#liberty clipper

[samwpmarleau]

fic: clippers

aka 1,500 words of me continuing to not accept bucky’s tfatws hair

Dr. Raynor had recommended it, though Bucky suspects she wasn’t the only person involved. These days, there’s a whole pack of people with say-so over his life, getting their jollies by hanging freedom over his head. She said it might help with people’s perception of him if he looked less like he did as an assassin. If he looked more like the young war hero who fought Nazis.

(Saving the universe counts for nothing, does it? he’d wanted to say but didn’t.)

It had irked him, the suggestion. Perhaps because it wasn’t really a suggestion. Raynor had thought he was resisting just to be contrary. He hadn’t had an issue with dressing like a twenty-first century civilian, after all, nor concealing his metal arm beneath jackets and gloves, so what’s the problem, James?

(That’s different, he’d wanted to say but didn’t. That’s so I don’t frighten anyone. So I don’t get stared at and invite questions people don’t want the answers to.)

All right, maybe part of him was just being contrary, because he’s already at his wits’ fucking end with how many conditions and surrendering of liberties this goddamn pardon has. But as he stands at the mirror, sharpened scissors in hand, it is not contrariness that makes him hesitate.

Nor is it the unfamiliarity of cutting his own hair, for he’s done that many times before, both before the war and since. He’s even got a picture to reference of some duck-lipped model showing off what Bucky can only describe as Generic Modern Man Haircut. He’d be Just Some Guy walking down the street with it, which is exactly what the government wants.

So, he does it both because he must and because any reason he can think of to not do it sounds pathetic, and although it’s not the fresh sort of cut he’d get from a proper barber, it’s serviceable. A few strategic passes of gel to disguise any unevenness and he’d be good to go.

(He’d tried that once, in Romania, having a professional touch up the ends, had even managed to tamp down his discomfort through the shampooing and smalltalk. The minute the man brandished the scissors and approached Bucky’s head with them, however, it was all he could do to not take those scissors and stab the man in the carotid out of pure reflex. He’d made it to the alleyway outside before expelling the street mici he’d had only an hour earlier, overcome by how easy the murder would have been. How natural. How he could have eliminated the entire shop of innocents before anyone knew what hit them. Erase the security tape, if there was one, and slip back into the ghost he was for seventy years. He’d returned in the dead of night to leave an envelope with a note of apology and a wad of lei and, needless to say, from then on the only blades that touched his hair were his own.)

He doesn’t recognize the man staring back at him in the mirror, once all is said and done. Which is a bit ludicrous; it’s a haircut, not plastic surgery, and for most of his conscious life he’d had short hair. This shouldn’t be any different. Yet, still he stands there in the bathroom with scissors in his hand and a sink full of brunette strands, for far longer than is reasonable.

He sucks it up, eventually, adjusts to the new length — or lack thereof. In fairness, some of it is easier. Showers are shorter, his hair tie budget is nonexistent, the drain clogs with less frequency, and he doesn’t look quite so much like a drowned rat when it rains.

Dr. Raynor is pleased when he shows up. She says it suits him, that it makes him look normal, that folks will have a harder time recognizing him as the Winter Soldier.

(They already don’t recognize me, he wants to say but doesn’t. I could be standing in front of a newscast about myself and no one would notice. I spent the better part of a century in the shadows — you think I don’t know how to hide?)

“James,” she says in that self-righteous way she does so well, “this is progress.”

She must be right, for she’s got that fancy, framed degree up on her wall that says she’s right, and there’s the goddamn pardon thing that means he cannot step one foot over the line no matter how ridiculous that line is. He utters a thank-you to her, white-knuckles his way through the session, and continues trying to cobble together a life.

Sam brings it up one day, after Walker, the Flag Smashers, and Bucky’s tentative integration into the Wilsons’ orbit. “Meant to say, looks good, man.”

It’s an innocuous statement, really. Well, it should be. Sam regards him a little too long, a little too probingly, for Bucky to believe that it is, in fact, innocuous. Sam’s gauging his reaction is what he’s doing, so Bucky denies a reaction that permits any gauging at all. The slight frown that appears between Sam’s brows tells him he succeeded.

Sam keeps up the ruse nonetheless, following it up with a playful insult as to Bucky’s cutting skills. He texts him the address of someone who is, allegedly, the best barber in Louisiana, tells him he made an appointment for tomorrow afternoon. Bucky goes. It’s not like he’s got anything better to do these days.

He’s the only white guy in the place, which elicits both stares from the other patrons and a hearty laugh from the barber resetting his station. “Sergeant Barnes?”

“How’d you guess?” Bucky deadpans, earning himself another laugh.

He’s gotten better at controlling his fears, his impulses, so the barber’s array of scissors and razors does not send him straight into the alleyway like it did years ago. The soul food from around the corner stays firmly in his stomach. The barber himself — Marcus — is jovial, considerate, and does his best to counter the uneasiness Bucky knows must be rolling off him in waves. Some good-natured shit-talking to cap things off.

Despite it all, when Marcus asks, “Just maintenance, sarge? Or you lookin’ for something new?” Bucky pauses.

And pauses some more, prompting Marcus to ask again, “Mr. Barnes?”

“Sorry,” Bucky says, realizing he’s a few more seconds of silence away from making Marcus genuinely concerned. “I just, uh …”

“I got a few suggestions, if you need,” Marcus offers. “Bit of fade on the sides, or —”

“No,” Bucky blurts out.

Marcus holds his hands up. “All right, no fade then.”

“That’s not — I didn’t mean —” Bucky takes a deep breath through his nose, exhales through his mouth. “I’m not trying to be rude, it’s …”

Bucky looks in the mirror again. Takes in the same face he’s seen for the past seven months, ever since Dr. Raynor gave him the suggestion-that-wasn’t-a-suggestion. He trusts in Marcus’s talents, that even Sam would find it worthy of a compliment.

(He can’t say he’d turn down a compliment from Sarah either, flirting ban be damned. It’d be Sam’s own fault, anyway.)

“I’m growing it out,” Bucky declares, as much to himself as to Marcus.

“Okay, cool. I can see it.” Then Marcus adds, almost pleads, “I gotta at least clean it up. No disrespect, but did you use a hacksaw?”

Bucky lets his mind drift as Marcus’s twang launches into another story. Half an hour later, he comes away with a list of must-watches and must-eats, plus a full pamphlet on how to not fuck up Marcus’s handiwork. After a generous tip and firm handshake, Bucky emerges from the shop feeling … not strange, exactly, but something.

The unspoken change, once it’s noticed in the months afterwards, garners him a variety of responses from the Wilson clan. When Bucky’s birthday rolls around, Sam and the giggling boys go in on a smorgasbord of scrunchies and clips that Bucky’s fairly certain were designed for a six-year-old girl. More seriously, a tin of pomade that Bucky knows is damn expensive.

For Sarah’s part, several hours later, the pain-pleasure of her knotting her fingers in his hair as she gasps out his name like a prayer is, he thinks, a resounding endorsement.

(Dr. Raynor would — possibly literally — smack him in the face with disappointment if she saw. Walker’d taken care of that, though, of her say-so having any bearing on his choices. Not that Bucky plans on sending the man a thank-you note or anything.)

As it nears his shoulders, Bucky supposes it does make him resemble the Winter Soldier. More than the bright-eyed draftee who gave his life for god and country, anyway, or the subject of the post-Snap government’s rebranding campaign.

Except, in his reflection he also sees the fugitive who’d been coaxed by his elderly neighbor into Sunday dinners of enough sarmale and mămăligă and papanași to give even his metabolism a run for its money. The man who’d been gifted new life, goats, and an affectionate nickname by Wakandans who never once looked at him with fear. The reluctant soldier who stood side-by-side with a talking raccoon and Asgardian god against an alien onslaught.

And maybe it’s silly to put so much stock in something as simple as hair. Maybe Bucky’s value system is in worse shape than his ability to tell fact from fiction when he wakes from a dream (a memory?).

But when he stares into the mirror with the Louisiana heat sticking hair and clothes alike to his skin, a house full of scampering feet, bickering, and hot breakfast just outside the door, it is not the Winter Soldier or James Barnes The Upstanding Member of Society that he sees. He sees himself. Just himself.

“You good, Buck?” Sarah asks when he comes downstairs, worry in her eyes. “You were in there awhile.”

“Yeah,” he wants to say — and does, because he can, because it’s the truth. A smile creeps onto his face. “I’m good.”

#idk man i saw some tweets about how bucky is seemingly going back to the long hair for thunderbolts and went oh??? #anyway. there's a bit of #bucky x sarah #because i couldn't help myself but most of this is gen if that matters #also feat. bucky's awful therapist #bucky barnes #christina raynor #sam wilson #sarah wilson #marvel fic #my fic

[sebstan2020]

Not Leaving

Chapter 9

Parings: Steve Kemp x Noa

Summary: What if Noa hadn’t managed to kill Steve and hadn’t been able to get away, what would have happened.

Alternative ending to Fresh were Steve wins against the fight between Noa, Molly and Penny

Warnings: Dom/sub, Psychopath, Kidnapping, Cannibalism, Captive, Handcuffs, Medical torture, Light bondage, Blood, Controlling

Steve clipped Noa’s cuffs together, bringing her hands in front of her. His long soft fingers gently grazed the backs of her hands, his touch warm and soothing. Steve helped Noa off the stool, grabbing the middle of the clip and curling his fingers around in a firm grip. Steve learned from his mistakes. He learned not to keep his knifes lying around in the kitchen after his accident with Lucy. He learned to make sure to clearly label which drink was his after one time he drunk the drink he drugged for a girl named April. One sip was all it took for him to turn drowsy. It was a lucky escape for him as April stayed the night of course, oblivious to what was coming for her and so he drugged her that morning.

Now he learnt his lesson to keep a good hold of Noa while he led her to the bathroom. The trust still wasn’t completely there between them and Noa wasn’t surprised. But surely the shock collar was enough now. If she tried to escape out the house, it would go off, if she tried to run from him, all he needed to do was press a button and she’d be brought to the ground.

Steve led Noa out of the cell, leading her down the hallway and passing the other cells. Noa couldn’t help but look into them, seeing them empty and an ache inside her erupted. Those cells were where Mollie and Penny were being kept. Now that they were empty, she was the only girl here. She was lonely and isolated. Noa swallowed a sickly lump in the back of her throat, her mind going to Penny and Mollie. She couldn’t help but blame herself for their deaths, especially Mollies. Her best friend and only friend was gone and now she had no one.

For the past day or so Noa had forgotten about Mollie, and she felt like punishing herself for it. How could she forget about her best friend? If Mollie were here right now, she’d slap Noa for even not thinking about her. It brought a smile to her face as she climbed the stairs with Steve, her arms outstretched in front of her as he led her like a horse. Steve opened the door to the main part of the house, the bright orange glow illuminating off the stone walls. It was bright outside, the sun blazing over the perfectly cut grass.

Noa hadn’t seen the outside world in god knows how long and hadn’t breathed fresh air for the same amount of time. She missed it but there wasn’t a chance Steve was going to allow her outside. Especially with her collar on. Despite there being no house for miles, it didn’t mean she couldn’t try and run for it. all she needed was to hop in his car and drive off, freedom awaiting her. No, Steve was taking no chances until he trusted her completely. his guard was up like a brick wall with gunmen around harmed and ready to fire.

Steve opened the door to the bathroom. It was huge. The walls were a dark cream colour, warm lights placed in the ceiling. There was a huge square bath covering one side of the wall, long silver taps and next to it a wet room with marbled tiles. The floor was a brown stone colour with white and grey marbled into it. The sink was big as well, square matching with the tub and a large mirror. It was pristine. Against the wall on the sink were some products including moisturiser, hand cream, hand soap and scrub and a little cup but it was empty. Steve took the liberty of emptying it earlier as there was some scissors, nail clippers and a razor in the cup, all things Noa could use against him.

His toothbrush was placed in a glass jar with his toothpaste and Noa remembered that night she squirted it in her hands, rubbing it in his eyes to give her a head start of escaping. Look how that turned out.  there were big fluffy towels hanging on the rack and a toilet next to the wet room. Steve pulled Noa inside and turned on the shower, checking the temperature of the water by running his hand under it and shaking off the water droplets.

“There’s towels there and you can use these, you look like a girl who likes vanilla and shea butter” he smiles, handing her some body wash and shampoo and conditioner. Noa giggles softly, holding the bottles in her hand.

“Well, I’ll be a basic bitch after today” she says and Steve laughs, his eyes squinting as he lets his head go back.

“I’m sorry, unless you want to smell like Lynx Africa” he suggests and Noa gives him a pointed look.

“No, really, I thought you were so much more interesting than that” she mocks, and he holds his arms out.

“Are you saying I’m boring” he raises his brows, a smile curling in the corners of his lips and Noa shakes her head, chuckling lightly.

“Yeah, I am” she looks up from under her lashes with an innocent look on her face and suddenly a grin creeps on her lips. Steve smiles back, scoffing a little and reaches into one of the draws, pulling a loofah out for her.

“Thank you” she says softly and places the bottles and loofah on the seat of the toilet. The water running has steamed up and the mirror has a fog over it. Noa starts to sweat under her clothes, the horrid stench of her lingering more and she can’t wait to get out of these clothes and rub the dirt off her.

“Here” he holds his hands out for hers and she places them in front. He unclips the clip, freeing her hands and then reaches into his pocket. With a gentle hand, he brushes her hair away from her neck, revealing the collar and finds the lock. A quiet click sounds in her ear and the collar unlocks. Steve drags the collar around her neck, the prongs now released and the sudden cold air hitting her bare neck as he pulls the collar away. He wraps the leather around his hand, clinging onto it. Noa can’t help but reach up and feel her neck. It’s free and she can feel how warm her skin is from the constant touch of the leather.

“I’ll be outside if you need anything” he whispers and shuts the door behind him, leaving Noa to shower.

The water is heavenly. Scolding almost as it falls down her naked body and Noa relaxed under it. She could stay in here all day if she could. Even without the shampoo her hair feels cleaner, and she takes a dollop of it, lathering it up in her locks and rinsing it out, the water soothing her scalp. The grease has vanished and now she’s left with silky smooth hair. Noa glances as the two bottles and a disturbing thought comes across her mind.

Steve mentioned he sold the girls hair to the clients. Seeing as it was only him here and the victims, Noa imagined that this was the shampoo and conditioner he used to wash the hair before selling it. It made her sick inside and was the only explanation for having them unless he gave showers to all his victims which Noa thought was unlikely.

Perhaps she would feel better if she had used Steve’s products instead. Now she felt like a girl ready to be sold and eaten by middle aged men with thousands of dollars to spend of girls being cut up. Noa tried to shake the thoughts out of her head and continue washing. Her body felt clean and smooth after a good scrub however her bandage on her ass was now soaked. Her ass was nearly healed but still required a dressing. It would have to be changed. It was awkward and sticky as she moved.

Noa stepped out of the wet room, her feet padding across the bathroom to grab one of the large fluffy towels. She towel dried herself, rubbing her hair so it wasn’t dripping, and she stared in the mirror. Her neck was bright red, no doubt from the collar and had rubbing marks from the leather. She looked healthier after her shower. Noa looked to the door, a means of checking that Steve wasn’t going to burst in and she turned to the draws in front of her.

Slowly she opened them, looking carefully to find anything that could be useful to her but there was nothing. Nothing sharp she could use against Steve, nothing that could cause him harm. The toothpaste worked wondered but wasn’t enough. Noa slowly shut the draws, paranoid that if Steve heard her snooping, he’s be furious.

Noa opened the door with a creak and the freezing air from his bedroom hit her like a slap in the face. Noa shivered and gripped onto the towel tightly, shielding as much of herself as she could. She found Steve sat on the edge of the bed, engrossed into his phone and he looked up to meet his eyes with her, smiling. He immediately locked his phone and shoved it in his jean pocket.

“All done” he asked, and she nodded, stepping into his bedroom. He stood and gestured her to sit on the bed as he walked to a chair that had her bag on. It was the bag she packed for their trip. Noa was surprised to see it and she remembered that Steve said the night of their dinner he had her stuff with him.

“Here, I got you a change of clothes” he held out a pair of jeans with rips at the cuffs and a blue top with some socks and a fresh pair of underwear. Noa missed her old clothes, her style was comfortable but stylish. Mollie always used to go on at her that she wore the same thing all the time. As Noa took the clothes, she smiled and let out a breathy laugh.

“What’s funny” Steve asked, and she looked up at him surprised.

“Oh, nothing” she shook her head, brushing it off.

“No tell me” he insisted, and she shrugged.

“Just Mollie always used to say I dress like a poor student, that I should gain some style” she quoted, and Steve huffed.

“I like the way you dress, suits you” he said, smiling and Noa looked up at him.

“Thanks” she whispered.

“I think my ass needs changing” she said and suddenly let out a laugh at what she just said. Never did she think she’d say those words.

“Oh shit, your right, you know it might be healed enough that you don’t need a dressing, let me take a look” Steve gestured Noa to stand, and she did, a little nervously at first and she turned around, her back facing Steve. He slowly lifted the towel to take a look at her healing ass.

“Yeah, it looks good, I think you can get away without one, let’s take this one off” he slowly peeled the soaked dressing off, it coming away easily and it didn’t hurt Noa. Noa took a deep breath, her heart beating hard in her chest. Steve’s hands brushed over her skin, sending little tingles and tickles across her body.

“Cool” she whispered and looked over hesitantly at him. Was he going to stay here while she changed or leave her to it? He had already seen her naked, what was the issue. Noa was all over the place in her head, wondering whether to ask Steve to leave or to allow him to stay. They’ve had sex and Noa’s getting all shy about him seeing her. Perhaps it’s because she has no ass now. She’s embarrassed to be seen like that in front of him, the very person that took her ass away.

“What” he asked, and she bit her bottom lip.

“N-nothing” she stuttered and picked up the panties, pulling them on under the towel. Steve watched Noa as she got dressed, his jaw clenching with lust and his tongue darting out to lick his lips. She was stunning, beautiful. He had the urge to grab her and kiss her, but he decided not to. He didn’t want to scare her off or receive a slap to the face. Noa dressed herself in her comfy clothes and her hair was damp. Steve pulled a hair dryer from one of the draws and plugged it in.

“May I?” he asked and Noa looked at him for a minute before nodding. She was going to let him dry her hair. She turned her back to him as he switched it on, his fingers running through her locks and drying them until they were silky smooth and smelt amazing. His fingers scratched her scalp, sending shivers down her spine and a moan escaped her. It felt amazing what he was doing and Noa didn’t want it to end.

Steve took a deep breath in, biting his lower lip. He needed to contain himself. But another moan from Noa and he was hardening in his pants. The dryer switched off and silence fell in the room. There was a jangle behind her and Noa looked over her shoulder, peaking around to see Steve pick up the collar.

She doesn’t know why she’s frowning; she should expect him to slap that thing on her as soon as she was done in the shower. He gathered her hair in his hands, the strands falling effortlessly and held them up out of the way, exposing her neck.

“Hold this” he murmured and Noa held her hair up. Steve took a deep breath, bringing the collar around the front of her and latching it together, locking it and testing it was secure. The prongs dug themselves back into the same spot and Noa felt like she was being chocked. Her hair fell over her shoulders, and she felt Steve’s hands brush over her shoulders, down her arms giving her a soft rub.

There was a tingle in her body which she didn’t know what it meant. His hands trailed up back to her neck, fingers hooking under her jaw, and he turned her head around to face him. Her big brown eyes looked up at him, staring into those bright blue ones of his and it felt like time had stopped.

And then he leaned down and kissed her.

Chapter 10

Hey so I hope you like it, let me know what you thinking the comments 

@jabersplatt​

#steve kemp #Steve kemp fanfiction #fresh movie #fresh 2022 #fresh #fresh fanfiction #noa #sebastian stan #sebastian stan fanfiction

[themerriweathermage]

The Council of Nost Bronadui

Chapter One: Gideon's

Gideon’s. I had to admit that Lydia had certainly worked magic to get the area cleaned up. Instead of using the old airplane hangar as a nomad depot, it was now slated to be an actual town, rail station and everything. She was there now, with me, as I prepared the council for Quinn. They would be arriving by rail mid-day, provided that everything ran smoothly, and I couldn’t help but to recall a conversation I’d had with Waldo just before leaving the Lodge.

  “You’re sure you won’t come?” I asked, throwing him a questioning glance. Waldo snorted, noting my gaze. There was a bandage wrapped around his palm, no doubt hiding a cut made by the blade of a sword. An oath, the baron’s oath, to be specific. “Your company will be sorely missed.”

“With Quinn there?” Waldo asked. “I think I’ll take my chances out here and guard the Fort. Someone needs to.” 

“It’d be the duty of a good baron to look after his people.” I murmured.

“It would be.” Waldo replied. “You’ll simply have to forgive me if I take liberties in the Armadillo’s absence.”

“You’re forgiven.” Baron . The word lay unspoken between us, but even I knew the implications. Quinn out working in the fields because most of his cog force had fled to seek refuge in other baronies? A skeleton crew of house cogs that ran the Fort that Quinn refused to occupy? And now this-- Waldo taking the oath of baron so that he could legitimately command the Clipper force that vehemently refused to obey or even listen to Quinn? Quinn’s days as the baron were numbered. The days of the uprising he was so afraid of me or Nix starting were over; now came the time for him to truly reap the discourse he had sown.

“See you around, kid.”

“Take care of yourself, Waldo.” 

Even if Quinn refused my counsel, even if he threw all advice to the wind-- which I half expected him to regardless-- my counsel for the Armadillo territory would hardly go unheeded. A plan I presented to Quinn for the fate of his opium production could so easily be modified to push the opium poppy out of production and fill another need. Particularly with a baron who would be more willing to listen. But that thought I shoved away for now. We would cross that bridge when we came to it.

“Pensive look.” Lydia murmured, catching me zoned out over the paperwork that I’d sprawled out over the table of the tavern’s great hall. I looked up, offering her the ghost of a smile. “You were far away.”

“Thinking about the future.” She raised an eyebrow slightly in my direction.

“Not something I hear from you often.” Well, that was fair.

“Okay, thinking about how damn bull-headed your ex-husband is.”

“You think this won’t go in your favor.” Lydia started. “Though I strongly dislike it, his behavior does indicate he has a soft spot for you. The Quinn I once knew would have never conceded to taking counsel from another baron.” I granted her a dry chuckle. “I’m being serious!”

“I’m not discrediting it.” I replied. “Except that that soft spot may have been gained illicitly.” Lydia shook her head, helping me pin down the edge of the paper. She had more to say that she wasn’t saying, I noticed, but decided not to pursue it. There were bigger matters at hand here, and I couldn’t afford to be more distracted than I already was.

The mountain passages made me uneasy, and I couldn’t quite place my fingers on why. I couldn’t help but think that the last time I’d been here, I’d been here with Nix. With Dominique. And that brought to mind last night’s conversation with Lydia.

  The hour was late, and I couldn’t sleep. So I’d stayed at the bonfire in the middle of the town as the embers still burned into the night. It was quiet, almost too quiet, but Gideon’s didn’t yet have the same hum that the Estate did. One day perhaps, but not yet, and I tuned into the sound of the burning wood crackling in the fire to alleviate the deafening silence.

“It’s late.” Lydia murmured. “Couldn’t sleep?”

“The last time I was here, Dominique was here with me.” I replied softly, tugging my blanket tighter over my shoulders. Lydia’s sigh was quiet, and she took a seat next to me.

“You miss him.” Did I miss Dominique? I wondered, staring off into the fire.

“He was a friend.” I finally murmured. “An advisor. A business partner. His loss is felt as much as any loss is.”

“He called you some not so nice names, Bren.”

“Did he?” I didn’t have any memory of that. “How can it be any worse than what anyone in the Badlands has called me?”

“You said it yourself. You considered him a friend. An advisor. Friends don’t say such things, and even an advisor should have known to keep their tongue between their teeth on such a matter.” I leaned forward, soaking up the lingering warmth of the fire. It had been about Quinn, then. And yet here we were...

“Did he leave... or was he made to leave?” We hadn’t discussed it. It was just accepted that he was gone, and as Regent, Lydia stood in his position as well, to make sure that his loss hadn’t been felt so drastically on my part.

“He turned in his sword to Nix. Left of his own volition.” He had walked out on us then. I couldn’t blame him, considering how close the barony had courted war. Even now, I courted that danger, even with Quinn as weak as he was, both in barony and militant strength, and in physical stature. But I couldn’t just let people needlessly suffer either, even if that people was Quinn, and even if he’d hurt me before...

 This time Lydia didn’t remark on the fact that I was far away. She only made sure that I had something to eat and drink. I didn’t have the heart to tell her that I doubted I could stomach anything now, when our company was due to arrive any moment, and likely hungry themselves. I had spent most of the morning in the tavern kitchen, making sure that we would have enough to host them. What steps I took to prepare now were meant as counsel for Quinn.

There was some familiarity to being here, like back in the barony when Nix had found me in the office looking over the plans much like I was now. 

“You have that look on your face.” I had apparently been too deep in my own thoughts to notice Nix in the doorway, watching me.

“What look?” 

“The kind of look if you had been a foot taller and an elf, I might have mistaken you for Elrond.” I snorted.

“Yeah, at the Council? Sure.” I murmured, rolling my shoulders back. Her words had brought a smile to my lips. Even in the midst of something serious, she had a way of breaking the tension around me. “It’s not a bad idea, you know.”

“The Council of Elrond?” 

“How about The Council of Nost Bronadui?” House Enduring. My House. My home in a world beyond this one. A home I’d built for wayfaring strangers and refugees, a home for those who needed it. A place with a chance for a better life. I needed no convincing that this council was the right path-- a chance, truly, to help those who needed it, Quinn, yes, but Quinn aside as well.

“It’s certainly a mouthful.”

“And I’ll have my hands full.” I replied.

“Listen, I--” Nix paused for a moment. “I want you to take Sunny with you.”

“Nix...”

“He’s well versed with Quinn if things were to go south.”

“You’re sending Meraxes. Is she not enough security?”

“You’re not walking in there unprepared either. Lydia has arranged for an escort of Clippers.”

“Lot of firepower for a peace summit.” I grumbled.

“Since when has Quinn ever gone down without a fight?” Nix asked. I frowned, hating that she had a point. Not that I thought that the council would end in violence, but unfortunately, Quinn was a loose cannon.

“I can talk to him. Just let me talk to him. When we’re alone...” She gave me a pointed look.

“If you’re going to say that he doesn’t act like an ass when the two of you are alone...” I quickly shut up then, and she raised an eyebrow in my direction. “And that tells me that you’ve had time alone with him since he’s betrayed you.”

“And look how much headway I’ve made.” I deflected.

“Bren.” I winced, hearing the exasperation in her voice. “For my peace of mind, take Sunny with you.” I knew when I’d been defeated and accepted my loss. “And Bren?” I looked up. “Be careful.”

“I will be. I promise.” 

I stood there, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly, ducking outside with the drink in hand, wolfing down a quick lunch out on the tavern steps. I could see Meraxes in the distance, following the rail from outside the mountain tunnels, knowing that they were close. I couldn’t afford to be nervous but I could still feel the cold chill of that nervousness creeping up my back, left shivering in its wake as the whine of the 611’s brakes began to echo in the tunnel. 

“I’m here for you.” 

“I know.” Lydia had moved to my side, no doubt brought by me rocking back and forth on my feet, trying to get rid of that unease creeping up on my back.

“If you need to utilize me as your Regent, I can handle Quinn.” 

“Mm.” I gave her a very non-committal sound, faking a quick smile.

“I’ve been through your plans a dozen times,” She started, and I put a quick end to that.

“It’s not Quinn I’m worried about.”

“His people know you, Bren. They know what kind of person you are.”

“They don’t know everything.” I murmured lowly, and that seemed to stop her for a moment. It wasn’t them I was worried about; it was me. It was communicating and getting my point across. It was showcasing through words when I did better showcasing through actions.

“How can I help?” 

“Book me a weekend out of the barony when this is all over?” I asked. “Somewhere I don’t have to socialize.”

“I can do that.” She replied, the both of us watching the 611 roll into the station, great plumes of steam still rolling off of her as her engineers brought her to a smooth stop.

Part of me was amused watching Sunny step out of the rail car, because behind him was Quinn, escorted by our Clippers, blindfolded with his hands tied behind his back. I didn’t imagine that he was an easy man to wrangle, and yet none of our soldiers seemed worse for wear. He must have complied then. Sunny came to us, bearing Quinn’s sword in his hands, presenting it almost.

“I don’t imagine he was happy to part with that.” Lydia remarked.

“Even less happy to see me taking it from him.” Sunny replied. 

“You seem to have survived.” Sunny’s eyes flicked to me.

“I can’t imagine that he would have complied without an incentive.”

“Are you implying that I bribed a fellow baron? To not be volatile? Do you really think he’d listen to me?” Sunny gave me a pointed look, and all traces of nicety dropped from my face as I glared right on back. “I made an oath to my barony. I won’t break it again.”

That concluded that conversation with Sunny real quick, and he kept the sword with him as he instructed his soldiers to unbind Quinn. As more of Quinn’s staff filtered off the train, Lydia pulled me aside for a minute.

“You didn’t bribe him?” It wasn’t really a question of me, but more a question of Quinn.

“I told him that his reputation was in a shithole and that he was dragging his barony down with him.”

“Oh?” Lydia raised an eyebrow. “I don’t imagine that went well.”

“He called me an ass, and pardon my French, but who the fuck does he think I learned it from?” I muttered. “If he wants my good graces, he’ll have to earn them.”

“Or he’ll play you.”

“He can try.” I retorted.

He wasn’t being very pleasant at the moment, damn near snarling at Sunny when the blindfold was finally removed.

“Hey!” My voice carried across the station, across the whoosh of steam and the chatter of the crew and passengers. In that beat of silence, the ground beneath us trembled with Meraxes landing near the western mountain tunnel, her roar echoing across the valley. Quinn snapped his head in my direction, eyes on Meraxes first, no doubt remembering her power, and then me.

“We do not act uncivil here! If you cannot be nice, or in the least polite, then you will be escorted back to your barony.” Quinn glowered but said nothing in return, folding his arms across his chest as soon as his hands were untied. I knew damn well what he was doing, whether he knew what he was doing or not. He was trying to make himself look intimidating, like he hadn’t just been the man scolded by a fellow baron. His staff hardly looked impressed and I definitely knew our nomads weren’t. Despite how civil they acted, I wouldn’t want to run up against them in the wilds either. Quinn was only one man. The nomads here would tear him apart if he threatened their baron, and therefore their security. 

Our afternoon was spent getting Quinn and his people lunch and settled into accommodations, the rustic log cabins at least providing some manner of comfort. Lydia handled most of it, although I doubted Quinn heard a word she was saying, his eyes rather firmly locked on me the entire time. When he finally did approach me, Lydia abandoned everything else to remain at my side. 

Quinn stopped short, his eyes flickering over her and her position in front of me.

“I would like to speak to your baron.”

“Then speak.” Lydia replied curtly.

“Alone.” Quinn added.

“Anything you have to say to me can be said in front of my Regent.” I added. Quinn glanced over her shoulder to me, his eyebrow raised slightly, as if to ask me, are you sure? Oh, I had no doubt of the pretty compliments he could have told me to sway my favor to his side, but there was a crowd intrigued by the stand off between him and Lydia and one of those people included Sunny, with his hand already at his blade, and Quinn seemed to take recognition of his surroundings and wise up.

He gave me a look before turning on his heel and retreating back to the likely safety of his cabin and I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding.

“He is as charming as always.” A voice sounded dryly from behind me and Lydia whipped around.

“Sebastian.”

“Regent.��� I turned to see the famed Sebastian, a man no older than Sunny, with striking red hair and the makings of a good beard to match. “Baron.”

“Bren.” I corrected quietly. He raised an eyebrow but didn’t press the matter. “So you are the famed Sebastian. Lydia speaks highly of you.”

“I’m honored. I took the liberty of picking up a ride into Gideon’s. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Not at all. Any friend of Lydia’s is a friend of mine.” He smiled then, giving me a curt nod.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say Baron Quinn was trying to get into your good graces.” Sebastian murmured.

“Well, he will have to earn them.” Sebastian chuckled.

“He is not a man of words.”

“His actions will tell me what I want to know.” I replied. Sebastian threw me a curious look.

“You are testing him. He may not react so fondly to being played.”

“This is no game.” I folded my arms across my chest. “I’m not playing when people’s lives are on the line. My duty as a baron extends beyond my barony lines. His people are suffering and I am giving him a chance to see what life under a fair baron will look like.  His reactions will speak louder than his words.”

“Hm. I suppose they will.” Sebastian took his leave then, heading over to catch up with Sunny, it looked like.

“Still takes his duty seriously, I see.” I murmured, looking at Lydia. “Even though he is no longer bound to it.”

“He is still a soldier through and through.” Lydia replied.

“What’s your assessment of him?” I asked.

“He’s quite adept with a variety of blades. He may not be carrying an obvious one but I wouldn’t quite say he’s unarmed. He always took his duty very seriously while employed under Quinn.”

“And now that he’s not employed under Quinn?”

“He follows a nomadic lifestyle but that’s hardly by choice. As you can imagine, the life of a Clipper paid well and provided for other means.”

“Would he not see himself employed under me?” Lydia shrugged.

“It was to my understanding that he had discourse with Sunny but Quinn didn’t want to waste a man of his talents and so he was assigned as my guard. Why do you ask?”

“You’ve stepped into the role as my advisor when Dominique left so that absence wouldn’t be felt, but I wouldn’t have you wear that burden for forever.” I noticed her studying me out of the corner of my eye.

“It is not a burden to serve as your advisor, Bren, but if you wish for someone else to have that role, it’s certainly your prerogative. Do you want me to ask him?”

“No, not yet. I don’t know him well enough for that. Find out if that discourse between him and Sunny was legitimate. Somehow I doubt it was,” She followed my gaze to where the two of them seemed to be talking amicably. “And invite him to the Estate if it’s not.”

“So,” Lydia started, finding a moment alone in the evening with Sebastian. But even he knew it was a loaded ‘so’, raising his eyebrow in her direction.

“So?” He countered.

“What do you think of Bren?” Sebastian gave her a wry smile.

“I take it the pleasantries were a mask?” Lydia blinked.

“I doubt Bren’s that kind of person. I’m just asking.”

“Just asking as his Regent?” Sebastian asked. “Or just asking,”

“As a friend.” Lydia finished. “As a friend, what’s your opinion of Bren?” Sebastian narrowed his eyes for a moment, folding his arms over his chest and glancing in Bren’s direction. He was rather currently occupied with some of Quinn’s House Cogs, and seemingly enjoying the conversation.

“He’s polite. Very courteous. Perhaps genteel even. But I get the feeling that he has a side that he doesn’t often show other people.” Sebastian started. “I see no difference in him as a baron than I did when he was beneath Quinn’s protection, which leads me to believe that his behavior is genuine.” Sebastian dragged his attention back to Lydia. “Why do you ask? And don’t say--”

“That I’m curious?”

Sebastian let out a laugh, giving Lydia a wry look. “I stood as your guard for years. Watched you train under Waldo and learn how to weather the role of Baroness at Quinn’s side. You do not ask idle questions. I just can’t suss out whether you ask such things because your baron has asked you to, as his Regent, or if you just lack faith in him.”

“My loyalty is to my Baron and Baroness.” Sebastian heaved a dry chuckle.

“Regent through and through, I see. They certainly weren’t fools to put you in that position.”

“What’s your opinion on this council then?” Lydia asked, ignoring his wry comment.

“I had assumed you asked me to come because you wanted extra security but I see that’s hardly needed. Even without the extra firepower,” Sebastian eyed Meraxes still sitting by the western tunnels, “Literally, I doubt there’s a nomad here that wouldn’t step to defend their baron should Quinn get hasty. Truthfully, I’m surprised he complied with Sunny disarming him.”

“Sunny thought that as well. Thought Bren may have bribed him.” Sebastian made a soft sort of amused sound.

“Quinn is a hard man to bribe. But,” He shook his head slightly. 

“But?”

“He acts in a way that is different for Bren.” 

“He tells me that sometimes.” Lydia remarked softly. “That no one sees Quinn the way he does.”

“And do you see it too?”

“No.” Lydia replied flatly. “Quinn had something good and he ruined it. As he always does.”

“And would the Quinn you know concede to ask for help from another baron?” Sebastian asked.

“I won’t deny that his behavior is... different, odd even. But do I think he’s changed? I’m fairly sure that his first attempt at contact with Bren here was a ploy to seduce Bren, but he wouldn’t do that with an audience.”

“Or he still has a shred of respect for you.”

“Doubtful. Considering that he all but signed me away like a piece of property to bartered and traded at his will.” Sebastian shook his head. “So, I’ll ask again. What’s your opinion on the council?”

“It’s noble.” He glanced down at Lydia. “Your baron has a kind heart. But I do not know that I would help Quinn after his transgressions. Against me or not.”

“Bren knows the Armadillo Territory is suffering.”

“And it will continue to suffer so long as the current baron still stands. That is what I do not think your baron knows.”

“I think Bren’s aware of it, yes. I think this is Quinn’s last chance to prove himself.”

“And if he doesn’t? What will your baron do then?” Sebastian studied Lydia for a good minute, watching her expression. “I doubt he’ll risk war despite how close he courts it.”

“There are other ways to dethrone Quinn.”

“Oh? And I suppose you stake some personal interest in the barony, do you?”

“You’re asking if I’ll be Baroness?” Lydia arched an eyebrow sharply. “No. I stated before that my loyalty is spoken for. But there are other opportunists in the barracks of the Armadillo Territory.” Sebastian smirked then, knowingly.

“So Waldo is planning a coup. Is there a real point, then, to this council, or is your baron providing himself a distraction for Quinn?”

“I don’t think he’s working in lieu with Waldo, no. I believe his intention is genuine. He wants to see if Quinn will listen and change. But I do think he’s aware that Waldo is working behind the scenes while Quinn is otherwise occupied, yes.”

“Anytime I think that your dear baron won’t play the game of the Badlands, he manages to surprise me.” Sebastian commented dryly. “So he actually is as coy as Quinn has touted him to be.” Lydia blinked.

“Where on Earth did you hear that?”

“Something Quinn was saying in the barracks ages ago. Why?”

“Oh, gods. Trust me when I tell you that Quinn wasn’t using that term in a political sense.” Sebastian threw her a questioning glance.

“You’re really going to tell me that Declan wasn’t lying when he said he caught,” Sebastian cut his eyes to Bren, “With,” He darted his attention to the side where Quinn was blissfully ignorant of most conversations around him. “That happened?”

“Unfortunately.” Lydia muttered. Sebastian stared at her for a solid minute.

“I’d say that your baron is occupying Quinn’s attention. And has been since Quinn got off that train. Whether he’s in Quinn’s company or not. What will Bren do, if Waldo starts a coup? Knowing damn well what outcome will come of it?”

“I don’t think Waldo will kill Quinn.” 

“He has to.”

“Exile is an option.”

“That man is a bull. He won’t go down without a fight.”

“I understand that. But if Waldo wanted to kill Quinn, he would have done it already. He already has the Clippers. What’s left for Quinn to command to stand against him?” Sebastian grunted.

“I see Waldo did the thing that he warns everyone not to do.” Lydia looked up at him. “He got his heart involved.” Lydia didn’t make it verbal but she did agree with him. Waldo was showing an uncharacteristic softness for Bren. If it was to the point where he wouldn’t kill Quinn, Lydia still wasn’t certain. If anything that would probably depend on Quinn.

“I saw you having a talk with Sunny earlier. Still taking your duty seriously, I see.” Sebastian gave her a soft sort of smile.

“Just catching up with him.”

“Quinn always insinuated you had some sort of discourse with him, so it’s nice to see you getting along.” Sebastian chuckled.

“Talking never was Quinn’s strong suit. Sure, there was discourse, at one point maybe. I wanted Regent, for a while. And then I saw what Quinn demanded of Sunny and thought, ‘I’ll never want to step in a Regent’s boots ever again.’ Surprises me that you took that position in all honesty.”

“I have more freedom as Regent than I ever did as Quinn’s Baroness.” Lydia murmured. “And Nix and Bren do not require that I manage their military. There are more capable hands than mine and I willingly relinquish that control to someone else.”

“So,” Sebastian started, spinning the conversation back onto Lydia. “Why the sudden interest in me?”

“Bren would like to see you at the Estate.”

“Am I in trouble?”

“No. But I’m not at liberty to discuss more than an invitation.” Lydia replied. “Perhaps when this is over, you should drop by.”

“I won’t say no to a good meal.” 

“I will make a note of that.” Sebastian watched Bren for a moment longer, his look lingering as he tried to make heads or tails of Bren’s decision to invite Quinn and the people who remained in the heart of the Fort here. Perhaps there was real love for Quinn there if they’d truly been involved before, or perhaps it was nothing more than the game of the Badlands. 

I couldn’t sleep. Not that that was anything new to me. It was just that long after everyone else had gone to sleep after the day’s activities, I was still awake, staring at the ceiling of my cabin and wishing that my anxiety would calm the hell down. I moved around the cabin quietly, trying not to wake up Lydia on my way out, scaling to the top of the tavern and trying to clear my head in the chill of the night air. 

Being in the valley of the mountains alleviated some of the sticky summer heat. There was always a cool breeze rushing through the mountain tunnels. A few of the nomads had turned the old airplane hangar into a trading post, manned by some of their own, and they knew that as soon as the summit was over, that they could claim the small village that had been built. I had had the choice to use an illusion, to cast a charm and alter the terrain to my viewpoint but it probably would have been just as taxing as building the village in its entirety and with nothing left to show for it. At least this way, it would benefit someone after we were done.

But apparently my night escapades were not entirely unnoticed.

“Still keeping your late hours?” For a moment, I wished it wasn’t Quinn down there, at the tavern steps, looking up at me.

“Old habits die hard, I suppose.” I gave him a rather nondescript answer, hoping that he wouldn’t prolong this.

“I want to talk to you.” Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Sebastian standing guard at Sunny’s cabin, taking the night watch.

“Then talk.” I replied. He gave me a pointed, and irritated, look.

“Perhaps alone?” He asked, being blunt about it now, like he thought I hadn’t gotten that point when he approached in the night hours.

“Decidedly not.” I didn’t move. His expression soured.

“You don’t trust me.” Trust him? I trusted that he would try to seduce me the moment he got me alone, for sure, if I didn’t have control of the situation. And here? Now? I barely trusted myself not to give in to such a temptation. So I just shrugged down at him.

“I’ve barely slept in the last few days. If you have something to say, say it. I don’t have the time or fortitude for games.” Something in his cold expression faltered, concern flicking across his face-- furrowed brows and a frown.

“I--” And then it was quiet. When I looked down again, he was gone. I leaned back on the roof, sighing quietly and closing my eyes. But the moment of peace didn’t last long when something heavy landed on my chest, and I glanced over to see Quinn actually retreating back into his cabin. Perhaps it was because Sebastian had made it a point to sharpen his blade against a whetstone, looking very pointedly in that direction. I looked down, shaking my head in disbelief. Turns out that heavy item was Quinn’s quilt, and he apparently thrown it up onto the roof with me. You stubborn, stubborn man.   

And it turned out that I wasn’t the only one who couldn’t sleep, wandering about the trading post in the early morning hours. If I wasn’t mistaken, that was the head of Quinn’s household browsing the wares, almost dejectedly. One of the nomad traders perked up at the sight of me, as I made my way down off the roof.

“Baron Bren.” Ah, I’d been outed. I watched the woman’s head snap around, a profuse apology already tumbling from her lips, but I waved her off.

“It’s Mari, right?” I asked. She nodded, and internally I was relieved. She’d probably attended to my quarters the half a dozen times I’d stolen away to the Fort to see Quinn. It would be negligence on my part if I didn’t know her at this point.

“You shouldn’t have to content yourself to shopping in the same space as a Cog...” She started.

“There is no rank here.” I murmured. “And even if there was, it wouldn’t matter. I’m Bren.”

There was a pause, a beat of silence, and then, “You couldn’t sleep either, huh?”

“It never comes as easy as I would prefer it to.” I replied carefully.

“Because of Quinn?” She asked the burning question that was on everyone’s mind. Even the trader looked to me sharply. They knew, of course, they knew he was here; I doubt anyone could have missed him. But I also knew that by providing for the nomads of our barony, that I had their loyalty. Despite how civil they acted, I wouldn’t want to run up against them in the wilds either. Quinn was only one man. The nomads here would tear him apart if he threatened their baron, and therefore their security.

I shrugged. “Between the duties of being baron, and the fact that I’m a night owl, it just never happens the way I want it to. I envy men like Quinn who can fall asleep on the drop of a dime.”

“I’d say men like Quinn don’t have the same conscience that keeps them up at night either.” Mari replied. I gave her a wry smile, amused. “I’ve never seen the duty of the barony keep Quinn awake, not even in war. You, however...” Her sentence trailed off, lingering. “But I suppose you don’t want to dwell on bygones.” Part of me wondered what she meant by that; the other part knew that it was just best not to question.

She must have noticed the lull in conversation. “I don’t think I’ve ever been this far out of the barony before. Our primary duty is to serve and so it’s rare that we get a chance to go places that aren’t the Fort or the comfort of our own homes.”

“Duty.” I wrinkled my nose. “The only people who have duties in this barony are me and my sister. My people are not Cogs or Clippers; they are my staff and my civilians. There is no particular rank or class in House Enduring. My staff are paid and my civilians will be provided for so long as I take breath in these Badlands.”

“You two are so different.” Mari murmured. “Do you think you can change his mind? Sway him to your point of view?” Did I actually think I could persuade Quinn to see things the way I did? No.

“I think it’s doubtful.” I replied honestly.

“Then why show him at all?”

“Because it is the right thing to do. Because you don’t deserve to suffer in the wake of what Quinn’s done. His sins are his own.” I knew the topic was becoming uncomfortable when I realized that my arm was crossed over my chest, fingers tracing the edge of the scar beneath my shirt. The whole reason that I had come out here was to get away from the topic of Quinn. Mari’s eyes flicked over my shoulder for a moment.

“How long has the trading post been here?” Sunny. Sebastian must have woken him up when I wasn’t looking.

“A couple of months, give or take. It’s a nice place to settle.”

“Be even nicer when we leave, right?” I winked at the trader and he chuckled, the tension broken.

“I question your company, all things considered, but I’ve seen men do deals with worse. I assume that’s why you made your way to the mountain pass. You have a less chance of being seen in the company of a baron who’s betrayed you.”

“Against all our concerns.” Sunny muttered. I nearly reached out and smacked his arm but caught myself before I did.

“His people don’t deserve to suffer for their baron’s sins.” I replied.

“How long did you practice that line?” Sunny asked. His face never changed so I couldn’t tell what he was thinking, and I had to will myself not to react.

“Goodnight, Captain.” I murmured lowly, trying to hide the irritation. He looked at me for a minute, considering whether to stay or not, and then took a step back.

“Goodnight, Baron.” I wrinkled my nose at his retreat. The title wasn’t necessary and it revealed that I’d conveyed exactly what I intended, and that Sunny was being... spiteful. I wished that he could have stayed home with Nix, but she had been insistent on the extra security.

I made my way over to the porch of the tavern, sitting down on the steps to take a breath. Quinn wasn’t even the exhausting part anymore. For all he could spit about being the baron and being in authority, he had complied with my requests for the council. He put on a polite face at most times if nothing else, but maybe he was just as tired as I was. It was everything else around me; it was the underlying hostility, the dismissive attitudes-- whether towards him or me-- that rubbed me wrong.

“It bothers you.” Mari had followed me, I see. “Quinn would have clipped him by now, for the backsass alone.”

“I’m not Quinn.” I replied lowly.

“No. I suppose not. I can see why so many of our workers fled into your barony following the disaster in the poppy fields.”

“And you?” I asked. “Why didn’t you follow? You and your kin, your fellow staff, you owe him no loyalty.”

“There are worse baronies to work for.”

“There are also better baronies to work for.” I murmured.

“I suppose that’s true.” Mari replied. “But the Fort is all I’ve ever known, and my loyalty has made me particularly valuable to its baron.” She gave me a wry smile. It didn’t slip my notice that she wasn’t referring to Quinn by name in that statement.

“You must think this summit is a fool’s errand then.”

“Not in the slightest. I trust that you’ll lay down some plan for Quinn to follow, that he’ll no doubt disregard. I’m sure it would be useful in the right hands.”

In Waldo’s hands, was the unspoken between us. Somehow that thought wasn’t putting my anxiety anymore at ease.

“Can I buy you a drink?” I asked, heading up the steps for the tavern.

“I don’t really...”

“A hot chocolate then.”

“In this weather?” Mari asked, incredulous.

“There’s never a bad time for a hot chocolate.” I replied.

“That sounds wonderful.” She murmured, and I disappeared for a moment to see about those drinks. Mine, of course, I had spiked with rum, since it seemed I wasn’t getting any sleep the way I wanted it anytime soon.

We shared drinks on the steps of the tavern, quiet and in our own worlds. 

“Thank you for doing this. It’s nice to be included... and to be out of the barony.”

“It’s the least I can do to thank you for all the times you’ve taken care of me while I’ve stayed at the Fort.” She laughed then, some of the unfamiliarity fading away.

“I doubt Quinn would have settled for anything but you are quite welcome. You make a very hospitable house guest.” Her expression turned wistful. “I wish I could have brought my boy.”

“You have a son?” I asked. “What’s his name?”

“David.” The corners of my mouth twitched up in a smile.

“Your beloved.” She gave me a look.

“Quinn mocks the old faiths.”

“The only god Quinn believes in is himself.” I replied. “I was raised in that old faith.”

“Is it true? Any of it?” Mari asked.

“I do not claim to know. I turned my back on that faith a long time ago.” I murmured. “And I wish you could have brought your son too.”

“Most barons would say that children are to be seen and not heard.”

“Children are to be children.” I shook my head. “Perhaps one day, you can bring your son to the Estate. I’m sure there are children his age who would love to make a new friend.” She smiled softly, finishing her drink.

“You have a good heart, Baron Bren.” She touched my shoulder lightly as she left me to finish my drink. Most of the market was quiet by now, and I knew I should be trying to get some sleep myself, heading back to the cabin.

#The Council of Nost Bronadui #Welcome to the Badlands #Welcome to the Badlands Series #Sunny X OFC #Quinn X OMC

[papermoonloveslucy]

THE WILD BLUE YONDER!

Lucy & Aviation

Thanks to Orville and Wilbur Wright, the world became a smaller place and travel by air become as commonplace as train or car travel. Lucille Ball and her many characters had lots of reasons to take to the ‘friendly skies’ - here are just a few. 

Orville and Wilbur Wright were inventors and pioneers of aviation. In 1903 the Wright brothers achieved the first powered, sustained and controlled airplane flight; they surpassed their own milestone two years later when they built and flew the first fully practical airplane. The Wrights were mentioned several times in the Lucyverse:

Olin Howland (Mr. Skinner in “First Stop” 1955) ~ As a young man he learned flying from the Wright Brothers.

“Speech for a Civic Organization” (1949) ~ Liz intends to speak about the Wright Brothers, despite her favorite husband’s objections.

“The Good Years” (1962) ~ Orville and Wilbur were mentioned in the special starring Lucille Ball and Henry Fonda.

“Swing Out Sweet Land” (1970) ~ Rowan and Martin played the Wright Brothers and Lucy voiced the Statue of Liberty in John Wayne’s TV special celebrating American history.  

As a busy radio, film and television star, Lucille Ball was constantly photographed boarding and disembarking from aircraft. 

1930′s ~ Young model Lucille Ball holds a model airplane for a photo shoot. 

May 1938 ~ Publicists created fascinating and completely untrue backgrounds for Hollywood stars. In this article, Monroe Lathrop claims that Lucille Ball was a skilled aviatrix who shot crocodiles while flying over a jungle river. 

“On a visit to Colombia, Lucille, avid for new adventure, went with friends Into the jungle, meeting a flood that had swollen the streams and overrun the banks with huge crocodiles. Instead of heeding the natives' warning, Lucille went to wireless station, ordered an airplane and rifles, and spent a day pumping lead into the big green saurians. Natives rewarded her with a generous helping of crocodile steak later.”

Five Came Back (1939) ~ Nine passengers from all walks of life and a crew of three take off from Los Angeles, bound for Panama City, but a sudden storm blows them off course and causes the plane to crash in the Amazon jungle. Lucille Ball played passenger Peggy Nolan. The B film helped Ball launch an A list career.

1940s ~ Lucille Ball posing in a biplane cockpit.

June 1943 - Newspapers reported that Jimmy Cagney had christened a B-17 bomber named The Lucille Ball. After it was scrapped due to battle damage, a second bomber was christened The Lucille Ball in 1944. 

A Woman of Distinction (1950) ~ Lucille Ball appears in a cameo as herself, a jet-setting film star, in this Rosalind Russell / Ray Milland film. 

“Return Home From Europe” (1956) ~ To get back to New York in time to play the Roxy, the Ricardos and Mertzes fly home from Europe, rather than go by ship. Unable to whittle down her luggage allowance, Lucy is intent on smuggling a cheese aboard, disguising it as a baby. 

There are establishing shots of Pan American World Airways (PAA) President Clipper Service. The Clipper in the insert shot is named Bald Eagle. There are two insert shots of Pan Am aircraft: one taking off, and one in mid-flight. The DC-7C (nicknamed “seven seas”) first entered service for Pan Am in December 1955 and was dubbed “the zenith of piston-engine technology.” Pan Am had 27 DC-7Cs flying during 1956. By 1958, jet travel began to overtake propeller airplanes.

The interior of the aircraft was recreated on the Desilu soundstage. The PAA logo is visible on blankets and tote bags, items provided by Pan Am for the use of their name and images of their aircraft as well as possible other promotional consideration. 

“The Ricardos Visit Cuba” (1956) ~ While in Miami, the gang flies to Havana to visit Ricky’s family. 

The gang once again flies Pan American Airways, the same carrier they took home from Europe.  The airline folded in 1991.  

As with their previous flight, there is an establishing shot of the plane in the air and the interior was recreated on the Desilu soundstage. The set is basically the same one used in “Return Home from Europe”.  It also features PAA branded promotional items. 

“Lucy Goes To Alaska” (1959) ~ The Ricardos and Merztes fly to the brand new state of Alaska, where Ricky and Fred have bought some land and Ricky is doing a TV show with Red Skelton.  Although the action is set in and around Nome, the second unit footage was filmed in Lake Arrowhead, California, about 100 miles from Hollywood. The exteriors were done with doubles and none of the regular cast left their newly-purchased Desilu (formerly RKO) Studio. 

To get from Westport CT to Nome AK, the gang first flies United Airlines, then transfers to Alaska Airlines. There is establishing footage of both planes in mid-flight.

The set features a couple of travel posters for Alaska Airlines, enticing viewers to visit the 49th state for tourism. In the second half of the hour, a small propeller plane is introduced to rescue Red and Lucy from a blizzard.  

RED: “What’s that blue stuff?” ESKIMO PILOT: “Sky.” LUCY (To Red): “You act as though you’ve never seen sky before.” RED: “I haven’t. I live in Los Angeles.”

The plane is buried in a snowbank. Lucy pays an eskimo pilot $100 to fly her and Red to safety. 

While the plane in the snowbank was filmed in the Hollywood studio, the safe landing was done at Lake Arrowhead using actor doubles. 

“The Ricardos Go To Japan” (1959) ~ The final time we see the gang airborne is on a trip to Japan. Although there is a poster for Japan Airlines (JAL)  in the airport...

 According to the establishing footage of the jet in mid-air, the foursome travels  on United Airlines.

The Facts of Life (1960) ~ The film about two marrieds flirting with infidelity has Kitty Weaver (Lucille Ball) waiting at the airport where a United Airlines jet can be seen on the tarmac in the background. 

“Mr. & Mrs.” aka “The Lucille Ball Comedy Hour” (1964) ~ A comedy special in which Lucille Ball plays the head of a studio trying to track down Bob Hope to star in a show about husband and wife television stars. The first half concerns Lucy's tracking the elusive Hope all around the world. In San Francisco, there is establishing footage of a jet landing which was supplied courtesy of TWA, a carrier that went out of business in 2001.  

“The Victor Borge Comedy Theatre” (1962) & “Lucy Flies To London” (1966) ~ The unaired pilot for an unsold comedy anthology series hosted by Borge featured a sketch starring Gale Gordon and Lucille Ball as two strangers on a plan. 

It was filmed before “The Lucy Show” paired the two as a comedy duo. In the pilot, the characters were strangers. Gordon played a businessman and Ball a neurotic first-time flyer. 

When it came time for Lucy Carmichael to fly to London for the special “Lucy in London”, the writers realized they could recycle the script from the un-aired pilot for “The Lucy Show” episode. The dialogue is nearly identical, now with the added context that Mr. Mooney and Lucy are boss and secretary.

“Lucy in London” (1966) ~ An hour-long special set in England and filmed on location. The sequence involving Lucy de-planing from the Pan Am clipper jet had to be accomplished in between flights already on the tarmac at Heathrow. No planes were available to be grounded for a day of shooting. Coincidentally (or perhaps not) Pan Am was also the carrier when Lucy Ricardo flew home from Europe and from Miami to Havana on “I Love Lucy.”  

“Viv Visits Lucy” (1967) ~ To greet her old friend, Lucy meets her at the airport, where a backdrop shows jets on the tarmac. Lucy looks up and sees Viv’s flight approaching. 

LUCY: “Oh, look! Someone’s hanging out of the plane. It look like Viv!” PILOT: “That’s the landing gear.” LUCY: “Oh.” 

“Little Old Lucy” (1967) ~ When the 90 year-old president of the bank (Dennis Day) is in town and needs an escort to the bank’s banquet, Lucy is volunteered.  Lucy and Mr. Mooney meet him at the airport, where jets can be seen in the background. 

“Lucy and Carol Burnett: Part 1 & 2″ (1967) ~ Lucy and Carol Tilford (Carol Burnett) sign up to be flight attendants, then put on a variety show celebrating aviation. They are employed by the fictional Globe World Airlines. 

Instead of asking bachlor GWA VP Mr. Brenner if he would like coffee, tea or milk, Lucy says “coffee, tea or me”!  Earlier in 1967, the book Coffee Tea or Me? was published. It was the alleged memoirs of two stewardess and their romantic and sexual escapades in the air. The popularity of this book may be the reason for this episode.

Frustrated by Lucy and Carol's bungling, Mr. Brenner (Rhodes Reason) says “Is this any way to run an airline?”  The line gets a huge reaction from the studio audience. In 1963 a National Airlines TV commercial featured a flight attendant asking “Is this any way to run an airline? You bet it is!”  In 1966, singer Tom Paxton wrote and recorded a song with the same title.

In Part Two, their musical salute to aviation features Buddy Rogers and Richard Arlen, stars of the very first Academy-Award winning motion picture Wings (1929), a movie about flight. Coincidentally, on the same day this airline-themed episode premiered, the supersonic Concorde was unveiled in France. Also on this date, newspapers announced the crash of a twin-engine plane in Madison, Wisconsin that killed recording star Otis Redding and six others.   

The revue ends with “The Army Air Corps Song” with flight attendants and college boys perched on the wings of a bi-plane. 

“Lucy and the Great Airport Chase” (1969) ~ Filmed entirely on location at Los Angeles International Airport (LAX), Lucy and Harry get caught up in chasing down spies. Part of the chase takes them onto the tarmac with the jets. 

A Douglas DC-8-52 of United Airlines is on the right and Douglas DC-8-54AF Jet Trader of United Airlines Jet Freighter is in the background.

“The Carol Burnett Show” (1969) ~ In a sketch, Lucy and Carol play flight attendnts and Harvey Korman plays a mysterious passenger with a Fidel Castro-like beard, cigars tucked in his breast pocket, and a Spanish accent. When this episode was aired, hijackings were in the news. 

“Lucy, the Sky Diver” (1970) ~ Trying to show her kids how dangerous their hobbies are, Lucy jumps from a plane!  Although there is second unit location footage of the plane and Lucy floating down on her parachute, Lucille Ball remained at the studio with a recreation of the aircraft and a simulated parachute. 

“Lucy, the Part-Time Wife” (1970) ~ Lucy and Harry go to the airport to meet an old flame of his (Carole Cook). The airport background shows jets on the tarmac. 

“Lucy Helps David Frost Go Night-Night” (1971) ~ Lucy takes an assignment accompanying David Frost on a transatlantic flight so that he can get some rest. Thanks to Lucy, his flight is anything but restful!  The first class section of a 747 was recreated for the episode. 

The jet seen in the stock footage of the airport is a Pan Am Boeing 747 with an upper deck first class lounge.

David Frost reckons that he has taken 346 air trips or traveled 1,853,000 miles!

Mame (1974) ~ At the end of the film, Auntie Mame waves goodbye to Patrick, has she flies off to her next adventure. 

“Lucy Gets Lucky” (1975) ~ Although Lucy Collins took the bus to Las Vegas to see her favorite star Dean Martin, at the end of the special she flies off into the sunset with him on his private jet. Dreams come true! 

#Lucille Ball #Desi Arnaz #Vivian Vance #William Frawley #I Love Lucy #The Lucy Show #Here's Lucy #TV #airplanes #jets #airlines #Pan Am #TWA #David Frost #Carole Cook #Harvey Korman #Carol Burnett #Wings #Buddy Rogers #Richard Arlen #Five Came Back #Alaska Airlines #Japan Airlines #A Woman of Distinction #Gale Gordon #CBS #Lucy Gets Lucky #Mr. & Mrs.

[hypnosis-nlp]

Sunset leaving the Long Wharf after sailing around the Boston Harbor on the tall ship, Liberty Clipper. #sailing #sailinstagram #sailboat #loveyourself #sunset #sunset_pics (at Boston Harbor Wharf, MA) Boston Harbor

#sailing #sailinstagram #sailboat #loveyourself #sunset #sunset_pics

[hariesautomoto]

LibertyClipper by HariesAutoMoto

#sunset #Boston Harbor #Liberty Clipper #Massacusetts #moored #passenger craft #ship #marina #harbor #passenge

[johnbyrnedraws]

Marvel: The Lost Generation #3, page 2 by John Byrne & Al Milgrom & Glynis Wein. 2000.

#John Byrne #Al Milgrom #Glynis Wein #Lost Generation #Effigy #Liberty Girl #Nightingale #Yankee Clipper #Kid Justice #Marvel #Comics #Color #2000

[worldlibertytv]

See  Billionaire Steve Ballmer former CEO of Microsoft , with an estimated 72 Billion dollars net worth in our World Liberty TV Technology PG Channel @ https://www.worldlibertytv.org

#Steve Ballmer #Former CEO Microsoft #Los Angeles Clippers #Billionaire #World Liberty TV Technology blog #Hotwinc org

[husheduphistory]

Ghost Blimp: The Mystery and Missing on the L-8

On Sunday, August 16th 1942 Richard L. Johnston was going about his business. He had just finished waxing his car in Dale City, California when he looked up and saw something huge creeping out of the sky and towards his house. Suddenly it hit a utility pole, electrical wires broke sending sparks cascading down to the street, and Johnson ran into the house to protect his mother. When he came back outside there was a large group of people in the street including Fire Deputy Marshal Sean Wood and Johnston’s next door neighbor, volunteer fireman William Morris. Johnston’s car was completely hidden under a massive fold of what looked like canvas. When Johnston woke up that morning he probably didn’t expect that a blimp would land on his car that day. And yet, moments later the scene became even more bizarre.

In August 1942 the United States Navy was on high alert. Within nine months after entering World War II Japanese submarines sunk at least six Allied ships off the American west coast and shelled one of California’s largest oil drilling facilities. The fear of another attack on American soil was high and in order to keep an eye on the sea along the west coast the Navy took to the air, deploying blimps to cruise over the ocean and watch for any suspicious activity.

World War II Navy blimp. Image via Wikimedia Commons.

The blimp that landed on Johnson’s car was the L-8 airship, acquired by the Navy from the Goodyear company and commissioned on March 5, 1942. It was an excellent machine, completing over 1,000 trips and never requiring any work beyond routine maintenance. The two-man crew tasked with piloting the airship had records as impeccable as the craft itself. Lieutenant Ernest Dewitt Cody was a 1938 graduate of Annapolis and although he was only twenty-seven years old he was highly regarded with his commanding officer describing him as “one of the most capable pilots and one of the most able officers” under his command. Cody was relatively new to flying LTA (lighter-than-air) airships, but in April 1942 he proved his ability when he flew the L-8 to deliver cargo to the USS Hornet before the ship departed for Doolittle’s Raid over Tokyo. It was that trip that earned him his promotion to Lieutenant in June 1942. Ensign Charles Ellis Adams was eleven years older than Cody and had twenty years of experience flying LTA airships, but only earned his commission the day before their flight together making his trip with Cody his first flight as an officer.

Lieutenant Ernest Dewitt Cody and  Ensign Charles Ellis Adams.

The L-8 delivering cargo to the USS Hornet. Image via National Archives.

Their task together was a routine anti-submarine mission, fly out from Treasure Island, patrol a fifty-mile radius of San Francisco, then head to the Farallon Islands before heading back to Treasure Island. When they left Treasure Island at 6:03am there was approximately five miles of visibility with the Golden Gate Bridge off in the distance. At 7:38am Cody radioed Moffett Field and reported their location as being four miles east of the Farallon Islands. Four minutes later Moffett Field received a second message from Cody, “Am investigating suspicious oil slick—stand by.” Since an oil slick could indicate an enemy submarine below the waves it was not unusual for the airship to investigate the scene. As the L-8 descended closer to the sea its movements were seen by a fishing boat, the Daisy Gray, and a Liberty cargo ship, Albert Gallatin. Apprehensive about seeing the Navy airship creep closer to the surface of the water and then set off two flares, the ship crews pulled in their nets, manned their guns, and nervously waited to see what happened next. But, as they watched the L-8 nothing out of the ordinary happened. The blimp circled for about an hour and crews from both ships could see two men in the gondola. At approximately 9am the blimp again rose into the air and restarted its route back toward San Francisco. Everything appeared normal to the ships and spectators below, but personnel at Moffett Field were getting nervous, they had not heard a word from the L-8 since 7:42am and were not able to reestablish any communication. Two Vought OS2U Kingfisher floatplanes were sent to look for the blimp and other aircraft were asked to keep their eyes open.

The intended flight path of the L-8 aircraft. Image via unsolvedmysteries.fandom.com.

At approximately 10:49am a series of blimp sightings began to roll in. A Pan American Clipper pilot reported seeing the blimp over the Golden Gate Bridge, then at 11am one of the Kingfishers spotted the L-8 three miles west of Salada Beach at approximately 2,000 feet. Although a height of 2,000 feet would typically be avoided by an airship for safety reasons, there was no indication of the ship being out of control or in danger and it began to descend. The next plane to spot the blimp, an Army P-38 pilot, also saw no indication that the airship or its crew was in any distress when it was seen near Mile Rock, seemingly on its way back to Treasure Island. Within minutes an off-duty seaman named Richard Quam saw the L-8 as he was driving along the highway between San Mateo and San Francisco and he decided to take a picture of the sight. He may have been the first person to capture that something was amiss, the blimp was now noticeably bending in the middle.

The L-8 airship visible sagging as it flew over Daly City. Image via National Archives.

Things began to happen quickly. At approximately 11:15am the L-8 was seen approaching the shore of Ocean Beach in San Francisco but its motors were now silent and there was noticeable sagging. It touched down on the beach for a moment but kept moving until it hit the side of a hill, knocking off one of its 325lb depth chargers. Now carrying 300lbs less, the airship again rose, clearing the hill, and moving further inland. Thousands of people now watched as the L-8 staggered overhead obviously in peril. But, according to witnesses, the ship was not unmanned, in a later interview seventeen-year-old C.E. Taylor told reporters that as the blimp descended he was watching the cabin through his binoculars and that two men were clearly visible inside the entire time.

Finally, at 11:30am the blimp came to a clumsy rest on top of Richard Johnston’s freshly waxed car. Sirens blared and firemen surrounded the blimp, slashing it open in an attempt to save Cody and Adams inside. But, when the rescuers got to the gondola they found a scene that made no sense. The door was open, the microphone for communication was hanging from the doorway, a hat was resting on the controls, the life raft and all parachutes were still in place, but Cody and Adams were nowhere to be found.

Once the initial shock of the crash wore off a feeling of worry began to quickly take over. The L-8 was traveling an extremely visible route and was tracked and seen by hundreds of people and ships, with many reporting the same as young C. E. Taylor, that the men were visible inside the cabin. The Navy immediately launched a search for Cody and Adams and the craft was inspected for any clues to solve the disappearance. The engines were in perfect running order, the ignition switches were on, and there was four hours of fuel left. The only thing that was unusual on board was that the blimp's batteries were drained and part of the fuel supply had been dumped out with no obvious explanation why.

The scene after the crash of the L-8. Image via National Archives.

For three days the shore where the blimp initially crashed and the Pacific coastline was heavily searched but there was no trace of the two missing men. A board of investigation was convened by Navy Commander Francis Connell and over the course of seven days thirty-five witnesses gave their testimony of watching the L-8 hover overhead with nothing seeming suspect. Multiple people both on land and at sea at the time reported seeing the men inside and there being no indication that they ever fell or jumped out of the gondola. In the end it was determined that "no fire, no submersion, no misconduct, and no missiles struck the L-8.” While that may have answered some questions the big one still remained, what happened on the L-8 between 7:42am and 11:15am that made two Navy officers stop communication and vanish before crashing their blimp in a residential neighborhood?

Unfortunately, there were many theories but no concrete answers to that question. Some believed it was a simple tragic accident, that a malfunction with the door led to one man falling out at a low altitude and the other following him out in an attempt to save him before they were both lost to the sea. Others proposed much more elaborate theories, that the men were secret spies, that they were lured close to the surface of the water and grabbed by enemy forces, and some even said that the men ended up killing each other by falling out of the blimp during an argument over a woman. Some guesses tried to remain optimistic, that the men fell out but they were able to swim to shore and would be found hiking back to civilization any day now. Maybe they were picked up by a passenger ship after falling from the aircraft, they just had to wait until they were returned home. But, time ticked forward and the men never reappeared. Shortly after the crash the wives of both men were told that their husbands were officially missing. It was becoming painfully obvious this was not going to change and one year after their disappearance the men were declared dead. The Navy officially classified the incident as “100% Unknown/ Undetermined.”

The L-8 was repaired and continued to be used as a training vessel until the end of World War II when it was returned to Goodyear Tire and Rubber Company. It was refurbished, renamed America, and was used to broadcast sports events until it was finally retired in 1982.

Nearly eighty years after the disappearance of Lieutenant Ernest Dewitt Cody and Ensign Charles Ellis Adams there is still no official explanation as to what happened on that clear August morning over the Pacific coast

After its retirement the gondola of the L-8 was fully restored and is currently exhibited at the National Museum of Naval Aviation in Pensacola, Florida.

The refurbished gondola of the L-8 on display at the  National Museum of Naval Aviation. Image via www.history.navy.mil. 

*************************************************

Sources:

Mystery of the Ghost Blimp by John J. Geoghegan https://www.historynet.com/mystery-of-the-ghost-blimp.htm.

The Crew of the L- 8, https://unsolvedmysteries.fandom.com/wiki/The_Crew_of_the_L-8

The Bizarre Tale Of The World War II Ghost Blimp And Its Missing Crew by Gina Dimuro, https://allthatsinteresting.com/ghost-blimp  

In 1942, a war blimp fell out of the sky onto Daly City. Its crew was never found by Katie Dowd and Andrew Chamings, https://www.sfgate.com/sfhistory/article/SF-Ghost-blimp-Daly-City-15739903.php

Ghost Blimp Mystery of WW2 – Crashed in San Francisco & Crew Was Never Found by Ruslan Budnik, https://www.warhistoryonline.com/instant-articles/mystical-disappearance-pilots.html. 

#HushedUpHistory #featured articles #world war ii #WWII #airship #WorldWarIIhistory #wwii history #californiahistory #unsolvedmysteries #unsolved #mystery #weirdhistory #strangehistory #scaryhistory #forgottenhistory #horrorstory #scarystory #historyclass #historyisnotborning #creepyhistory #wheredidtheygo #historicmystery #historiesmysteries #truth is stranger than fiction #truestory #weirdstory #blimp #L8 #ghostblimp

[stealing-jasons-job]

Cross my heart 

bellarke | gallagher girls au | angst | spies | multi-chapter 

prompted by @carothehotmess​ for @t100fic-for-blm​

Normal girls graduate high school, and then they go off to college with their friends. Maybe they join a sorority. Hell, maybe they get a boyfriend or girlfriend and fall in love. They sleep in and skip class and stay up late with their equally normal friends. And then they graduate college and find a normal job in a normal industry and go on living their normal lives.

But Clarke Griffin has never been normal.

It comes with the territory of being the daughter of two renowned spies for the CIA. Clarke was raised to speak seven languages and be able to change her entire appearance with nothing but a pair of nail clippers and some shoe polish. She isn't built for normal.

*********

Aka: The Bellarke Gallagher Girls AU you never knew you needed.

Read the first chapter on ao3!

Chapter one was prompted by Caro through a donation to the ACLU. 

The ACLU is the United States's largest public interest law firm, helping defend civil liberties. They handle close to 2,000 cases annually and have number of national projects addressing specific civil liberties issues: AIDS, capital punishment, lesbian and gay rights, immigrants' rights, prisoners' rights, reproductive freedom, voting rights, women's rights and workplace rights. You can donate to the ACLU here. 

If you're dying for more, please consider prompting future chapters before April 30 to help us hit our final goal of raising $9,000! The fic will be written in full regardless, but a donation secures its spot in my update list (I'm completing t100fic4blm prompts before updating wips) and more importantly helps an amazing organization! You can prompt an update chapter through the form on our carrd.

#t100fic4blm #t100fic4blm prompts #bellarke #bellarke fanfiction #madison writes things #gallagher girls au #I am so excited for this fic y'all #I really really really hope you all like it!

[betweensceneswriter]

Island Hopper-Chapter 28b: Just Add Water Part 2

Shots and the ‘Shungle’

Previously on Island Hopper:  Chapter 28: Just Add Water Some things are instant.  Not usually sons.

ISLAND FEVER (Jimjeran Book 1)

ISLAND HOPPER (Jimjeran Book 2)

FanFic Master List

 The days blended into one another after that.  Mornings began with waking a reluctant child to give him his long-acting insulin.  Jamie started taking Perkaj into the stall with him after I was done with my shower, washing Perkaj’s hair, wrapping him in a towel and sending him in to me.  While they were out of the apartment I would rush into my own clothing. On Perkaj’s arrival back in the apartment I would dry him off, brush his hair, and give him a little privacy while he dressed.  

He was amused by the bustle and pace of our household.  If we ever tried to rush him, he would respond after a deep sigh, “Oh, Mama Peach, I am lazy,” or “Oh, Baba Shamie, I am lazy.”  Jamie assured me that ‘lazy’ didn’t have the same negative connotation in Majel, but it still made me laugh every time Perkaj said it.

Perkaj was also surprised by how often we bathed, but after a few days Jamie said the boy had started to industriously scrub his skin with a washcloth and soap while Jamie washed his hair.

Breakfast was when he would test his blood sugar and give himself injections with an amount based on his level and how hungry he felt.  In the beginning he turned up his nose at the steel cut oats we would usually have for breakfast, but he was delighted by bread with honey or jelly and peanut butter.  Eventually with a sprinkle of cinnamon and brown sugar, we were able to coax him to eat the ‘porridge’ as well.

Jamie had to leave for school a few minutes early so he could drop Perkaj off at his house, or if he was running late I would take him. There the little boy would be fussed over by his family and then walk to school with his brothers and sisters.  His mother would pack him a lunch to be eaten at school, when he would check in with Jamie for testing and another dose of short-acting insulin before joining the other kids on the lawn for lunch & recess.

After school, Perkaj would come home with Jamie.  They would test his blood sugar to make sure it was high enough for play and family time and give him a snack if it was on the low side.  Most days of the week  Jamie would walk him the rest of the way to his house, returning to our apartment to do grading and planning for the next day.  Around six I would take my turn to travel to Perkaj’s house, supervise as Perkaj would prick one of his poor fingers again, and then the little guy and I would assess his dinner plate with his parents & auntie, talking about the insulin amount needed before eating.

At 7:30, one of Perkaj’s family members would walk him to our house where we would tuck him into bed with a story.  One more test and snack or insulin would finish his long, eventful day.  

After Perkaj headed to bed was when Jamie and I made sure to cuddle up to each other, having a little contact while reading or writing letters by the  warm light of the bedside lamp.  More  often than not one or the other of us would nod off accidentally and wake up only when the other person turned off the lamp. Jamie or I would rouse long enough to climb under the sheet and turn to the other for a goodnight kiss before we would drift back into slumber.  

Our life felt strange, broken up into little chunks like this-- repeated interruptions and moments of being apart when we would normally have been together. It wasn’t easy, but I steeled myself with the fact that there weren’t any other good options.  This—serving the health of the islanders—was why I was here; not marriage, not sex, not selfishness.

“Ijab konaan,” Perkaj cried, sitting at the table with his tester and insulin pen in front of him. “Emetak.” He rubbed his face with his hands, smearing the dust from an afternoon of active play into gray streaks on his skin.

Of course he didn’t want it.  Of course it hurt.

Jamie looked up at me, his eyes full of compassion and desperation.  We had to get Perkaj to buy in to his own health if we were ever going to get our own lives back.  

All of a sudden I had an idea.  I grabbed a syringe from my black medical kit and a vial of sterile saline.

“How many carbs are you going to eat, Meester Shamie?” I asked him. He eyed the syringe and then looked back at me, narrowed eyes giving way to a tiny smile of understanding.

He took a deep breath, looking at the soup and muffins on the table. “Hmmm,” he said thoughtfully, “I  know I’m hungry, and I’m lukuun kilep, so I’ll have five servings… some noodle soup and three muffins. How about you, Miss Peachay?”

“Oh, I’m not very hungry,” I responded. “When it’s hot like this, ijab konaan moni, so I’ll have three.”

Without looking off to the side at Perkaj, I picked up the tester, a strip and a lancet. “I wonder what my blood sugar is right now,” I mused. I pricked my finger, the sudden shock of pain giving me shivers, then pressed the drop of blood to the testing strip. “Eighty-five,” I remarked.  “That’s good for before a meal.”

Jamie took the tester I offered him and did the same. He winced and stuck his finger in his mouth after he’d touched it to the testing strip. “Seventy-six? No wonder I’m starving!” He passed the tester on to Perkaj, who had grinned at Jamie’s over-the-top reaction to the prick of the lancet and blood on his finger.

“Okay,” I said. “Five servings means five units.”  I held the vial up as I inserted the syringe and drew out several milliliters of saline. Then I handed the syringe to Jamie.

Up until then he’d been playing along with me.  When I handed him the needle his face drained of color. His raised eyebrows communicated clearly, “You’re kidding, aren’t you?”

Perkaj had tested his sugar and was already clicking the units into his insulin pen.

“One for being little high,” he murmured to himself. “And tree for carbs.”  He screwed on the fresh needle tip and looked over at Jamie. “Why you waiting, Baba Shamie?”

Jamie frowned. “Ijab konaan,” he said, his eyes showing some genuine fear. “Enaj metak.”

Perkaj’s response was adorable.  He patted Jamie’s arm like I’d seen my husband do to him  countless times over the last few weeks. “Is okay, Baba,” he said reassuringly, shaking his head. “It not hurt forever.”

After that, there was no way Jamie was going to let his fear of pain stand in his way.  

“Let’s do it together,” he said.  “Will you count?”

“Juon, ruo, jilu,” Perkaj counted.  On ‘three’ both boys jabbed themselves with their needles and pressed down on the plungers.  They made faces at each other as they did, and when the syringe and insulin pen were returned to the table, Jamie pulled the little guy in for a hug.

“You’re so brave!” He exclaimed. Perkaj grinned and grabbed a muffin.

Out of necessity we discovered that about five minutes after Perkaj fell asleep he would be dead to the world for a solid fifteen minutes.  If we’d saved enough energy, we could engage in a clandestine lovemaking session, covered by the bedsheet, trying to keep the bed frame from squeaking or the headboard from banging against the wall.

Unfortunately, I was gun shy after our ‘coitus interruptus’ and Jamie seemed to be internalizing the stress of parenthood even more than I was. He was still affectionate, and would frequently wrap his arms around me for a hug, come up behind me when I was doing dishes and rub my shoulders, or pull my head to his chest when we lay next to each other in bed reading.  But after my experience being married to him thus far, it wasn’t like him. It was surprising that Jamie wasn’t lusting after me, wasn’t taking liberties with my body, wasn’t making it clear he wanted nothing more than to have me naked.  

Perhaps even more disturbing to me, I was okay with the lack of sex. I tried to reassure myself.  Jamie and I were still cooperating with each other, accomplishing an important thing.   We were still working together, laughing together.  Despite the inconvenience, Perkaj was adorable and Jamie was adorable with him. But both of us were exhausted at night. We were all sleeping in the same room; less alone time meant fewer opportunities when the same idea would strike both of us, when raised eyebrows or a simple caress would be the snowflake that started an avalanche.

But as my dad had said, this was ‘just a season.’

And what a season.  Along with the hot, dry conditions that made it challenging to keep my garden healthy and brought the mamas to clinic fanning themselves and telling me they were lukuun bwil, the level of the catchment continued to drop until the bucket would scrape against the cement bottom of the tank when we drew our drinking water.

One afternoon after school Perkaj announced that he was going to stay and help Baba Shamie cut the grass.  Apparently he and Jamie had been talking on their walk home and Jamie had shared his plans for the afternoon.

“Ikonaan jibaneke,” Perkaj said.  “I want help you!”

Perkaj helped me water my plants and then used the hand-held grass clippers to assist Jamie by trimming the grass near our outbuildings and well.  Jamie used an old school scythe to cut the grass, a wicked looking curved blade on a long wooden handle with two grips.  When he held it on his shoulder as he headed out to the field, he looked like a tropical themed version of the Grim Reaper, with khaki shorts, a tee shirt, and flaming red hair.

I followed the boys as they worked, using a rake to heap up the grass and lift it into our wheelbarrow. Jamie had decided that composting was a necessity to increase the quality of our soil, so we were layering grass clippings with palm fronds and kitchen waste in a heap in the back corner of the property.

I was across the yard when two girls walked hesitantly up to Jamie.  He leaned on his scythe, giving them his attention.

“Meester Shamie,” one of them said, “we no have water to drink.  Our catchment is emmat...empty?

Jamie looked at them, at their water container, and at the big jug by the still, three quarters full from the days’ filtration. He glanced at me.

“Of course,” I insisted, “we have enough to share.”

As Jamie poured water into their bottles, I crossed the yard to the well. Someone would need to draw more well water to refill the solar still.

Through the sunny hours of the day while Jamie was teaching, I had taken it upon myself to keep the reservoir of the still filled with enough well water to keep the trickle of distilled water constantly flowing. When one water jug was filled, I would transfer the hose to the next jug and place the cap on the now-full container.

“Jibaneke?” The little voice asked from behind me. “I help you, Mama Peach?”

Perkaj might have been only seven, but he was an expert at the wrist flick necessary for getting water from the well, and the rapid hand -over -hand motion to bring up a full coffee can. He filled the five gallon bucket in half the time it would take me, then beamed up at me as we carried the bucket together to pour into the solar still.

He stood up on his tiptoes to peek through the sloped glass cover. “Well water enana?” he questioned, brown furrowed.  

“Is it bad?” I responded. “Not bad.  Just doesn’t taste good  for drinking .”

“But Mama Peach,” he said with his forehead wrinkled, “Aolep well water,” Perkaj said.  

It was all well water? I didn’t understand what he meant. Rupert had brought the lower grades over to teach them a lesson about the solar still and evaporation, so I had seen them peering in interest at the setup. I was sure Rupert had explained how the process removed minerals, salt, and impurities from the water.

“Ke?” I asked. “What do you mean?”

He showed the motion of the water with his hands -- the upward wafting of moisture, at which he said, “Well water,” then indicated the abrupt stop at the sloping glass, “Well water also” and then showed the drops falling into the collection channel. “Aolep well water,” he finished, holding up his hands as if to encompass the whole water cycle.

“Well, not exactly,” I tried to explain, hesitantly trying out my baby Majel.  “This is a small version of how the earth makes fresh water.  When the water goes into the air, it leaves behind germs and salt and bitter minerals.  Do you see the white crust on the black fabric?  That's the bad part-what was left behind.”

Perkaj peered into the still through the condensation -covered glass curiously.  “Oh.” He exclaimed, wide eyed.  I wasn’t sure he’d understood, but at least I’d tried.

The day stayed hot past sunset, the air barely holding any humidity.  Without a breeze, the house didn’t cool off even when it got dark.  Jamie had tried to cuddle me, but any place our skin contacted we would stick together, and any movement would feel like trying to detach from an octopus.

Perkaj was snoring quietly in his bed when Jamie got up and headed to the door, shoving his feet into his flip flops.  He headed outside without an explanation; I figured he needed the restroom.  

I was lost in my book when I startled at a faint sound behind me. Was that shifting gravel outside the window? I paused to listen. We’d opened the curtains because it was so damn hot, but that meant anyone outside would be able to see me… and could see that Jamie wasn’t here with me.  Still, none of the island men would even try to  bother me.  I wasn’t a single woman anymore, and they wouldn’t dare insult Meester Shamie…

“Tssst tssst,” a voice hissed from outside the window.  “Tssst tssst.” I pretended not to hear them, hoping inwardly that Jamie would return any minute and this person would fade away into the night and stop embarrassing themselves.

“Miss Peachay,” the voice sang, “I want to talk to you.  Tssst tssst.  You want to go to the shungle with me? Kwe konaan bwebwenato?”

As the invitations continued, I turned slowly to squint out the window.  The light from the apartment shone faintly on the pole supporting the short wave radio antenna.  There was a large hand gripping the pole, and next to the hand… there was curly red hair.

“You dip wad!” I hissed.  “I nearly peed my pants!”

“Shhhh,” he responded.  “Grab a quilt.  Come to the shungle with me.”

Perkaj was sleeping, so I figured what the heck.  I obeyed, grabbing a quilt and the mosquito net, turning off the lamp, shoving my feet into zories, and joining Jamie on the road in front of the clinic.

“Come on,” he whispered, taking me by the hand and leading me across the road.  There was only a little sliver of moon, but it was enough to keep us from crashing into trees as we wove deeper into the ocean-side palm forest.  

We got far enough that we couldn’t see the clinic light anymore, and giggled as we spread out the quilt and covered ourselves with the mosquito net.  

Out of the house it was actually cooler, and I sighed in relief as I looked up at the stars, Jamie’s arm behind  my head.

I couldn’t help it, laying on that quilt, covered by that mosquito net, looking up at those stars. “Oh, Frank…” I breathed.

My husband froze, and then he reacted. “Oh, you did not just call me Frank,” Jamie exclaimed.  I giggled as he rolled over on top of me.  “You take that back,” he ordered, his hand forcing its way under my tank top.

I laughed again, meeting his lips with mine, helping him peel off his shirt, wriggling out of my shorts and panties.

It had been so long and the circumstances were so novel I was fully engaged, blissful at his hands on me,  kissing his neck, reaching for him with my hand.  I attempted to change positions, to urge him inside, but he seemed determined to dominate me, insistent.

His hands were on my breasts and then his mouth was, teasing my nipples, biting them gently.   His hands were on my thighs and he was between my legs.  But he seemed to just be teasing me, pressing his pelvis towards me but then pulling away as I opened to him.

I realized he was waiting for something.

I took a deep breath. “I know who you are,” I whispered.  “Jamie.  Soulmate.  True love.  Partner.”

He paused, relaxed against me, kissed me gently between phrases.

“Provider,” I continued. “Protector. Gift of Providence.  Father of my babies. Friend.  Jimjeran.”

When we joined, finally, I was crying. I reached up and found his face, placing my hands on his cheeks, keeping his lips on mine as we moved together, as we connected, as we bonded ourselves together once again.

The whine of mosquitoes chased us inside, but not before we heard a wolf whistle from Anni and Kona’s yard as we crossed the road in front of the clinic. “Miss Peachay, Meester Shamie!” She exclaimed.  “You go to shungle?”

We headed inside to the sound of her laughter.

The next morning as we were getting ready for work and school, I noticed Jamie scratching himself rather intently  on the ass.  

“Hey Meester Shamie,” I joked, “How did you get a mosquito bite?”

He grinned at me adoringly. “I wonder, Miss Peachay.”

#jimjeran #BetweenSceneswriter #Marshall Island #claire x jamie #Outlander #outlander fanfic #new canon

[uswnt5]

Tobin’s been showing interest in the NY Liberty lately.

Glad they got the Dub for her!

Makes sense, she’s repped the Brooklyn Nets before too.

Better than when she used to claim the Clippers lol (typical tobin, doing what everyone else isn’t)

[mountainpoem]

Song of the Open Road by Walt Whitman

1 Afoot and light-hearted I take to the open road, Healthy, free, the world before me, The long brown path before me leading wherever I choose. Henceforth I ask not good-fortune, I myself am good-fortune, Henceforth I whimper no more, postpone no more, need nothing, Done with indoor complaints, libraries, querulous criticisms, Strong and content I travel the open road. The earth, that is sufficient, I do not want the constellations any nearer, I know they are very well where they are, I know they suffice for those who belong to them. (Still here I carry my old delicious burdens, I carry them, men and women, I carry them with me wherever I go, I swear it is impossible for me to get rid of them, I am fill’d with them, and I will fill them in return.) 2 You road I enter upon and look around, I believe you are not all that is here, I believe that much unseen is also here. Here the profound lesson of reception, nor preference nor denial, The black with his woolly head, the felon, the diseas’d, the illiterate person, are not denied; The birth, the hasting after the physician, the beggar’s tramp, the drunkard’s stagger, the laughing party of mechanics, The escaped youth, the rich person’s carriage, the fop, the eloping couple, The early market-man, the hearse, the moving of furniture into the town, the return back from the town, They pass, I also pass, any thing passes, none can be interdicted, None but are accepted, none but shall be dear to me. 3 You air that serves me with breath to speak! You objects that call from diffusion my meanings and give them shape! You light that wraps me and all things in delicate equable showers! You paths worn in the irregular hollows by the roadsides! I believe you are latent with unseen existences, you are so dear to me. You flagg’d walks of the cities! you strong curbs at the edges! You ferries! you planks and posts of wharves! you timber-lined sides! you distant ships! You rows of houses! you window-pierc’d façades! you roofs! You porches and entrances! you copings and iron guards! You windows whose transparent shells might expose so much! You doors and ascending steps! you arches! You gray stones of interminable pavements! you trodden crossings! From all that has touch’d you I believe you have imparted to yourselves, and now would impart the same secretly to me, From the living and the dead you have peopled your impassive surfaces, and the spirits thereof would be evident and amicable with me. 4 The earth expanding right hand and left hand, The picture alive, every part in its best light, The music falling in where it is wanted, and stopping where it is not wanted, The cheerful voice of the public road, the gay fresh sentiment of the road. O highway I travel, do you say to me Do not leave me? Do you say Venture not—if you leave me you are lost? Do you say I am already prepared, I am well-beaten and undenied, adhere to me? O public road, I say back I am not afraid to leave you, yet I love you, You express me better than I can express myself, You shall be more to me than my poem. I think heroic deeds were all conceiv’d in the open air, and all free poems also, I think I could stop here myself and do miracles, I think whatever I shall meet on the road I shall like, and whoever beholds me shall like me, I think whoever I see must be happy. 5 From this hour I ordain myself loos’d of limits and imaginary lines, Going where I list, my own master total and absolute, Listening to others, considering well what they say, Pausing, searching, receiving, contemplating, Gently,but with undeniable will, divesting myself of the holds that would hold me. I inhale great draughts of space, The east and the west are mine, and the north and the south are mine. I am larger, better than I thought, I did not know I held so much goodness. All seems beautiful to me, I can repeat over to men and women You have done such good to me I would do the same to you, I will recruit for myself and you as I go, I will scatter myself among men and women as I go, I will toss a new gladness and roughness among them, Whoever denies me it shall not trouble me, Whoever accepts me he or she shall be blessed and shall bless me. 6 Now if a thousand perfect men were to appear it would not amaze me, Now if a thousand beautiful forms of women appear’d it would not astonish me. Now I see the secret of the making of the best persons, It is to grow in the open air and to eat and sleep with the earth. Here a great personal deed has room, (Such a deed seizes upon the hearts of the whole race of men, Its effusion of strength and will overwhelms law and mocks all authority and all argument against it.) Here is the test of wisdom, Wisdom is not finally tested in schools, Wisdom cannot be pass’d from one having it to another not having it, Wisdom is of the soul, is not susceptible of proof, is its own proof, Applies to all stages and objects and qualities and is content, Is the certainty of the reality and immortality of things, and the excellence of things; Something there is in the float of the sight of things that provokes it out of the soul. Now I re-examine philosophies and religions, They may prove well in lecture-rooms, yet not prove at all under the spacious clouds and along the landscape and flowing currents. Here is realization, Here is a man tallied—he realizes here what he has in him, The past, the future, majesty, love—if they are vacant of you, you are vacant of them. Only the kernel of every object nourishes; Where is he who tears off the husks for you and me? Where is he that undoes stratagems and envelopes for you and me? Here is adhesiveness, it is not previously fashion’d, it is apropos; Do you know what it is as you pass to be loved by strangers? Do you know the talk of those turning eye-balls? 7 Here is the efflux of the soul, The efflux of the soul comes from within through embower’d gates, ever provoking questions, These yearnings why are they? these thoughts in the darkness why are they? Why are there men and women that while they are nigh me the sunlight expands my blood? Why when they leave me do my pennants of joy sink flat and lank? Why are there trees I never walk under but large and melodious thoughts descend upon me? (I think they hang there winter and summer on those trees and always drop fruit as I pass;) What is it I interchange so suddenly with strangers? What with some driver as I ride on the seat by his side? What with some fisherman drawing his seine by the shore as I walk by and pause? What gives me to be free to a woman’s and man’s good-will? what gives them to be free to mine? 8 The efflux of the soul is happiness, here is happiness, I think it pervades the open air, waiting at all times, Now it flows unto us, we are rightly charged. Here rises the fluid and attaching character, The fluid and attaching character is the freshness and sweetness of man and woman, (The herbs of the morning sprout no fresher and sweeter every day out of the roots of themselves, than it sprouts fresh and sweet continually out of itself.) Toward the fluid and attaching character exudes the sweat of the love of young and old, From it falls distill’d the charm that mocks beauty and attainments, Toward it heaves the shuddering longing ache of contact. 9 Allons! whoever you are come travel with me! Traveling with me you find what never tires. The earth never tires, The earth is rude, silent, incomprehensible at first, Nature is rude and incomprehensible at first, Be not discouraged, keep on, there are divine things well envelop’d, I swear to you there are divine things more beautiful than words can tell. Allons! we must not stop here, However sweet these laid-up stores, however convenient this dwelling we cannot remain here, However shelter’d this port and however calm these waters we must not anchor here, However welcome the hospitality that surrounds us we are permitted to receive it but a little while. 10 Allons! the inducements shall be greater, We will sail pathless and wild seas, We will go where winds blow, waves dash, and the Yankee clipper speeds by under full sail. Allons! with power, liberty, the earth, the elements, Health, defiance, gayety, self-esteem, curiosity; Allons! from all formules! From your formules, O bat-eyed and materialistic priests. The stale cadaver blocks up the passage—the burial waits no longer. Allons! yet take warning! He traveling with me needs the best blood, thews, endurance, None may come to the trial till he or she bring courage and health, Come not here if you have already spent the best of yourself, Only those may come who come in sweet and determin’d bodies, No diseas’d person, no rum-drinker or venereal taint is permitted here. (I and mine do not convince by arguments, similes, rhymes, We convince by our presence.) 11 Listen! I will be honest with you, I do not offer the old smooth prizes, but offer rough new prizes, These are the days that must happen to you: You shall not heap up what is call’d riches, You shall scatter with lavish hand all that you earn or achieve, You but arrive at the city to which you were destin’d, you hardly settle yourself to satisfaction before you are call’d by an irresistible call to depart, You shall be treated to the ironical smiles and mockings of those who remain behind you, What beckonings of love you receive you shall only answer with passionate kisses of parting, You shall not allow the hold of those who spread their reach’d hands toward you. 12 Allons! after the great Companions, and to belong to them! They too are on the road—they are the swift and majestic men—they are the greatest women, Enjoyers of calms of seas and storms of seas, Sailors of many a ship, walkers of many a mile of land, Habituès of many distant countries, habituès of far-distant dwellings, Trusters of men and women, observers of cities, solitary toilers, Pausers and contemplators of tufts, blossoms, shells of the shore, Dancers at wedding-dances, kissers of brides, tender helpers of children, bearers of children, Soldiers of revolts, standers by gaping graves, lowerers-down of coffins, Journeyers over consecutive seasons, over the years, the curious years each emerging from that which preceded it, Journeyers as with companions, namely their own diverse phases, Forth-steppers from the latent unrealized baby-days, Journeyers gayly with their own youth, journeyers with their bearded and well-grain’d manhood, Journeyers with their womanhood, ample, unsurpass’d, content, Journeyers with their own sublime old age of manhood or womanhood, Old age, calm, expanded, broad with the haughty breadth of the universe, Old age, flowing free with the delicious near-by freedom of death. 13 Allons! to that which is endless as it was beginningless, To undergo much, tramps of days, rests of nights, To merge all in the travel they tend to, and the days and nights they tend to, Again to merge them in the start of superior journeys, To see nothing anywhere but what you may reach it and pass it, To conceive no time, however distant, but what you may reach it and pass it, To look up or down no road but it stretches and waits for you, however long but it stretches and waits for you, To see no being, not God’s or any, but you also go thither, To see no possession but you may possess it, enjoying all without labor or purchase, abstracting the feast yet not abstracting one particle of it, To take the best of the farmer’s farm and the rich man’s elegant villa, and the chaste blessings of the well-married couple, and the fruits of orchards and flowers of gardens, To take to your use out of the compact cities as you pass through, To carry buildings and streets with you afterward wherever you go, To gather the minds of men out of their brains as you encounter them, to gather the love out of their hearts, To take your lovers on the road with you, for all that you leave them behind you, To know the universe itself as a road, as many roads, as roads for traveling souls. All parts away for the progress of souls, All religion, all solid things, arts, governments—all that was or is apparent upon this globe or any globe, falls into niches and corners before the procession of souls along the grand roads of the universe. Of the progress of the souls of men and women along the grand roads of the universe, all other progress is the needed emblem and sustenance. Forever alive, forever forward, Stately, solemn, sad, withdrawn, baffled, mad, turbulent, feeble, dissatisfied, Desperate, proud, fond, sick, accepted by men, rejected by men, They go! they go! I know that they go, but I know not where they go, But I know that they go toward the best—toward something great. Whoever you are, come forth! or man or woman come forth! You must not stay sleeping and dallying there in the house, though you built it, or though it has been built for you. Out of the dark confinement! out from behind the screen! It is useless to protest, I know all and expose it. Behold through you as bad as the rest, Through the laughter, dancing, dining, supping, of people, Inside of dresses and ornaments, inside of those wash’d and trimm’d faces, Behold a secret silent loathing and despair. No husband, no wife, no friend, trusted to hear the confession, Another self, a duplicate of every one, skulking and hiding it goes, Formless and wordless through the streets of the cities, polite and bland in the parlors, In the cars of railroads, in steamboats, in the public assembly, Home to the houses of men and women, at the table, in the bedroom, everywhere, Smartly attired, countenance smiling, form upright, death under the breast-bones, hell under the skull-bones, Under the broadcloth and gloves, under the ribbons and artificial flowers, Keeping fair with the customs, speaking not a syllable of itself, Speaking of any thing else but never of itself. 14 Allons! through struggles and wars! The goal that was named cannot be countermanded. Have the past struggles succeeded? What has succeeded? yourself? your nation? Nature? Now understand me well—it is provided in the essence of things that from any fruition of success, no matter what, shall come forth something to make a greater struggle necessary. My call is the call of battle, I nourish active rebellion, He going with me must go well arm’d, He going with me goes often with spare diet, poverty, angry enemies, desertions. 15 Allons! the road is before us! It is safe—I have tried it—my own feet have tried it well—be not detain’d! Let the paper remain on the desk unwritten, and the book on the shelf unopen’d! Let the tools remain in the workshop! let the money remain unearn’d! Let the school stand! mind not the cry of the teacher! Let the preacher preach in his pulpit! let the lawyer plead in the court, and the judge expound the law. Camerado, I give you my hand! I give you my love more precious than money, I give you myself before preaching or law; Will you give me yourself? will you come travel with me? Shall we stick by each other as long as we live?

#song of the open road #walt whitman #poem #poetry #travel #freedom #free #love #beauty #go