Chap 8

There's nothing quite like a dinner with family.

Please reblog if you like!

AO3

From the outside you would never be able to tell what went on inside 49B. Jim looked at the concrete facade of the building as he leaned back against his car. There was no sign on the exterior that someone was imprisoned and tortured somewhere in the bowels of the building.

Jim looked again at the building with fresh eyes. After his discussion with Strickler he examined the building from a defensive standpoint, trying to pinpoint any flaw in the security.

There were few windows on the ground floor. The main entrance was a security checkpoint, double checking identities of everyone who entered. Though they didn't check those who left. He could see multiple cameras just on the front face of the building.

Jim casually pretended to be playing a game on his phone as he took multiple pictures of the cameras and the front face of the building. He had been working on that everyday this week. Trying to catalogue the security measures. Strickler was compiling the information so they could put together a foolproof plan to get Claire out and avoid getting arrested.

He smiled as Claire herself walked out the front door. She was breathtaking. Jim had carefully smuggled a dress past the workers who were repairing the damage he had done to the mechanical room.

Fortunately it was well past the time when the day shift went home so she was able to sneak out without too much difficulty. Too bad the part that was actually her was still left behind. This would have been all too easy. They could be in Mexico tomorrow morning.

Claire's shoulders were pulled in tight and she was looking at the ground till she realized she was outside the facility. Jim could feel her joy blaze off her as she spun in a small circle, her dress twirling around her ankles. Jim matched the fire of her happiness with his own as she took in a deep breath of the outside air.

Jim barely had a moment to notice that she had put on the full outfit he had picked out for her except her shoes, before she sighted him. Claire sprinted up to him and jumped into his arms. He spun around and held her tight, her feet leaving the ground.

Claire laughed and giggled as he spun her around and around. Jim found his own laugh joining hers. Holding her in his arms like this, with his own magic flowing and burning under his skin he realized how silly it had been to ask her to escape in this form. She felt distant even when he held her. And he was sure the farther away they got from 49B the more distant she would feel.

Jim paused, his face growing serious. He looked deeply into her brown eyes and carefully put some of her still damp hair behind her ear. Claire looked up at him, her face somber for a moment. Then she put her hand on his cheek.

"You promised you would free me. And I believe you. However long it takes. But today I just want to pretend that I'm already free."

Jim hugged her tightly, as if his arms alone could protect her from the harm she had suffered at the hands of Le Fay and the rest of 49B. He allowed the fire within him to flow out and welcomed the answering rush of her magic.

"Ok." He whispered. Then he turned, clearing his throat. He presented the bouquet of flowers he had bought. A dozen red roses. Claire gasped and held out her hands for the flowers. He felt more than heard her question.

"Well it's our first date, seems only appropriate." Jim said with a laugh and a shrug. Claire beamed at the flowers then at him. Jim smiled back and held the door of his car open for her to sit down.

Once she was seated he hurried around the car to the driver's side. Jim was so glad that for once his car started without issue. He smoothly pulled away from the facility. Claire kept her face pressed to the passenger window, watching the world outside go by as he drove.

"Toby always says I drive like his Nana. But I guess that means you get more time to look out the window."

Claire didn't respond but he could feel her happiness roiling off her. So he simply let his own happiness match hers till the car felt full of joy.

"What are those signs?" Claire asked after a few minutes of driving.

"Hm?"

The image that pushed itself to the front of his mind was one every citizen of Arcadia knew well.

"Oh that's the election sign for Councilwoman Nuñez. She must be trying for reelection again this year. No wait she's planning on going for mayor. More power to her, I think she would be a good mayor."

"Nuñez." Claire seemed to be trying the name out on her tongue.

"Uh, huh. I actually taught her kid when I was a teacher at the high school. Kid was enough mischief for two kids. Enrique Nuñez, if I remember his name properly."

"Enrique is a nice name." Claire said before returning her gaze to the window.

Before long Jim was turning the corner to the street Toby lived. Jim pulled up to the street outside the Domzalski household. He recognized Zelda's car, and detective Scott's cruiser parked on the street. Of course Toby’s truck and Darci’s car were in the drive way.

“If you have any questions, or want to leave for any reason, just let me know.” Jim said softly as he put his hand on hers.

Claire smiled at him then leaned forward and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. The car was immediately filled with blue fire as Jim’s magic reacted. She leaned back with a smile on her face then got out of the car and danced towards the door. Jim quickly pulled his fire back into himself before exiting and following her. Claire had already knocked and by the time he stepped up someone inside had opened the door.

“Ah Jim! There you are!” Darci smiled from the door. “And you must be Claire!”

“Hi! I’m Claire Nuñez!” Claire declared putting out her hand. Darci’s smile warmed further. She ignored the offered hand in favour of giving Claire a tight hug. Darci pulled her inside the house.

“Hurry up Jim! Toby expects you in the kitchen to help save the meal he’s preparing.” Darci laughed. Jim smiled and closed the door behind him as he entered.

Darci had moved on from her afro after she graduated highschool. She had kept her head tightly shaved for most of college but now had long dreadlocks that ran down her back. She was wearing a loose pair of jeans and a bright red blouse. Jim gave her a hug as well before following her and Claire into the kitchen.

Unsurprisingly most everyone else was gathered in or near the kitchen. Toby was sweating over a pan that he gladly handed to over Jim as soon as he entered the kitchen. Once Jim was in control Toby grabbed two beers out of the fridge. He opened them both on the counter edge and handed one to Jim, then leaned against the kitchen island.

The Lake-Nomuras were sitting together at the dining room table with Nancy. All three sipping wine as they chatted. Mr. Scott was leaning against another counter beer already in hand. He looked like he was desperately trying not to start crying. Barbara hopped up to give her son a side hug as soon as she saw him.

“Hey mom!” Jim said. “This is Claire. She’s my…” Jim looked over his mom’s shoulder to make eye contact with Toby. “...Girlfriend.”

Claire stepped away from the offered handshake, a look of trepidation on her face. “We’ve met briefly.”

Barbara looked at her in confusion, her hand dropping to her side, before turning to Jim, then glancing at Zelda. “Have we? I’m sorry I don’t remember you.”

Jim’s mind was racing. He couldn’t understand why Claire would be unwilling to touch his mom, and he was desperately trying to figure out how to smooth this over, when Darci intervened.

“Oh, Barbara, Claire doesn’t like shaking hands. It’s nothing personal against you.”

Jim looked at Darci for a second. She had just hugged Claire less than a minute ago. When she looked at him he saw the smallest twitch of her eye, the barest hint of a wink. Toby must have told her about Claire.

“I-I’m sorry.” Claire seemed to shrink in on herself. Jim could feel fear rolling off her in waves. He moved to her side, trying to cover her fear, with his own emotions. Barbara took just a moment to process the scene, before breaking into a wide smile.

“No, I’m the one who should apologize! I shouldn’t have presumed. I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable. Come and sit at the table with us and we can chat.” Barbara carefully, to make sure she didn’t touch her, ushered Claire over to the table to join her and Zelda. As she walked she turned and aimed a glare at Jim. He mouthed a quick, I’m sorry, before his mom turned her back on him.

Darci immediately moved to join the rest of the ladies at the table. Toby moved by, clapping Jim on the back as passed.

“Nice one.” He whispered.

“Fuck off.” Jim whispered back. Toby just ignored him and went and sat by his wife. Now everyone except Jim and Mr Scott were at the table. Barbara and Zelda were sitting next to Nana on one side of the table. Toby sat at the head of the table and Darci right next to him. Claire sat next to her opposite Barbara.

Mr. Scott briefly tried to give Jim some advice on what he was cooking, but Jim demonstrated with a few flourishes of his tools that he needed no such advice and soon the detective was joining the others at the end of the table opposite from Toby.

Jim glanced at the table from his spot in the kitchen. Claire was looking at the table and Jim could still feel fear and worry coming off her. He looked at Toby and reached out with his mind just like he often did with Claire.

Touching Toby’s mind was different than Claire’s. He could feel his friend’s love pouring off him. His love for Darci was the strongest but he could feel love for the others at the table, even himself. Toby was rapidly thinking through various plans and schemes to save the day. Jim had to struggle past his mile a minute thoughts for a few seconds before the thoughts calmed.

“Jim?” Toby looked from the conversation towards the kitchen, briefly making eye contact with Jim. “I can hear you in my head?”

“Benefits of a psychic girlfriend. Listen Claire is going to need help with the conversation. Can you help us out?”

Toby’s nod wasn’t noticeable to anyone else at the table, but Jim could feel the affirmative.

“Claire?” Toby called out with his mind. Jim felt Claire join the conversation immediately. Her thoughts were less sentences than they were pictures or feelings. Darci glanced between the three of them for a moment, then she was welcomed in as well. It happened so quickly it was impossible to tell which of the three of them brought her in.

With the four of them connected in their thoughts the atmosphere in the room changed almost immediately. They were able to keep the conversation light hearted and flowing easily back and forth. Soon Barbara got over her initial feelings and took her revenge on Jim for dropping his new girlfriend on her by sharing stories about his childhood. It was honestly less embarrassing than it could have been. Toby had been present for most of the worst of the stories and Claire had seen them when she had searched his memories.

Still it helped ease the tension. Jim soon finished the meal Toby had started and served everyone before joining them at the table. He took the remaining spot between Claire and Mr. Scott. He moved to put his hand on Claire’s hand but stopped and set it next to hers instead. If this was their cover he was going to make it work.

As the dinner continued Jim moved his hand closer and closer to Claire’s till their knuckles barely touched. He hoped his mom wouldn’t notice, but he couldn’t resist the urge to be in contact with her. He loved her so much. Suddenly Jim’s senses were overwhelmed by an answering broadcast of love. Toby’s love for Darci, briefly filled his mind.

“See I can do that too!” Toby thought. “This dinner is only going to last a couple of hours, then you two can go back to being super in love, but can you tone it down for now?”

Jim and Claire laughed while Darci gently chidded her husband. The parents looked between them in confusion at whatever inside joke had just been made that all four of them reacted to. Jim was the only one who noticed that Toby’s eyes seemed to flash orange. Or that his silverware had a faint orange glow and started to lift off the table. They quickly settled and the orange was gone from Toby’s eyes.

After a few toasts had been made for the expecting couple, Jim was barely able to get through his without laughing as Toby broadcasted different jokes into his mind, the four of them retired to the living room. The various parents, Barbara, Zelda, Nana and Mr. Scott agreed to help clean up from dinner. Once away from the older crowd, they let their close connection fade so they wouldn’t have to be privy to each other’s thoughts and feelings. Though there was still a connection they could all feel now.

“I’m actually super happy Jim was able to find someone who loves him as much as you do.” Darci was saying to Claire. “Honestly for the longest time we thought the reason he hadn’t settle down with anyone was because he was still in love with Toby!”

“Oh come on! That’s not true is it?” Jim asked. Now that they were no longer sharing thoughts he couldn’t tell if they were lying or not.

“It sure is!” Toby said with a laugh. “Darc and I even had the conversation of what we would say if you ever worked up the courage to actually ask me out!”

“What?! No way. You’re joking right?” Jim said. Toby simply smiled and arched his eyebrows. Darci hid her face behind her hand, but arched her eyebrows as well. “Wait, then what would the answer have been? If I had asked?”

Toby and Darci both laughed even harder, shaking their heads. “You’re not going to find out that way!”

“Arg. I’m too much of a bisexual disaster for this conversation!” Jim said pressing his fists to his head. Claire sat forward and put her hand on his knee.

“What does that word mean?”

“Hmm? Bisexual means you’re attracted to both people who are your gender and people who are not.” Darci explained. Jim demonstrated by gesturing first to Toby then Darci.

“Oh!” Claire smiled than glanced towards the kitchen where the parents were still out of sight. “Well I don’t have to look like this if you would prefer something else.”

Claire’s body shimmered a little then settled. Jim’s jaw dropped and Darci blushed.Toby looked like was about to die from containing his laugh at their expressions. Claire’s entire body had shifted subtly. Her chest flattened. Her hair receded back into her head before flipping forward. She now had an undercut and the sides buzzed, though her hair was still a little long on top and swept to the side. Her cheeks and chin became more defined and slight five o'clock shadow shaded her face. Jim could only flap his jaw weakly as he stared at her...him...them?

“She is fine, it’s as accurate as any of the others.” Even in Claire’s thoughts he could feel the smirk on her face. “Or do you prefer something a little...heavier.”

Claire glanced past Jim to give Toby an appraising look up and down his body. Then her body changed again. Her shoulders grew broad and her body barrel chested. The dress Jim had picked out for her was straining to keep together. Her hands grew larger and thick arm hair burst forth, as dark as the hair on her head. A thick unruly beard grew down her face and neck as well. She looked like she could be Toby’s brother.

Toby howled with laughter. Jim’s jaw might as well be trying to tunnel into the earth and pale blue flames were racing down his arms. Darci was blushing all the way up to her hairline.

“Dude, Jimbo you should see your face!” Toby was on the verge of tears. “Don’t set the couch on fire, we just got it!”

Jim clenched his fists forcing the flames to disappear. When he looked back up Claire had returned to her previous form. The dress once again fit perfectly and her hair was shoulder length again.

“Thank you so much for that Claire.” Toby continued, wiping tears from his eyes. “I’ve learned something new about both of you.” He gestured to Jim and Darci. “And a little something new about myself.”

Their laughs were cut off by a crashing noise and a cry from the kitchen. Jim was on his feet and across the room in a moment. He pulled the Daylight Stone from his pocket as he ran. Toby was right behind him and then Claire and Darci. Jim stopped short as soon as he reached the kitchen. Toby shoved past him to see what had happened.

“Nana!” Toby cried.

There was the shattered remains of one of the crystal bowls on the floor. Barbara and Zelda crouched in the glass over Nancy who had fallen. There was blood flowing from a cut on her head and it looked like she may have broken her leg. Jim held Toby back from rushing forward. He looked across his friend’s back to make eye contact with Claire, who was holding him back on the other side. Claire’s eyes shone with a swirling purple light and he knew his own were burning blue.

#jim lake jr #claire nunez #toby domzalski #Barbara Lake #darci scott #Trollhunters #tales of arcadia #writing emerald #dreams of drowning #this was an incredibly fun chapter to write #as also always feel free to send me any questions you hace

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neganandblake · 7 years

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I think I liked you better when you didn’t have a knife in your hand, Peaches... Chapter 139 - Seeing red

When Blake finds herself sold out to the Saviours by her abusive fiancé, she realises that she’s certainly not on her own anymore and finds an unlikely friend in Negan. And Negan does NOT like men who beat their girlfriends, one tiny bit….

MASTERLIST

Chapter 139 - Seeing red

[Searching the rooms of the abandoned house, Blake’s primal instincts kick in when a sudden figure shows up...]

Blake followed Negan swiftly back into the living room, gazing about.

Negan was right, the place did indeed look pretty looted. With all that was left being a few items of rickety furniture and the dusty old decor of a family long since departed one way or another.

The blonde woman gave a small sigh, picking up a well-out-of date trashy magazine showing pictures of z-list celebrities Blake barely cared to remember, before flinging it back down again, making her way over to the door on the far side of the hallway, which Negan had checked just a few short minutes ago.

It looked like a bedroom, dark and gloomy with a small twin bed sat in the centre and the drapes drawn tightly.

It smelled of dried blood in here and Blake didn't care to linger on thoughts of what might have happened here long ago.

From behind her she could hear Negan still shuffling about in the living room, from the sounds of it, flicking through a stack of CDs which she had noticed had been sat on a shelf near to the fireplace.

Blake tried the next room, the large family bathroom with a pretty, if not a little dated, shell-shaped tub which filled one corner, next to a washbasin and toilet.

She checked the small mirrored medicine cabinet which hung over the sink, but found it empty, much like the rest of the house, save for a couple of pink-fairy-covered band-aids. But Blake pocketed these nonetheless, thinking of Mia, before heading into the room just across the small hallway.

The door was slightly ajar and Blake gave it a sharp shove open to see that inside was a small child's bedroom. With soccer balls painted onto the light green walls and a small twin bed squashed into the corner beside a nightstand adorned with a star-shaped nightlight.

Blake hovered here for a long moment, her digits tensed around the door handle, but she didn't venture in, giving a small gulp, before pulling the door shut-to once more.

But as she turned around she noticed a door just to her right which she hadn't noticed when she had first entered the small shadowy hallway.

Had Negan?

The door was indeed closed, unlike the other rooms that Negan had searched.

She turned her head, still hearing the sound of Negan flicking through CDs and records in the other room.

"Baby, you tried this room?" she called through to him gently.

But before he could answer she had moved tentatively over to the door, shuffling along the small windowless corridor, her fingers tensing around the brass door knob.

"What you say, Darlin'?" he said suddenly, his head appearing around the doorway that led into the living room, just as Blake tried the door handle, feeling it twist beneath her grasp.

It was obvious that Negan hadn't noticed this room either, the handle stiff beneath her grasp, like it hadn't been opened in years.

He was at her side in a flash, pulling his knife from his belt swiftly.

But as the door relented and swung open, to both of their relief, they found the room to be devoid of any walkers…

….but instead, Blake gave a small blink, staring around, her lips parting gently.

This was the reason she had been right to search this place...

...her eyes widening.

She took a step inside to see a small room painted all in white, with beautiful pink and purple vine-covered flowers hand-painted onto the walls.

And inside the very centre of the room sat a small white, empty crib.

Blake stared at it, as did Negan, both of them silent for a very, very long moment.

After a long few second had passed, Blake silently moved over to it, peering down inside to find a gorgeous hand crocheted comforter and a small brown teddy bear.

The woman who lived here, part of that family, had been pregnant….

...or perhaps she had had the baby before the world went to shit, but Blake doubted it...

The entire room looked unused and undisturbed, like a shrine to a child, unborn.

There was a closet and a changing table on the far side of the small white space, with at least two boxes of what looked like diapers and other baby supplies in baskets stored underneath.

And beneath the the large net-covered window, sat a small rocking chair made of wicker, with a fleecy blanket draped over it.

Blake felt tears welling in her green eyes, unsure of whether this was happiness or sadness now, as she stared around.

But she didn't get the chance for any tears to fall, as she felt Negan's sudden strong arms wrap around her waist from behind, angling Lucille away from her as his stubbly chin dropped down onto Blake's shoulder.

"You alaright, Peaches…" he muttered in a low and serious voice, as always, reading her like a book.

But she nodded.

"Yeah," she replied gently, moving her hand over his, as his calloused digits skimmed over her abdomen

And she was.

She was here, alive and so was Mia and the baby growing inside her.

She had a chance here that few others had. A chance to love something brand new in this dead and decaying old world.

She felt Negan press a scratchy kiss to the place just below her ear before he pulled gently away, letting out a hot sigh against her skin.

"You think we should take some of this shit back with us?" he uttered with a hum. "Shit looks like its fresh from the store."

Blake pondered this for a lengthy few moments before nodding again.

"Yeah I think that would be good," she murmured back in reply.

It was time for her to start thinking about this sort of thing.

It had taken them long enough to get Mia's room in order, and the baby currently growing inside her belly would be here in a few months and they would indeed need things for him or her...like any other healthy baby outside of this damn apocalypse would have had.

So they might as well start somewhere.

"You think we can get all this in the truck," Blake asked, placing her hands to the side of the white painted crib.

"No fuckin' problem," said Negan pushing himself off of her with a huff and arching his spine, marvelling at the piece of furniture, before standing up once again and pointing a finger towards her. "But I'm doin' all the heavy liftin', no arguments."

Blake gave a smile, lifting her palms up to either side of her shoulders in a gesture of defeat, rolling her eyes.

"Fiiine," she said in a happy, teasing voice, making to open her mouth again to speak.

But before she could do so there came a sudden creak of floorboards behind the pair of them.

Instantaneously both Negan and Blake swung around, with Negan lifting his barbed wire- covered baseball bat, just as the click of a gun was heard.

And Blake's eyes seemed to widen in their sockets as her gaze fell on the figure of a man with long brown hair and a dirty brown beard.

Neither of them recognized him for a moment, until a stark realisation suddenly washed over Blake.

For she saw that it was the man from the photograph, now sitting on the mantelpiece above the fireplace back in that living room in there.

But he looked a lot different that he had done back then that was for sure.

Now his hair was far longer, a unkempt matted mess, his clothes were filthy and torn and coated in sweat and grime. And to Blake it looked as though he had long stopped taking care of himself. Surviving out here alone for years.

He stood there now, pointing a gun at them with one hand, holding a knife, blackened with crusty blood, in the other. But there was no sign of the rest of the family that Blake had seen in the picture. With her realising it was likely that they had died a long, long time ago. The house still left like a shrine of sorts, a tell-tale sign of that sorry fact.

"You're trespassing," the man suddenly barked, his eyes wild and staring.

He looked completely unstable at this very moment swaying back and forth on his tall, stocky legs.

Blake gave a gulp, placing a hand protectively to her stomach, as Negan took a sudden step forwards.

"Whoh now look. at. you, big guy," Negan snarled, a hint of a narrowed-eyed grin etching its way across his face, cocking his tanned head to the side. "With your big, weighty fuckin' balls steppin' up to me an' my-"

But the man cut across him suddenly, before Negan could finish.

"This is my house!" the brown haired-man shouted. "Y-You come into MY house and y-you think you can touch my things...my wife's things...my kid's things….."

Blake gave a worried frown, as she saw Negan lower his chin darkly.

"We weren't-" she began in a soothing voice, but the man cut her down taking a sudden and unpredicted step forwards, staring at her with wide, blown eyes.

"You were trespassing!" shouted the man again, sounding as though he was close to tears, dragging his sleeve across his sweaty brow. "O-On my property...y-you're both gonna die for that."

At her side, she heard Negan let-out an angry growl.

"Only one fuckin' fucker is gonna die today," said the dark-haired Saviour furiously. "An' that's gonna be you, asshole."

Negan took another step forward, sliding in front of Blake and shielding her from harm's way.

But Blake had a horrible feeling in the pit of her stomach, worried not only for herself and the safety of her unborn baby, but for Negan too.

This man looked unstable and it seemed almost impossible to predict what he would do next.

The man stared to Negan suddenly, pointing his gun square between the Saviour's eyes.

Fuck.

Blake felt her blood run cold. And before she could stop herself, she took took a quick step towards the man.

"Your wife and son," she said suddenly. "W-Where are they now?"

She noticed he still hand his gold wedding band on one finger, as his wild eyes shot her way.

But the man faltered for a second, his gun trained on Negan.

"M-My wife and son?" he repeated, gaping at the air a moment, before blinking several times in quick succession.

He hovered for a lengthy moment, shifting his weight back and forth between his feet.

"They're…." he began, frowning slightly. "...well, they're…"

But he stopped, blinking again in confusion, before suddenly and without warning turning the gun on Blake.

"Shut up!" he yelled suddenly, his hand shaking. "Shut up!"

Beside her, Blake saw Negan tighten his grip on Lucille suddenly, his hackles raising.

"Don't you dare speak to me," shouted the man again, his finger tensing around the trigger. "Don't you dare stand in my house, touching my things, OUR things."

And it was in that second that Blake felt her heart stop, fear coursing suddenly through her, terrified now of dying and not being able to see the baby that was growing inside her. Realising just how much love she felt for the child she had never ever met yet.

Suddenly Negan let out a roar, lifting Lucille above his head and swinging it back down.

But the man was quicker than either of them thought he would be, and dodged out of the way as the bat swished through the air.

Negan staggered for a moment, teeth gritted and wild-looking himself, just as the man gave a yell of his own and made to lunge knife-first at Blake.

But the blonde woman saw red quicker than she had ever done before in her life.

There was no logic here.

No time to be sensible or think this through.

So she did what her instinct told her, tugging the gun suddenly from her belt…

...pointing…

….and shooting.

The gunshot rang through the small house, ringing through Blake's ears.

Negan gazed up as the man stared up at her too….

….blood flowing on his sweat stained shirt, as he dropped suddenly to his knees, lips mouthing pointlessly at the air.

But Blake watched and kept watching as he slumped sideways, falling to the floor, his gun and knife tumbling from each of his hands.

But Blake felt no remorse now as she watched him die.

For no one was ever going to threaten their unborn baby. Not ever.

Negan stood up straight, placing his hand to her arm and lowering it, sliding the gun gently from her fingers, his other arm wrapping around her.

"I ain't even gonna bother askin' you if you're alright, cause I know what the damn answer is gonna be, Darlin'," he said with a heavy sigh.

But Blake's eyes found his, as she frowned slightly and shook her head.

"I'm good," he said in firm voice, gazing at him reassuringly. "Really I am."

And she was.

Truly.

She was the queen to his king. And nothing, NOTHING was going to get in the way of that.

They were a family now. And the baby growing inside her only served as a reminder that the two of them would go to the ends of the earth to protect, not only each other, but the life growing inside Blake.

Their life.

Her hand slid to Negan's leather-clad sleeve, her fingers tightening around the stiff material.

"Come on," she said giving his arm a squeeze. "Let's pack this stuff up and get out of here."

And with a nod, Negan brushed his own coarse fingers gently over her cheek affectionately.

"Mhmmm," he agreed "...lets go home, Peaches."

(Gif credit belongs to the owners.)

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pendragonfics · 7 years

Text

There’s No Place Like Home

Paring: Phil Coulson/Reader

Tags: female reader, AU dystopia, end of the world, dreams and nightmares, Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. compliant, fluff and angst.

Summary: After everything goes south, at least there's mutual pining. That's it. That's the fic.

Word Count: 2,106

Posting Date: 2017-01-29

Current Date: 2017-06-07

Phil had been out all night, and there was no sign that he was coming home any time soon. You hated being the helpless girlfriend, but sometimes, that's what it came to. The pair of you lived in the centre of town, in a little fixer-upper apartment on his wages as a security guard. Perhaps he'd meant to call ahead, but the phone had died? Maybe the employer needed more time for him on the job. That was probably it.

You often stayed awake, sitting up, waiting for him to come in the door. At first, Phil had dissuaded it; you worked a few hours in the store below the apartment, and he didn't think it would be very professional for you to just wait up. But after a number of incidents which involved a medkit and Phil hissing against the medicine to stitch him up, he nodded, and soon took to waiting until the end of the night, to see your face.

But this night, he looked haunted.

"What's wrong?" you wondered, rushing to him. There was no signs of him being hurt, despite the sad look in his eyes, no tells that he'd been jumped or attacked on the way home. He didn't look to you, only the floor, his feet. "Phillip Coulson, you're frightening me, what's wrong?"

He's already in the door and grabbing things, and chucking them into bags by the time he answers, rushing around in a flurry you hadn't seen him so animated to do so in ages. "I need to leave this place, with you. After working the Howlett job three weeks ago, there's been a little bit of discourse." He grunts. Almost everything in his path is being put into the suitcase bag; your books, your shoes, your - , "There's a gang, the main one, you know of them."

You nod, "The one Lehnsherr runs," you help Phil pack, reaching for his tie, laying on the couch. His hand stops you from gathering it, and it hits you. "They've threatened you, to hurt me, haven't they?" you whisper.

Phil nods. "It's no idle threat," he murmurs, taking the tie from your fingers. "I'm taking you away, to stay with some people who can protect you. It's going to be easier than sitting in here for all the nights you do, and coming home to see you..." He trails off, unable to meet your eyes.

"But what about you? Won't they come for you if I'm not here?" you're worried, and you're sure you're not helping the fact that Phil, a stoic man who you've been in love with for the longest time, since before the apocalypse, is about to cry. When is the last time you can say you remember him this emotional? You can't tell. "Phil, please. I can't go off and hide when I know you're still out in those streets where they are." your vice wavers.

He shakes his head. "You'll have to trust me on this, _________."

You nod, looking anywhere else but at Phil. "There's no place like home."

---

It's been a long night, what seems like the longest he's ever gone through. What the hell had happened? It had just been a standard extraction, and his team, and ______ had gone in, smooth. No red flags. But then Daisy and Melinda had radioed in, and rushed out with _______. He couldn't believe it.

It had been okay four minutes ago.

---

The next night, instead of watching Phil go, you come with him. You're wearing as much of your clothes as you can, and in the backpack, is all the things you rationally thought you'd need (unlike Phil's packing of everything in sight). It's dark, and it's scary, sure. But it's how you need to stay alive. It wasn't like the end of the world brought special powers along with it, no. The authorities cowered from the people, the people cowered from the gangs, and the gangs cowered from nobody. All it had taken was a nuclear war, the loss of healthcare in major states, and terrible leadership from people who never heard the words "doomsday".

Either way, you were being lead to a blue truck, loaded into the back like cargo. He stood by the back, and as you held on to the place where the seat-belt was supposed to be (it wasn't like the end of the world was consisted of regular vehicle safety checks), he nodded to the driver.

Before you could say goodbye, the doors were closed, and you were off. Away. You'd thought that he'd be coming, or at least, you'd kiss him goodbye, but no. Silently, a tear fell onto one of the scarves around your neck.

"Hey, cheer up Beanie Baby," a red-head gave you a sad smile in the rear-view mirror. She patted the empty passenger seat, and added, "Come, sit with me. Talk. You look as broken as my dumb-ass truck."

Shuffling up, you double over as the red-head swerves around a corner too fast, throwing you into the side with a thunk. She gave a chuckle, and raised a middle finger to a truck overtaking her, and a curse in Russian.

"What did you call me?" You ask, snapping the seat belt around your middle.

Besides the one around her middle, it was perhaps the only one in the truck that didn't smell of ranch dressing. She raised a single brow, "I just called that stupid idiot a inbred goat - oh, Beanie Baby?" She asked, and as you nod, she continues, "It's a toy, like, I don't know, for kids? My sister had them when we were yay-high." She snorts. "With all your clothes on you look like this sad floppy beanie baby that needs a good hug. You'll see your husband before you know it."

Your face flushed. "I'm not - we -,"

She hoots, smacking the steering wheel with her dry laugh. "I know, Phil always yammers on about you like you're this fantastic woman. So I just had to be the one to pick you up." She takes her hand from the wheel, and holds it out to you. "I'm Nat."

"________." You shake her palm. When you have your hand out of hers, you notice it smells faintly of gasoline and peaches after touching. "When will I see him again?"

Nat pulls the wheel, steering impossibly fast into a small lane way. "I'm not the leader, but if I were Rogers, say, a week. Stark, three weeks." She gives you a wan smile. "But staying with us, you'll hardly miss him once you meet Clint. Hey! Clint is Phil's nephew, you've got to bunk up!"

---

He's never seen you so still in your life; not even when you sleep. Fitzsimmons said it was something to do with dreams; it was just a part of you and your powers, and it made you constantly move. Phil guessed it was part of the packaged deal of constantly creating energy; it made you the most active of his agents, the smartest besides his science duo. But seeing you here, in the coma, he had to tell himself you weren't sleeping. It was induced. It had to be.

Melinda had said you'd been injected with something the H. Y. D. R. A. agents had been working on - Intel said it was a reducer, or a blocker. Something which stopped your natural abilities from working. Something which made your constantly moving form still, and become encased in yourself. They had a dialysis machine working, but would it be enough?

He'd never been able to tell you how he felt.

---

It was a week; you've met everyone; Stark and Rogers, the leaders, who wore armour which was a mixture of fireman uniforms. In fact, that was what mostly all the gang wore; after all, it was after the end of the world, and it wasn't like there were still factories and places selling on-demand clothes. Clint taught you how to always win at Blackjack, and talked often of his wife and kids (it wasn't until Sam told you they'd passed away in one of the nuclear air strikes you realised how sad it was). Nat had been cut off from returning to Russia after her passport had been pulled, and took to the underground business of spying. Sam had been a soldier, but after seeing what the country was doing, ran away just in time as his squadron had been targeted by the leader for "treason".

A week, a week of laying in your bunk, hoping for Phil. Waiting for Phil. Wishing all the wishes you could -

"Do you ever think when you're sleeping, people talk to you, and it becomes a part of your dreams?" Tony passed you a cup of something hot. "Telling you to wake up, we need you, come on; or something."

You shrug. "I'm not sure, I've never given it much thought," you whisper, taking a sip of your drink. His face turns dark, shrouded in a dark mist, like he was not human at all. Your heart stutters, the cup falling through your fingers. "What's - what's going on?" you feel your hands throbbing, but the broken cup at your feet has not cut you.

"She's been away too long," Steve's face was dark with the shadows too, voice not like his own, warping, changing. He sounded like...Leo Fitz? "We're going to need adrenaline, stat."

You might have read somewhere, that hurting yourself in a dream could trigger waking up. Or maybe that had been from an episode of Supernatural? You drop to the ground, and grab a shard of the mug, and scrunch it within your palm. Your eyes are squeezed shut, trembling. You don't belong here. Not in this world.

"There's no place like home, there's no place like home..." you whisper.

---

Just as the adrenaline is on hand, poised to be shot, Phil watches in disbelief as the heart monitor races, and at once, you are sitting in the bed, eyes wide, wild, one palm scrunched as if crushing something within it. His jaw loosens, heart running alongside your own.

"There's no place like home," you whisper.

Slowly, you see Phil, but without acknowledging your superior officer, you see the science duo Fitzsimmons and thank them, muttering something about their words triggering you to kick start your own awakening. At once, he notices that you're becoming more and more fidgety in the bed; a small smile finds its way upon his lips.

"I - we should leave you two alone," Jemma Simmons tugged at Leo's sleeve, dragging the curly haired young man with her from the hospital booth aboard The Bus.

Phil watched as your fist released, your heartbeat evened to a natural pattern, natural for you and your changed anatomy after the accident; he'd been there when the offshore base had breached, and you'd been left inside as if for dead, shocked by 7, 000 volts inside the laboratory where your experiment had gone sideways. Phil had loved you before that, and he loved you still.

"Sir. I'm - I should have been more aware of my place in the mission," you address your superior, head lowered.

He shakes his, edging his chair closer to the bed, taking your hand in his own. "It's not your fault. I really should have equipped you all better to deal with the enemy. But I'm here for a more selfish reason than to see my best agent's improving health," he admits.

You're puzzled, but instead of questioning it, you speak of what's on your mind. "I dreamed when I was under - I'm not sure if that's normal, for comas, or just for my condition," you tell him, voice low, "But the world was over, and ended, and we were still fighting the good fight. Sir."

"The team?" he wondered. "The team were fighting?"

You shake your head. "You, sir. And I. The members from the Avengers Initiative were there. I know it was a dream, it was clearly so, quite exaggerated. But...sir, it made me realise something about us. I've known you for ten years; longer than I can say of any other of my friends. And in all of that time, Phil, you've been the best person I've known, gone to hell and back, and still rose to occasions simpler men couldn't have." Your praise leaves his cheeks rosy. "Sir, I know it's inappropriate, but I have feelings for you. Sir."

He breathes out, a breath he's been holding for years now. Slowly, he gives your hand a squeeze, and replies, "It's not inappropriate if the feelings are mutual, Agent ________."

#phil coulson #phillip coulson #phil coulson x reader #phil coulson x oc #marvel x reader #marvel fanfic #agents of shield x reader #chaotic--lovely #pendragonfics

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wendyimmiller · 5 years

Text

The Wife, The Flu, and the Ecstacy of Entering a Gardening Dream State

Cincinnati, Ohio

January 23, 2020

Dear Marianne,

What a treat it was to receive your letter dated January 22nd. And so publicly too! What fun.

Despite myself, I somehow got caught up in flights of fantasy borne from your descriptions of your bucolic existence in the benevolent hills far enough west of D.C. to be out of the gridlock and yet still within the outer rings of its wealth. You have a good life there by the fireside with your Jack Russell, your garden (which I imagine to be picture perfect), and your former marine (whom I imagine is likewise).

Here’s our dog. He’s a spastic, old, not so smart and mostly blind mutt at the end of a long line of people handing him off to other people, but he has a heart of gold.

I couldn’t help but be reminded of how different things are here in the bitter, gritty, gloomy, and surly Midwest. The temperature has been oscillating here so violently that it has cracked buildings. Even our six-story skyscrapers! Yet, it’s always gray. Gray, leaden, heavy, oppressive, American gray, English grey, depressing as hell, and a daily kick in the gut gray. And the rivers are all flooding. There’s worry the levy might break and wipe out the trailer park. Currently I’m cut off from my nearest source of a Big Gulp by high water. Oh, and everyone I know, including me, is sick.

This weekend, Michele, who is never sick, got the flu. Started Saturday while she helped me move brush and branches from around the yard to the driveway. She’s usually such a good sport, but she was kind of lagging and losing focus. I was getting irritated, because I’d been pruning like a maniac and the yard was starting to look like a log jam. Eventually, we had gotten it all into a big pile by my old, rusty truck that won’t start, being sure to make it is as unsightly as we could and plainly visible to any county official that happens to drive by. Next thing I know, she’s practically passing out. And I had hoped she would cook that night.

As you mentioned, Michele has a sweet smile, an amazing smile. And she was so innocent when we got married that I had to instruct her on how to use it with police officers, bouncers, and the occasional asshole boss. But, when we both finally got in bed Saturday night, it was like that mouth had never smiled before ever. All it knew how to do was cough on me like I was in the first wave of liberators trying to come ashore and it was a germ machine gun.

A glimpse at that sweet smile. Taken last year during better times.

To my amazement, I awoke Sunday still feeling okay, but had to make an escape. It’s been a winter of working nights and weekends putting together PowerPoints, articles, and forever trying to get caught up at work. Michele’s mom died after a quick illness in December. My mom has pinged and ponged from home to hospital and now to a rehab center, and I too have been bouncing around between home and a dentist for a fourth try at a new crown and between various doctors trying to figure out why my left ear has been ringing off the hook. This included a horrible outpatient MRI, which required that I be totally still in an absolutely claustrophobic situation for what seemed like hours, even, as I’m quite sure, the staff were making fun of my crotch. Fortunately, the MRI didn’t find any of the tumors they were looking for in my noggin, so, yes, they examined my head and found nothing. Just chronic sinus infections. Two rounds of heavy antibiotics later, and my digestive system is so out of whack that I’m willing to promise anyone anything if it means I no longer have to live with myself. And now Michele had the flu and I was probably going to get it.

The garden beckoned, and I followed the call.

My mossy path brings me joy all through winter.

As does Epimedium stellatum’s spectacular winter foliage. (BTW, I could have moved that stick and some of the leaves, but in the interest of journalistic integrity, I left them there.

So Sunday there I was, gardening again like a lunatic. Finished cutting down a Japanese Raisin Tree that was causing three of my own seed-grown Katsura to lean right and starting to shade out the Arborvitae that are screening my neighbor’s shed. A bit of a bitter pill, because I had also grown the Raisin Tree from seed. In fact, I had germinated this species, planted it out, and lost it over winter three times until a friend I won’t mention had—under potentially dubious circumstances—gotten me seed that was supposedly from a cold hardy provenance from somewhere out there in the world that best remains unnamed. Well, bingo, this seedling survived every winter, grew like a son of a bitch, started shading out other stuff, and, at best, could be described as boring. It was probably too big for me to take down myself, and I wound up actually proving that when it fell just off target and stripped about half the branches of my Halesia diptera ‘Magniflora.’ This was a favorite tree of mine. Such is the lot of the impulsive gardener with a chainsaw and not a lot of money.

A pile of brush ready to go to the County composting lot. This includes an entire Japanese Raisin Tree, and parts of various Katsura, Gingko, Yellowwood, Poliothysis, Chinese Lilac, several Viburnum, Halesia diptera ‘Magniflora,’ three or four Japanese Maples, Cucumber Magnolia, Bigleaf Magnolia, ‘Yellow Bird’ Magnolia, Dawn Redwood, Parrotia, various Hornbeams, and more. It’s like a freakin’ arboretum blew up.

Aftermath of a massacre.

After bucking the Raisin Tree, I patched up the Halesia as best I could. The branching structure was about as squirrelly as they come without any help by me; now I feel I just sculpted in a way to empower it to show off its true self. Well, anyway, that’s what I’ll tell people.

But as the afternoon progressed, I reached that magical state where my entire existence became about the task at hand. No extraneous thoughts. Just focus. So insanely rare. The ringing in my ear was forgotten. My mother’s care plan, put aside. Michele suffering in the house somewhere, only strayed into my thoughts, when, on occasion, I would look up to see yellow wisps of coronavirus fog leaking out of small cracks in the siding of our house. Achieving this state of oblivion, this full immersion in my work, it was like an injection of jet fuel into my heart and soul!

By the time I had finished, I had greatly added to the pile in the driveway, I’d dug up a stump, and transplanted into that hole a tall, skinny, and surprisingly heavy Chamaecyparis of some species and selection I’ve long forgotten, lugging it clumsily but quickly across the yard like it was an 80 pound, 3’ x 12’ human organ that needed to go immediately into a patient.

The Chamaecyparis in its new home.

Then I replanted a couple patches of Epimedium and Corydalis which happened to get “outed” when the stump got grubbed out and the Chamaecyparis got moved. Eventually, I even found a little time to admire some blooms of hellebores, snowdrops, Iris reticulata, and a witchhazel.

Spring is just waiting to be unleashed! Sure sign of this is Iris reticulata coming into bloom.

Sedum and a Thyme chomping at the bit.

Monday, Michele’s doctor said she had the flu and by that evening I had a bad cough. Yesterday I got worse and woke up this morning with every nerve ending signaling that every cell in my body was at Defcon Five Crisis Mode and each of my many coughs felt like a demon carpenter was going at my throat with a rasp. An appointment with my doctor this afternoon put me on two new meds, including a new round of antibiotics. Great.

When I got home, it was almost sunny and relatively warm, so I visited the hellebores, snowdrops, Iris, and witchhazel. Sure, they are in a sea of mud with errant plastic plant tags, fresh stumps, a winter’s worth of dog poop, a pool cover full of dirty water and leaves, a plastic bucket or two, a rusty pickup, and a mile high pile of brush all trying to photo bomb every picture I take, but despite that frustration they sure are a much needed tonic. As much or more so than Tamiflu.

So anyway, thanks for the letter. I’ll pick up on some of your other themes next time. In particular, I want to go after those sourpus types you mentioned that throw shade on all the new gardeners who are not “pure” enough. But, for now, some chicken soup and bed.

Yours,

Scott

The Wife, The Flu, and the Ecstacy of Entering a Gardening Dream State originally appeared on GardenRant on February 19, 2020.

The post The Wife, The Flu, and the Ecstacy of Entering a Gardening Dream State appeared first on GardenRant.

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turfandlawncare · 5 years

Text

The Wife, The Flu, and the Ecstacy of Entering a Gardening Dream State

Cincinnati, Ohio

January 23, 2020

Dear Marianne,

What a treat it was to receive your letter dated January 22nd. And so publicly too! What fun.

Despite myself, I somehow got caught up in flights of fantasy borne from your descriptions of your bucolic existence in the benevolent hills far enough west of D.C. to be out of the gridlock and yet still within the outer rings of its wealth. You have a good life there by the fireside with your Yorkies, your garden (which I imagine to be picture perfect), and your former marine (whom I imagine is likewise).

Here’s our dog. He’s a spastic, old, not so smart and mostly blind mutt at the end of a long line of people handing him off to other people, but he has a heart of gold.

I couldn’t help but reminded of how different things are here in the bitter, gritty, gloomy, and surly Midwest. The temperature has been oscillating here so violently that it has cracked buildings. Even our six-story skyscrapers! Yet, it’s always gray. Gray, leaden, heavy, oppressive, American gray, English grey, depressing as hell, and a daily kick in the gut gray. And the rivers are all flooding. There’s worry the levy might break and wipe out the trailer park. Currently I’m cutoff from my nearest source of a Big Gulp by high water. Oh, and everyone I know, including me, is sick.

A glimpse at that sweet smile. Taken last year during better times.

The garden beckoned, and I followed the call.

My mossy path brings me joy all through winter.

As does Epimedium stellatum’s spectacular winter foliage. (BTW, I could have moved that stick and some of the leaves, but in the interest of journalistic integrity, I left them there.

Aftermath of a massacre.

The Chamaecyparis in its new home.

Spring is just waiting to be unleashed! Sure sign of this is Iris reticulata coming into bloom.

Sedum and a Thyme chomping at the bit.

Yours,

Scott

The Wife, The Flu, and the Ecstacy of Entering a Gardening Dream State originally appeared on GardenRant on February 19, 2020.

The post The Wife, The Flu, and the Ecstacy of Entering a Gardening Dream State appeared first on GardenRant.

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kidcataldo · 5 years

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King Gwilim loved his wife and daughter but desired a male successor to carry on his legacy. His wife unfortunately died before they could produce an heir and his daughter, who was born frail and weak, was not predicted to live to adulthood. So, the king, in a desperate attempt to keep his legacy alive, prayed to the Rainbow God above. Legend says, the God heard his prayers and within a few nights, his daughter, the fair Princess Llinos, was pregnant, but instead of one child, the Rainbow God gifted her with five children. One was destined to be strong. One was destined to be beautiful. Another was destined to be knowledgeable. But the last two had their destinies taken from them. The birthing proved to be too much for the fair princess and as the fifth babe let out his first breath, his mother let out her last. Now, this is all believed to be a legend, but I assure you the five children are real. How do I know all this? Well, I was the fifth child.

Ham was waiting outside for me. I saw him in his big red truck, but he honked his horn a few times to make sure I was paying attention. He finds me distracted too many times to count. Ham was more of a co-worker than a friend to me. We grew up in the same neighborhood, but he was five years older. He spent most of his teen years causing chaos. He left town right after he graduated but came back to take care of his ill mother. When I quit school to get a full-time job to support Old Bridge, it was Ham who recommended I apply at the factory. It was long hours, but it at least helped me get the bills paid on time. We carpool from time to time. And by carpool, I mean he gave me a lift on occasion. Mostly when I didn’t have money to take the bus.

The sun was just rising from the horizon. It was beautiful to watch my first day on the job, but as the hours got longer, the rising sun served as relief for me, because it meant it was time to leave.

“Let’s go, Hilltrog,” Ham said with his arm out the window, banging on the side of his truck.

I yawned as I climbed up into the truck, and he chuckled softly. “Still got a long day ahead of us.”

He dropped me off at the Old Bridge Detective Agency. It was really just an old apartment complex, but the faded sign out front meant too much to me, and the neighborhood, to take it down.

We would occasionally get a few people wandering in looking for the famous Hilltrog duo, mostly people who wanted to expose their cheating partners. They usually got turned away by me, or the tenants. Whoever’s around. On a rare occasion, someone would wander in on one of Eiyuu’s good days and he would happily listen to their problem, then right down contact information of some old friend he knew in his glory days. He gave me his address book a while ago, but only a handful of them were still active. I usually just tell people looking for a private detective to go to the police.

As I was walking in, Sita was walking out. We bumped into each other and she dropped a handful of stuff she was carrying.

“Lion—oh! I’m sorry, Lion,” she said. She rushed to pick her stuff up. “I should really watch where I’m going.” I was quick to help her. I grabbed her keys and the two tampons while she grabbed her wallet.

“It’s fine,” I said.

She took the items from my hands and I caught a glimpse of the bruising on her forearms. She was back with Render, I realized. I glanced back up at her face, making sure my expression was blank. I didn’t want her to understand what I knew.

Sita acted different when she was with Render. He brought out the worst in her. She would always act on edge and become jumpy whenever she was dating him. She would also drink more. It was always the same thing: they would date for a few months and then she would come to her senses and end it. And she would be sober and happy for a while. Then it would happen all over again. At least, that was what Nanny told me how it happened. This had apparently been going on for ten years, but I never noticed until the year before. I remember seeing them leave one day and he grabbed her arm and forced her off the apartment’s front steps. I told Nanny that I thought he was abusing her, to which Nanny replied: “Honey, he’s been abusing her for ten years.”

“Are you heading into work?” I asked her.

“No, an old friend’s picking me up,” she said. “Imke. We went to high school together. We babysat you a few times. You asked her to marry you.”

I shook my head, rubbing the back of my neck. “Not really.” I had been told the stories, but I do not remember such dialogue. I hazily remember following around a blue-haired girl around the building and sitting on her lap to watch movies.

She smiled. “It was a long time ago.” They stood comfortably in silence. A bird somewhere in the distance chirped happily to fill that silence. “Oh, while I have you for a minute, the hallway light is out. I tried replacing the bulb, but it still won’t turn on.”

“Could be a faulty wire,” I said. “I’ll come by with Genji’s tools later.”

“Oh, and I know rent is due, but—I get paid at the end of the week and I need to make sure grandpa gets his medicine.”

“Pay what you can.”

I took the factory job because most of the tenants, the few that we had left, were unable to pay their rent. We only had three apartments rented out: Vilmos Wintrott and his granddaughter, Sita, were in apartment 213. Nanny was right next to them in 211. And Paskal Tannen was in 303. After his neighbor, an old man named Mr. Starleaf, passed away, I asked Mr. Tannen if he wanted to move closer to the other remaining tenants. Mr. Tannen did not speak, but he wrote to me that he wished to remain the only person on the third floor, and if other people should wish to rent out an apartment, he asked me not to give them a room on the third floor. Mr. Tannen usually only paid half of his rent, the other half went to gambling. He gambled a lot and lost a lot of his money. When he had no money to give me, he would offer me his valuables. Once he offered me his late husband’s ring. I didn’t take it, of course. He probably owed me the most out of all of them. Uncle Genji would have thrown him out with the dogs by now, but I know he would be living on the streets if I did that. At that time in my life, I was convinced the apartment would die with its remaining tenants. And I had accepted that.

Eiyuu was born into a noble family. His mother was a great granddaughter of a prince, or something like that, and his father was new money trying to pretend he was old money. He didn’t have a very happy childhood and left that lifestyle shortly after he came of age. He had no other siblings, except for a sister who died in infancy, so when his father passed, he inherited a large sum. Most of that money paid for all of Eyiuu and Akiro’s adventures around the world, but a short amount was left to maintain Old Bridge. I think it was the only way Uncle Genji let them set up office there; he needed the security. Occasionally, I would get some money from the account to pay for some of Old Bridge’s expenses, if I was short a few hundred or so dollars, but it was technically not supposed to be used until Eiyuu’s death.

“Thank you. Thank you, Lion,” said Sita, hugging me. “I promise once I get the money, I will pay you back every cent I owe.”

I only nodded. She had made that promise to me more than once, and her IOU’s just kept getting higher.

I went to collect the rent from Nanny next. I knocked a few times but there was no answer, so I let myself in.

“Nanny?”

I followed the sounds of coughs into the kitchen where she sat reading the newspaper.

“Nanny,” I repeated.

“Hmm… who’s that? Llewelyn, is that you?”

“Good morning, Nanny.”

“It’s about time. That damn sink’s been acting up again. It won’t stop dripping.”

Salome Ravenseeker was the only tenant allowed to give me an attitude. She paid rent on time. I called her Nanny, because while Eiyuu & Akiro were away doing detective work, Nanny took care of me and, at times, Akiro’s brother, Uncle Genji, who died not knowing how to cook a proper meal for himself.

“Did you check to see if you turned the sink all the way off?”

“Of course I did,” exclaimed Nanny. “Do you take me for a fool?” I examined the sink closely and made sure the nobs were fully turned off. She was right. Something was wrong with the sink. “See?”

“I’ll be back with my tools,” I said.

“Your money is on the counter over there,” she said. “In the envelope.”

I grabbed the envelope and examined the money inside. “Nanny, you overpaid again.”

“No, I didn’t,” she said. “That’s what you should be having us pay. Besides, I’m the only one that pays rent around her. That Sita girl’s been wasting all of her dimes on that bastard boyfriend of hers. You know, I hear them. Vilmos, bless him, is tone deaf and sleeps right through it, but these walls are thin.”

“What do you want me to do? Move them into a different room?”

“No, I don’t want you to move them into a different room. I like hearing them… in case he’s in one of his moods. Then I can barge in on them and tase him or shoot him… or something.”

“Or something,” I echoed.

I sealed the envelope and headed for the door...

#wip #story #writing #story idea #draft

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dailyaudiobible · 8 years

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03/13/2017 DAB Transcript

Numbers 19:1-20:29 ~ Luke 1:1-25 ~ Psalm 56:1-13 ~ Proverbs 11:8

Today is the 13th day of March. Welcome to the Daily Audio Bible. I am Brian and it's great to be here with you. So we crossed the threshold of a new week yesterday and now it is time to live into that week as we walk with God. One of the ways we do that is to orient ourselves and our hearts to him through his word and just allow the serenity to wash over us. To step away, to have this little space, this little global campfire, this little space that we have where it is peaceful and all the obligations that are out in front of us this week, they can be put aside for this brief period of time as we feed our souls.

This week we’re reading from the Expanded Bible and we’ll move back out with the children of Israel into the wilderness and then when we get to the New Testament we will begin a new book. But first, Numbers chapter 19, verse 1 through 20, verse 29.

Introduction of a New Book (New Testament)

We finished the book or gospel of Mark yesterday which is the second of the gospels in the Bible, which brings us to the book of Luke. The gospel of Luke has a little more of an intriguing story regarding its place in history. Luke is the third of what is known as the synoptic gospels – those being Matthew, Mark and Luke – and they are called the synoptic gospels because they are very similar in their composition, very similar in the way they are laid out and the stories that they tell about Jesus, so similar in fact that it is widely believed among biblical scholars that one could not exist without the other, that they were written at different times, but they were used as source material for each other.

I personally like the book of Luke a lot because I believe it is written tight and concise and it flows well and contains all of the known details of the time. Scholarly opinion is that Luke not only wrote the book of Luke, but he also wrote the book of Acts. There are, however, some differing points of view as to when this book was actually written. A number of leading scholars believe that the gospel of Mark was the first of the synoptic gospels. In fact, most scholars believe that. And then Matthew and Luke borrowed some of the source material as they were writing the history of the gospel of Jesus Christ from Mark.

There is a scholarly trend right now that refers to a lost source text that is being called Q. It wasn’t a narrative like the gospels that we have in the Bible on the life of Jesus, but was probably a collection of all the sayings of Jesus that anyone who actually heard them could remember. This supposed text is believed to have provided more of the source material for all of the synoptic gospels and that this explains some of the harmony between them. Unfortunately, there is no way to know this for certain. We don’t have the text although the arguments for its existence are legitimate and very compelling.

Because of all this, placing the gospel of Luke in history is one of the things that is up for debate. Luke as well as Acts were written to a man named Theophilus. One school of thought is that Luke was written somewhere after AD 70. Part of this comes because of Jesus’ quote in Luke about the destruction of the temple. Luke is a little more detailed than any of the other synoptic gospels and some conclude that Luke may have had knowledge of this. The more compelling reason for a later dating is the tightness of the manuscript. It reads as if some time has passed, some theology and tradition has been set forth and order for the early accounts of Christ's life have been accepted and ratified.

On the flip side of that, there are scholars that date Luke between AD 37 and AD 70 because there was a high priest in Israel between AD 37 and the early 40s named Theophilus. If this is true, Luke was written between four and eight years after the crucifixion of Jesus and would make it one of the earliest Christian manuscripts that we have. Either way, Luke was inspired by the Spirit of the living God and it was written to a Gentile audience in that it shows the gospel of Jesus is inclusive and not only a Jewish religion. It includes the whole world and welcomes all who call upon the name of the Lord into the family. So with that, we begin the book of Luke, chapter 1, verses 1 through 25.

Commentary

As we begin the book of Luke today, it's an interesting story, the story of the coming of John the Baptist and John's father, who was a priest named Zechariah, and Zechariah is to burn incense before the Lord in the temple, which he does. His group or his division is on duty to serve in the temple and this is an honor that he has received by lot and he takes the fire pans in before the Lord to burn the incense before the Lord when he encounters the angel.

The angel tells him he is going to have a son in his old age and that he will be a prophetic voice. Echoes of the promise to Abraham and Sarah and the prophesy or the words that the angel speaks to Zechariah is that this child will turn the hearts of the children back to their fathers and the hearts of the fathers back to the children. This is a prophesy found in the book of Malachi. In fact, for practicing Jewish people at the time of Zechariah, when this is happening, these are the last words of the Bible. So it's not like a priest like Zechariah doesn’t understand what is being said. It is what is being said is too big for him to comprehend. What is being said is that there is a new prophetic voice to pick up the story where it was left off four centuries before, echoes of the time the children of Israel spent in slavery in Egypt and a new freedom is coming to people who have enslaved themselves by rejecting God.

So it is a big deal what is being said here and all of this is not lost on Zechariah. He is a priest. He studies the Torah. He understands this. He knows the words of the prophets. His response is interesting. “How can I be sure this is going to happen?” is what he tells the angel, as if he has not been given signs enough. He is A: Standing in the presence of God burning incense when an angel appears to give him words about the future. And B: All of the things that would go into that, the fact that he is elderly and his wife is barren, the fact that the prophesy is so big that it is maybe too big for him to be involved with at all. Echoes of our own lives.

Very soon as we move forward in the gospel of Luke we will see that this same angel has another visit and this visit will be to a peasant girl up in the Galilee area named Miriam. We know her as Mary. And her response to the angel's overwhelming story about a child that she will have that will be the son of God, a bigger prophesy, a more encompassing comprehensive prophesy given to a peasant girl will be received radically different than a prophesy to a very educated and mature priest of the highest God. Let's watch the juxtaposition of their responses and look for our own hearts in them.

Prayer

Father, we invite you into that as we move forward. How is it that we respond when you speak? How is it that we react when you call? Is it always too big for us? Have we put a ceiling on what we can do or what we can be involved in in your service? Come Holy Spirit, we pray in the mighty name of Jesus. Amen.

Announcements

Www.DailyAudioBible.com is the website. It's home base. It's where you find out what is going on around here so be sure to check that out. The More Gathering for Women is coming up and we’ve been talking about it for a little while now, but registration will be closing fairly soon, so make sure that you know.

If you want to partner with the Daily Audio Bible, you can do that at www.DailyAudioBible.com. There is a link. It is on the home page. Thank you. Truly, thank you. If you’re using the Daily Audio Bible App, you can press the More button in the lower right-hand corner. If you prefer the mail, the mailing address is P.O. Box 1996, Spring Hill, TN 37174.

And, as always, if you have a prayer request or comment, (877) 942-4253 is the number to dial.

And that's it for today. I'm Brian. I love you and I’ll be waiting for you here tomorrow.

Community Prayer Requests and Praise Reports

Hey everybody. This is Pelham M. from Birmingham. I used to say from Cullman. Now it's Birmingham. It's been Birmingham for a while. You can tell I haven’t gotten a lot of sleep because I’ve got a 10-week-old at home that God blessed us with. I was calling because the Holy Spirit was tugging at me like he does. “Time to call.” “It's time to call.” Max, your call, if you’re out there, Max, that was what really pushed me to where it was time to call. Actually, it was [email protected]. I forgot your name, but it starts with an M, your call is what prompted me to call about his call. That is how the network happens. Man, the depression. I faced it. I faced it with substance abuse and it's because you’re a powerful soldier in God's army and there is something trying to take you out of the game. When you can see through that smoke and see through that noise and just connect with God, put your eyes on him. And if you feel like you can’t do that, just connect with someone that is connecting with God and you’re going to make it through this, man. There are people all over the world praying for you. Here I am at the pizza truck in Birmingham, AL thinking about you and what you’re going through and it was time for me to call anyway. Molly is doing great. The baby is doing great. The pizza truck is doing great. Life is different when you have a baby. It changes all the focus. Pretty exciting stuff. I think I'm about to run out of time. I just wanted to call and touch base. Blind Tony, where are you. Hadn’t heard from you. Have a great day everyone.

Hello. This is the Greatest Trucker from Way out West. I'm coming to my Daily Audio Bible family with a prayer request that is more for my brother-in-law Steve J. He is back there in Missouri and he has pneumonia. He's suffering with it pretty bad. He's in the ICU. My sister texted me that he had to have a CT scan that showed blood clots in his lungs and pneumonia. They started him on blood thinners and he's getting breathing treatments and he's very weak. He’ll get real food today and more antibiotics and one __________ of oxygen before he goes home and he might have to be on it for a while, so would like for this family to pray for Steve J. back there in Missouri, as they call it Missoura back there. The __________ prayers of this family are extremely powerful. We’ve seen that many, many times. I love you all and I pray for your prayer requests and I'm asking you to pray for this one for me today. In Jesus’ precious name, for the healing of Steve J. in Missouri. Thank you.

Hi DAB family. This is Janine from Virginia. I just want to thank you, Brian and Jill, for the lifechanging ministry of DAB. I don’t even want to think about a day without listening to Brian share God's word. His commentary, insight into that day's scripture reading is just amazing. It gives me so much to ponder and pray about. DAB family, my heart…I just love you all so much. I have so many thanks to give. Thank you Jeanie F., my sister who is such a treasure, who never gives up on me. So many people to thank for your prayers for me, for my brother and my mother. A shout-out to my sister Jeanie F. from Chatham, VA, for her steadfast friendship, prayers and encouragement. Just can’t thank you enough, Jeanie. Thank you Abbie from Washington State, and Katheryn from Maryland for your prayer. It touched my heart so much. Thank you for your kindness and love. And Mason, thank you for your prayer for me. DAB is Jesus with skin on. Your example of being a godly man is priceless to me. Christine from Northern Virginia, your words profoundly touched me. Thank you, dear, for reaching out with truth from God's word. I will be in touch with you. Pastor Gene, I glean so much from your messages. Blind Tony, thank you for your poetry. It is always wonderful. Thank you, brother. Lisa the Encourager, I appreciate your words, your encouragement is always encouraging. And Candace from Oregon, beautiful songs. Keep sharing.

Good morning Daily Audio Bible family. This is Debbie in Des Moines, driving on my way to work. I got car noise here. It's been really strong in my heart to share how God sustained me years ago during a really difficult time, so here it goes. My husband left me with four children. The place I was living in with my daughter was burnt down to the ground. I lost my dog during that same month that all of this happened. They got rid of my position. But wouldn’t you know…and I didn’t have renter's insurance because when you're poor you don’t think of renter's insurance. Wouldn’t you know that the person who came from Red Cross was from my church. Not only that, she also oversaw low income housing, so we immediately, we never had to go to a shelter or anything. She immediately took us and put us into housing. I’ve never been on government assistance before and I had to do that. So I went in and wouldn’t you know the case worker was a lady from my church that I had never met before. Don’t worry about your finances. Don’t worry when you feel the enemy has taken everything from you because it is a cleansing. Think of it as a cleansing. There is nothing that we need on earth. God sustains us through everything. So don’t worry about finances. Don’t worry about what you're going to eat, where you're going to live. Worry about nothing. God will sustain you. He sustained me in miraculous ways and continues to do so. So please, don’t worry. God loves you and he shows that every day. Bye guys.

Hi DAB family. This is Michelle, military wife from Virginia. I’ve called over the last couple of years, but I haven’t called in in a long time and I just want to tell you how inspiring it is to hear the praise reports and the prayer requests coming in. I called in a few years ago regarding our son who has Asperger's and he has dealt with legal issues and also just tremendous amount of demonic oppression and we have been standing in the gap for him for years for total deliverance. I had asked that you guys please cover our son. He’s had some breakthrough and it still continues to be a fight for his life. Any prayers that our beautiful Lord and Savior gives, the Heavenly Father through the power of the Spirit are greatly appreciated. Love you guys so much. Thank you for everything. Alright, have a great day, DAB family. Bye.

Hi. I just wanted to thank Stephanie from North Carolina for calling in. I don’t usually listen to the prayer requests. I usually just listen to the Bible reading. I haven’t really related to a lot of Christians mostly because I feel like the weird one. I see things sometimes when I pray. I feel like God shows me things and most of the people that I have been around have rejected that and kind of think that is not from God. I believed, you know, praying in tongues and that's not been popular either, but I have just stepped away from church and kind of been on my own little island searching for God and I felt really alone because I feel like God shows me things. I couldn’t get to my phone fast enough to turn it off when it got to the prayer requests and when I heard Stephanie's call come in, it made me realize I'm not so alone after all. So Stephanie, thank you for calling in. I know you said it was hard for you to call in and as hard as that was, it is just as hard for me to call in because I don’t like things like this either, but I just wanted to call and say thank you. Bless you. Bye-bye.

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dfroza · 8 years

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A neat Love story that arrived in my gmailbox this morning.

Unlikely Love Story: Faith Can Change Everything

The Right Thing Rory Feek, This Life I Live

Editor’s Note: Country singer Rory Feek won a Grammy on Sunday for “Hymns That Are Important to Us,” the gospel album he recorded with his late wife, Joey, before she lost her battle with cancer at age 40 - almost one year ago. “She sang her vocals in hotel rooms while she did chemo and radiation…” Rory Feek remarked during the non-televised portion of the Grammys. “And we sat together in the final days and watched this award ceremony last year — and she said, ‘If we get nominated, promise me you will come.’ And I said, ‘I will.‘” Joey’s response, according to Rory: “If we win, I’ll know before you will.”

This week, Rory opens up about their inspiring relationship and his faith in God in his new memoir, This Life I Live: One Man’s Extraordinary, Ordinary Life and the Woman Who Changed It Forever. He also celebrated yesterday the birthday of their three-year-old daughter, Indiana, who has Down syndrome. We’re delighted to present to you this exclusive excerpt from This Life I Live, a moving story about faith, redemption, love, and joy. * * *

I asked for God to give me a sign… He gave me a building-sized billboard.

Joey and I kept in touch and would talk to and see each other now and then, but it was clear that she was headed in one direction and I was headed in the other. And just as she had told me: if the timing had been different, things might’ve worked out for us.

I was okay with that. I really was. I didn’t expect anything, especially anything good. It was too good to be true, and that made it easy for me to dismiss. If something like this happened (or almost happened) in years past, I would’ve been stressing over it. Working every angle to try to make it happen. But that’s not where I was. God had me somewhere different. I had been putting my future in His hands and was feeling good about leaving it there. I have a feeling that’s part of why it came to be in the end… because I was okay with it, even if it didn’t.

Maybe that’s how God’s logic works. You have to be okay with not having something to be given it. I think about that often: God’s logic. Things like… he who is least is greatest. Whoever is last is first. Give it away if you want to keep it. Die to really live. It doesn’t really make sense on paper, but it works. And that’s all that matters.

I got a call from Joey on Valentine’s Day. It was late morning, and she said that she had broken up with the doctor. That he was supposed to come down that weekend but was too busy with work. She had given him three chances, and this had been his third and final chance. They were over. She said if I wanted to spend time with her, she was available and would like that. The vet clinic she worked for was having a little Valentine’s get-together that evening, and she wanted to know if I’d like to come with her. As her date.

I didn’t really have to think about it. I knew the answer.

I hung up the phone and called the girl I was dating and told her it was over. We just didn’t work out. I know that probably hurt her, but we had been dating only a short while. God had just moved a mountain, right in front of me. And I was going to see what was on the other side.

I spent the evening with Joey, her coworkers, and the doctors she worked for. They were all wonderful. I could see that they loved her. Joey was a hard worker and incredibly devoted to her job. To anything she committed to. But I also learned that when she turned a corner and was finished with something, such as her ex-boyfriend, she never looked back. I filed that away. This is a woman who means business. She won’t break up with me and later want to get back together, letting drama run her life and mine for months on end as it had in the last couple of relationships I’d had. For Joey, commitment was a one-time thing. I could tell with her, things were gonna be different.

The truth is, Joey wasn’t what I was looking for. I’m ashamed to say that, but it’s true. I had always dated voluptuous women, and Joey was tall and thin. With the girls I dated I had always felt a physical chemistry first (part of the reason why I made bad choices), and then I looked to see how compatible we were afterward. With Joey, I wasn’t really feeling the chemistry. It was more about the strange magic and the circumstances surrounding her that enamored me. And I knew that if this were to turn into a forever thing, forever is a long time to go without chemistry and deep attraction for someone.

I asked my sister Candy about it and told her my dilemma. She had been following our progress since the first time I’d called her after our truck-stop meeting, and she was excited to see this next step that Joey and I were taking.

She asked me, “What if what you really need is something that you don’t know you need?” She continued, “What if what’s on the other side of this is the greatest love and chemistry you’ve ever felt… even though you might not feel it right now?”

I responded, “But what if it isn’t?” Something inside of me was telling me that Joey was the one, but I still wasn’t completely sure. I needed a sign. I wanted one. So I prayed that God would send me a sign. That He would show me, clearly, that she was the one for me.

I was playing another show at the Bluebird Cafe, and Joey was there with me and Candy. Joey’s mother was in town visiting her and was there also. Near the end of the show, Joey got up and sang “Nothing to Remember” with me. Afterward, she and her mom invited us to come to Joey’s apartment for coffee and some dessert. As we sat in her apartment, we started talking about our childhoods, about how we’d gotten interested in music. Joey said that her mom and dad sang while she was growing up and that her dad played guitar. I said, “My dad played guitar when I was growing up.”

She said they used to sing songs that she didn’t know… songs from long ago that her parents grew up on. I said, “My dad sang songs that I never heard on the radio, songs from long ago too.” Then I asked Joey, “Like, what kinda songs?” And she picked up the guitar sitting by her chair and played the chorus of “Have I Told You Lately That I Love You.”

My sister started crying. She got up out of the rocking chair where she was sitting and ran to the bathroom. Chills were rolling down my back. Joey stopped singing and said, “What’s wrong?” She had no idea what she had just done. But Candy knew, and so did I.

My father only knew about ten songs that he played and sang on guitar. He probably knew more, but there were only about ten that he sang most of our childhood. The one we heard the most was Jim Reeves’s “Have I Told You Lately That I Love You.” Recorded originally in the 1950s, Dad sang it our whole lives. And when my father died in 1988, it was the only song played at his funeral. That’s why Candy was crying.

I never questioned if Joey was the one for me again. Ever. I just trusted that God had brought her into my life for a reason, and He would show me how and why and everything else I needed to know when the time came.

Within a few weeks Joey and I were talking about marriage. I don’t know why; we just did. We barely knew each other, but we knew we were made for each other and that was enough. Joey wanted to be married. She always had. I would learn that marriage was part of what would make her world complete. And as well as her music or life was going, she wouldn’t be fulfilled until she was a wife with a husband to love and take care of.

I knew this relationship was different, and to protect it, I wanted to do things differently. Be different. Joey did too. I had a past. A long list of sins and habits that still wanted to be part of my life. Joey had a very short list. She wasn’t perfect. She’d made some mistakes. Had a few regrets, but nothing compared to mine.

We committed to doing the right thing. To waiting until we were married before we would consummate our relationship. By then, I was almost thirty-seven, and Joey was twenty-six. I had lived a lot of life, and that physical intimacy had been a big part of relationships, and my life, for a long time. I even had two kids. To try to be with someone without “being with” someone wasn’t gonna be easy. But I also knew that’s how God said it was supposed to be. And it was something I’d never tried before.

Maybe it would make a difference. If we honored Him, maybe He would honor our relationship.

Excerpted with permission from This Life I Live by Rory Feek, copyright Rory Feek. Published by Thomas Nelson.

Rory Feek author photo credit: Bryan Allen.

Congratulations to Joey + Rory on the Grammy

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