#punchbowl falls
Explore tagged Tumblr posts
lemeoli · 3 months ago
Text
Tumblr media
8 notes · View notes
jeanhm · 10 months ago
Text
Arthurs Pass
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
2 notes · View notes
oddestishottest · 1 year ago
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
7/24/2010
1 note · View note
garyquayphotography · 2 years ago
Text
New page on my website for the Places of Doom project!
1 note · View note
klingyklaus · 2 months ago
Text
Dean runs a bed and breakfast that his mom and dad owned. His little brother Sammy came into his custody after his mom was killed and his dad went off the rails about it. Sam is 15 and all long limbs, angry at the world and moody. Dean is 32 and he never understood why his parents had a kid at their big age but now he has had to move home and take custody of a child.
Dean is back in the state his parents moved to after they left Kansas when he was just starting high school. Where everyone knows him and everyone knows Sam but he barely knows Sam bc he’s been away about as long as the kid has been alive, traveling the US doing security for various musical artists.
All the women he used to hook up with are married and all the dudes are also married (to women). He’s not above homewrecking but maybe not in the place he now has to live and work.
And Sam… oh Sam is dangerous. They live in a coastal town where everyone knows everyone but also plenty of tourists come through, wanting to see the Oregon coast and the Devil’s Punchbowl. Sammy, with his perpetually scraped knees and cherry bitten-red lips, was constantly attracting the attention of the college guys that came around with their friends in the summer.
Sam gets a college bf one summer. His name is Gabriel and he’s got a brother named Castiel who looks at Sam like he’s sticky, saltwater taffy and the boy wants to get Dean’s baby brother between his teeth and pull. Dean has been battling strange feelings all year, but especially that summer. Going through women in all of the surrounding towns like a boat cutting through water. He can’t admit what he knows deep down, he needs to keep himself distracted. Remind himself how good it is with women. Adult women.
But one night he comes home to Sam being spitroasted by the two brothers and everything… changes. Suddenly there’s a tension in the air and Dean has to admit that what’s growing inside him is an ugly, green monster. Sam knows, Sam wants. And until Dean gives it to him, he will not let his big brother know a moment’s peace.
Dean can’t get away from Sam and his boyfriends fuckbuddies all around town, in positions and situations that make him see red.
Anyways, eventually Dean falls at the alter of his pretty baby brother and wham bam thank you ma’am they live happily little-brother-boy-wife and big-brother-husband ever after.
95 notes · View notes
forestduck · 5 months ago
Text
Tumblr media
Eagle Creek Gorge, Punchbowl Falls, Oregon Andrew Kumler Photography
42 notes · View notes
mariacallous · 3 months ago
Text
U.S. House Speaker Mike Johnson said on Oct. 11 that he no longer has "an appetite for further Ukraine funding" and hopes that a November electoral victory for former U.S. President Donald Trump will bring a swift end to the war.
Johnson, a Republican and staunch Trump supporter, has served as Speaker of the U.S. House of Representatives since October 2023. He helped delay aid to Kyiv last fall by refusing to hold a vote on various iterations of a $61 billion foreign assistance bill, but eventually reached a deal to pass the bill.
"I don't have an appetite for further Ukraine funding, and I hope it's not necessary," Johnson said on Oct. 11 in an interview with Punchbowl News.
"If President Trump wins, I believe that he actually can bring that conflict to a close. I really do. I think he'll call (Russian President Vladimir) Putin and tell him that this is enough."
The U.S. presidential election, now less than a month away, holds high stakes for Ukraine. The candidates have diverged sharply on their stances toward ongoing support for Kyiv.
Trump has repeatedly claimed that he will end the full-scale war within 24 hours after being elected and has criticized Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelensky for failing to "make a deal" with Russia. He has also vowed to get the U.S. "out" of the conflict if he wins in November.
Vice President Kamala Harris has accused Trump of advocating a Ukrainian surrender and has said she would refuse to engage in any peace negotiations with Russia without Ukraine's participation.
Johnson's remarks lend fuel to fears that a Trump victory would signal an end to U.S. military aid for Ukraine. In the interview, he suggested that the international community is also tired of continuing to support Ukraine's defense and that a Harris presidency would lead to an endless war.
"And I think everybody around the world is weary of this, and they want it to be resolved," he said.
"So whatever the terms are, I'm not sure, but I think if Kamala Harris is president, I don't think it ends, and that's a desperate and dangerous scenario."
11 notes · View notes
sionisjaune · 7 months ago
Note
Do u remember when u posted that highschool sebcedes snippet on here? Just letting u know I think about it literally every day and would cry if u ever wrote more of that….. or just more toxic girl fic in general. U r a genius
I believe this is what you’re talking about. I actually have a bit more in my gdocs although it is very much a wip. House party snippet for you:
Jenson is holding court in the kitchen, presiding over a murky punchbowl and cackling with her friends. She does swim and track, and she’s kind of a legend at school. People say things about her that Seb thinks they probably wouldn’t say if she didn’t have short, spiky hair like a boy, but no one likes her any less.
“Sebby!” Jenson shouts, cracking a huge, sparkling grin. Seb ducks into the kitchen and accepts a noogie. Mark and DC are in the kitchen playing host too, even though DC graduated last year. Seb smooths down her hair afterwards and presses her palms self-consciously to the hem of her skirt.
Jenson stirs the contents of the punchbowl with a theatrical flourish. A clump of drowned gummy bears float to the surface. “What’ll it be? Fancy a cup of my signature cocktail? DC got the recipe from Michael, way back when.”
“Sure,” says Seb. Jenson ladles her a cupfull with much enthusiasm and hands it over. Seb gives the drink a skeptical sniff.
“Come on. Drink up, Seb,” Mark says, clutching a sweating beer.
Seb swishes the drink around. She didn’t get any gummy bears. “I don’t see you having any,” she tells Mark. Sometimes Mark, Jenson and DC still treat her like someone’s little sister, probably because they’re old enough that they really knew Michael. “Cheers,” she says, and goes in for a brave swallow anyway. DC thumps her on the back.
Seb finishes her drink while Jenson, Mark and DC shoot the shit over the punchbowl, and eventually Nico swans inside the kitchen carrying a case of beer. Seb gets to see the way Jenson’s eyes light up with mischief as soon as she sees Nico.
She sticks her fingers in her mouth and wolf-whistles. “Looking good, Britney.”
“Britney?” Seb whispers to Mark.
He whispers back. “JB thinks it’s funny. It’s not that funny.” Seb snorts.
Nico’s face falls into an exasperated frown. She tosses her long hair over her shoulder and shoves the case of beer towards Jenson. “Now we’re even,” she says.
Jenson accepts the case and tucks it under her arm to put away somewhere. “Can I crack one open for you?” She winks salaciously.
Nico rolls her eyes. Mark makes an amused sound behind Seb. “You’re a slag, Jenson Button,” says Nico, with much panache.
Jenson laughs, loud and sparkly. Seb suddenly wishes she had a glitzy laugh like Jenson’s.
“And you’re no fun,” says Jenson. “Take your girl and get out of my kitchen.”
It takes Seb a moment to realize that she’s Nico’s girl, and, by that time, Nico is already rolling her eyes and dragging Seb out of the kitchen by her elbow. Mark has a vaguely amused look on his face again.
Nico drags Seb all the way through the house and out the sliding doors that open onto the patio. The backyard is strung up with lantern lights, and the party sprawls all the way towards the end of the lawn. The table on the patio boasts a stack of plastic cups and a half-dozen bowls half-filled with snacks.
“Hey, I knew them,” Seb protests when Nico drops her arm.
“No, Michael knew them,” Nico corrects. She separates a strand of hair idly and tugs on it, like Seb is particularly annoying. “It’s kind of pathetic to ride her coattails like that. I don’t know. That’s just what I think.”
Seb bites her lip. Her eyes aren’t stinging. They aren’t.
“Whatever,” says Nico. “Just stick with Lewis or something. We can drive you back if you want, but I’m not leaving until two. God.” She tugs on her hair again. “This is really lame so far.”
14 notes · View notes
bunnys-beetlejuice-blog · 3 months ago
Note
17, 18, and 24?
17. What trope is your favorite to write? i just love the trop devil in disguise. what if there was an inhuman creature who wanted what humans have so bad that he was willing to disguise himself and change himself and dampen all the wild scary parts of himself as much as he could for a chance for someone to say his name? delicious. i could read/write that shit over and over. and have. i also like a form you are comfortable with. what if all that shit i already said plus he's squeezing himself down into a human suit? hilarious. 18. What trope have you not written yet, but want to? if i ever actually manage to finish writing 80's au you guys are getting a prom night, and all the drama that goes with that. there will be fist fights and someone's head in the punchbowl and slow dances and all those fun prom type tropes that are so goofy and romantic 24. Which fic do you think is your funniest? The Office au, for sure. I mean it's based on a tv comedy and i thought it would be a good creative exercise to try and write something funny. im the kind of friend irl who likes to think theyre the Funny One so i was kind of worried no one would laugh at anything i wrote and then my entire identity would fall apart. thankfully at least 2 people have told me they laughed out loud while reading so my ego is safe, for now...
6 notes · View notes
mountrainiernps · 2 years ago
Text
Tumblr media
Landscape Language
Punchbowl (adj) – a type of waterfall with a narrow stream channeled into a plunge pool
Also known as “plunge” waterfalls, a punchbowl waterfall drops into a pool shaped like a punchbowl. At Mount Rainier, an impressive two-tiered example of this is Ohanapecosh Falls, which drops nearly 70 feet in total. This waterfall can be viewed during the summer by following the Eastside Trail north of the Grove of the Patriarchs. Have you visited this waterfall in the past or have examples of other punchbowl waterfalls found in the park?
NPS/C. Roundtree Photo of Ohanapecosh Falls, 2012. ~kl
88 notes · View notes
stastrodome · 10 months ago
Text
Fun Facts. 100% verified.
Dunkin Donuts purchased the rights to the song Me and Bobby McGee to advertise their fall flavors and came up with the theme Good enough for Dunkin / and Bobby McPumpkin.
Michael Jordan once bet four and a half million dollars on what he thought would be the opening song at a 1992 Mandy Moore concert.
Known to the press as "The Iron Lady", Margaret Thatcher was known to her friends as "Punchbowl Peggy".
George Eliot planned on writing a sequel called The Tobacconist on the Tay.
A Swiss delegate to the United Nations once asked the General Assembly "after all we did for chocolate and cheese, why did you stick us with Swiss chard?"
Tumblr media
11 notes · View notes
oilan · 1 year ago
Text
Fic Meme
Tagged by @robertawickham ages ago.
Rules: Pick any ten of your fics, scroll roughly to the midpoint, pick a line (or three) and share it. Then tag ten people.
Worthwhile Endeavors (my new year's resolution is to finish this)
On Enjolras' left, Bahorel was regaling Courfeyrac with a story that had taken place several evenings before involving, apparently, a very pretty young woman who Bahorel had allowed to woo him back to her rooms. Across the table, Laigle cut into a conversation involving mesmerism to tease a blushing Prouvaire about a mademoiselle who had lately caught his eye. Grantaire, having reappeared at last, loudly interjected with ribald comments now and then. And Enjolras, looking around at the friends he so admired, felt strongly aware of the great gulf between all of them and himself.
2. La Saint-Sylvestre
Grinning triumphantly, Grantaire was poised to empty the remaining brandy into the punchbowl, but was interrupted by a portly young man standing nearby. “Pardon, you three. Someone has already-" “Pardon?” said Grantaire, rounding on him. “This fellow does not know true heroics when he sees it! Pardon, but do you wish to be the cause of this party’s demise? If not, do not stand in the way of its triumph!”
3. Les Âmes
The group turned to see Bahorel sitting side by side with Jean Prouvaire atop the ruin of the barricade. Bahorel was beaming at them. “It took you all long enough, but here you are! We have been waiting for you. Really, Enjolras, I can’t believe you had the audacity to fling my body into the Rue Mondetour like all the others! Do I not deserve a place of honor? You should have propped me up on the barricade here, carbine in hand. It might have given the national guard quite a fright!”
4. Expectations (Now I know exactly how Lucille feels here...)
In the center of the chaos, Lucille was sitting on a sofa, her hair disheveled and falling from where she had hastily pinned it, her dressing gown hanging off one shoulder as she tried unsuccessfully to nurse her new daughter. Enjolras averted his eyes, but Combeferre was moved with sympathy as he watched the baby struggle to push away from her, screaming all the while.
5. Tomorrow We Move Forward
With a muffled thunk two objects, carefully hidden inside of the hat, tipped over and fell against the bottom of the box. They were a pair of pistols, percussion cap, the metal mechanisms shining in the waning light. Attempting to ignore the hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach, Combeferre took one of the pistols in his hands and turned it over, examining the weapon carefully. It was brand new and superbly crafted.
6. La Beauté du Diable de l'Ésprit
“Ah, you made it! Jehan, let the fellow in, for God’s sake- you can gawp at each other later.” He clapped Courfeyrac on the shoulder. “I’m pleased to see you made it here. Courfeyrac, this is Jean Prouvaire- our host. Jehan, I found Courfeyrac at the Sorbonne today. A baby lawyer- fresh from his parents’ nest.”
7. A Regrettable Encounter
Combeferre did not reply, and merely continued to stare hard at his two friends, as if silently willing them to leave. His companion, who was only slightly less inebriated, looked uncomfortably from them to Combeferre and back again. “You know each other? Well, of course you many join us. The more the merrier after all—" and Combeferre looked even unhappier at that.
8. Step By Step
“Nevermind them. Do you know a song in triple time you might sing?” There was a sardonic glint in Combeferre’s eye. “Ranz des Vaches.” Enjolras gave a surprised laugh. “I- I suppose that might work.” “I’m not going to sing you any song involving cows.” Combeferre wrapped an arm around Enjolras’ waist and took his other hand, positioning himself for a second attempt. “I should hope you would give me more credit for romance than that.”
9. Despite All Rationality
Something clenched in Enjolras’ chest, but he chose not to respond, setting some bread and cheese on the nightstand instead. “You might eat something as well.” “Fine.” Combeferre looked as though he did not know whether to be dejected or vexed. “If you don’t want to hear about Dupuytren you- you could still just sit with me for a bit. We haven’t said a word to each other since-“
10. The Process of Healing
The pair spent the remainder of the day in the sitting room, ensconced in armchairs, Enjolras reading and Combeferre attempting to doze when he was not busy coughing or shivering with fever. He was too ill to even look much at the portrait above the fireplace, and more than once, he caught Enjolras’ drawn expression turned towards him. At this, he attempted to hide his discomfort, pretending he was not both chilled and hot, that every movement did not pain him.
Tagging @adamsvanrhijn @marschallin @oldbookist @baronmpontmercy @astarion-dekarios
7 notes · View notes
tinylilemrys · 2 years ago
Text
Tumblr media
Lonely In London
Relationship:
Trent Crimm/Ted Lasso
Additional Tags:
Angst and Romance | Romcommunism | Friends to Lovers | Romantic Comedy | Alternate Universe – Canon Divergence
Rating:
Teen And Up Audiences
Summary:
Henry, worried about how lonely his dad seems to be in London, writes into an advice podcast for some help. A podcast run by an ex-colleague of Trent's – one that he listens to religiously. If Trent falls a little for 'Lonely In London' because he reminds him of Ted, well that's just coincidence. An homage to romcommunism, largely based on 'Sleepless In Seattle' with a few others thrown in for good measure.
Previous Chapter | Final Chapter
CHAPTER 4
Trent is in a car park in front of Heathrow.
He's trying very hard not to think about the fact that he anonymously told the man who he's absolutely gone for that he'll be waiting for him here in just under four months. It's a dizzying thought.
Right now, he's just waiting for Ted who's making sure Henry safely boards his flight back to Kansas.
He probably shouldn't have offered but he knows firsthand how shitty handovers are and Ted was just going to take an Uber otherwise. Better to save him the money and the bother, offer him the lift, comfort him about Henry, and maybe even come to some sort of understanding about where they're at. The month since the kiss has been fraught with tension and it's getting to the point where the team and staff are noticing. They need to get on some kind of page about it at the very least.
A text from Ted breaks his gloomy train of thought.
Henry's through check-in. It's still a while before he flies and I have to stay here until he's airborne. Let's do lunch? Or at least a drink. Don't think my nerves could take a meal right now.
Trent doesn't need telling twice.
It doesn't take him long to spot Ted. He thinks at this point he'd be able to immediately spot him in the densest of crowds, like the world's easiest and most specific Where's Wally. He smiles privately at how if Ted could hear his thoughts, he would insist on only being compared to Where's Waldo.
He's immensely glad that telepathy is beyond Ted's many talents.
"Well as I live and breathe, if it isn't Trent Crimm, future bestseller." Ted's smile is as wide as ever, but it doesn't crinkle the corners of his eyes the way it usually does. He's heartbroken, as Trent fully expected.
"How are you holding up, Ted?" he asks and Ted's smile settles into something far more tired, heartbroken, and real.
"Ah, well, you know," says Ted, his eyes looking rather misty, "it never gets easier."
His thumb is worrying over a keyring – a little LEGO minifigure that Trent suspects might be made to look like Ted. Likely a gift from Henry. Trent wants to throw his arms around him. To just hold him until it hurts a bit less.
He knows he can't. Not after July.
"Shall we get this drink you threatened me with?" says Trent gently and Ted nods, taking a deep breath.
After they're settled at a booth in a chain coffee shop with their respective hot drinks – Ted with an extremely apt Americano, Trent with an equally on-the-nose Earl Grey tea – Trent finds himself clearing his throat.
"So, do you want to talk about how you're feeling about Henry flying back?" he braves. "Or would you prefer anything else?"
"Anything else," says Ted. "Please, anything else. At least for a while."
"Great," says Trent, clenching a serviette for emotional support. "Perhaps then I could apologise for what happened at the Christmas party?"
"Oh, uh, sure?" says Ted, taken aback. "I didn't think we were actually ever going to talk about that again."
"We don't need to after today," says Trent.
Unless you want to, he doesn't add.
"It shouldn't have happened," he continues. "I think I must have accidentally been drinking from Dani's 'cheekied' punchbowl instead of the polite one. In any case, I forgot myself and I fear I've made things awkward between us."
Ted seems to be working through conflicting emotions. The lines between his brows deepen for a moment. His moustache twitches. He stares down at his coffee like it holds his response, then looks up at Trent.
"Not a worry, Bill Murray," says Ted, his face fixing itself into that same sad smile from earlier. "That night was pretty crazy, huh? Lot of emotions running wild. You don't have to apologise for anything. It was me too. I was like a helium balloon out of the hands of a careless child – just caught up in the atmosphere."
It might just be Ted trying to match Trent's lie, but it doesn’t mean it stings any less. Trent takes a sip of too-hot tea to cover his gloom and instead suddenly has to pretend that he hasn't just scalded his mouth.
"But, Trent, I will say this," says Ted in the most serious tone he's ever had directed at him, as Trent tries to play off the way he definitely just took off a layer of skin from his tongue. "I really like talking to you. As much as I think you like talking to me. I would hate for this to be something that gets in the way of that. Think we can at least promise to try our hand at being friends?"
"I think we could manage that," says Trent. He's almost able to ignore the agony he's in at the earnestness in Ted's voice. "After all, you know how I love our chats."
Ted smiles another real smile at that.
"Good, that's settled then." He lifts his drink. "To friendship moving forward."
"To friendship moving forward," Trent agrees, clinking his paper cup against Ted's, tears now forming in his eyes at the pain.
"Now, one friend to another, did you burn your mouth on that cup of Satan's swill just then?" asks Ted, to his credit, looking like he's trying his level best not to laugh. Trent can only nod. "Yeah, thought so. I'll go get you some ice."
It's still one of the better coffees he's ever gotten with someone.
Trent's mouth heals, as do things between Ted and him. Richmond has had an eventful start to the season with the arrival of Zava who even Trent finds himself moderately starstruck by. There's no denying the man is a football god and as a lifelong Richmond supporter, he can't help but be pleased with the string of victories that come with his place on the team. He does, however, note the way that Jamie seems to withdraw into himself and wonders that Ted hasn't seemed to notice. He thinks Roy does, though. Trent has realised that not much Jamie-related gets past Roy.
Ted's head seems to be elsewhere.
He considers it a moment of immense growth in his commitment to friendship with Ted when, at the opening of Sam's restaurant, Ted leaves with Rebecca's friend and he only stews on it for half an hour.
Sassy? Really? The woman Trent berated for making a mistake in turning Ted down is called Sassy?
Deciding jealousy isn't a good look on him, he decides to go home, and has all thoughts of Ted's romantic exploits pushed from his mind by the sight of Colin kissing someone outside of Sam's restaurant. Not just someone, though. A man.
Now there's a scoop. A scoop Trent would never share, not even in his days as a journalist. Hell, if the fucking Wonder Kid hadn't lost him his job, this would be the next thing that would. He would never out anyone. It was a hard line he'd drawn himself early in his career. After what he saw happen to Justin Fashanu growing up, he simply wouldn't do it. He wouldn't be part of that. 
The idea of that happening to someone from Richmond, this group of people he's come to think of as family, is unthinkable. He hopes and prays he gets a chance to talk to Colin before something happens and the secret gets out. Colin wasn't exactly subtle with his choice of makeout spot.
He thanks the gay gods of football when he gets his chance in Amsterdam.
At first, there's part of him that really wants to find out what Ted's plans are for the evening. It's Museumnacht, of all nights, and all he wants to do is stay out late exploring every single one with Ted, who he imagines would be a great companion on a museum trip. Sure, he'd likely make a joke about every single painting, but Trent knows he would be genuinely curious about them too.
It really would be too much like a date, however, and so he resigns himself to the fact that the right thing to do is to spend the night seeing what the rest of the team gets up to. He watches, with amusement, the heated debate about what the plan for the evening should be. He even tries to unsuccessfully sell them on the idea of Museumnacht. But so far it seems like they're not going to make it much farther than the lobby of the hotel. It's only when Colin slips away from the rest of the pack that Trent realises what his evening in Amsterdam will be.
There's only one reason he could imagine Colin, usually in the thick of things, would want to separate himself from the pack. He's going somewhere he can be himself. And Trent knows that this is his chance to speak to and encourage him.
He realises, unfortunately too late, that following him to the club might not have been the best option. Colin looks genuinely terrified at seeing him there and Trent can't blame him. He doubts he could ever fully understand the level of paranoia Colin's daily life entails.
When he finally manages to calm the kid down enough to get him to sit down and talk over a couple of beers, the last thing he's expecting is for the conversation to be exactly what he needs to hear too. But Colin turns out to have quite the way with words.
"All I want," Colin explains, eyes filled with longing and wistfulness, "is for when we win a match, to be able to kiss my fella the same way the guys get to kiss their girls."
Trent smiles at that, thinking about a particular fella that he'd like to kiss after a big Richmond win.
"And I know we can't fix every ache inside of us," Colin continues. "But I shouldn't have to pretend it's not there either."
This, more than anything, shakes Trent to his core. His longing for Ted is an ache. One that he doesn't know if it's possible to fix, but he's given himself one Hail Mary in the form of a prearranged grand romantic gesture and by god if this kid hasn't just given him the courage to just go for it.
He could never regret this conversation with Colin, but after a somewhat failed attempt at sharing an historical titbit about Anne Frank, he can't help but wonder what a night in Amsterdam with Ted might have been like after all.
Some of the confidence regarding his new resolve to do the big ill-advised romantic gesture wanes a bit in the week after Amsterdam. Ted is so busy trying to find a team strategy that will work, that Trent is sure the last thing on his mind is his love life.
But then Trent sees it. In their match against Arsenal, he can see the pieces connecting. The team are doing it. They're doing total football. A week ago, they weren't doing anything close to it, but this week, here, at this match, they're doing it. They trust Ted that much that they were willing to try it. And not only try it – actually do it with their whole hearts.
It's the Lasso Effect at its full power. And they're going to fucking win the Premier League. He knows it now.
He has to tell Ted after the match. He can't contain his excitement. Ted's going to do it. He's going to fucking do it. And not because he's an amazing football manager. Not because he's a tactical genius.
No, it's because he's Ted Lasso, and he genuinely cares about what he's doing and the people who are doing it with him.
Christmas Eve, now only a week away, cannot come quickly enough.
***
Ted spends all of August trying to fend off questions about whether or not he's going to meet Isolated in Islington. But he wouldn't trade it for the world, because every time is a reminder that Henry is right there, at arm's reach. With him.
Ted's heart is heavy.
The handover at the end of the summer is the hardest one yet. But it's also somehow one of the better ones because of Trent.
He was nervous when Trent offered them a ride to the airport, but Henry was so excited about the idea and Ted was so worried about being alone afterwards that he agreed. And he's glad he did because it ends up being a great time, all things considered. In any case they manage to patch up things between them, and for Ted, that's monumental. He's willing to pretend that what happened between them was a mistake, as much as it hurts, if it means holding onto Trent as a friend.
Zava turns out to be both as impressive as advertised and a huge disappointment in the long run. It's wonderful to have a winning streak to their name – he knows after the disappointment of the Chelsea game, it's a relief for Rebecca. He can, unfortunately, see that it's getting to Jamie, but there's not much he can do about it. As far as team strategy goes, they've got a good thing going, and he can't shake it up for one player. Not without having to field interrogation from all sides including his fellow coaches, the press, Rebecca, and even Trent.
But then, he starts noticing the rest of his team slipping further and further back. He sees how their victories start paling next to their feeling of boredom out on the pitch. By the time they reach the West Ham game, his team is in dire straits, but Ted can't bring himself to focus enough to deal with it, because at the same time, he's accidentally spoken to Dr Jacob for the first time since his last marriage counselling session.
The West Ham match is a blur to Ted. Only three things stick out in his memory of it:
One, the generally sick feeling that came over him every time he thought about how Dr Jacob used to give him marriage advice, only to swoop in the minute his marriage was over.
Two, the anger he felt at Roy and Beard showing the team the footage of Nate tearing up the sign that's come to mean so much to them. It was the last thing the team needed and it made them play the worst match Ted's ever seen them play.
Three, the feeling of helplessness he felt, both at the way his team was playing, and at the way that this awful, unethical psychologist was now around his son far more than he was. That he was the one giving his son rides to soccer practice and helping him with his math homework.
His call with Michelle after the match offers some catharsis, but is ultimately not that helpful. He's exhausted, drawn, and all he wants to do is go to bed. Just as he's about to, however, he gets a call from Trent.
"Hey, Trent," he says, not really in the mood for any of his usual affectations.
"Hi, Ted," says Trent. "I've just managed to get Squish to bed, so I thought I would call and see how you're doing after the match today. We were watching. It looked brutal."
"Yeah, well, they saw your footage," says Ted, a little more biting than he means to be.
"Oh," says Trent. "Yes, I was wondering why they looked like they were out for blood. That explains it."
"Yeah," says Ted, voice still strained with the effort of not completely losing it. He's so angry and hurt and tired he could explode, but he doesn't want it to be at Trent. "Listen, Trent, I appreciate that you might still be trying to work the journalism out of your system, but the next time you find a big scoop that might affect the mental state of my players, I'd appreciate if you ran it by me first."
There's silence on the other end for a moment before Trent's voice comes back, smaller than Ted's ever heard it.
"I'm so sorry, Ted. I really am. And look, I know this doesn't excuse anything by any means, but by way of explanation, let me just say that I think I was trying to get you to feel as angry about the Nate situation as I am. I just… he cost me my career, you know? I liked being a journalist. It wasn't necessarily what I imagined I'd be doing with the rest of my life, but I was good at it. I was a bloody good sports journalist and all it took was one story for it all to fucking collapse."
"That wasn't entirely Nate's fault," says Ted, closing his eyes as though trying to prevent every thought he's currently having from leaving his head. "You didn't have to share that with me. I mean, I appreciate that you did. But you could direct a little of that anger my way."
Trent sighs deeply.
"You know that I can't."
Ted knows that that might be true. He rubs his eyes with his free hand.
"Look, Trent, I have to believe that people are able to be forgiven. I just have to. Because otherwise, when I get back to Henry, when I have to explain to him why I was out of his life for so long… I have to…"
It's the tipping point. He collapses onto the armchair behind him as huge undignified sobs wrack his body. He hates that he's crying like this. He hates that he's crying like this while Trent can hear it. It doesn't matter. There's nothing he can do to stop it at this point.
"Ted, Ted, listen to me," says Trent. "Your son loves you, okay? Whenever that boy isn't at your side looking up at you like you personally hung the sun, he's telling anyone who will hear that you're the coolest dad in the world. Whatever happens, I know that that child knows how much you love him, okay?"
Ted nods, but realises Trent can't hear him.
"I'm gonna hang up now," Ted says. "But it's not because you aren't making a great point. I just think half the battle is that I haven't had a decent night's sleep in over a week and I need to crash. I'll see you at work tomorrow."
"See you at work, Ted," says Trent. He sounds concerned.
Ted pulls himself together enough to put together two packs of shortbread, writing a short note in Trent's one.
Trent – thank you for your kindness last night. I needed to hear that. But I hope that you'll eventually find it in your heart to forgive too. It'll help you feel better too.
He ties it all together with a bit of ribbon he has left from his Christmas in July wrapping and the sunflower hair clasp that he still hasn't returned and leaves it on Trent's desk the next morning for when he comes in.
When Trent opens it and reads the note, he turns in his chair to make eye contact with Ted, smiles, and nods, and Ted feels one of the weights on his heart fall away.
Of course, with Zava leaving and the team having played backup the whole season so far, there's a lot of catch up to do. But it's a challenge that keeps Ted's mind on the game and not everywhere else. For a while, he finds himself able to disappear into managing the headspace of his team, Roy's ideas for stamina and speed training, Beard's best stabs at strategies for them to try.
The only exception to his new workflow is a fairly big scare in the form of reports of Henry bullying another classmate. And Ted doesn't quite know how to feel about the fact that it seems to resolve itself. By the time they talk, Henry seems to have the scope of what he's done wrong and has even apologised the kid for it. Did Michelle talk to Henry about it? Did Dr Jake? There's no way for Ted to know but there's not much more for Ted to add. The thought breaks his heart.
With difficulty, he decides to take it for what it is: a sign that his kid, for the time being, seems to be okay without him. Another weight drops from his heart.
He continues to ignore Henry's nagging about meeting Isolated in Islington. He doesn't have time to think about that. Instead, he decides to focus on the promise he's made to Henry, to the team, to himself: winning the whole thing.
It's in Amsterdam that everything starts coming together.
The so-called friendly match is a disaster and the only thing Ted can do for himself and the rest of the team to make it okay is to give them all a night to let loose.
Somehow, to Beard, this gets translated as "get Ted high", but Ted is so out of ideas at this point that he's willing to try anything. He almost doesn't try it when it's presented to him as a tea, even if it does bring back a fond memory of Trent trying and failing to play it cool after burning his mouth on the foul stuff. Eventually though, Ted decides if he's going to give himself half a chance at anything new, he needs to try something new, so he downs the tea and heads to the front desk to ask about the nearby museums.
He ends up at the Van Gogh museum, specifically in front of the famous "Sunflowers" painting, just staring. He's seen it plenty before, in prints and in digital pictures. He didn't realise, seeing it up close, that it would be possible to see the individual brush strokes. He alternates between being pulled so closely into the details that all he sees is paint in various shades of yellow, green, and blue, to looking at the whole thing and feeling himself trembling at a brand new thought.
He's grown up with sunflowers his whole life. Adorned on any bit of kitsch to do with Kansas. The great big fields he'd drive past on road trips. The ones his mother grew in the backyard and always had in a vase in the kitchen. The ones on his father's grave. The one or two in Michelle's wedding bouquet. It was his state flower, part of growing up in Kansas.
So why, in his mind, do sunflowers only belong to Trent now?
His thoughts are interrupted by a museum guide who shares a Van Gogh quote with him. And, as beautiful as it is, it's his next statement that really sends Ted reeling.
"When you find beauty, you find inspiration. When you know you're doing what you're meant to do, you have to try."
Of course, he realises this applies to his team, and absolutely tonight is about figuring out what the next step there is, but…
But Trent had looked like a sunflower earlier, with his bright yellow shirt and peppery dark hair. So beautiful. And Ted knows he could keep pretending that he doesn’t want him with his whole heart. It would kill him, but he knows he could do it. But there's a part of him, a far bigger part, that wants to give it one more try. That kiss hadn't been nothing. And he owes it to himself to see what could be. To take his own medicine and believe for once.
He accepts the notebook from the guide and decides to make his way to the glimmer of home he's hoping to find in the Yankee-Doodle Burger Barn. As looming as it all is, he can think about Trent in a bit. Right now he has to fix his team.
Eight hours and one placebo-induced drug trip later, Ted has it. At least, he thinks he does. He doesn’t know if it will work – Beard will know more about that than he does – but it's something. And another weight drops from his heart.
He loses the final one a week later.
Total football turns out to be a lot trickier to implement than Ted initially thought it would be. He knew it would be a lot of work to some extent, but he thought that because it was designed to get the team looser it wouldn't be the monumental challenge it's turning out to be. But here they are, playing against Arsenal, still struggling to work together the way he imagined.
But Jamie – proving once again to Ted that his football career will be long and storied – comes to the rescue at half time, explaining where the team is going wrong in the simplest way possible. Ted could absolutely smother him in a hug right now, but he thinks he'll leave that to Roy. He's noticed that he and Jamie seem to be even cosier since Amsterdam and lord help the poor soul that interferes with something Roy Kent cares about.
They still lose, but the second half is absolutely beautiful to watch. The team play off of each other seamlessly. They still seem to be finding their feet, but Ted can see that they finally get it. And that they're having fun. And crowd is having fun watching them have fun.
He's never been prouder to be their manager.
The absolute cherry on top of his success sundae is when Trent quite literally tears into the corridor after the match, looking for him specifically.
"Ted!" he says as he barges through the doors. "It's going to work."
"Great," says Ted, confused as to what could get the cool and catlike Trent Crimm all riled up like a jackrabbit in spring. "What is?"
"Total football." Ted is still confused. "And I'll tell you why. The Lasso Way."
This causes even more confusion. He's only ever heard The Lasso Way used derisively. Used in a biting tone when he does things a little differently or something he tries doesn't work out. He's never heard it said so excitedly with such optimism and hope.
"You haven't switched tactics in a week," Trent continues.
He definitely has. This whole week has been nothing but a new tactic.
"I haven't?" Ted asks, still baffled.
"No! You've done this over three seasons."
Oh. Maybe it was meant to be a little bit derisive then.
"I have?"
"Yes," Trent explains, "by slowly building a club-wide culture of trust and support through thousands of imperceptible moments, all leading to their inevitable conclusion – total football."
Ted tries to believe himself a humble man, one not prone to basking in praise, but something about the way Trent is talking about him, about his achievements, about the achievements of the team, makes Ted want to live in this moment forever.
Trent, Ted realises, is proud of him. Is truly, one hundred percent rooting for him. And Ted feels the final weight on his heart drop as he soars away with it.
"Well how about that," he says, mostly responding to Trent's excited babble, but also to this new feeling of weightlessness and just… happiness that he hasn't felt in months.
And then Trent does the absolute cutest little giddy gesture and Ted knows beyond a shadow of any doubt, he could never be more in love with anyone than he is with Trent right now.
Trent exits the corridor, leaving behind two coaches bemused and one absolutely besotted.
"What a fucking dork," says Roy, not without his own brand of affection.
"Yeah," shrugs Ted, aware of how his feelings are probably plastered across his face, "but he's our dork."
He doesn't miss the knowing look the other two coaches give each other.
Henry calls him later that night to discuss the match.
"It was so cool, dad!" he says. "Do you think Jamie and Roy will teach me how it works the next time I'm there?"
"I'm sure they'd love to, Bud," says Ted, heart so full it could burst.
"Awesome!" says Henry. "Are you still sure you can't come here for Christmas?"
"I'm sure," says Ted, a little pang marring his happiness for a moment. "I have the big Boxing Day match. But that's what Christmas in July was for, remember?"
"Yeah," says Henry, the disappointment in his voice palpable, but as soon as he looks glum, he perks up again. "Hey, that means you can go meet Isolated in Islington!"
"Oh, Bud, no," says Ted. "I can't do that."
He can't do that because it doesn't matter who this Isolated in Islington is, he's got his heart set on Trent. He can't imagine anyone else holding a candle to him, no matter how convinced his son is that this mystery person is his soulmate. He's not ready to tell Henry everything about Trent though, and therein lies the pickle.
"Why not?" says Henry. "Dad, you only get a chance like this once. This person sounds so perfect for you. Can't you just go and see?"
"Look, Kiddo, I really want to be with you on this one," says Ted with a sigh, "but it wouldn't be fair to whoever I'm meeting. I couldn't give them what they're looking for. I'm not saying no because I don't think it's a beautiful idea. I need you to trust that I'm saying no for a good reason, okay? One that you might not understand right now, but I hope you will soon."
Henry doesn't respond. He looks sad, then angry and when Michelle takes the phone from him after a few minutes of pained silence, she also looks concerned.
"He'll come around, Ted," she says. "There's a lot going on at the moment and I think it's just a lot for him to process. Give him a day to cool off and I'm sure he'll be back to his normal self."
But the next day and the day after that when Ted calls, he just gets an apologetic Michelle.
Ted feels some of the weights return.
They all return a few days later, on December 23rd, when Michelle calls him in tears.
"Ted," she says. "Ted, I'm so sorry. Jake took him to the airport and signed him in. He says he got a message from me, but it seems like Henry sent it. Apparently he's safe and I'm on the flight right behind him but oh god."
Ted is about to throw up. He's never heard Michelle this panicked. Ever.
"Hey, it's alright, I'm here," he says, trying to reassure her. "What's going on?"
"Henry's booked himself onto a flight to the UK. Jake helped sign him in."
And then Ted does throw up.
Final Chapter
16 notes · View notes
wouldnt-give-a-fig · 10 months ago
Text
The "I Will Love You" Letter by Lemony Snicket (pt 2)
...I will love you as the iceberg loves the ship, and the passengers love the lifeboat, and the lifeboat loves the teeth of the sperm whale, and the sperm whale loves the flavor of naval uniforms. I will love you as a child loves to overhear the conversations of its parents, and the parents love the sound of their own arguing voices, and as the pen loves to write down the words these voices utter in a notebook for safekeeping. I will love you as a shingle loves falling off a house on a windy day and striking a grumpy person across the chin, and as an oven loves malfunctioning in the middle of roasting a turkey. I will love you as an airplane loves to fall from a clear blue sky and as an escalator loves to entangle expensive scarves in its mechanisms. I will love you as a wet paper towel loves to be crumpled into a ball and thrown at a bathroom ceiling and an eraser loves to leave dust in the hairdos of the people who talk too much. I will love you as a cufflink loves to drop from its shirt and explore the party for itself and as a pair of white gloves loves to slip delicately into the punchbowl. I will love you as a taxi loves the muddy splash of a puddle and as a library loves the patient tick of a clock. I will love you as a thief loves a gallery and as a crow loves a murder, as a cloud loves bats and as a range loves braes. I will love you as misfortune loves orphans, as fire loves innocence and as justice loves to sit and watch while everything goes wrong. I will love you as a battlefield loves young men and as peppermints love your allergies, and I will love you as the banana peel loves the shoe of a man who was just struck by a shingle falling off a house. I will love you as a volunteer fire department loves rushing into burning buildings and as burning buildings love to chase them back out, and as a parachute loves to leave a blimp and as a blimp operator loves to chase after it. I will love you as a dagger loves a certain person’s back, and as a certain person loves to wear daggerproof tunics, and as a daggerproof tunic loves to go to a certain dry cleaning facility, and how a certain employee of a dry cleaning facility loves to stay up late with a pair of binoculars, watching a dagger factory for hours in the hopes of catching a burglar, and as a burglar loves sneaking up behind people with binoculars, suddenly realizing that she has left her dagger at home. I will love you as a drawer loves a secret compartment, and as a secret compartment loves a secret, and as a secret loves to make a person gasp, and as a gasping person loves a glass of brandy to calm their nerves, and as a glass of brandy loves to shatter on the floor, and as the noise of glass shattering loves to make someone else gasp, and as someone else gasping loves a nearby desk to lean against, even if leaning against it presses a lever that loves to open a drawer and reveal a secret compartment. I will love you until all such compartments are discovered and opened, and until all the secrets have gone gasping into the world. I will love you until all the codes and hearts have been broken and until every anagram and egg has been unscrambled. I will love you until every fire is extinguished and until every home is rebuilt form the handsomest and most susceptible of woods, and until every criminal is handcuffed by the laziest of policemen. I will love you until M. hates snakes and J. hates grammar, and I will love you until C. realizes S. is not worthy of his love and N. realizes he is not worthy of the V. ...
Pt 1 Pt 3
6 notes · View notes
holiday-7 · 2 years ago
Text
I will love you with no regard to the actions of our enemies or the jealousies of actors. I will love you with no regard to the outrage of certain parents or the boredom of certain friends. I will love you no matter what is served in the world’s cafeterias or what game is played at each and every recess. I will love you no matter how many fire drills we are all forced to endure, and no matter what is drawn upon the blackboard in blurry, boring chalk. I will love you no matter how many mistakes I make when trying to reduce fractions, and no matter how difficult it is to memorize the periodic table. I will love you no matter what your locker combination was, or how you decided to spend your time during study hall. I will love you no matter how your soccer team performed in the tournament or how many stains I received on my cheerleading uniform. I will love you if I never see you again, and I will love you if I see you every Tuesday. I will love you if you cut your hair and I will love you if you cut the hair of others. I will love you if you abandon your baticeering, and I will love you if you if you retire from the theater to take up some other, less dangerous occupation. I will love you if you drop your raincoat on the floor instead of hanging it up and I will love you if you betray your father. I will love you even if you announce that the poetry of Edgar Guest is the best in the world and even if you announce that the work of Zilpha Keatley Snyder is unbearably tedious. I will love you if you abandon the theremin and take up the harmonica and I will love you if you donate your marmosets to the zoo and your tree frogs to M. I will love you as a starfish loves a coral reef and as a kudzu loves trees, even if the oceans turn to sawdust and the trees fall in the forest without anyone around to hear them. I will love you as the pesto loves the fettuccini and as the horseradish loves the miyagi, as the tempura loves the ikura and the pepperoni loves the pizza. I will love you as the manatee loves the head of lettuce and as the dark spot loves the leopard, as the leech loves the ankle of a wader and as a corpse loves the beak of the vulture. I will love you as the doctor loves his sickest patient and a lake loves its thirstiest swimmer. I will love you as the beard loves the chin, and the crumbs love the beard, and the damp napkin loves the crumbs, and the precious document loves the dampness in the napkin, and the squinting eye of the reader loves the smudged print of the document, and the tears of sadness love the squinting eye as it misreads what is written. I will love you as the iceberg loves the ship, and the passengers love the lifeboat, and the lifeboat loves the teeth of the sperm whale, and the sperm whale loves the flavor of naval uniforms. i will love you as a child loves to overhear the conversations of its parents, and the parents love the sound of their own arguing voices, and as the pen loves to write down the words these voices utter in a notebook for safekeeping. I will love you as a shingle loves falling off a house on a windy day and striking a grumpy person across the chin, and as an oven loves malfunctioning in the middle of roasting a turkey. I will love you as an airplane loves to fall from a clear blue sky and as an escalator loves to entangle expensive scarves in its mechanisms. I will love you as a wet paper towel loves to be crumpled into a ball and thrown at a bathroom ceiling and as an eraser loves to leave dust in the hairdos of people who talk too much. I will love you as a cufflink loves to drop from its shirt and explore the party for itself and as a pair of white gloves loves to slip delicately into the punchbowl. I will love you as the taxi loves the muddy splash of a puddle and as a library loves the patient tick of a clock.
5 notes · View notes
eclipsecrowned · 1 year ago
Text
Tumblr media
“care to dance?” to soap, because i haven't gotten to ada's how-do-i-see-the-relationship-between-them post yet. for this prompt. — irma. or miriam. or mira. call her however you want. // @prosopagn0sis
Tumblr media
It isn't true what they say. You can go back to your childhood.
Or, at least, you can be ditched like a formal date who won't put out. It's not the team's fault, really -- The Captain has hands to shake, and Gaz medals to receive, and LT, well... The less known about what he gets up to in a classy place like this, the better. Plausible deniability is the best answer to any questioning about Simon. It's not Soap's first tango, either. Only the second.
So he zones, at the very edge of the evening, staring down the punchbowl. It seemed a different color than it had been before some some Boat Service lad had staggered through. Maybe it was the shift in lighting, as the sun sank lower beyond the windows. Or maybe it was spiked with something fun.
And maybe the wee plonker had laced the punch with something a bit of mischief.
Soap had been weighing his options, whether to play lab rat or not, when she spoke up. The slight Sergeant startled at the sudden question at his side. "Fuck," he hissed, willing himself back down to baseline. Looking at Irma, he realized how deep in thought he had been, and laughed.
"Sorry -- Dance?"
The music at the venue had come across vaguely lift-like, a Clockwork Orange style repetition of tones and vibes meant to be tuned out as the evening dragged on. It had been more than helpful in causing Soap to zone out over punch.
And yet, he'd take anything at this point. Company kept him from playing guinea pig, or getting distracted over the refreshment table. Shrugging his broad shoulders, Soap pulled back from the wall. He couldn't leave it at that, though -- bending at the back, he bowed playfully at Irma. He even extended his hand, more to catch his falling beret than to offer the lady. Righting himself, he tucked the beret back into place.
"Sure, yeah. I'd like that. Brought the steel-toed dancing shoes, aye?" There's a twinkle in his blue eyes, laughter in his voice. They might live to regret this, with or without all the toes God gave them, but it beat skulking around the event.
2 notes · View notes