#sky meadows state park

[istandonsnowpiles]

Milky Way & so much more

Captured in Full Spectrum

[rabbitcruiser]

National Prairie Day

National Prairie Day, on June 1 this year, celebrates the beauty and ecological value of this often-overlooked ecosystem. Spanning more than a dozen American states and several Canadian provinces, the North American prairie is a vast grassland that offers more biodiversity and beauty than most people realize. With their endless, gently rolling plains and highly productive soils, prairies have been a valued location for farming and ranching for thousands of years. Today, only 1% of tallgrass prairie in the United States remains untouched by farming or development. National Prairie Day promotes the appreciation and conservation of America’s native prairies.

History of National Prairie Day

The United States is home to a dazzling array of geographies and environments. Some, like the towering redwoods of California or the majestic cascades of Niagara Falls, enjoy worldwide reputations as media darlings and tourist hotspots. Other ecosystems, like the humble prairie that covers much of the interior United States, receive fewer accolades but play crucially important roles in the development of the nation.

Defined as a flat grassland with a temperate climate and derived from the French for ‘meadow,’ ‘prairie’ has become almost synonymous with the expansion of the American frontier. Flanked by the Great Lakes and the grandiose Rocky Mountains, the North American prairie extends across 15% of the continent’s land area. Other examples of similar grasslands around the world include the pampas in Argentina, the Central Asian steppes, and the llanos of Venezuela.

There’s more to the prairie than meets the eye. In fact, tall grass prairies host the most biodiversity in the Midwest and provide a home for dozens of rare species of animals and plants, including bison, antelope, elk, wolves, and bears.

Native prairies face extinction as more and more land is converted to agricultural and ranching use. Due to its rich, fertile soil, prairie land is prized for agricultural use. Around the world, almost three-quarters of agricultural regions are located in grassland areas. With only 1% of tallgrass prairie in the U.S. remaining untouched, the American tallgrass prairie is now one of the most endangered ecosystems on the planet. The Missouri Prairie Foundation launched National Prairie Day in 2016 to raise awareness and appreciation for the nation’s grasslands. The organization seeks to protect and restore native grasslands by promoting responsible stewardship, supporting acquisition initiatives, and providing public education and outreach.

National Prairie Day timeline

6000 B.C. The Prairie Forms

The North American prairie forms roughly 8,000 years ago when receding glaciers give way to fertile sediment.

1800s The American Prairie Decimated

Throughout the 19th century, farmers and ranchers, excited about the rich potential of prairie soil, convert almost all of the American prairie to farmland and grazing land.

Early 1930s The Dust Bowl

The combination of years of mismanagement, the stock market crash, and drought conditions come to a head as thousands of families in Oklahoma, Texas, and other parts of the Midwest lose everything when their farms fail, driving them to California and elsewhere to seek work in more fertile fields.

2016 First National Prairie Day

The Missouri Prairie Foundation launches the National Prairie Day campaign to promote awareness and conservation of the vanishing ecosystem.

National Prairie Day Activities

Learn about the prairie

Donate to a conservation group

Plan a visit to a famous prairie

Do a little research to learn about this important American ecosystem and the role it has played in the cultural and economic development of our country.

If you're concerned about the loss of the American prairie, donate to a grasslands conservation group to support their work.

Do you live near a prairie? Try finding the grassland nearest you and plan a visit.

5 Interesting Facts About Prairies

‘Prairie schooners’

Dogtown

Where the buffalo roam

Carbon hero

Rising from the ashes

During the 1800s, when Americans embarked on the long journey westward, their covered wagons were often referred to as ‘prairie schooners.’

Prairie dogs live in vast networks of underground burrows called ‘towns,’ which can cover hundreds of acres and house thousands of prairie dogs with complex social relationships.

When Europeans first arrived in North America, up to 60 million bison roamed the plains — by 1885, there were fewer than 600.

Prairies can help fight climate change — one acre of intact prairie can absorb about one ton of carbon each year.

On the prairie, wildfires can actually be a healthy thing — with more than 75% of their biomass underground, prairie plants are uniquely suited to surviving and thriving after a fire.

Why We Love National Prairie Day

The prairie often gets overlooked

Native grasslands are critically endangered

It reminds us of the diversity of America's ecosystems

It's not often we remember to celebrate grasslands, yet the prairie plays an important role in America's cultural past and environmental future.

With only 1% of America's native prairie remaining, it's more urgent than ever to conserve and protect this vital resource.

The United States has more environmental variety than almost any other country on earth. Celebrating each unique ecosystem reminds us to appreciate and protect all the beauty our country has to offer.

Source

[lesbianredpanda]

Fluffy cows at sunset

Sky Meadows State Park, VA

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

FINCH'S FRENZY (IV)

|| COV MASTERLIST || NEXT: CHAPTER V ||

PAIRING: Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick x F!Reader

WORDCOUNT: 8.7k

WARNINGS: Angst, blood, guns & shootings, canon typical, death, vulgar language, gore, arguments, self-destructive behavior, PTSD, fluff at the end? Maybe?

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*  

Vividly, you remember the first time your father brought you into the Museum. You’d only been little, then, no more than ten but old enough to form lasting memories that would stick with you. Key moments in the spanning woven tapestry that grew and spread like roots with colors named ‘Happy’ and ‘Sad.’ A memory bank of images that never leave the screen behind your eyes. 

The statue had only been there because of the fire. 

Made by men’s hands, it really wasn't the responsibility of a Museum of Natural History, but this was a special case. The other, sister, building to this one was far off into the city and had been completely ablaze not a week prior by unknown circumstances. Your father’s friend had burned, along with many priceless artifacts that were housed there. But not this. 

The stone statue of the woman. Only here because it needed a place to rest before being sent out of state to a more… appropriate facility. They had flocked to her—marble scorched and covered in ash. Yet beautiful. Heavenly. Long arms reach up, a tiny bird held in the clutch of her stiff hands, presenting it to a far-off sky.

Cameras flash and eyes water.

“They’re calling her dīvīnā, Little One.” You had looked up at him, clutching onto your father’s shirt sleeve in wide innocence. He smiles softly.

“Di–” Your lips sputter and face heats, “Di-ven-a?” A small chuckle makes you huff, your expression souring. The man kneeled down, gripping under your pudgy chin and teasing.

“Not quite. Dee-veen-uh.” 

“What does that mean?” You stubbornly shake your head, confused, “why are they calling her that?” A kiss is planted on the top of your head, your father standing back up and laughing, as you once more look at the statue with wonder. Your eyes glitter.

“It is Latin, my Little Love,” that stone bird in her lifeless hands has a broken wing, yet still she prompts it to fly; as if she knows it can even though it’s impossible. “Divine.”

To be loved like a woman in stone was a rare thing. 

You’re not quite sure why you remember that when you turn a swift corner, slamming a shoulder into it as bitter tears track your cheeks. The bloody hand that steadies you leaves a trail of crimson behind as evidence. You don’t slow, not even when Gaz’s hat threatens to fly off your head at the break-neck pace you set yourself on.

“The park,” you breathe raggedly, frantic slams of your shoes bouncing off the corralling buildings at your side as you dart out of the tree line and into the city streets. If you had been focusing, you’d realize you have no idea where you are; utterly alone while the violent sounds of firing guns and screams continue to bounce off airwaves. Too close. Too loud. “Oh, God, the people.” 

Cold couldn’t begin to describe your temperature. Frigid perhaps; shaking with frozen terror that makes you lose feeling in your limbs. Buggy eyes snap to shadows and trash in the alleyway like they were grabbing at you with phantom intentions. 

You don’t know when you lost Kyle—when you’d taken a turn too fast and completely disappeared or something else along those lines. But in your chest, your stiff ribs almost welcomed the solitude. You had looked into his eyes. Stifling a loud sob, you increase the pace as the screams behind you loom over your head like a cloud. 

Amber. Meadows. Deathly serious.

“No, no, no…” How had the attackers known you’d be out in the city? On campus? That white Sudan…How? 

You miss the rapid calls of your name in the background, equally as desperate as your instincts. Loud and distinctly British. Separated by stone and mirky puddles. You increase your velocity; moving farther and farther away. Run, you just need to run. From everything. From everyone. 

But when you rush one last corner, the large form that stands there isn’t a made-up phantom of the past. It isn’t a statue.

Skirting to an immediate stop, your legs quiver from the force and the dragging of your heels; your fingertips wrenching into your aggravated injury in retaliation. Gasping, your leaking eyes widen even farther at the covered face. The few feet of precious separation from the man that also surprised at the sudden arrival. 

A dead second of slow-motion thoughts and nothingness that seems like a year ensues. Not a single atom bounces. Had he been waiting for you?

You slowly look down with white eyes to notice the assault rifle in his shifting hands; the nervousness of hips as they rotate weight into a form that would remind you of a football player if you bothered to engage with that thought. The air is stuck in your nose. Blood pressurizes itself forward. You swallow tersely, one shoe shifting to take a step back carefully. No words, no exchange of sentiments. 

Only a target and a man holding a gun. 

“I…” You trail, lips not responding as the rabid pulse in your ears threatens to drown you with blackness. At the click of a safety, you’re running like a rabbit again, darting back down the same way you came as bullets explode through the corner you rampage past. 

“Gaz!” The call bounces to the sky, ringing off buildings. Was it possible to die from adrenaline? Everything burns a bright shade of red in the corner of your vision. Shouts ring from behind, a race of scarlet and duty now taking place with feral implications. 

This was what being prey felt like, and you had thought you'd only have to experience that feeling once. 

“Gaz!” You scream again, ripping vocal cords, and ducking as a round goes directly above your head, slapping your hands to the cap with gasping fear. How many were out there? Had they set a perimeter if you decided to run? 

This was a level of professionalism you never expected from terrorists. 

Sprinting past an open turn, a hand snags out, jerking you by the jacket collar as a second covers your mouth. Screaming, you bite down as your heart stops, mercilessly slashing out an elbow into hardened ribs. A sharp hiss meets your ear before the shadows of the inside of a doorway overhang swallow you. 

Your back is slammed into the barrier, breath on your forehead as your hand snaps to the pen knife in your pocket like a whip. The shock of electricity down your spine is inconsequential to the hand that flies over your mouth. It tightens before your eyes can adjust properly through the tears; fingers flinching fast past layers of cotton canvas. 

Lips dance over the shell of your ear. “Stop moving.” 

The struggling of your limbs halts, eyebrows slightly losing the agonized furrow. Heat wafts from the body pressed into your own—great bouts of natural warmth that you hadn’t felt in years from another human being. Your heart skips for it; muscles lessen. 

Goosebumps raise the hair on the back of your neck.

You blink rapidly, staring into the nose of Sergeant Garrick with a shuttering inhale behind his grip. Sensing your slowing pulse, his hand lowers, moving back immediately. Long fingers find his lips, signifying silence with nothing more than a tap and a frown. There’s still blood over his visage, splattering up his stubble and along his cheeks like paint as his jaw clenches with meaning. 

Wheezing, you shake with both fear and a sliver of ease even as your back aches from the force that the Brit had exerted to drag you back. You swallow down saliva and nod a number of times; completely out of it. 

You’re moved behind him with a firm push—a part of you flinches at the sudden chill that overtakes you once more—as the yelling gets closer from beyond your hidey-hole, a bulky thumping over the concrete ground like hail. You stare at Gaz’s neck as he grabs the pistol from his belt, leaning on the part of the wall that juts out with a single shoulder and barely peeking out. 

He blinks slowly, not even looking at you as his lips thin. He looks merciless and loose at the same time.

The man sprints past, barely making it a few feet from where you watch with stilled breath before Kyle separates from the wall. One shot is all it takes, and the stranger doesn’t even scream before he hits the ground; a last round being driven between his skull plates to silence any sound. 

It all falls silent after the reverberations cease—gunpowder in your nose and burning your throat. But it doesn’t even matter, because you’re already being forced along with a heavy hand on your shoulder before the blood can pool over the ground.

“C’mon.” He speaks blankly, whatever sly teasing and amusement from earlier today completely gone. “Exfil point is a block away—we need to move.”

You can’t do much more than follow, your head screaming at you. 

“B-but what about…” Wanting to ask about the people who are back in the park, not quite understanding the horror yet. 

Sensing this, Kyle knows it’s better to respond briefly. 

“They’re dead.” You flinch at the truth, hearing the bitter reality settle in coupled with the man’s bluntness. Gaz sends a side-eye your way, looking down at you from his lashes. 

While not willing to offer any comfort at the moment, he twitches his nose and simply states, “You need to stay focused,” while noticing the far-off look in your eyes; the rapid pulse under his grip. 

Humming under his breath, he leads you on ever faster, knowledgeable of the quickly dwindling bullets in his mag. As you both speed walk, he speaks through his earpiece, telling Kit the streets before the far-away man replies with the correct route to the Exfil point. 

“How’s the VIP?” Kit asks, and Kyle grunts, not giving anything more than a quick response.

“Alive. We’re nearly there.” He inhales slowly. “Multiple civilians down in the park.” 

“Copy, 2-6. Keep en route.” Gaz scoffs under his breath, surveying his surroundings as the wails of sirens fly over buildings. This never should have happened.

This brought him back to Piccadilly Circus; the start of his entire counter with 141 and subsequent approval into their ranks. He’d seen many things over the course of his deployments to the Middle East—when he’d put a target on his back when disrupting Opium supply lines. He shouldn’t be here. He should be with his comrades. 

Not with a girl that seems to want to put herself in every dangerous situation known to man.

Even with all the mental strain and uncomfortable scenarios he’d been in…watching innocent people die never got any easier. 

He moves you along; muscles wound and gun in a tight grip. Gaz tries to tell himself that you couldn’t have possibly imagined this happening and with how you were acting that would be the truth with no doubt. He’d told you, though, hadn’t he? That’s what really gets his jaw stiff.

I told her. And she didn’t listen. Didn’t even try to think it over.

You shake under his grip, and a part of him feels pity, honestly, but right now the severity of the situation is more important. 

“Take a left,” he utters, forcing you on with hardened brown eyes. You nod again, throat closed so tight you’re unsure if speaking is the right decision. 

Everything is a mixture of hot and cold—fingers burning yet arms shaking from a lack of heat; teeth chattering. 

The both of you were close now, only a few more winding turns left and the van should be waiting with the driver; authorities taking care of the shooters left in the park still searching for you. But these alleyways were like a rat’s maze. 

“Keep close,” Kyle offers, “We don’t know who else is—”

“Right!” Your yell makes him turn sharply, knife barely grazing the flesh of his neck as he weaves. Brown eyes flair with anger, gun in his grip just as easily coming up to the armed assailant. 

The covered face held no weapon besides a combat knife; another person intent on taking your life. How many were out here?

“What in the…?” Gaz grunts, but before he can bring the pistol up to pull the trigger, the man’s other hand is grabbing his wrist, twisting it to the side mercilessly and away. 

The Brit hisses, throwing out his other arm to block the knife from once more coming down to settle in his neck. These people were many in number, but how was it that they were so rusty? Anyone with combat sense knew it was best to go low before going high when attacking with a knife. Before he can swipe the Bastard’s legs out from under him, locked in that familiar battle of wills, Gaz hopes in his head you don’t run off again. 

Starting to gain the upper hand with gritted teeth and sparking eyes, there’s a swift thunking of metal meeting flesh moments later. Blinking wildly, Kyle’s face goes confused, slightly losing grip in that mere second of oddity. 

Then he sees it.

“Bloody Christ.” Gaz gasps, gazing at his own reflection in the hilt of a small pen knife stuck in the eye of his attacker who subsequently begins screaming wildly, trying to back up until the Sergeant shakes out of his shock. 

The gun levels with a chest, and it was done before the killer could rip the blade from his eye.

Only one bullet was fired until the small click of an empty barrel signaled that Kyle had used up his last round. The man falls into a heap and lays on the floor, a puddle of crimson leaking from his guts as he gasps and coughs. 

Breathing heavily, there’s a pause in the air. Gaz looks back at you slowly, eyes wide with astonishment. 

You stare back, right hand quivering and twice as bloody then it had been before. You had made a mirror slice on your palm by holding the blade and releasing it to hurdle forward loyally. Not that you knew that. 

No words are exchanged as the gurgling from the body falls silent, only the air speaks in brushing breezes that ruffle your jacket. 

“2-6,” Gaz’s earpiece speaks, but for a moment he’s stuck gazing into your eyes as you stare at the body, lips parted and jaw slackened. You’d just… “2-6, do you copy? Extraction is waiting for you.” 

Brown eyes snap away, feet quickly shuffling to rip your penknife out from the socket and place it in his pants pocket. Later.

“On it, Actual. Keep ‘em ready—we’re coming in hot.”

“Rog. Laswell’s been informed, expect request for a full security unit comin’ the lady’s way.” Frowning, Kyle doesn’t respond, having to physically turn your body away from the scene and move you forward. 

His X12 is slipped back into his belt, useless entirely. 

“Love,” Gaz speaks to you, trying to see if you’d respond, but your eyes stay blankly ahead; tears frozen in time on your cheeks yet the hysteria is shown in the stumbling of your legs. The racing pulse under your skin makes the Brit concerned. A stiff sigh is released before a decision is made with creased eyes.

You’re being lifted with little warning, carried into a bridal hold as if you weighed no more than a piece of paper. You gasp briefly, sense coming back in a flash of a thrown knife and a wide brown gaze. 

“H-hey!” The exclamation is met with a click of a tongue and increased footfalls, Kyle keeping you close to his chest with wind whipping past your ears. But you can’t think beyond the defining moments. The bodies in the park. The man you helped kill. Had killed. 

You force down the bile in your throat as Gaz’s warm body encompasses you. 

I didn’t…I didn’t do that, did I? You hadn’t thrown that blade. Couldn’t have. That would make you…

Your face tightens, brows creasing like tin foil. 

The van was torn open with a loud bark of ‘get us the fuck out of here,’ and a dumping of you onto the back seat only three minutes later; you didn’t have the thought capacity along that short run to tell Gaz to keep his hands off of you, or to stop sending you those glances with his hidden thoughts. All you could do was try and keep back the flooding hysteria. 

Kyle shoves himself into the car, slamming the door.

“Go!” He hits his fist on the back of the front seat and the driver peels out of the open alleyway with a screech of tires. 

Breathing heavily, you blankly look outside to watch the rushing police cars and ambulances dart past in the opposite direction. The streets were so condensed with fleeing people that they were having a hard time getting through, the flickering flashes of red and blue lights trapped behind your eyelids even as you blink and shake your vision away. 

Jesus, how many people are dead right now? How many were dying?

“Take us back to Base,” Gaz’s harsh accent drives a spike into your ribs. Focus on that. Focus on hating him. Don’t think about it. Don’t think about the knife.

You force out through a shaking diaphragm. 

“Fuck no,” the air flips; driver sending a wide-eyed glance through the mirror as Kyle’s wound body stills like a flag on a stagnant day. You persuade a sneer to your lips.

Just make him angry. Make him yell at me—distract me. A vile form of self-destruction, sure, but you can’t start thinking about anything that just went down. 

You know how it would go if you had time to process. How the first year went after your father met his fate. You’d…You’d…

The Sergeant’s tone comes out in a snarl, “What’s that?” 

You’d never thought his file was true about that part. The hardheadedness and the opinionated side. When he was with you he always seemed level-headed; calm. Now though, it was like you didn’t have a grasp on his character like you thought you did. 

In the driver’s seat, Private Clancy clears his throat and grips the wheel tighter, not sure where to go.

“You heard me,” he had, Gaz’s ears had twitched at the curse—vulgar language not common from your tongue. “Fuck. No.” Eyes hard on his knee, you glare through very obvious fear. Kyle stares with venom lacing his silver tongue, lungs inflating. “I’m going home.”

“Home?” The Sergeant asks immediately, the car taking a left turn quickly. “Oh, my apologies, then,” he shakes his head, “Do you mean the exact place you’d be ambushed? Perhaps giving yourself up would be more your speed, Ma’am. Private,” Gaz glares into the rearview mirror, “Base, now.” 

“You do not get to dictate where I go, Garrick!” You scream, ripping his hat off your hair and pointing a finger with the same hand. A flash of amber replays in the back of your mind. Stop. Please, stop. “I am not going to the damn—!”

“People are dead!” Flinching, your shoulders hunch in faster than someone can blink, and brown eyes burn at you, jaw tight and teeth bared even as self-restraint tries to hold back a more poison-coated octave. The thin line between the two of you breaks. “Civilians!” You see Kyle take down a deep breath, his hands clenching. The next sentence is slow, but deep, “I don’t care what you bloody want because I’m not asking. I’m taking you in and getting a full Unit assigned.” Your heart freezes, lids going back in shock as sweat trails down your back. Gaz scoffs, turning away from you to run a hand over his hair. “Never should have agreed with Laswell and taken you on. I need to be with my team. You don’t listen!” 

Opening and closing your mouth, you stutter for an answer. 

“Take me home, Kyle,” your voice is breaking, but Gaz doesn’t even look in your direction; his lips firmly sealed as he glares at the headrest with his resting fist tapping periodically on his chin from the window-ledge. “Kyle.” 

He shakes his head to himself, and in a fit of infectious rage, you chuck his cap directly at his skull with a strong arm.

“You fucking pathetic twat! I just goddamn killed someone trying to save your useless life!” You bare your teeth and feel your throat constrict, eyes red and holding back a weeping deluge. Kyle growls under his breath as the hard brim slaps his temple, snatching it back mid-air. But his snapping reply stills on his lips when he meets your gaze head-on. His breath halts for a brief moment, recognizing the dwindling sense of control. Your words give him pause, and he doesn’t think you realize you’re looking into his eyes again as you rage. “I should have let the bastard tear your throat open—at least he’d be getting to do what I’ve always wanted since the moment you put a fucking gun to my head! For leaving my family a mess of blood and pain! Do…do you expect me to be thankful? For what?! All of this is your fault! Don’t you dare try and put the blame on me.” 

You’re sobbing, and the Sergeant watches silently, lips slightly parted as the driver gets more and more anxious. The car sputters along at a slow pace; everything relies on who wins this volatile battle. Brown eyes are stuck on the blatant brokenness of your gaze, for the first time able to study them without side-eyeing you or sneaking glances when you regard him by looking at his lips or nose. 

He’d never seen eyes like yours.

Blame? He didn’t blame you. Not…not entirely. But he was angry at you.

“For the love of God, I will chuck myself out of this car and sprint home—I don’t give a shit if I get shot at, Garrick. You and your little Task Force can go and fuck yourselves. You left my father with a hole in his head; made my mother leave me in a decaying house all alone and expected me to be okay with seeing my dad slump dead and feeling his blood drip off my chin. That fucking house.” Hands weaving through your locks, you wrench your eyes shut and the connection is severed in an instant, Gaz blinking back to the car with an unsteady inhalation of breath. His body is as still as a stone statue, fingers twitching when you finish with, “Fuck!” 

Foot stomping to the floor, you hunch forward, wailing in earnest as the blood on your hands makes you want to barf. Your head burns. Your throat aches. Everything felt like you were being rocked back and forth on a violent wave of self-loathing and hatred.  

“Stop it,” you rest your head between your knees, mouth open with desperate pants of air, “Fuck, p-please just stop it.”

No one knows what you’re referring to.

The car had parked a while ago—sitting in the parking lot far away from the park. Once a moment has passed, the Private only taps the wheel in the strangled moment of relative silence, and asks above your wet sobs, “Sir, I…Where are we going?” 

Kyle stares at you, opening his mouth to speak before it freezes and falls back shut. He swallows down the saliva in his throat before licking his lips, not looking at his cap before numbly putting it over his head with two hands.

“...Mansion.” The tires peel out slowly.

You don’t hear anything above the ringing in your ears; see above the red curtain settling. All you breathe down is death, and all you can think about is what went wrong. 

“It is Latin, my Little Love,” that stone bird in her lifeless hands has a broken wing, yet still she prompts it to fly; as if she knows it can even though it’s impossible. “Divine.”

Your nails dig into your scalp harder, lips trying to strangle back sounds of a breaking mind. But you can feel his eyes on you as your face burns, digging deep when ruffling fabric makes you tense. 

Everything is so loud—too bright. You can’t focus on calming down…you…you need to—

A bomber jacket settles over your head, the sides draping down to your ankles as you blink back with panic. You’re about to scream before you realize where you are. 

Park. Car. Gaz.

The penknife.

Darkness surrounds you, and body heat suggests someone sits close. On the ground, you see a combat boot peak in from the makeshift shroud, shifting from time to time with unease and an inability to stay still. A blessing and a curse. Your bursting lungs begin to slow as you take count of the laces, studying the color and the shine. Letting the calming low-light seep right into your brain as your fingertips loosen. 

A throat lightly clears, and they tense again. 

 “We…we’re nearly back, Ma’am.” You don’t answer. Gaz sighs quietly under his breath, pressing to the earpiece sitting in his canal. “Actual, change of plans. I need a full Unit to sweep the entire VIP’s property—we’re heading back now.”

“I don’t think Laswell will go for that, 2-6.” Kyle peeks at your hidden form—the way you shake so violently he was afraid you’d shatter like glass. He thinks about what you said, not able to peel his eyes away. Even as he tries to force it down, his heart hurts.

“Do it. I’m not takin’ her to Base.” The Sergeant tits his head down, hand clenched. “It’ll make this worse than it already is.”

“...Rog. I’ll see what I can do.”

“Copy, Mate. Keep me updated, yeah?” 

Gaz thinks back to the alleyway and the penknife in his pocket feels heavier than stone. He hadn’t needed help. That wasn’t pride, that was just a fact. The Brit wasn’t as large as Soap—certainly not Ghost—though he was still well above average for what a regular workout would give you. Even if he did value integrity far better than brute strength he wasn’t like a dull blade. 

He’d had it under control. 

So why had you done that? Even you had expressed confusion over the action. For all intensive purposes, you should have wanted the terrorist to win. It seemed like you did.

“Hell,” Kyle whispers, bushing off the dried blood on his cheeks with the back of his hand as the city falls away to a slower-paced town. The adrenaline was wearing off, and the internal guilt was beginning to form. 

He hadn’t meant to yell. 

It had been a while since he’d worked Protection, had forgotten how much he should regulate his emotions. Gaz was used to strong bands of brothers—tight-knit groups that went in like a shadow and left with nothing but a whisper. That was One-Four-One; his brothers. 

But…brown eyes slowly rove to stare. Listening to the struggling breath like an animal being choked by a collar. 

You’d already gone through so much, and although he could grab you by the arm and shake with all his might, it wouldn’t change the fact that you didn’t know how this worked. 

He needed to keep his gentle approach, not force you back into the hole you were intent on keeping in. Gaz needed to fix this. Tell you. Show you. 

He’d do it tonight and if his honesty didn’t work even a smidge then he’d send in his offer for re-assignment. He’d made a mistake, and he was never one to let that stand.

By the time the van was pulling into the iron gate, held open by a black-clothed soldier, the property was already swept and cleared. Gaz opens his door and steps out, leaving it open on the off chance you would follow him. You didn’t, of course. 

“Sergeant,” the man’s face was covered with a balaclava, large of shoulders and chest. A hand is presented, and Kyle takes it with a soft greeting.

“How’s it looking?” 

“Everything’s in order, Sir. Laswell took the time to set us up back in town,” there’s a glance sent your way, and Kyle restrains himself from sidestepping and blocking the man’s view. His instincts were still rampant and he shifted his legs restlessly. “Figured the Lady wouldn’t be too keen on letting us stay here—can’t do anything without the inheritor's permission.”

Gaz blinks at that but only adds it to his databank. He knew you had control over who you allowed on the property, but hadn’t known you were the inheritor. 

Why hadn’t the estate gone to the wife? 

“Good to hear,” Kyle smiles slightly, tapping the side of his fist with the soldiers. “I can take it from here, yeah? See to it your men are comfortable and keep the radio up—we don’t know what else might be going on.”

“Copy, Sir.” When Gaz switches weight, looking into the interior of the car he’s already addressing you with a calm demeanor; ready to coax you out with a good chunk of his gut filled with apprehension. 

“Love…can you—” The car was empty, and before Kyle could begin to snap to attention, the black of his bomber jacket slashes his wide vision. A deep sigh falls after a second of exasperation, sarcasm about to be called over the air. Hands rub over eyes before itching at his cheek with a muttered, “Keep it light, Garrick. Sky’s not falling just yet.”  

He follows, concern growing steadily. 

You had killed a man. Lived through your first shootout. How was he supposed to make this work? You already hated him…what could he say? 

Gaz knew for a fact that it hadn’t fully hit you yet, and when it did, he was afraid you would break apart even more. But why was he so conflicted about staying or leaving?

Your feet carry you to the house quickly, head down and extra jacket over your shoulders that you don’t bother to flick off. Shoving past leaving soldiers that give you stiff looks as you pass makes your lungs hitch. You didn’t want them on your property—you didn’t know them. 

“Love!�� Kyle calls your name from behind, and you hear his jogging feet catching up as your fast-snapping eyes find the black void in the bushes. 

The cat. 

Green eyes brush against your, slitted pupils corralled by overgrown foliage. It blinks slowly, and you force your head forward once more; un-cut hand snapping to your mouth to keep down the frantic way your lungs jump. 

Doors were of no obstacle to you, you shove through them with a hunched shoulder, letting it swing open and hit the wall with a defining bang of oak. 

“Hey! Slow down, would you?” Ripping your shoes off, you speed across the foyer, heart distressed. Before long your body points you down the hallway. 

Gaz rushes after, heart beating fast as your form disappears down a sharp corner that he grabs to swing himself past.

The black of his bomber jacket is a temporary sight before the barrier of a door slams shut, swallowing you whole. 

“I need to…!” Kyle halts to a quick stop, arms at his sides as his button-up stays rolled up at his elbows. Brown eyes close tightly.

“...Apologize.” He places a hand on his head, tilting back his neck, “Shit.”

—

By the time you realized you weren't in your room, it had already been too late to turn back around. 

You gradually come back into reality after a fitful anxiety-induced fatigue on your father’s office couch. Hours had passed, judging by the pitch darkness of the room; the temperature was already colder than you usually were used to. 

Eyes stare at the ceiling for what seems like an eternity, and it’s sad to think the only time that everything in your head calms down is when you can listen to the pipes in the walls. Creaking wood. Forcing yourself up, you hiss sharply, lids wrenching shut at the zinging pain up your right arm. 

Ripping your hand up, you blink rapidly through the achiness of your red eyes to stare down at the dried wounds. The twin gashes across your palm crack as you flex your fingers, crimson lines opening. Even as your sigh builds, you only watch them begin to bleed at the movement; not relaxing your muscles for the single purpose of not caring enough to. 

The skin was agitated. Itchy as well. 

I sent a knife into a man’s eye. You still, lips parted and numb. I watched people die one after the other because I went outside. This is…this is my fault. 

Kyle had been right. You don’t listen. You’re stubborn, vengeful. 

“But I can’t be anything else.” Whispers bounce off the walls; the coffee table ahead of you and the gargantuan desk behind where you’d play hide and seek in the gaps. 

You’d run to your father's office to try and find comfort you know you’d find nowhere else. Pull it from memories considering it was all you had left. 

But you can’t pull comfort for this. Part of you wants to put on the news—know the count of the dead. The other part says that would be worse. 

“Because of me.” You mumble, standing on unsteady legs that threaten to buckle. Your body is sore from all the running; fleeing from bullets. 

No, not because of you. 

Sucking in a slow breath and listening to the creaking of the house, the ghosts, you clear your throat to dispel the mucus. 

Because of your father. Mind racing, this event puts a hammer into the stained glass that was your family legacy. Before you could deny it—you could say it was Samson Row that was judge, jury, and executioner; while that was still true, what kind of people would fire on innocent bystanders to try and nail a single target? 

Turning, you think back to Laswell as your tongue licks at the dryness of your lips and your eyes move to attempt and paint a picture. You stop to look at the desk.

“Your father had sensitive information that searches of his shipping lot and museum office didn’t offer any leads on. While you’re spending more time at your home, I want you to look for them. Anything that involves other dealers or a location to a hub.”

Taking down a slow breath, the walls were suddenly suffocating you. Your father didn’t…he…he couldn’t have.

Your right hand pulses mockingly. 

Without knowing, your feet pad over the floor to his desk quietly, standing behind the chair and over the dust-hidden mahogany. The old lamp on the corner; the strewn papers that have faded ink and old script haunt you as you slide your vision over them. 

Museum exhibits that never got installed, bank statements, and more important documents pertaining to his job. You skim over them, bloody fingers leaving streaks in their delirious acts. 

Feeling the fiber under your flesh, you push them aside one by one. 

Nothing of interest. 

Your throat closes for no reason, skin goes slick with perspiration dribbling down your brow. Nothing, see. 

Blood drops down to the table as you hold your hand over it, loose and limp at the wrist but violently quivering. You watch. And then you start to open the drawers with a heated fervor, wiping at your forehead and leaving streaks of crimson. 

“There’s nothing.” You gasp. “Nothing. They’re dead because of nothing. I killed a man for nothing.” 

Guns fire in your mind; people scream like you had when sitting in that chair in a basement. Gaz’s eyes boring into you. You’d looked into his eyes not once but twice—the second of your own volition.  

“Nothing?!” Folders are grabbed and slammed to the desktop, exploding with a poof of dust that leaves you turning and sneezing violently before you stifle yourself. 

You’re ripping them open one after the other, burning in the back of your nose. A knife keeps releasing from your hand. A shove on your shoulder as a bullet hits a trash can that was used for cover. 

The black bomber jacket that had fallen off in your slumber and was now sitting in a heap on the floor. 

Innocent people. 

Fuck, they were screaming at you.

“There can’t be nothing.” You seethe, trepidation both your drug and your double-edged sword…what if you did find something? “There needs to—”

“Love…?” Air silences. “Are you alright in there?” 

There’s a shadow under the door, barely discernible over the darkness as you shiver. How long had he been there? How…how long had you been in here? 

Your fingers stop their aggressive tossing and you blink through the dizziness of your brain. Stumbling back a step or two, your hip bumps into the chair. Instantly, the large thing skids over the floor with its wooden legs as an ear-ringing screech as you grab onto the arm to stop from falling. Your skull pounded. 

Quick, loud, knocking starts. 

“Ma’am? Ma’am!” Breathing quickly, your body shakes at the noise, the sound so similar to the sounds in the park. 

“S—,” your voice breaks, “Stop fucking knocking!” 

It stops instantly, and you pause there for more than a few moments glaring at the floor; brows tight and teeth biting into your lip. The quiet sound of a hesitant voice echoes after a minute.

“Could you open the door for me?” Gaz clears his throat as you stare at the wooden barrier with glinting eyes. An attempt at a kind chuckle. “...Been getting cramps in my neck from leanin’ back against the wall all night. And I, uh,” you close your eyes, “I think we need to have a conversation, Love. A real one, if you follow me.” 

You were tired, incomparably so, but even you knew he was right. What he had yelled at you in the car was true. All of this had gotten put into place with as much consideration as a mallet gives a nail. 

And Kyle had known all along what would come of it. A sliver of guilt stabs you. 

You didn’t have to like him—didn’t have to forgive him, because you probably never would—but you had to begin to listen. That didn’t mean stop pushing back, it just meant that his expertise was needed for the safety of the city as a whole. 

The city with the museum that your father had loved dearly.

Feet shuffling, you move around the desk, side-eyeing the now bloody contents atop with a numb expression as you move to the door. You had locked it, apparently. 

Not that you remember. 

Hand stuttering above the handle, you stop and listen with straining ears. A shifting body calls to the Sergeant’s anxiousness at your non-visibility. The erratic behavior. Resting your forehead over the wood, you truly wonder if there would ever be a time you were used to someone else living in this house. 

This house. Your house. 

It didn’t feel right for anyone to live here. 

“Are you there, Ma’am?” You open the door stiffly. 

Kyle’s face is tense, you can tell just by looking at his chin; how he holds his shoulder back like that. There’s a split-second where you both study each other—you, noticing how he’s still just as dirty as you, and him, seeing the focal point of the streak of red blood on your forehead. 

“What, Garrick,” you speak as he sees the ruffled nature of your clothes. Defeated muscles. “Here to tell me you were right?”

His legs cease their movements, mouth half-open with apologizing sentiments now snapping shut with a click of teeth. But not from anger. Concern. Why were you bleeding? Had he missed you being injured? Kyle had sworn you were alright—no shots had ever met their mark.

He’s touching you before he remembers to ask first.

You’re being swept back into the room and plopped down on the couch with no warning, and you don’t fight it. Warm hands grip your shoulders and squeeze quickly.

“Bloody hell,” Gaz rushes to the desk to flick on the lamp, “Why didn’t you tell me you were hit?!” Your eyes snap shut, blinking rapidly at the light.

Rays cascade over the room, the dust in the air being sent into dance classes with how they flew. Lids narrowed at the floor, your socked feet shift over the old rug, but you offered no answer over a soft shrug of your shoulders. 

Kyle gawks at the back of your head, rushing back over to check you over as he bends on one knee. Hesitating for only a moment, he first looks at your head, tilting it back and forth with a hand under your chin and the other by your ear. You’re cold under his grip and that makes him even more nervous.

How much blood had you lost?

“I need you to tell me where it—”

“Hand.” He blinks, staring at you for a second with surprise. Gazing down he sees the spasming limb with a small inhalation of air. 

You let him slowly move back, all digits moving to encompass the afflicted area. But he pauses. 

Frowning, you rub the side of your face into your shoulder as you hear the man suck down a sigh. Confusion lingers in your heart, but you care little at the moment. 

“May I?” In between the brief palpitations of your most important muscle, you forget for a second who’s in front of you. You forget the Sergeant. The Brit. 

Your face softens.

When had someone last asked you that? 

Your lids slide open and closed in surprise as Kyle waits, outwardly patient with an internal raging heart. 

“You’re already here, aren’t you?” The room is bathed in warm light and quiet creaking. Two people who don’t know how to act around one another suddenly suffocated with too many words. So they say nothing. 

Kyle grips your hand so softly that you have to hold your breath in order to keep sane. You want to rip it back from how warm he is.

“Christ, Love, you’re freezing.” It’s a low comment, passing more for a whisper as brown eyes snap up to you. But slowly he shifts your flesh with the dig of his firm fingers, running over the bone to check for internal damage until he flips it over entirely to see the real problem area. 

He holds in a sharp gasp. Tries to keep his cool as you stare at his bobbing neck.

“That…this’ll need stitches.” You hum. Gaze sliding to his face you say what first comes to mind as you draw a comparison to his twin scratches. You end up wondering if you’re drunk again.

“We match.” you point casually to Kyle’s left cheek. His were smaller than yours, of course. 

Gaz focuses on your eyes even as you choose not to look at him directly. 

“Yes, Ma’am.” He attempts a weak chuckle, still holding your hands with the hope that you might take some of his heat for your own. Why were you so cold? “I suppose we do. Why don’t you come with me and I can get you all cared for, yeah?” 

You weren’t acting right, and for an instant, the Sergeant misses your snarky attitude. Anything was better than that bitter nothingness living in your expression. He was shocked. The woman who he’d had this iron impression of was using a chisel on it every instant she could. 

It only made him feel more and more like a prick. 

Fucking hell, Garrick. This is a whole different game. 

“How’d you get them, then?” You were in shock, speaking whatever came to mind with a far-off stare dunked in alarm. Kyle had seen it all before and it didn’t matter who it was plastered on. It was his duty to help. 

“Tell you what, Ma’am,” he stands, helping you up by the arm and sending a soft smile your way. “We’ll get you all proper again, and I’ll tell you all about my days in the police force. I wager you’d like that. History and all.”

“I like old history,” leading you out the door with a hand over your back that rubs small circles, he traverses the darkness and leads you to the shining light of his room one step at a time. 

He sends an amused glance, “That’s my old history. Pretty good, too, in my opinion.” 

You shiver again, and Kyle draws you a little closer, frowning tight. Your eye bore into the ground with cold sweat on your temple. He moves for a second to wipe it away but stops himself with a tight closing of his lids.

“Why would I care about that?”

“You just asked me, Love.” He reminds softly, turning the corner slowly as the two of your feet make the floorboards scream. This house was never quiet was it?

“Humph,” your sound bounces off the walls when Gaz makes it to his chosen room, the door already open and the light on.

He moves you to the cleanly made bed and lets you sit down while he walks to one of his bags by the wardrobe. A medical kit is pulled out, yet he keeps sending looks behind him to stare at you. 

Legs hanging off the bed, you can’t really tell if you’re here or if this is some strange point between delirium. For certain, though, you don’t feel good. 

Bleeding like a stuck pig and trying to keep your vomit down. It was all a state of far off sea-water. A roaring of waves in the back of your head. But there was a realization as Gaz shifts in front of you once more, face creased.

It is the realization that no matter what you do or what you try and change, you will always just be this. Stuck; stationary. Left to waste like the mansion itself—breaking down year after year until all that’s left is rotting wood and shattered stone. Blades of grass in the cracks and termites with fat bellies. But what was even worse was that you didn’t know how to function without this decay in your skin. The quiet rage pulled down beams of sanity. The agony a network of scuffed floors and dented walls. Shut curtains. Abandoned rooms and memories that shutter with every gust of wind. Ghosts in the hallways. 

Was it all real, or was it just a pigheaded attempt to find something to relate to? There was truth to it—there had to be.

This was home. 

This was you. 

This would always be you.

“You asked how I got my scars,” Kyle speaks and you notice his hand back in yours, skin tingling not from the medicated wipe he runs over your palm like a feather, but rather from the sensation of touch. 

Warm. It was a blanket of pure silk. A stuffed animal set into the dryer. How had you ever forgotten what that felt like? 

You hum an acknowledgment, flinching when the chemicals start to turn your hand numb. Gaz lightly shushes you, squeezing your wrist. 

For some reason, your nose starts burning at the action. 

“It’ll be okay, Sweetheart.” He stands, grabbing a chair from the corner table and bringing it over to place in front of your knees. The medical bag is placed beside you, various contents being taken out as elastic gloves are pulled over long fingers. “Where should I start then,” Kyle stares at your sad-tilted eyebrows. “The moment it happened or how I put myself into that bloody stupid situation?”

“Situation?” You utter, scoffing without venom, “Sounds pretty serious there, Sergeant.”

“Oh, trust me it was,” the way he places your hand in his lap is deeply intimate, disgustingly so, but even as you want to rage and shove him off, it hurts to think too deeply. “Terribly serious—I was undercover, y’know.” 

His soft expression holds you as the first stitch pierces your flesh. Pressure, no more. You frown, rubbing your eyes with your free limb. He pauses and glances your way, finding no pain, he continues on with the second, deft hold creating perfect knots.

“Ever done that, then? All your snooping around, I wouldn’t be surprised.” A smirk comes and goes on your lips. “Certainly seem the type, if you don’t mind me saying.”

“Can’t say I have.” 

“Hm, well,” he chuckles. “Anyways, you see, it was a drug bust during my third year with the Blue. Opium. Sizable Mates running that whole operation. They found me out two bloody weeks in.” You blink to slight surprise, shoulders losing their hunch as you now have something else to draw your attention to. “Hoped to at least last a month, to be honest with you.”

“You’re insane.”

“Ah, probably, Ma’am.” Taking notice of the blood staining Gaz’s cap from earlier today when it was on your head, you bite your lip as the story continues. “I was held up in a shipping crate for a whole damn week, and this one fellow,” Kyle moves one hand up and your vision snaps to it, seeing him motion to his chin with a ‘U’ shaped hold, “proper beard on him, tells me I need to give up who I was.” 

“...Did you?” Lip quirking, the Sergeant finishes off the first row of sutures, grabbing another wipe and cleaning the area. He was happy you were focusing, at least, but you were still too shaky for his liking.

“Hell no—Bastard sucker-punched me. Happened to have a nice ring on his finger. Can only pray for whoever was married to the bloke. Ripped my cheek open something nasty, enough to make it scar over.” Both of you are surprised by the huff of laughter that jerks your chest. 

A pause as Kyle feels his chest go loose. That wasn’t a bad sound at all.

“Well, that’s it,” Gaz admits softly, halfway done with the second, smaller cut, “can’t say it’s all too amazing.”

“Because getting tortured by drug lords isn’t what you consider amazing, apparently.” You cough through your embarrassment, feeling slightly back to normal. Taking down a deep breath, you stare down at your palm as it gets sewn back together again. Hearing how the skin squelches.

“Well,” the Brit holds you delicately, a swelling of pride in his chest, “I’ve done a few bigger things than busting the likes of them. Stuff that meant a great deal more in the moment.”

The rest of the sutures and cleaning is done in total silence, and your lungs are suddenly able to work properly again. Kyle places a thick gauze pad atop the marks, holding it down while taking a roll of bandages; beginning to unravel them. 

His thumb is holding the end down when he whispers.

“Why didn’t you want my help?” You ran from him in the park—hid away when you were injured. None of his teammates would do that.

She’s not them. 

With a skip to your pulse, you hold your lips shut with an iron rod. That was the question, wasn’t it? You had run from the only person in the world that seemed to care whether you lived or died.

Peering at your palm, you speak the only truth you know, “Because then I’d have to admit something was wrong.”

There are more things you want to say to him—horrible things; pleas and nonsense—but in the end you just turn to stare at his neck with blood on your hand and stitches stuck in your flesh. 

Kyle’s eyebrows peel up, holding your hand in his own and suddenly more in tune with you than he ever had been before. 

“I…” He starts but doesn’t finish. Not for a long while. “I’m sorry, Love. For all of it. But you need to start listening to the things that I tell you—I’m here to keep you alive. It’s my first and my only priority. You need to be able to live with that.” 

He wasn’t sure there was more he could say. Your lips pull in, pressure living in your chest like an infection. 

“I hate you,” you say, eyes watering. Blood on your forehead.

“I know,” he responds, slowly, softly; wishing for a moment you’d look into his eyes again so you’d realize he’s finally starting to understand. 

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[the-joy-ride]

Sky meadows state park overnighter.

115 miles solo.

[asteraceae-blue]

The Theia Impact

Earth is temporarily picking up a second moon this weekend.

I've had this little one-shot sitting for a few months and now seems as good a time as any to post it ✨🌙✨

...............................................................................

Sky Meadows State Park, Virginia

10:06 PM

The only thing to be said for sitting on a car hood in the middle of nowhere an hour west of DC in January was, frankly, there was no one else around. No traffic, no peak season outdoor enthusiasts taking up space, and no one to ask what they were doing parked on the side of the dirt road at ten o’clock at night.

Scully could have done without that last bit. Mild winter weather or not, it was still January in Virginia. Mulder had driven her to the edge of wilderness to meet up with one of his elusive contacts, promises of “undeniable proof” abounding. Whatever that meant. Proof and evidence had become something of a hazy subject for them as the years wore on. Something they grasped at and often gripped too hard until it escaped from between their fingers before it could do them any good. Hard evidence was all well and good until it had to be bartered for a life. Turned over at gunpoint. Lost to fire, to flood, to the wind. 

As the hands on her watch spun into the evening, the sky darkening and the chill settling below her wool peacoat, Scully wondered very seriously if they would ever stop being led around by this invisible leash, jerked to dark alleys and remote hilltops with a nebulous promise of answers. Not any time soon, if Mulder had anything to do with it. She often thought that, deep down, he enjoyed the role of Chosen One, elevated above other mortals to protect the world against the greatest threat to humanity, racing through the night in pursuit of the solution.

The clandestine nature of it all was somewhat ruined by the remains of their fast food dinner sitting on the hood of the car between them, greasy burger wrappers with congealed cheese and ketchup smeared cartons the potent backdrop of their latest endeavor. At least Mulder had bothered to treat; he’d even bought her a vanilla milkshake.

She sipped at the last dregs of the sweet beverage as she looked at her watch. 

Ten fifteen.

“Well Linus, I fear the Great Pumpkin has failed to arise from the pumpkin patch yet again.”

He didn’t even look at her. Just continued to stare straight up at the sky as he reclined on the windshield, hands folded behind his head and legs stretched out in front of him, crossed at the ankle with his feet dangling over the edge. 

God, did the lanky idiot ever fit anywhere?

“Sorry, Sally,” he mumbled around the plastic straw he’d been gnawing on.

Scully chuckled and balled up the remains of her burger wrapper, tossing it into the paper bag next to her. 

“I was never a fan of her attitude towards school.”

“I bet you weren’t. Does that make you my security blanket, then?”

“Getting dragged along behind you everywhere you go? Yeah, that sounds about right.”

“Not all bad,” he said with a shrug and a gesture at the star spangled night sky. “Full moon. Saw a few shooting stars. Satellite or two.”

“Bonding with the celestial bodies in forty degree weather. What more could a girl ask for?” she said dryly.

The subtle drop in his face made her regret her words. She’d been anticipating a witty response to ‘celestial bodies’ and felt she needed to do damage control.

“Have you, um, have you ever heard of the Theia Impact?” she asked, her face turning upwards.

“The giant-impact hypothesis?” he verified, pulling the straw from between his teeth and holding it between his fingers like a cartoonish cigarette. 

“Yes,” Scully said, not at all surprised that he was familiar. “The idea that, before the Earth was fully formed, our planet collided with another unformed planet, essentially absorbing it. And the resulting collision and expulsion of silicate matter from both planets into Earth’s orbit eventually coalesced to form the moon. The composition of the moon could very well be a perfect blend of Earth and another planet, fused by this random event.”

Mulder hummed with patented calm curiosity.

“Chaos of the universe working to create something we take for granted, could never imagine being different than it is,” he said, looking up at the brilliant full moon casting its glow down on them. “Without that event, would life on Earth have even formed? How different would our existence be if we didn’t have this orb reflecting sunlight at night, giving us reassurance that we aren’t lost in utter darkness every night? Would we lose the tides, the winds humanity has come to rely on over the eons for travel? How does Earth as we know it exist if it never meets its mate, giving birth to the moon? A completely random meeting of giants of the universe, merging at the right time, all to shine light down on us, on a night like tonight, to highlight the fact that we’re sitting here like a couple of suckers, waiting for someone who has less of a chance of showing up than two planets colliding.”

She’d been so wrapped up in the momentary poetry of his words, the lilt of his baritone voice, that she almost missed that final acerbic part of his speech. She watched him sit up, bending a knee and planting his foot on the hood as he balled up his burger wrapper and flung it off into the distance. She made a mental note to make him pick it up before they left, but she was also happy to see his pitching arm healed and back in good form. It had been a week and a half since he’d had it nearly torn off by… well, by what she wasn’t able to fully say. The word ‘zombie’ still stuck in her throat. 

Just like a lot of the words she’d been wanting to say that night as the clock ushered them into a new year and Mulder decided that seven years was a long enough time to wait to land on first base.

Trouble was, they’d seemed to stall there.

She looked around and considered their position for a moment. The remnants of the dinner he bought, the dark shadows of rolling hills and curtain of stars above them. Thought back to her un-birthday baseball lesson. Thought back to Christmas and ghostbusting over a year ago. Thought back to a million other little moments over the past year and started pinning string to each one until they were all connected, every one leading to New Year’s Eve and an unplanned kiss that seemed to her to bring about as many questions as it answered.

“Mulder, can I ask you something?”

“Are my contacts always this reliable? Yes, yes they are, sadly.”

She humored him with a smile.

“Not exactly my question,” she said, leaning forward and bracing her elbows on her knees. She looked down at her clasped hands. Took a breath. “Was this a date?”

A gaping silence followed her question and she knew she had her answer without ever having to hear him speak the words. She turned her head slightly and looked back at him from beneath the curtain of her hair. He was in the same spot, reclined on an elbow. But his eyes had taken on the look of a cornered animal. He’d picked up his soda cup and his hands fiddled with the lid, popping all the little buttons in. Finally, he met her gaze with a guilty air.

She tilted her head, eyebrows raised.

“I’ve had worse dates,” she said easily.

If possible, his gaze became even more pathetic. Her lips pressed together in a smile and she slid off the end of the car hood. His eyes tracked her movement as she walked around to his side and sidled right up to him, hovering just a few inches above him in her heels. The metal of the hood was cold when she pressed her hand down to brace herself on it, a stark contrast to the warmth emanating from his body as she leaned in. She placed a hand over his chest, feeling the reassuring beat of his heart under her palm. When his lips parted, a silent plea offering her an invitation, she curled her fingers into the lapel of his coat and tugged softly. 

His mouth was as warm and welcoming as she remembered from New Years. More so. She felt his fingers slip between the tresses of her hair, his palm a gentle weight against her neck. She let herself be pulled closer, lips parting to taste him, to delve into this new mystery waiting to be unraveled. 

When a natural break for air came, she smiled against his mouth, nuzzling his nose with her own.

“Mulder, take me home. I’m freezing my ass off out here.”

“You don’t want to do a little celestial body bonding under the moonlight?”

She grinned at the stupid and fully expected joke.

“No. I want to get warm. Somewhere comfortable.”

“I can definitely think of a few good ways to accomplish that.”

[news1latest]

Redwood National and State Parks: Discovering the World’s Tallest Trees

Redwood National and State Parks, located on the rugged northern coast of California, are home to the world’s tallest trees—the majestic coast redwoods. These ancient giants, some of which soar over 350 feet into the sky, are a natural wonder that has captivated visitors for generations. Walking among these towering trees is a humbling and awe-inspiring experience, offering a glimpse into a world where nature reigns supreme. Join us as we explore the incredible beauty and significance of these iconic forests.

The Majesty of the World’s Tallest Trees

The coast redwoods, or Sequoia sempervirens, are the tallest trees on Earth, with the tallest known specimen, Hyperion, standing at a staggering 379.7 feet. These trees are not only remarkable for their height but also for their longevity, with some individuals living for more than 2,000 years. As you stand at the base of these colossal trees, craning your neck to take in their full height, you can’t help but feel a profound sense of awe. The redwoods’ immense size and age make them a symbol of endurance and resilience, having survived through millennia of natural and human-induced changes.

A Network of Protected Forests

Redwood National and State Parks is a unique partnership between federal and state agencies, encompassing over 139,000 acres of protected land. This includes Redwood National Park, along with three state parks: Jedediah Smith Redwoods, Del Norte Coast Redwoods, and Prairie Creek Redwoods. Together, these parks protect nearly half of the world’s remaining old-growth redwoods. Each park offers its own unique landscapes and experiences, from the dense, shadowy groves of Jedediah Smith to the coastal cliffs and meadows of Del Norte. No matter where you go, you’ll be surrounded by the awe-inspiring presence of these ancient trees.

Exploring the Redwood Groves

One of the best ways to experience the redwoods is by exploring the many trails that wind through the parks. The trails range from easy walks to more challenging hikes, each offering a different perspective on the forest. The Tall Trees Grove in Redwood National Park is a must-visit, home to some of the tallest trees in the park. The trail to the grove is a moderate hike, leading you deep into the heart of the redwood forest. For a shorter, yet equally impressive experience, the Lady Bird Johnson Grove offers a loop trail that takes you through a cathedral-like grove of towering trees.

The Rich Biodiversity of the Parks

While the redwoods are the star attraction, the parks are also home to a rich array of plant and animal life. The forest floor is lush with ferns, mosses, and wildflowers, creating a vibrant green carpet beneath the towering trees. The parks’ rivers and streams provide habitat for salmon and steelhead trout, while the meadows and coastal areas are home to Roosevelt elk, black bears, and a variety of bird species. The diverse ecosystems within the parks support a complex web of life, making it a hotspot for biodiversity and a living laboratory for scientists and nature enthusiasts alike.

The Coastal Connection

Redwood National and State Parks are not just about the forests; they also encompass some of the most stunning coastal scenery in California. The parks’ rugged coastline features dramatic cliffs, secluded beaches, and rocky tide pools teeming with marine life. The Coastal Trail offers spectacular views of the Pacific Ocean, where you might spot migrating gray whales, playful sea otters, or soaring seabirds. The combination of towering redwoods and wild, windswept shores makes this a truly unique and breathtaking landscape.

The Importance of Preservation

The history of the redwoods is one of survival against the odds. In the late 19th and early 20th centuries, much of the redwood forest was logged, leading to the destruction of vast areas of old-growth trees. However, thanks to the efforts of conservationists and organizations like the Save the Redwoods League, significant portions of these ancient forests were protected. Today, ongoing conservation efforts continue to preserve these giants for future generations. Visitors to the parks are encouraged to follow Leave No Trace principles and support local conservation initiatives to help protect this irreplaceable natural treasure.

Conclusion

Redwood National and State Parks offer a rare opportunity to experience the world’s tallest trees in their natural habitat. The towering redwoods, with their incredible height, age, and beauty, are a reminder of the power and majesty of nature. As you explore these ancient forests, you’ll gain a deeper appreciation for the importance of preserving such extraordinary landscapes. Whether you’re hiking through a serene grove, marveling at the coastal views, or simply standing in awe beneath a giant tree, Redwood National and State Parks provide an unforgettable journey through some of the world’s most remarkable natural wonders.

[cedarboughs]

Hiking Journal: Waterton Lakes NP,

Bauerman/Blakiston Valleys Loop Part III, July 24

After the turnabout sun-blasted slog up Avion the day before, it was a relief to start out knowing we had just a short walk today. It didn’t end up being that, but it was nice to start without much in the way of expectations. And it did end up being my favourite day of the trip.

For one thing, the valley road had left the Kenow Burn behind and was travelling through fresh forest and lovely meadows. The heat wave had somewhat broken too, so it was a pleasantly cooler day.

Twin Lakes campground is only about 3.5 km and 200m of elevation beyond Snowshoe. We got there again before lunch, and made some wraps in the pretty lakeside picnic site. We decided to walk up to Sage Pass to reach the park border again, this time at the continental divide into BC’s lengthily-named Akamina-Kishinena Provincial Park.

But we were feeling good, and the day was good, so we turned to the left and started to climb higher still.

We were on the shoulder of Kishinena Peak, and below we could see the shores of both Twin Lakes and the long Bauerman Valley we had walked up for the last three days. The burnt forest of Day I can be seen in the distance.

On the B.C. side of the ridge, where any desperately needed rainfall would fall eventually to the Pacific, wind blasted through the remains of a different burn, just the occasional blackened krummholz up near treeline here. Looking that way, you look into a hundred kilometres or more of the deep southeast corner of the province, which from Waterton to Elko is pretty much empty of human touches.

I passed beneath this bowed bough which seemed like a gateway to the sky.

Here I am resting along the way up the gradual, scenic, very enjoyable summit ridge.

Finally, the summit of Kishinena, at just over 2400 m elevation, 460 above the campground. Peaks in two provinces and one state line the horizon from here. I’m pretty sure the glaciers in the distance are in, well, Glacier, as in the national park in Montana that stole the name from the one in BC.

After getting back to camp and having dinner, I rested on this recliner piece of driftwood hanging over the lake.

One day remained, the longest one, but a downhill fall back down to the parking lot, and non-dehydrated food, and showers.

[sylv1sflyingthisplane]

Sky Meadows State Park, VA

Figure I should probably use my night sight camera on my pixel for something other than goth concert pics

[rjzimmerman]

Excerpt from this story from Inside Climate News:

Eight thousand years.

That’s roughly how long it takes for snowmelt from Mount Charleston, north of Las Vegas, to reach the aquifer in the Amargosa Basin and Death Valley—the hottest and driest corner of the United States. The temperatures are among the hottest on Earth, with Death Valley potentially setting a world record of over 130 degrees Fahrenheit this summer. Rain is scarce, just a few inches a year in the basin. Its namesake river largely runs dry on the surface, the water hidden underground. The only sign of life across much of the valley adjacent to Death Valley National Park is the sea of creosote bushes, but islands of mesquite and cottonwood trees hide pools of water bluer than the sky above. 

And despite the harsh conditions, those scattered springs, streams and seeps have made this place—Ash Meadows—one of the most biodiverse places in the world. Often called the “Galapagos of the Mojave,” at least 26 endemic species here are found nowhere else, including the rarest fish in the world, the Devil’s Hole pupfish, which lives in a water-filled cavern where the temperature exceeds 90 degrees Fahrenheit.

Many species here have long teetered on the brink of extinction. Human activity in the later half of the 20th century nearly dried up the water supply vital to the area’s plants and animals until the Endangered Species Act, a Supreme Court decision and conservationists saved Ash Meadows by limiting groundwater pumping by local ranchers to maintain water levels critical to the endangered pupfish, eventually designating Ash Meadows as a wildlife refuge in the 1980s. 

That turned the pupfish into a hated pest for many area residents, as protecting it and other wildlife stopped development and economic opportunities faded away. But this past year, a new threat emerging just outside Ash Meadows National Wildlife Refuge transformed the fish from a villain to a hero.

Pickets across the valley mark mining claims to explore for lithium, the mineral critical to batteries for electricity vehicles and storage of the energy from wind and solar projects. Now, a broad coalition of residents, environmentalists, tribes and local leaders are counting on the Endangered Species Act, the refuge and the pupfish to save them from a proposed mine that they fear will further deplete their scarce water resources, threatening the life that has found a way to thrive in the hottest place in the world.

“We want to save Ash Meadows, but Ash Meadows is going save us,” said Carolyn Allen, chair of the Amargosa Valley Town Board, who is helping lead the fight against proposed mining activity.

Water has always been a priority, she said. Already, the aquifer is seeing too much groundwater pumping, putting the endangered species and community here at risk of extinction. Residents’ wells are running dry, spitting out nothing but sand, and a fix would cost tens of thousands of dollars. 

“It’s the desert,” she said. “Water is the lifeblood of everything.”

Exploratory Drilling and Endangered Species

No more than 1,500 feet away from the refuge’s northernmost spring, where on a hot summer day, schools of the colorful endangered Ash Meadows Amargosa pupfish and Ash Meadows Amargosa speckled dace swam, is a playa with a butte filled with lithium that’s attracted the attention of Rover Critical Minerals. The exploratory mining company is looking to drill in the area to research the potential for a mine here. But a study commissioned by the Nature Conservancy—which led the push in the ‘70s and ‘80s to create the refuge by buying up the land around Ash Meadows and transferring it to the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service—found a mine in the area would cause the aquifer to drop 50 feet at the site of the dig, and between two and 30 feet throughout the entire refuge.

Rover was supposed to begin its exploratory drilling last summer, but the Bureau of Land Management, which controls roughly 95 percent of the land in the Amargosa Valley, approved the work without conducting an environmental review, leading the Amargosa Conservancy and Center for Biological Diversity to sue. The BLM pulled its approval of the project and began the review. But in May, locals awoke to claims staked right outside their homes. Rover also proposed exploring the mining potential farther from the refuge but closer to the town and Death Valley National Park.

The project is the latest in a series of environmental battles between mines seeking to dig minerals deemed critical for the renewable energy transition and communities and environmentalists opposing the projects due to their impacts on natural and cultural resources. But unlike many of those disputes, which typically pit mining companies, federal agencies and some local leaders against environmentalists and tribes, the Ash Meadows project has nearly zero local support.

[bu1410]

Good afternoon TUMBLR - June 4th - 2024

“Mr. Plant has owed me a shoe since July 5, 1971.”

IRAQ – RUMAILAH - Sept 2014 – Mar 2016.

Part 1

It's summer 2014, and after 3 years of the Rub el Khali desert (''the Empty Quarter'') I treat myself to a holiday in Val Gardena. Splendid places, the Dolomites – when I look at them I always ask myself the same question: is all this beauty really just the work of Nature? Or over the centuries nameless artists have been able to paint and create this spectacle for the eyes and the heart. Here the slopes are different, almost ''friends'' - different from all the slopes of all the other mountains in the world - in Valle d'Aosta, for example, the mountains are imposing and distant - they impose awe, almost fear, on times. In the Dolomites, in summer as in winter (but especially in summer) you never experience this detachment that the nature of the mountains always imposes on us. Everything, the peaks, the slopes, the fir and larch forests, seems so ''within reach'' (even if obviously this is not the case). The tops and sides of the peaks, so bizarrely shaped, seem to play with the gaze. In general, the woods end almost at the start of the rocks, or they leave the task of carrying us beneath them to the meadows and scree, those immense walls climbed by fearless climbers.

I was immersed in this beauty, walking in the center of Ortisei looking at the Sasslong from time to time, when I received a call from the SAIPEM personnel office:  Mrs. Quattrone: We would like to know if you are available to go to Iraq?  Is there an alternative?  Yes, it's called Nigeria  When should I leaving for Iraq?

So it was that I accepted the role of Project Manager of a pipeline project already underway, whose manager, for reasons I later discovered, had to be replaced. I left in September, and after a 10-day stop in Dubai, necessary for medical examinations and blood tests in order to obtain a VISA for Iraq, I boarded the flight to Basra.

From Dubai to Basra From Dubai to Basra the flight duration is approximately 2 hours. The two great rivers of Mesopotamia, the cradle of Civilization, join before Basra, and the slow descent of the plane towards Basra gives the opportunity to appreciate the complexity of the mouth of the two rivers. The Faw peninsula is a tangle of canals, some dredged by man to allow the approach of supertankers loading Iraqi oil arriving at the terminals from the nearby oil fields. Ships that would otherwise run aground on the sandy and shifting seabed before reaching the open sea. The Persian Gulf (or Arabian Sea) is a sea with very shallow waters, and therefore difficult to navigate. The coasts are littered with shipwrecks stranded in the sand, and then left to rust under the merciless sun that glares for more than 300 days a year in the ever-fading sky above the Arabian Peninsula. I arrive at Basra airport, and I immediately realize that it is not an airport like all the others. It is in a perpetual state of siege, defended by anti-aircraft fire, and inside - apart from the airport staff - there are only departing or arriving passengers. No relatives or friends to wait or greet travelers. The luggage undergoes a double inspection, after which we are driven outside towards old American Suburbans: they carry 8 passengers plus the local driver. Which, after leaving the car park, launches at 180 km per hour towards the airport's outer checkpoint, about 8 km away. It was explained to me that these few kilometers are the most dangerous, because they are subject to sporadic guerrilla attacks, almost always with mortars. Once we arrive at the external fence of the airport, there is a new manual baggage check, then we are finally outside, and immediately taken over by the military patrol who will accompany us to the Saipem compound in Rumailah, about 50 kilometers away from the airport.

Basra airport – Rumailah SAIPEM Base The patrol leader gives us a short briefing, we put on the bulletproof vest, which is mandatory every time we leave the compound. It weighs about 10kg, and it's hard to bear, but the thought that it can save your life makes it weigh less. The helmet is available, but it is not mandatory to wear it when we are inside the armored car. These are all Toyota Land Cruisers, with doors so heavy you have to push with two hands to close them. The convoy is made up of 3 Land Cruisers, we ''civilians'' are in the car in the middle with a military doctor who sits in front, next to the driver (usually a former Iraqi soldier). In front of the car with the escort chief and 3 soldiers, behind us the same: a car with 3 soldiers and a driver.

We are on the coastant connection via radio and GPS between us and the security room located inside the Saipem compound, where they always know exactly where we are. Everything went well, we arrived without problems at the SAIPEM base, a sort of ''armored citadel'', surrounded by 3 high reinforced concrete fences, barbed wire, turrets with armed guards 24/7. The path to enter the base is made up of zigzag Jersey barriers to prevent a car bomb from possibly launching itself against the checkpoint house at the entrance. Before entering the base, all vehicles are subjected to inspection, with dogs trained in anti-terrorism, to prevent dangerous vehicles from entering the compound. Between the first and second fence, all the patrol soldiers unload their weapons in a special enclosure. All active measures to prevent rebels and terrorists from attempting to attack the compound, where around a hundred expatriates of all origins live: Europeans, Asians, Africans. The compound is equipped with containers with single and double rooms, with bathrooms - canteen with Italian chef - office block - infirmary with 2 doctors - gym, sauna, and indoor swimming pool - workshop and equipment workshop. It is the first time that SAIPEM allows employees to have a swimming pool in one of their compound, as the swimming pool has always been considered ''a luxury item''.

Iraq in 2016 Several projects were underway with the participation of SAIPEM, with clients such as EXXON, SHELL, and the SOC - South Oil Company - Iraqi oil company. I would like to say straight away that the Iraq experience was my happiest experience from a human point of view. All the participants in the various projects, from Top Management right down to the Security staff, everyone showed an exceptional spirit of collaboration - never found in any of my long years abroad in the various countries where I found myself operating. And this meant that, despite a thousand difficulties, the projects were completed, although sometimes with understandable delays. I can't imagine if this hadn't been the case, in an objectively difficult situation like that of Iraq. Outside the base, further North in the country, the Islamic State was raging, making its presence felt even among the workers of our Sub-Contractors. Sometimes members of their staff did not return after being on holiday in their hometowns in the North. Most of the time they received threats of kidnapping ''because we know that you collaborate with the Westerners''. Other times they were forcibly enrolled in the various militias, and then nothing more was known about them. The local Sub-Contractors, even more than usual, had terrible performances, partly due to the actual difficulties in finding equipment and specialized labor, and adequate materials. Another important obstacle to the normal progress of the work was represented by the VISA problem: it was very difficult to obtain work visas for Iraq. And once obtained they had a short expiry date, so one was forced to continually renew them. The project I was working on, an oil pipeline, ran inside an oil field that had been the scene of furious fighting during the second Gulf War, between the Anglo-Americans and Iraqis. Before proceeding with the excavations, a thorough demining campaign was carried out, given the enormous quantity of unexploded ordnance left by both sides on the ground.

Along the 40 km that separated the Saipem Base from the oil field there were 4 military check points. These were the most dangerous points of the route: the gathering of vehicles caused by the controls potentially created areas favorable to possible attacks by ISIS terrorists. In the endless minutes stopped in the column, our Guardian Angels were particularly alert, to determine potential dangerous situations. Numerous problems were created by the Iraqi soldiers in charge of the controls: we passengers had been instructed to remain seated, our hands visible, our legs uncrossed, and the use of cell phones was prohibited. Obviously taking photographs was prohibited – and if we arrived at a checkpoint when the soldiers were at prayer or during their lunch, we had to wait for these activities to end, without showing any sign of impatience. Another element that caused delays in the project was the torrential rains that fell on Iraq in 2015-2016: the most intense rainfall in living memory on the Middle Eastern country. The pipeline route and its surroundings often turned into impassable swamps, causing considerable damage.

[istandonsnowpiles]

Fascinating effects in H⍺

Captured using a full spectrum camera with an H-alpha pass filter

[randomwriter5000]

The Chimera: Part Five

Pairing: Nicodeme Savoy x OC (Can be read as Nicodeme Savoy x Reader) Warnings: Accuracies and inaccuracies about the 1920s, Angst, Unhealthy coping mechanisms, Violence, Injuries, Explosions Word Count: 2,931

Summary: The California Chimera. Born with a genetic abnormality causing her face to be split down the middle. Not only an oddity, but a source of fear for many as she is a notorious gun for hire across the United States. After a near death experience and the death of most of her family, Chimera now goes to the bustling town of St. Louis on a job. Used to other cats eyes looking at her in disgust and fear a new reaction catches her eye. A pair of cats that look at her with curiosity and wonder. One of them being Nicodeme Savoy. Could she be biting off more than she can chew with the Louisianan?

Part Five: I See Fire

Chapter Summary: Fire isn't something to play with. Unless you want to get hurt.

Despite St. Louis being a bustling city full of cars, suburbs, and industrial heartland, there were places where a cat could find peace. The forests, parks, and, most notably, cemeteries were a place for such relaxation. With the nonexistence of the nagging noise of engines and cats, anyone could take in nature. The nature ranged from the small cottontail rabbit running in a burrow to the swift deer running across the meadow.

On the outskirts of the city, a lonesome cemetery stood. However, the crunch and cracking of roots could be heard. An oddly colored cat stomped her foot on a shovel, huffing as she threw the dirt over her head. Hearing the recognizable thump of wood, she looked above the ditch to see Nico toss the shovel to the side and look at her with a smirk.

“I win, cher,” He tightened the bandages around his paws. “Now, where to take you?”

Chimeras’ ear pinned themed back as she pouted. “You cheated! Yours has to be shallower!” She jumped out of the grave and stomped through the mud and into the pit. The hole was clearly shallower, barely reaching her waist, while others had come up to her shoulders. “Point proven!”

“Never took ya’ for a sore loser.” Nico patted her head only to make her take a breath to control the red spreading across her face. With a proud smile across his face, Nico purred. “Well, cher, how sho- Seraphine!”

A crowbar had been tossed at Nico, narrowing missing Chimera. “Get dat liquor in da car!” She barked before rolling her eyes and walking back into the car.

Walking out of the pit, Chimera gripped the shove and returned to work. Each strike to the dirt was an attempt to wipe her face from the blush. Only ten minutes passed, and her crowbar finally cracked the grave open, but the red on her face remained prominent. Shaking her head, she gripped the coffin and dragged it out.

“Ready for da last, mon ami?” Seraphine asked as Nico walked over, tossing his emptied coffin into the lake.

“The last job of the night?” She clarified, watching Nico pull the full coffin and load the alcohol into the car. “Extremely, I have a couple…things to do tomorrow,” She dragged, rolling her neck from the nonextant stress.

Laughing could be heard from the older savoy sibling. “I thought we were goin’ on a date, cher?”

“That doesn’t count. That grave was shallow,” Chimeria growled, her ears twitching in annoyance.

“What will it take then, cher?” Nico seemed genuinely curious.

Leaning onto the car as Nico gripped the final bottles, Chimeria thought about the interesting question. “An act of God, or a lot of money?” She shrugged, looking up at the moon shining in the jet-black sky. “I'm not even sure that will work,” A chuckle left her as she counted the bottles stacked in the back.

“I can be persuasive, cher, as y’know,” Nico flirted, closing the lid.

Opening the door to the backseat, Cimeria smirked before jumping into the back of the car. “And I can be notoriously stubborn.”

The trio finally got into the car. Once the engine roared, Chimeria pulled off her glove with her teeth, her other paw reaching into her coat pocket for a leather journal. The leather was clearly worn through the years, yet the spine was fully intact. Chimera pulled out a pencil before writing down the number of alcohol in the back.

“Writin’ back there, cher?” Nico looked in the rearview mirror.

“Just making sure I got everything…” She dragged, tapping her fingers against the leather. “50 bottles…” She spoke to no one.

Getting up from her seat, Seraphine stared at the oddly colored cat. “Tell me somethin’, cher,” Seraphine leaned towards Chimera. “Why don’t y’tell yer’ real names to anyone? ”

“Mainly for tradition and safety,” Chimera answered.

Bored at the answer, Seraphine sat back in her seat, pulling out her knife to sharpen. “How do ya get into this business?” Nico asked. “Can ya’ jus’ walk in?”

Chimera laughed. “You two are awfully curious,” She pointed out but continued. “You are either born into it like I was. Otherwise, you must know someone, marry into it, or you’re the rare people who get in on their own merit.”

“What ‘bout ya’ parents?” Seraphines’ tall ears perked up as she handed a cigarette to Nico.

“My mother was born into it. My father got in on his merits and then married my mom,” She spoke curtly as she opened her journal. “We are dropping off the bottles, right?”

“Oui, we will be there soon,” Nico confirmed.

 It didn’t take long to return to the city. The closer they got to the town, the more common car engines, streetlights, and tall buildings were. The alcohol was quickly dropped off to another group of Mr. Sweets guys. After sharing goodbyes, The trio was in the car heading down towards the business center of St Louis. Chimeria looked down at her journal and began to look at the names in the book. Multiple from the previous weeks, but only one without a line struck through it.

“Alright, the last person is…Ah Monsieur Jones,” Chimera read in the back seat. “So how do you two usually handle these where we need to tie the guy up for information?”

Seraphne chuckled, taking the cigarette out of her mouth. “Mordecai usually does all dat,”

“We do da fun part, Cher,” Nico grinned, looking at her through the rearview mirror.

“I do not want to be Mordecai for a day,” She grumbled sarcastically. “That would be very imprudent.” She mimicked the deadpanned tone of the tuxedo perfectly.

Seraphine let out a cackling laugh. “You sound jus’ like ‘im!” She turned to face the smaller cat. “How did ya meet ‘im?”

Leaning her head onto the leather headrest, Chimera couldn't help but let out a loud laugh. “Now that was a fun day. My parents had a business in St. Louis and promoted the Brothers of Peril to Atlas May. When Mordecai saw me, I thought he would have a heart attack. The first words he said to me were, ‘The asymmetry of my face made him want to die.’ One of the better insults I should say is,” She is mocking the deadpanned tone used by the tuxedo. “After that, I worked with him, and I guess we developed a mutual respect for each other.”

“Course’ he can’t see da luck,” Seraphine rolled her eyes, waving her hand in the air dismissively. “Plenty of people can’t see it, but we can Cher.”

Chimera's ears twitched in annoyance at the word luck as she looked over Jones's name etched into the paper. “Perhaps you're just not afraid because there is nothing different between me and a normal cat.”

“Dat ain't true,” Seraphine argued sternly. “Yer’ riddled with luck and power. The best part is dat y’know how to use it. Dats why Nico asked da fat man for ya’ to be with us.”

“Aw, how sweet that it wasn’t just to ask me on a date,” Chimera smirked as Nico shrugged.

A laugh escaped Chimera as she looked out of the car's window to the streetlights exposing the dark streets. After another conversation, the trio laughed as if they were old friends. However, the joyful laughter died as they caught sight of the business of Mr. Jones. Parking the car down the alleyway behind the company building.

Chimera was the first to hop out as she scanned the area. The building was two stories tall. Peeking into the window, she saw cats inside working despite the late hour. If there were fewer cats, she would break down the door. Her ears twitched as she looked over her shoulder to see the siblings grabbing their weapons. As she walked back, the siblings seemed eager to charge in guns blazing, literally and figuratively.

“We shouldn’t break the doors down.” Chimera looked up at the building, seeing a fire escape. “But I have a plan for us to both have fun.”

“Alright,” Chimera spoke to no one as she was hidden behind a tower of crates as she loaded her rifle. “Here goes nothing.”

Steading the scope, she aimed and took a breath. Her gun was aimed at the giant chandelier hanging off the ceiling of the grand room by a skinny cord. Chimera then pulled the trigger, causing the chandelier to crash down to the floor. Dozens of gunmen surrounded the destroyed light while others went to investigate. One of them, Mr. Jones, the target. The group was so focused on investigating they didn’t notice a grey cat click her shotgun.

A barrage of bullets loaded themselves into the cats surrounding the chandelier. Seraphine's recognizable laugh echoed through the business as shots missed her, and nearly every gunman was down. With her scope, Chimera took out a few stragglers who ran to the doors but didn't realize that they were jammed from the outside. Passing her view was Mr. Jones, running to his office. Only to be cut off by a solid punch to the face from Nico. Chimera chuckled before coming out of her hiding spot.

 Nico had quickly subdued the man and tied him to a chair. Looking at Seraphine, who had a Cheshire cat grin as she reloaded his gun, Chimera spoke. “What do you think? Was my plan good?”

“Yer a breath of fresh air compared to Peekon!” She smiled, slinging her gun back on her hip.

“I'm glad you liked it. I never get to be extravagant like this,”  Chimera gazed at the shattered chandelier.

A grunt was heard as she turned her head to see Nico smirking. “There will be plenty of fun things with us, cher,” Nico promised.

As she opened her mouth, Chimera's ears swiveled at the thudding from upstairs. “I'll get them. You two can have the pleasure of interrogating him.” The oddly colored cat smiled at the siblings before jogging up the stairs.

Hearing constant shuffling from the office down the hall told her someone was there. Yet, the cat was still careful as she gripped her pistol tightly. The shuffling suddenly stopped, her body as her ears stood straight for noise. A sudden creak had her dash out of the way of a door that swung open to reveal a gunman. Two quick shots were all it took until the door behind her opened, hitting her in the side. Hissing, Chimera shot blindly into the wooden door, hearing a yell of pain. Spinning to the front of the door, she pulled the trigger.

With both gunmen dead, Chimera groaned, rubbing her side that the oak door had slammed into her. Turning her oddly colored eyes to the door at the end of the hallway, she marched to the door.  Leaning her ear on the office door, she took a breath and gave one hard kick to the doorknob. Before stepping into the office, she was immediately met by someone throwing a box of documents and papers at her face. Chimera pulled out her gun and shot the cat in the knee. Growling, she ripped his weapons away from him. While the cat sobbed on the ground, Chimera uncharacteristically froze.

Her eyes were wide, her posture stiff, and her breathing paused. Among the dozens of papers that had floated all over the floor, Chimera grabbed a medium-sized picture. The distinctive cat in the foreground was a younger Chimera with a broad smile holding up a first-place ribbon while a rifle was slung on her shoulder. While a dozen other cats were around her. However, a cat with its face circled was who they were clearly after, with the name ‘The Wraith’ written on top.

Pulling out her gun, she gripped the man's collar. “How the hell did you get this picture?”

“I-I-“ She shot him in the leg. “Where!”

“Jones! He knows! I swear I don’t-“ A gunshot landed in his skull before Chimera stomped out of the room.

Jogging down the stairs, Chimera saw that the siblings seemed pleased with themselves. Nico turned to see Chimera. “Hey Cher, we got-“

“Let me have him,” She gripped the photo tightly as she marched up to the tied-up cat.

“What ya-“ Before Nico could finish, he got his answer. Chimera gripped a tire iron and struck Jones in the knee.

Chimera gripped his face to stare at her as he yelled in pain. “Where the hell did you get this picture?!” She shoved the picture in his face.

“I found it-”

Hitting his knee against she hissed. “Lie to me again. I'm taking that leg off. Now, where the hell did you get this picture,” She repeated slowly, her eyes filled with anger. “Only two people in the world have this picture, and you are not one of them!”

“Chimera-“ Nico tried to interrupt.

“Shut the hell up, Nico!” She hissed, her eyes slit and fur flared. “Where the hell is he?” She gripped the cat's collar. “I will make your life hell if you don’t tell me.”

The sudden sound of a shotgun caused her to turn her head. Looking over her shoulder, she could see a couple of people Nico and Seraphine were taking care of. Before she could reach for her gun, a sudden punch to the face set her backward. Holding her jaw, she watched the target dash out of his chair and run.

“Get back here!” She roared, dashing off to the man.

With a pistol in hand, she chased him up the stairs, around a corner, and into a room. Only for Chimera's feet to freeze at the smell of gasoline. Her eyes were as round as golf balls, and her heart began to pound in her chest. The target dumped gasoline all over the room, where boxes of dynamite were stacked up neatly. Holding up a match, he dropped flame. The flames were uncontrollable as the fire swallowed the room and the dangerous boxes.

“Chimera-“ Nico turned the corner but was met by the frantic eyes of Chimera.

“RUN!” She screamed, grabbing Nico and running in the opposite direction at full speed.

“What da hell is going on?!” He barked, chasing Chimera as she rushed down the stairs as if she saw a ghost.

“Dynamite!” She looked to her side to see Seraphine loading her gun. “Seraphine! Get out!” She yelled, the terror in her voice evident. Not hesitating, Seraphine ran out of the building alongside the two cats.

The sudden and defining explosion threw the trio of cats, mainly Chimera, into a brick wall. Her ears rang as she felt the cold asphalt beneath her paws. Every noise was muffled except her pounding heart. Her eyes stung from the smoke as flames engulfed the warehouse. Her whole body shook as she stared at the fire. Looking down at her gun, she shakily pulled herself up. Her eyes scanned the area in the distance. The target was making a run for it. The shaking stopped as a deep breath was taken as she aimed. Then she pulled the trigger, and a bullet lodged into their back.

With a slight limp, Chimera stomped on the back of the scrambling cat. “How did you get that photo,” She spoke slowly and darkly. “If you don’t, I will throw you into the fire.”

“He gave it to me to identify your brother!” He attempted to scramble away.

“Who is he!?” She roared, stomping on his back.

“The Red Snake!” He admitted. “No one knows what the Wraith looks like and-“ A bullet landed in his head.

“And nobody will,” Chimera continued to shoot the lifeless body until the magazine was empty.

Her eyes were blown wide and black as night with adrenaline as she panted for air. A chill ran down her spine at the feeling of eyes on her. The pounding in her heart changed from adrenaline-laced panic to fear.

“You're fine, you’re alive. No emotion, not sadness, no fear,” Chimera muttered as she attempted to take breaths. However, her heart was still pounding, her hands shook, and her pupils were blown wide. “You're fine, you’re alive. No emotion, not sadness, no fear.”

“Mon ami-“ Seraphine's paw brushed her shoulder.

“I’m fine!” Chimera barked, walking away from the body. “We-we have the information now we can leave,” She began walking towards the car as her body continued to shake.

Nico blocked her path. “Hey, cher-

“I'm fine,” She grumbled, feeling the blood dripping down her forehead. “That explosion…” She whispered.

“We need to get ya to the hospital,” The tomcat tried to reason. “Dat John guy-“

“No!” She barked, but her ears immediately pinned themselves back, realizing how loud she was. “He-he isn’t there. I-I…” She attempted to run her hand through her hair only to hit the deep cut in her skull.

The siblings looked at each other as Chimera leaned on the alley’s wall. “I-Im going home,” She began to fast walk down the alleyway with the bit of adrenaline left in her body.

“Chimera!” Nico shouted along with Seraphine, who was quick enough to jump in front of the agile cat.

Seraphine joined her brother with a concerned expression. “Mon ami are you-“

“Get the hell out of my way!” She screamed, causing the siblings' eyes to widen. “Don’t act like you know me! Don’t act like you care about me! Leave me alone!” Her head pounded as she yelled. The stabbing pain in her skull overwhelmed her senses as she fell to her knees.

Authors Note: Ah... angst. Don't worry it will be balanced with some fluff soon.

[academylimousineservicellc]

The Best Connecticut Destinations for a Romantic Limo Date Night

When it comes to creating unforgettable memories, few experiences rival a romantic date night with a touch of luxury. Connecticut, with its picturesque landscapes, historic charm, and vibrant nightlife, offers countless opportunities for couples to enjoy a magical evening. And what better way to elevate the experience than with a premier limousine service? Let us guide you through some of the best destinations in Connecticut for a romantic limo date night.

1. Stroll Through Mystic Seaport

Start your evening by exploring the charm of Mystic Seaport. Walk hand-in-hand through the historic village, enjoy waterfront views, and immerse yourselves in the beauty of the harbor. Afterward, your chauffeured limousine will be waiting to whisk you away to your next destination.

2. Wine Tasting at a Local Vineyard

Connecticut is home to several stunning vineyards, making it perfect for a wine tour date. Sunset Meadow Vineyards or Chamard Vineyards are excellent options to sip exquisite wines while enjoying breathtaking scenery. Our limousine service ensures you can relax and savor every sip responsibly.

3. Dinner at Saybrook Point Inn

For a romantic dinner with waterfront views, Saybrook Point Inn offers a perfect setting. Its fine dining experience, featuring locally sourced ingredients and exceptional service, pairs beautifully with the elegance of a limo ride.

4. Live Entertainment in New Haven

Head to New Haven for an evening of live entertainment. Whether it’s a show at the Shubert Theatre or live music at one of the city’s intimate venues, New Haven has plenty to offer. With a limo, you’ll enjoy a stress-free ride through the city’s bustling streets.

5. Starry Nights at Talcott Mountain State Park

End your evening under the stars. Take a scenic drive to Talcott Mountain State Park, where you can admire the night sky together. With our limousine service, the journey itself becomes a memorable part of your date night.

At Academy Limousine, we specialize in turning ordinary nights into extraordinary experiences. Whether you’re celebrating an anniversary, planning a proposal, or simply want to treat your loved one to an unforgettable evening, our premier limousine service ensures comfort, style, and sophistication every step of the way.

Learn more about how we can make your romantic date night truly special by visiting Academy Limousine. Let us take care of the journey while you focus on creating memories that last a lifetime.

[mysteamgreenoc]

Escape to the Natural Beauty of Santiago Oaks Regional Park in Orange, CA

Nestled in the picturesque hills of Orange, CA, Santiago Oaks Regional Park provides a tranquil escape for nature enthusiasts and outdoor adventurers. The park’s diverse landscapes, abundant wildlife, and variety of recreational opportunities make it an ideal retreat from the hustle and bustle of city life. Whether you’re drawn to hiking, birdwatching, or simply relaxing in nature, Santiago Oaks offers a captivating experience that showcases the charm of Southern California's outdoors.

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Traverse the Scenic Trails

Santiago Oaks Regional Park features an extensive network of trails that meander through oak woodlands, open meadows, and rugged hillsides. With trails of different difficulty levels, the park welcomes everyone from casual walkers to avid hikers. Visitors can soak in expansive views of the surrounding landscapes and explore diverse ecosystems along the paths. The trails are also popular for mountain biking and horseback riding, adding to the park’s appeal as a versatile destination for outdoor activities in Orange, CA.

Encounter Wildlife and Native Vegetation

The park is a haven for wildlife, with sightings of deer, coyotes, and various bird species being common. Birdwatchers will find it an ideal location for observing both local and migratory birds, while nature lovers can enjoy the diverse array of plants, including coastal sage scrub and stately oak trees. Interpretive signs along the trails offer information about the park's flora and fauna, providing an educational dimension to the natural beauty that surrounds visitors.

Enjoy a Picnic Amidst Nature

For those looking to relax, Santiago Oaks Regional Park has designated picnic areas shaded by mature oak trees, creating a peaceful setting for family outings or solo retreats. Equipped with picnic tables and barbecue grills, these spots make it convenient to enjoy a meal while immersed in nature. The serene environment and scenic surroundings offer the perfect backdrop for unwinding and reconnecting with the outdoors in Orange, CA.

Capture Stunning Landscapes and Sunset Views

Photography enthusiasts and lovers of scenic vistas will find plenty to admire at Santiago Oaks Regional Park. The elevated trails offer sweeping views of the park, especially during sunrise and sunset when the sky is filled with vibrant colors. These picturesque moments enhance the park's natural appeal, making it a favorite location for capturing beautiful landscape photos.

Santiago Oaks Regional Park blends recreation, education, and relaxation, providing a perfect escape for those looking to enjoy the natural beauty of Orange, CA. Its scenic trails, rich wildlife, and peaceful atmosphere make it a beloved destination for outdoor exploration and enjoyment.

[ruobingsun]

Important Fire Safety Tips for Campers

Camping is a popular outdoor activity in the United States. According to The Dyrt, the nation's largest camping information and services provider, just under 85 million Americans went camping at least once in 2023. This is about one-quarter of the population. The survey also indicates that America's camping community may grow considerably in the immediate future, with close to 30 percent of respondents who have yet to try camping saying they plan to do so within the next three years. There were 5.5 million first-time campers in 2023, and over 20 million US residents have tried camping for the first time during the last three years.

Camping provides individuals, families, and groups of friends with many social, physical, and psychological benefits. That said, first-time campers should be aware of many potential dangers and common challenges they may face while camping.

Campfires represent one of the most common safety issues for American campers. According to the U.S. Fire Administration, recreational vehicle (RV) owners report about 4,200 fires each year. The National Park Service reports that 85 percent of wildfires result from human activities, though not all human-created fires are caused by unattended or out of control campfires.

Individuals should familiarize themselves with local campfire regulations before arriving at a campground. Basic safety tips include never leaving the fire unattended at any time, keeping all flammable liquids and objects far away from the fire, situating the fire away from overhanging branches and debris, and maintaining a manageable fire size. When it comes time to extinguish the campfire, individuals should douse the area in water several times, turning over the embers and ashes to cover the entire fire. Campers should not leave their campsite until the ashes are cold to the touch.

Whether it is caused by an unattended campfire or a chance lightning strike, a wildfire is a significant danger to campers. According to the National Interagency Fire Center there were 66,255 wildfires in the US in 2022, which burned over 7.5 million acres. Campers should check regional fire hazard warnings and reports before and during a camping trip. If campers see a large smoke column that starts filling the sky, they should quickly head in the opposite direction. If the smoke column is bending, the direction of the bend suggests the direction the fire is moving.

Campers fleeing a wildfire should know that fire spreads uphill faster than downhill, so there is no advantage to seeking higher ground unless it is possible to quickly ascend a ridge and travel down the other side. Instead, campers should seek out large open areas, such as meadows, with little vegetation and rock outcroppings. Shallow lakes and creeks are also helpful, though groups should prioritize getting away from the fire as quickly as possible. However, it can be beneficial to travel over blackened earth, as the fire is most likely headed away from such an area, though campers should remain wary of hot ash and embers on the ground and debris falling from burned trees.

These are only a few important safety tips for first-time campers to know. Other critical areas include camping first aid, how to avoid getting lost, crossing rivers, and avoiding or managing encounters with wild animals.