#Longhorn Hills | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

spookyspaghettisundae · 1 year

Text

Why I've Turned to You

How does an entire bus of school children go missing? Neither county’s police were offering any helpful answers. Nothing but vague statements, even while besieged by a legion of parents, all of us mad with fear.

They ruled out an accident. That only made it worse for me. And frankly, they looked like they had no clue. The chief’s face said it all: we don’t know what happened, and we don’t even know where to start, and now we have to admit to the public that we’re stumped, and your kids might be doomed. Or… there was something more sinister at work here, which is why I am documenting this all.

Some parents said the teacher and bus driver might have been involved in a child trafficking ring. But that made no sense. I knew Miss Grigg and there was no way. No way on Earth she would do that.

It had been a full day since the class’ disappearance. The longer we waited, the more I worried our kids might only be found under the worst circumstances. Or not found at all. The other parents were no help, either. That’s why I packed a video camera and a gun, then set out to find Nathan on my own.

The bus had last been seen driving into Longhorn Hills.

The only things out there were lots of trees and the old cemetery.

The police chief said that officers had already searched the Longhorn Memorial Cemetery and ruled it out as a possibility of their whereabouts.

I wasn’t convinced. Like other parents, I felt like the police were either hiding something, lying, or they had failed to do their due diligence. But to be fair and give them the benefit of the doubt, let’s just assume they may have missed something. That was the assumption I was operating under when I ventured out there.

For one, the memorial cemetery was huge—a sprawling maze of narrow pathways between centuries-old crypts and tombstones, all overgrown and swallowed by the woods. Nobody had been buried there since the gold rush days, only hikers and drunk teenagers ever visited it, and the state was doing squat to preserve it because they failed to market it as a tourist attraction.

The bad weather meant that visibility must have been poor when the copy conducted any initial searches around there. If the downpour hadn’t immediately washed away any tracks, they would have been hard to spot through the mist of rain.

This couldn’t possibly explain the absence of an entire bus, but the curator of the Longhorn Historical Society claimed it had never arrived at the museum.

For another, the Longhorn Hills were completely covered in forest. One of the largest surviving and interconnected woodland regions in the whole state, preserved from industrial logging because of all the swamps making it too costly to exploit. And you probably know better than me of all the stories in which people disappear into large bodies of woods and are never found again, not even with extensive search parties out there to look for them.

That was my reasoning. That was why I headed there first.

Alone.

I didn’t want to inform Nathan’s dad yet. That deadbeat probably hadn’t even learned from the news of the class’ disappearance, and even if he had heard of it in some bar where he can catch a football game, I doubt he would have even put two and two together and worried about his son.

The downpour had barely eased up. The rain was still coming down strong by the time I arrived in Longhorn Hills. The dirt path to the old cemetery had become so muddy that my car almost got stuck. I had to back out and park it on the last patch of pavement, then I hiked up the rest of the way.

Though I still had several hours till sunset, the sky was already a darker shade of gray, bordering on what felt like night. The cold was suffocating, even though I was geared against in the rain in a good water-repellant poncho and a solid pair of boots. I checked my camera and immediately realized that it would be difficult to record anything. Paired with the downpour, the poor lighting limited my sight and rendered any recordings all grainy and noisy.

Still, I’m glad I brought it along, otherwise the following events would be too bizarre for anybody to believe. They’re still going to be a hard sell because you only have my words to go on.

The first thing I spotted of the cemetery was the weathered iron fence. I could barely capture its outlines on video as I approached, but its gate stood wide open.

You’ll see on the recordings that the tracks in the mud look like a bus may have driven through here, but the flooding will have made it impossible to tell for sure.

Upon my arrival, it was a constant stream of water, a few feet wide, and crossing the path. Only inches deep, my boots were high enough that I didn’t worry too much about walking through it. I was too focused on getting shots of the wheel tracks. Note how deep and wide they are. I have no frame of reference, but those look like what you would expect from a big truck or bus.

The most puzzling thing was that the cemetery itself had no room for a bus to drive through. It would have had to plow through all those old gravestones and barrel through all the brush and trees, but I saw no sign of such beyond the gate.

Even through the shroud of rain, I thought I could see lights in the distance and hear faint voices. The noise is too strong on this portion of the video to back up my impressions, but I swear it sounded like a children’s choir singing, even this far out.

As I entered through the gate and walked through the cemetery, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was deeply wrong. Although I had no idea at the time what I was about to discover, a palpable sense of dread had already gripped me, shortening my every breath. I felt watched and I never felt alone.

As a result, I made sure to record everywhere I was looking, just in case I missed any clues—or in case someone jumped me. Perhaps evidence in case I went missing, too. That’s why you’ll occasionally see me pointing the gun on the recordings.

The atmosphere was so bleak that I could barely see without the light but check this next part: I turned off the camera’s light because I noticed something so strange that it belongs in science fiction.

Every gravestone was facing me. And they were covered in indecipherable symbols that glowed with a faint light. Note how I keep panning the angle down to the muddy path: I was trying to understand if I was hallucinating or not.

Because every time I looked at the gravestones, none of this was visible to the naked eye. It only looks like this through the camera and on the recording. Look! Look how the gravestones seem to move whenever I move and the perspective changes. Like some kind of messed up optical illusion. I don’t know if this was why I was feeling watched, but the video is not lying here: it was like the gravestones were watching me. Looking only through the camera was making me nauseous. It defied physics.

Even up close, the faint glow of the symbols made no sense. They looked vaguely occult, but I don’t know nearly enough about obscure esoteric subjects to recognize them, and a cursory search in the Historical Society yielded nothing. Every time I turned the light on, the symbols turned invisible, and the gravestones looked like they should to the naked eye—not constantly facing me regardless of angle or reality, which is even weirder.

Something the video doesn’t tell you, though, is that I had a terrible headache coming on. The longer I stared at these symbols through the camera screen, the worse it got. It was something between a regular headache and a full-blown migraine.

And it gets a bit hectic here, but I felt like the gravestones and their glowing symbols were trying to tell me something. Like the symbols were all part of a larger pattern that I didn’t understand. I cannot explain it, it was just a strange feeling that grew alongside the headache.

Deeper into the cemetery—yes, you can hear it now on the recording—the singing became clearer. I mean, it’s still eclipsed by the noise, but there’s clearly something like the voices of children singing here. The downpour was worsening at this point, and I could barely make out any path in front of me. With the camera’s light off, I stumbled over a root and nearly fell. But with the lights on, I couldn’t see the glowing symbols, and they seemed to be guiding me somewhere.

At the time, I worried that there may have been some kind of psycho cult out there. There are like a million movies of weird cannibal families hiding out in the countryside, too, which did not help ease my dread. That’s why I decided to keep the lights off. Even though the phenomena with the gravestones was scaring the hell out of me.

The singing was coming from a large mausoleum, growing louder with every step. The audio is bad, but it backs me up here. I’m pretty sure that an audio engineer could enhance it to make it clearer. It sounds like there are words in the singing. And look at how brightly the symbols glow on those doors! With such perfect symmetry.

I have no idea why I called out to anybody even though I expected the worst. Like, what if there was a cult out there who had abducted the children, and local police were in on it somehow? I had a tiny gun with six bullets. What the hell was I thinking?

The singing stopped. Someone whispered to me right here. The camera’s mic didn’t capture this.

It sounded like, “Come inside.”

It took all my courage to not just turn and run. But I think my instincts screamed louder inside of me, stronger than any other impulse.

I had to find my son.

My hesitation here is because I had to put the gun away to have a hand free before pulling the doors open. They were old, heavy, and a bit stuck. I didn’t have to break any locks, there was just a lot of dirt and vegetation blocking the doors, build-up from months of nobody having explored inside. Once I had gotten into the mausoleum, my gun came back out.

I couldn’t hear anything through the noise of downpour anymore. No more ghostly singing, no whispers. I’m not sure when exactly it stopped, but it must have been while I was opening the door. The rain drowns it out. It is in your head now, too, right? Like a weird echo. Again, audio engineer. Please, someone check this.

Parts of the ceiling had collapsed, rain pouring through holes in the roof. And I guarantee you that it feels a lot more claustrophobic than it may look on video. The whole place was decrepit and filthy, and I was almost more freaked out by not seeing any glowing symbols on the walls in here. That’s why I turned the camera light back on.

There was no more singing to be heard, but I felt like I heard its echo in my head. Over the noise of rain, I couldn’t tell if my mind was playing tricks on me, or I was hearing more whispers… whispers, luring me deeper into this mausoleum.

I wound up in a large central hall and nearly died of a heart attack on the spot when the ground shook. Sidenote: we need to investigate if there were any seismic recordings of earthquakes that happened at the time of that timestamp right there.

You can tell from the shaky recording that the quake lasted for several seconds. It caused more chunks of ceiling to come crashing down. If I could have gotten a shot of what happened behind me, you’d see I was nearly hit and killed on the spot.

This only happened after the earthquake ended, which is why I know I’m not crazy.

The stone markers on the mausoleum niches continued to shake and tremble until some of them crumbled or exploded. Look! That’s one right there on video.

You can’t see on the video what I saw here.

Figures were clawing their way out of every niche. They looked remotely human, though more like starved husks. I could barely discern any features, so the best I can do to describe them in any way would be to call them corporeal shadows, as if they were something moving piles of muddy black slime that had taken human shapes. The strange lights you can see on the recording—those are not just motes of dust or raindrops reflecting light weirdly on camera.

Those were their eyes.

The noise here—I swear it must be enhanceable—those were a whole choir of their whispers. They addressed me by name. They knew my name.

They said, “Nathan is here.” They promised it.

But they moved with abrupt, grotesque motions. Everything about their presence suggested something far more sinister. Insatiable hunger. Filthy lies. Pure evil. I cannot explain why I felt those things, why I sensed them.

That’s why I pulled the trigger. I shot one of them. I know it doesn’t show on the video because of how chaotic the recording got here, but I know I shot one. My daddy started taking me to the firing range when I was thirteen, so I know how to shoot, and I know I hit dead center of where a torso should have been.

That did nothing but anger these things. The one I shot lurched at me in a sudden burst of speed. I panicked and ran.

They chased me. Those tiny bright dots are not visual glitches—those are their eyes, that is those things chasing after me. They went from creeping out of every mausoleum niche to hopping and climbing and running after me like a horde of hungry ghouls.

At this point, the recording is pretty much worthless. I was too afraid to die to focus on getting any footage of them. I ran for my life. I remember even thinking that there was no way I would find my way back out of the cemetery. I tripped a million times. They kept catching up to me after I thought I had gained distance on them. One of them was cackling like a hag.

Even so, against all odds, I did it. I somehow managed to navigate the meandering path all the way back to the gate while running and stumbling nonstop. Those things kept chasing me. One of them even screeched right there—that’s not a glitch.

Here, I stumbled because I nearly died of fright when I saw the flooding, though I did not stop. The stream crossing the path earlier had almost turned into a river. Brown and muddy water cut off my escape route. And those weird ghouls were not slowing down. They kept whispering all the while, but I couldn’t make out any intelligible words through the fog of my panic and the noise of rain and rushing water.

It wasn’t like my fear was going to stop my escape, as I didn’t want to know what would happen if any of those things touched me. I was more afraid of them catching up to me than I was of freezing to death or drowning or breaking every bone by having flood water smash me against every tree throughout Longhorn Hills.

Only once I had already waded halfway through the flooding water did I notice it was teeming with worms. The visual noise is so bad on this part and the camera got wet—I was bumping into trees, fighting my way through the water—so the images cut out for quite a bit, but you’re about to see the consequences of it.

Fear gave me wings. The rushing water nearly swept me away and I didn’t give a damn about submerging the camera, the only reason I tried to keep it above water here was because of the light it shed.

When I reached the other side, I had to scramble back up through the woods to find the path again. Luckily, it was wider than the path inside the cemetery grounds, so I didn’t end up lost in the woods.

I nearly threw up on the spot when I noticed that those had not been worms in the water. I plucked off several leeches before I spotted the things that had chased me.

The video camera conked out here, but I guarantee you: they were there. Waiting.

The shadows and their glowing dots of eyes. They stood on the other side, across the gushing water, separated from me by the flood. Huddled together and fidgeting with those same grotesque motions, those ghouls watched me.

It was like they were waiting for the water to subside so they could give chase.

I was shivering like crazy, and just ran. I ran the hell out of there. I only stopped to remove more leeches when I noticed where they had latched onto my skin. I wanted to tear my clothes off and scream, but I had to escape. I was freezing to death, shaking with disgust, and I didn’t want those ghouls to catch up.

I had lost sight of them, but I could still see them in my mind’s eye, waiting patiently on the other end of the rushing water. I sometimes wondered if I heard that choir of children singing again, but it was impossible to tell over how heavily I was breathing and the noise of downpour.

By the time I reached my car, my panic had given way to something almost worse. My heart was heavy with the thought of Nathan, somehow trapped in that hellish place with those ghastly figures.

I knew I had to find a way to save him, but I had no idea where to start. I started by getting the hell out of Longhorn Hills. I drove back home, and I feel like I narrowly escaped catching pneumonia. I also removed all the leeches. As far as I can tell, for now, I am physically fine, though I have not seen a doctor.

Now that I have had time to process things, and review what I saw on the footage I had captured, I’ve been trying to make sense of it all. Record everything to the best of my ability, including this writing.

I can’t shake the feeling that everything is connected. The lack of insights from the police, the glowing symbols, the ghoulish things in the cemetery. Maybe the Historical Society has something else that could shed some light on what is up with the Memorial Cemetery. And what ever happened to the bus? It’s like the cemetery just… swallowed it.

That’s why I’m here.

That’s why I’ve turned to you.

6 notes · View notes

cerbreus · 10 months

Text

Been on a road trip the last few days n missing my boyfriend so every time I see cattle I gotta take pictures because I know he'll like to see em :-) ❤️

#only ones i recognized are the black angus and (i now know are) hereford cattle (the black n brown ones with white faces)#oh and texas longhorn (not as many of those but always a joy to see!!!)#cattle everywhere though!!!!#even in the badlands natl park and the natl grasslands :)#and everywhere up in the mountains #oh to be one of the cattle blissfully roaming through the meadows between the mountains of the black hills....#my stuff

10 notes · View notes

scholarofgolb · 6 months

Text

okay i just thought of something to draw and i have never wished my tablet worked better than now

#i want to draw a bunch of 17y/o-18y/o bobby hill slice of lifes #like him still being the landry longhorn #and connie putting makeup on him in secret #family scene of them getting their first puppy after ladybird (tears)#maybe scene of joseph breaking down and being like guys i have to tell you this super secret secret #meanwhile (bobby and connie panicked look at eachother bc theyve been in the know for SO LONG)#peggy with graying hair crying on his prom night LOL #i dont think bobby would go to college but i can see connie going to college in california or new york and him just following her there and #getting an apartment with her #i dont think they would be dating tbh i think they would jsut bc rlly good friends #which i could see them remaining or falling in love again (for real this time LOL) in their mid to late twenties #sorry autistic ^

1 note · View note

topguncortez · 2 years

Text

The Professor | Chapter 5

previous part | masterlist | next part

synopsis: Derek confronts you about what he saw in Professor Seresin's office. Jake invites you over for an important dinner.

word count: 3.7k

warnings: age gap, mentions of smut, mentions of parental death, mentions of a house fire, power imbalance, blackmail, excessive drinking, phone sex, mutual masturbation.

In the three years you’ve known Derek McAndrew, you never knew him to be this quiet. He was always trying to talk to you, saying anything and everything that would come to his mind. You thought maybe he was really focused on the poem that Jake had assigned for the class to read. But then you looked up from your own document and found him staring you down that you knew the silence wasn’t because he was deep in thought.

“Okay, what is it?” You asked, setting down your document, “What’s with the silence?”

“What silence? I am reading,” Derek shrugged.

“Alright, now that’s bullshit because you’re not reading, you’ve been staring me down. So. . . what is with the silence?” You asked again.

Derek sighed and sat back in his chair and looked around the study room. Lucy had left nearly half an hour ago to go get coffee and snacks for all three of you, knowing that tonight was probably going to be a long night. Derek had the image of you sitting on Professor Seresin’s lap ingrained in his mind all weekend. At first, he didn’t think what he saw was correct. There was no way that someone as dignified as yourself would stoop so low as to fucking your professor. Derek thought maybe it was some other girl who had long beautiful hair and was wearing a ratty gray longhorn sweatshirt and mom jeans. But then Derek thought, who else would wear longhorn apparel in Chestnut Hill, besides Jake Seresin.

You raised your eyebrows and held your hand out for Derek to spill whatever it is he was holding on to.

“Are you fucking our professor?”

“What!?”

Your heart was beating in your ears. You had strict instructions when it came to hooking up with Jake. There was not to be any sort of fornication on campus. Even though his office was on the fourth floor of the English building and his windows were dark, you still didn’t want to take the chance. But you had given in, slightly, last week, allowing a heavy make out session to break out in his office. You sat on his lap, as you ran your fingers through his blonde locks, as his hands roamed your body. It felt nice to sit there, feel his strong arms around you as the two of you would take a small break for him to check an email or you a text, and then went back to tongues clashing.

“That’s fucking crazy. You’ve lost your damn-”

“So it’s true!” Derek shouted and you looked around at the study room you were in. You gave an apologetic smile to a group who was nearby studying. You stood up and walked out the door, slamming it closed, and drawing the blind, before facing Derek.

“Look, I don’t know what the hell it is you think you saw but-”

“You only curse like this when you’re lying,” Derek pointed out, “You’re also clenching your fists, another thing you do when you’re lying.”

You were shaking and crossed your arms over your chest. He was right, those were things you did when you were lying. You hated that Derek knew you like this. Suddenly, you were praying for Lucy or someone to come bursting through the door.

“It’s not what you-”

“It’s not what I think?” Derek scoffed, “You’re going to tell me that it’s not what I fucking think?! I caught you making out with our fucking professor in his office. I have every right to report him and you!”

“Me?!” You exclaimed.

“Yes, you!” Derek yelled and pushed himself up from his seat, “You are cheating! You are using him to get ahead! It’s fucking academic dishonesty! I could report you to Dean Simpson and have your ass kicked out of the fucking program by noon tomorrow!”

You flinched as he yelled, your throat starting to constrict with tears. You hadn’t ever thought what would happen if you got caught. You knew it wouldn’t be good, and there would be rumors and probably an investigation, but you didn’t know that it could go as far as you getting kicked out.

“And how fucking stupid does Seresin have to be to throw away a fucking career for you," Derek spat.

“What do you want?” You said through clenched teeth.

“You.”

“Not fucking happening,” You scoffed, “You think I would want to be with you after what the fuck you just said!”

Derek smirked and crossed his arms over his chest, “You like him, don’t you.”

“I don’t fucking like him,” You muttered, “He’s a fucking sadistic dick who gets off on making his students miserable. I’m his fucking teaching assistant for intro to English.”

“And you suck his dick.”

“You’re just mad that I won’t suck yours.”

“No,” Derek scoffed, “I am mad that you are getting all the fucking insight in how to pass his fucking class. I need this Y/N, I need to pass this fucking class. I can’t have a bad grade, it’ll tank my opportunity for the Berkeley program.”

“And what do you think would happen to me if I fail this class?”

“You don’t have to worry. Your fucking personal essay will save your ass. Just talk about how your parents went up in. . .” Derek stopped talking as he saw the tears starting to run down your face.

“Say it,” You sneered.

“Flames,” He said softly, “Y/N, I-” Derek moved to take a step towards you, but you held your hand up to stop him. He sighed and closed his eyes.

“What do you want? Last fucking time I’m asking,” You said.

“C average, that’s what I need on the last projects and exams to be able to get a C in the class. You do that for me. . . and I won’t tell Dean Simpson about you and Seresin.”

You wanted to vomit. It took everything in you to stop you from running over and slapping the fuck out of Derek McAndrew. But instead you nodded, “You got a deal.”

Jake let out a loud groan as he heard the incessant buzzing of his cell phone from his dresser. One of his sleep methods, which ensured that he got his full eight hours, was to place his phone across the room from himself. It also prevented himself from falling back asleep when his alarm rang. The first time his phone went off, he ignored it, but now it was ringing again, and Jake was pissed. He pushed back the covers and shuffled his way over to his dresser.

“Hello?” He asked, not bothering to look at the caller ID.

“Jacob!” You slurred over the receiver. Jake furrowed his eyebrows and pulled the phone back, double checking that it was in fact you calling him this late.

“Do you know what time it is?” He grumbled, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“I know what time it is.”

“Then why. . . Can you hear me?” He furrowed his eyebrows at the sound of loud music in the background, “Are you drunk?”

“If I was, does that mean you’re going to punish me?” You giggled and Jake rolled his eyes.

“Where are you?”

“You didn’t answer the question.”

“And you didn’t answer mine. Now, address.”

“Sips,” You sighed and leaned against the brick building. You closed your eyes to try and stop the spinning, “Everything is spinning.”

“Don’t move. I’ll be there in five.”

Jake hung up, and quickly slipped on a quarter zip sweatshirt and slid on his tennis shoes. His hair was a mess and he had his glasses on, but he could care less about his appearance right now. The only thing on his mind was getting to you. He knew something had to be wrong if you were calling him drunk on a Tuesday night. Jake was privy to the drinking night shenanigans at the local bars on campus. Tuesday wasn’t usually a night where students went out and got shitfaced. He knew where Sips bar was because it was down the street from Bradley’s.

His green eyes looked up and down the street, looking for you, and frowned as he spotted you sitting on the curb. Your head was buried in your hands and your elbows were resting on your knees. Jake put the car in park and quickly got out, going to your side. You lifted your head up at the sound of footsteps and shot Jake a smile, which quickly disappeared noticing his pissed off expression.

“Hi,” You said to him.

“Let’s go,” Jake said, and held his hand out to you.

“I’m not going with you,” You shook your head, which increased the pounding behind your eyes, “Oh shit.”

“I’m not having this argument with you,” Jake sighed, “It’s nearly 2AM, you’re intoxicated, it's cold and you don’t have anything on your arms,” You looked down at the short sleeves you were wearing, “Y/N please, let me take you home.” You looked up at him and saw the pleading look in his green eyes. You placed your hand in his, and he carefully pulled you up from the curb.

“Whoa,” You stumbled on your feet, but Jake quickly steadied you. He kept an arm around his waist as he walked you to his range rover, opening the door and helping you up. You heard him let out a sharp sigh as he shut the door, and ran a hand through his hair as he walked around to the drivers side. You looked away from him as he climbed in, and started up the car. Jake looked over at you, and furrowed his eyebrows.

“Are you crying?”

“No,” You said and shook your head, then sniffled.

“Y/N. . . “

“I’m not crying! Just drive!” You snapped and Jake raised his hands in surrender. He started the drive back to your house, as you leaned your head against the window. Jake listened to the soft sobs and sniffles that you let out.

“Why are you crying?” He asked again, this time a bit softer.

“‘Cause you’re mad at me,” You whimpered. Jake let out a soft chuckle at how childlike you sounded at this moment. He glanced over at you, and noticed the glossy, tired look in your eyes.

“I’m not mad,” Jake said, “I’m really not. I’m glad you called me and didn’t try to drive or find your way home. I am, however, upset that you put yourself in such a vulnerable position.”

“God, you sound like my dad.” Jake’s breath caught in his throat at the mention of your late father. He blamed it on the alcohol in your system, stopping you from thinking clearly. “I don’t think he’d like you very much.”

“Because I’m old?”

“Nah. . . longhorn fan,” You looked over at him and scrunched your nose. Jake shook his head with a laugh. The car settled in silence as Jake continued down the streets of Chestnut Hill, going off the memory of the night he took you home. He frowned as he pulled into your driveway, and found the house completely dark. He then looked over at you, and found you asleep. Jake smiled to himself, and didn’t have the heart to wake you up.

Instead, he put the car in park and turned off the ignition. He quietly got out of his side, and walked over to your side. Jake unbuckled you and then easily picked you up in his arms. You stirred for a second, and then settled against his chest, nuzzling your head into his neck.

“Where are your keys?” Jake whispered to you as he walked up to the front door.

“Don’t use them,” You grumbled and Jake rolled his eyes. He opened the door and kicked it closed with his foot, “Second room, on right.”

Jake nodded, even though you couldn’t see him, and walked down to what he assumed was your bedroom. He took in the sight of the various band posters, shoes kicked around, and records laying around the small bedroom. It smelled just like you, the scent of vanilla and a hint of rose petals. Jake laid you down gently on one side of your bed, and pulled the covers back on the other. He took off the converse on your feet and set them at the foot of the bed.

“Are you comfortable?” Jake asked you.

“Pants,” You mumbled and Jake nodded. He carefully took the sweatpants off your legs and tossed them into the overflowing hamper in the corner of the room. He then picked up your body and laid you down on the side with the pulled back covers. Jake made sure to put you on your side, and tucked the blankets in around you.

“Good ni-”

“Stay,” You asked, and grabbed his wrist, “Please?”

“What about your rules?” Jake smiled softly.

“Hall pass. One time,” You shrugged and Jake nodded, “Morning sex cures hangovers.”

“I believe the only real cure for hangovers is time,” Jake kicked off his shoes, and climbed into bed next to you. He laid on top of the covers and you shuffled over to him, laying your head on his chest.

“Thank you,” You whispered.

“No problem,” Jake tucked a hand behind his head. He couldn’t help but pull you in close, and place a kiss on the crown of your head, “Good night, sweetheart.”

The sunlight was bright as it shone through the open blinds of your room. You always made sure that the curtain was drawn, having an eastern facing window. You cursed, and rolled over on your other side, facing the door. It took you a moment as you pushed yourself up on your hands and realized that you were in fact, in your own bed. Then the memories of the fight with Derek and leaving the library in near tears to go out for a drink, which turned into much more than one, filled your mind.

“Oh fuck,” You groaned and looked over at your alarm clock. It was 12 in the afternoon, and you had already missed Jake’s lecture. Jake. He must be the reason you are home. You rubbed your eyes as you climbed out of bed, your feet hitting the cold hard wood as you walked down to the bathroom. Turning the light on, you noticed a pink sticky note on the mirror.

‘Got too drunk last night and needed a ride. P.S. you talk in your sleep. - J’

You rolled your eyes, taking the note down. You did your morning routine, even though it was slightly delayed by the hangover. You took the note back to your room, setting it down on a stack of books on your desk. Your phone had been placed on the charger, probably Jake’s doing and you picked it up, seeing a full screen of notifications, most of which were from Derek.

‘I’m so sorry for what I said last night Y/N’

‘I didn’t mean to bring up your parents, but you have to understand that it’s not fair what you are doing’

‘Please answer me’

‘Where did you go last night? Are you okay?’

‘Well he’s fucking pissed today, so I guess you didn’t suck his dick this morning’

You rolled your eyes and deleted the rest of the messages from Derek. You even contemplated going as far as blocking his phone number, but refrained. His words still played in your mind like an endless loop. You had to be careful with what you do or say around Derek, knowing that he knows about your deal with Professor Seresin.

The next set of messages were from Lucy, promptly freaking out as to why there was an expensive car with a longhorns sticker on the back windshield in your driveway. You made a mental note of making sure you had a conversation with Lucy about everything next. You trust that she won’t have the same reaction as Derek did. But the last message was what shocked you more than Lucy’s.

‘Jake: Text me when you get up so I know you didn’t die of alcohol poisoning’

You smiled and messaged him back, ‘I’m awake. And I don’t talk in my sleep.’

Jake was sitting at his desk looking over Bob’s dissertation about space dust when his phone buzzed. He sighed in relief, thankful to have a break from the reading. He didn’t know shit about space dust, nor did he care, but he knew that Bob wasn’t a gifted writer as Jake was. So, Jake was doing Bob a solid and looked over the paper for him. Jake smiled at his phone as he read your message and replied.

‘Jake: I beg to differ. Started reciting I sing the body electric.’

‘You: What can I say? Good piece of poetry.’ You bit your lip as you leaned against the counter, waiting for your toast to pop up.

‘Then I suggest Desire by Langston Huges as your next read,’ Jake shifted himself at his desk, feeling the growing hard on press against his black boxers.

‘Only if you read it to me’ You squeezed your thighs together as you took a bite of your buttered toast. You watched your screen for a moment seeing the three dots dance for several moments then stop. The time stamp under your message looked back at you like a sore thumb. You quickly started typing an apology to him, when a voice message appeared in your inbox.

Your eyes widened and you looked around the kitchen then pressed play on the message.

“Desire to us-”

“Holy fuck,” You stopped the recording, the sound of his voice was low, thick and deep with his accent and it sent a shiver straight through your core. You quickly ran upstairs, abandoning your toast on the counter and straight to your room. You climbed on your bed, resting your back against the headboard, and slipped your headphones in.

You pressed play, and Jake’s deep voice sounded in your ears.

He took a breath, “Desire to us was like a double death. . . , swift dying of our mingled breath. . ., evaporation of an unknown strange perfume between us quickly. . . in a naked room.”

You felt your pussy clenching around nothing as you listened back to his words of the poem. You weren’t sure why the sound of his voice was turning you on like this. Maybe it was the thought of him sitting in his office alone, wearing some expensive suit, his messy hair and glasses on, cock straining to get out of his trousers. You licked your lips, and let out a strained breath as you clicked on his contact and rang him.

“You’re awake,” His voice flooded through your ears again.

“I am,” You said back. Jake shifted again, his pants had become uncomfortable and he knew you were probably struggling too, “That poem. . . it’s interesting.”

“It is. It’s one of Langston’s most popular. Captures the essence of love making beautifully.”

“Love making, huh? What’s the difference between fucking and love making?”

“The passion,” Jake’s voice sounded breathy as he spoke. You couldn’t help but drift your hand down your body, to your clothed cunt feeling that your panties were soaked, “The slow, languid thrusts. Pushing your bodies into one another in hopes to become one. The feeling of being in your purest form, not a single ounce of embarrassment as you bury yourself deep into the body of your partner.” Jake’s hand ran over the zipper of his trousers, feeling the hardness of his cock.

“Do you prefer love making over fucking?”

“Don’t you?”

“Can’t say I have made love, professor,” Your fingers found themselves dragging your panties down your thighs, leaving you bare from the waist down. You spread your legs and drew slow circles over your clit.

“Then you haven’t been fucked properly,” Jake groaned, and unzipped his trousers. He pulled them down enough to pull his hard cock out, “Then again, it was easy enough to satisfy you, so that tells me that whoever came before me, wasn’t getting you off.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” You sighed, you dipped your index finger into your center.

“Are you touching yourself?”

“Are you?”

“Yes,” Jake answered and tilted his head back as he squeezed himself, running his hand up and down his shaft.

“Langston Hughes gets you this turned on?” You teased, and added another finger to your cunt, curling them up to touch against the spongy part of your insides.

“Could say the same for you, little one,” Jake’s voice dropped an octave, “Tell me how it feels. I want to know what you do when I’m not around to stuff your little hole with my cock.”

“Feels good,” You grunted, moving your fingers rapidly. You were thankful for putting in your headphones and had your phone sitting next to you. Your other hand came down to circle your clit, which caused a loud moan to leave your lips, “But not enough. My fingers. . . yours are bigger, fill me up more.”

“Fucking Christ,”

“Not quite,” You smirked, remembering the small comeback he had said to you one night.

“Shut up, or I’ll tell you to stop,” Jake’s hand moved faster up his shaft, “Fuck, I wish you were here. I’d have you doing this for me. Better yet, I’d rather be in you, feeling your pussy clench around me. God, you always feel so fucking amazing around me.”

“Jake,” You felt that familiar burning in your stomach as you closed your eyes shut, “Please.”

“You close? I bet you are,” Jake smirked, “So pathetic. Literally get off at the simplest things.”

“Says the man jerking off in his office right now,” You breathed out, but was followed by a moan, “Please, Jake, I need to cum. Can I please?”

“Fuck, yes, cum for me. Let me hear you,” Jake clenched his jaw as he worked himself quicker, hearing your beautiful moans through the receiver. He wasn’t far behind, cumming into his hand, making sure none dripped on to his suit. He held his cock in his hand for a moment, letting himself catch his breath, before reaching for a kleenex.

You laid on your bed, completely spent and feeling the stickiness of your cum between your thighs. It was silent for just a moment, the only sounds heard were the sounds of your spent breathing. Jake had cleaned himself and put his pants back on properly.

“I need to see you,” Jake said, breaking the silence, “Tomorrow night, preferably.”

“Can’t get enough of me can you?” You smirked.

Jake smiled and shook his head, “I guess you can say that but it’s uh. . . for dinner.”

“Dinner?”

“Yeah, dinner. . . with my mother.”

taglist: @zetasaturno99 @tallrock35 @bioodforbiood @mak-32 @cherrycola27 @drunkangels @fuckyeahhangman @the-winter-marvel33 @oldnatgwenaccount @cm27078 @xoxabs88xox @paige-alexandra-may @ereardon @marantha @inkysun @bradleybeachbabe @manunitedgotbruno @mulletmcghee @moonvr @nagygreta @cherryobx @callsign-joyride @blue-aconite @books-for-summer @violyn20 @lilylilyyyyyy @p1nkbarbi3 @princessofglitterland @hallway5 @thedroneranger @chaoticweirdogeek @abaker74 @auroraboreallisfine @materialgirl01 @fandom-princess-forevermore @averyhotchner @thedaredevilsgirl @shelbycillian @currentlybradshaw @mavesiceroo @emptyloverofmine @lovingjakeseresin @thegoddessc @techni-coloured @shawnsblue @captainmarvels-blog

#top gun #top gun fan fic #top gun fan fiction #top gun au #top gun maverick #top gun maverick fan fic #top gun maverick fan fiction #top gun maverick au #top gun maverick imagine #Jake seresin #Jake seresin fan fic #Jake seresin fan fiction #Jake seresin imagine #Jake seresin au #Jake seresin x reader #Jake seresin x you #Jake seresin x y/n #professor Jake seresin

485 notes · View notes

crinkled-emotions · 5 months

Text

Day 25: Secret Santa

Hi hi! This one, again, would have made... so much more sense... had I published on Dec 25th 😂

Ship: Hangster (I'm in such a Hangster mood rn please disregard)

The original prompt:

Maverick finished cutting and folding paper then tossed them into his helmet, opening the airstream door and calling out to the Daggers who were floating around the hangar. Hangman, Bob, Payback and Rooster were lying on Maverick’s couches in front of his TV, squabbling about a football game. Phoenix and Coyote were playing table tennis and Fanboy was on a running commentary, earning an eyeroll from the other two. Rooster glanced up from where he was sitting on the floor between Bob’s legs, an eyebrow raised.

“What’s up, Mav?”

“Come grab a piece of paper each; the name you draw is who you’re buying for this year’s Secret Santa.”

“Hangman if I draw your name know you’re not getting anything,” Phoenix said as she climbed over the back of the couch between Bob and Payback, the first one to grab a name from the hat... helmet.

“Please tell me that’s not the one you’re using at the moment,” Rooster complained to Maverick as he reached up to grab one himself.

“Okay, I won’t tell you that.”

“Phoenix if I get you, I’m getting you tickets to the next Longhorns game,” Hangman said as he accidentally tripped over Rooster who was back on the floor after grabbing his paper.

“Getting yourself tickets to the next Longhorns game,” Bob muttered. Hangman smirked.

“Why not, right?”

“Just when I thought you’d changed, Bagman,” Phoenix sighed as she flopped into a spot on the couch. Once everyone had their piece of paper Maverick shooed them off to go back to causing chaos in the rest of the hangar. With everyone else distracted, Rooster opened his paper for a second time and winced. He stood, touching Maverick’s arm in passing.

“Hey, I forgot; I have PT first thing tomorrow morning. I’m gonna head back now and get some sleep beforehand. It’s been great out here this week, thanks Mav.”

Maverick regarded him for a moment, then smiled at him.

“Back still giving you trouble?”

“It never got better after I ejected, but PT helps.”

“That’s good, kid. Keep up with it. Let me know when you get home, yeah?”

“Gotcha.”

Maverick gave him a quick hug and Rooster went over to the rest of the Daggers to let them know he was heading out, earning a groan from Phoenix and a look from Hangman. If anyone could tell he was bullshitting, it was probably those two.

“You good, man?” Coyote asked. He was also so very perceptive when it came to bullshit.

“Fine, it’s just- y’know, I don’t really want to miss PT if it’s the only thing that helps my back, especially because I can’t do my usual gym routine at the moment.”

“Ah, gotcha. Okay man, we’ll probably see you later, we’re all thinking of going out for dinner sometime next week if you’re down?”

“Only if you’re paying, Javy,” Rooster grinned. The two bumped shoulders in good jest then Phoenix gave him a hug.

“Call me if you want to talk about it,” she said subtly as she pulled away.

“Thanks, Tash.”

With that he waved goodbye to the others and got into the Bronco, starting the engine and letting it warm up whilst he connected his phone to the new Bluetooth system he’d managed to connect about a month ago. He took a deep breath, glancing toward the others who were still having fun in the hangar and wondered if they’d figured out what was going on.

“That was weird, right?”

Phoenix hummed when Hangman appeared at her side, lining up her next shot on the pool table.

“You and I both know he freezes like that for no reason sometimes. He’d say something if it was serious-“

“-Trace.”

Hangman sent her a look and Phoenix cleared her throat.

“You’re right, that’s wishful thinking. We both know he doesn’t have PT for another week so what made him run for the hills?”

“The threat of commitment?” Hangman suggested, earning a pool cue to the gut. She continued to be a good shot, apparently. The pair glanced up when the airstream door opened and Maverick quietly slipped inside. They exchanged a look, and Phoenix reached for her phone.

“I don’t think they had a fight, we would’ve heard it, but I’m just gonna make sure he’s okay,” she muttered as she typed out a text. Hangman hummed.

“I’ll go see if I can get it out of Mav. He doesn’t go quiet unless it’s to do with a Bradshaw.”

“Don’t do anything stupid,” Phoenix pleaded. She went back to her pool game and Hangman approached Coyote and Bob.

“Hey, did either of you see when Mav’s mood changed?”

“As far as I’m aware it didn’t-“

“-when we all checked who we had for Secret Santa.”

Coyote was quick to dismiss it but Bob’s wallflower personality had the gossip Hangman needed. He was quick to ruffle Bob’s perfectly styled hair, glancing over his shoulder.

“Hey Phoenix, I got it!”

Phoenix: did you fight with Mav? (sent: 1:32pm)

Rooster: no? (sent: 6:30pm)

Rooster: what would make you think that? (sent: 6:31pm)

Phoenix: you pretty much ran out of the hangar and you’re not a runner anymore (sent: 6:32pm)

Rooster: look (sent: 6:35pm)

Rooster: it’s nothing (sent: 6:35pm)

Phoenix: you drove the 4 hours back to San Diego for no reason (sent: 6:40pm)

Rooster: do we really have to do this? I have PT (sent: 6:45pm)

Phoenix: bullshit (sent: 6:46pm)

Phoenix: if it’s not a big deal you would have already dealt with it (sent: 6:47pm)

Rooster: seriously Tash it’s nothing (sent: 6:48pm)

Phoenix: fine (sent: 7pm)

Phoenix: but I’m here if you want to get it off your chest (sent: 7:01pm)

Rooster: I know (sent: 7:02pm)

Rooster: but thanks (sent: 7:03pm)

Phoenix: I got your back (sent: 7:04pm)

Hangman had let Maverick go for the rest of the afternoon and into the evening, but after dinner and a couple beers he sidled over and flopped onto the couch beside him.

“So; you and Roos have a fight?”

“No...?”

“Just checkin’, he left like his tail was on fire.”

“He’s your boyfriend isn’t he?” Maverick replied, an eyebrow raised. Hangman cleared his throat.

“Don’t change the subject, sir. Something changed when we did the Secret Santa draw; is everything okay?”

“You don’t give up, do you?” Maverick sighed, “but fine, as long as you don’t tell him.”

He reached into his pocket, offering the piece of paper he’d drawn last. Hangman opened it and whistled.

“You got something in mind?”

“Maybe. It’s... I dunno, it’s probably stupid, but-“

“-it won’t be stupid, and you’re not gonna piss him off. He’s come a long way since the Dagger mission, Mav, don’t worry about that.”

Maverick hummed, but his gaze remained on his lap. Hangman gently bumped his shoulder.

“If it helps, I’ll go and check on him tomorrow. I was thinking of heading back anyway, leave isn’t super long this time and I have to do a couple things before they torture me on base.”

That earned a chuckle and Hangman took it as a win.

Rooster wasn’t entirely surprised to find Hangman in his kitchen when he came back from his morning run, making what looked like coffee and breakfast. They shared a gentle kiss against the counter, Hangman offering the cup of liquid gold he was drinking to his partner.

“You want to tell me what’s going on?” He started. Rooster shook his head.

“I need a shower first.”

Hangman frowned but he slowly nodded.

“Okay; go shower and then we’re going to talk. No slipping out a window, yeah? We’re too old for that shit.”

Rooster snorted, pressing a kiss to his lips before heading upstairs. Hangman sighed.

Hangman: he’s being cagey (sent: 8:45am)

Phoenix: duh (sent: 8:46am)

When Rooster returned, freshly showered and ready for the day, he took the plate offered and the couple went to the dining table. Whilst they ate they made light conversation, planning out what they wanted to do over the next couple of days other than a date night and making out on Rooster’s couch. Their plates quickly became empty and Hangman took Rooster by the hand.

“Babe,” he started softly, “tell me what’s going on in your head.”

Despite popular belief, Hangman wasn’t a pet names guy, he leaned more toward nicknames and variations of callsigns; the way he said babe told Rooster he was serious. Rooster’s gaze fell to the dining table, spotting various stains on the tabletop.

“It’s dumb,” he muttered. Hangman squeezed his hand.

“Probably, but I want to hear it anyway.”

“I got Mav for the Secret Santa. I knew there was a chance, I just didn’t think it would happen. There’s six other names I could have drawn, y’know?”

“That makes sense. You worried about it not being good enough for him?”

“It’s our first Christmas after coming back together; I think I broke his heart last year when I told him you and me were going to Australia for Christmas so I wouldn’t be around. I just want it to mean something.”

Hangman’s brows furrowed.

“I didn’t know he’d offered to have you last Christmas, but it makes sense now. You were unhinged in Australia, honey.”

Rooster snorted. When Hangman stood to approach him he instinctively opened his arms to let him into his space.

“Look, there’s a couple things you need to remember; one, I love you. Two, Mav adores you. Three, you could give him a plain white mug and he’d still treasure it because it came from you, B. He doesn’t care about what he gets, just that you’re there.”

Rooster hummed.

“You know this is why I keep you around, right?”

“Oh; so it’s not the great sex?”

“That too.”

Christmas Day rolled around and the Daggers plus Penny and Amelia gathered at the hangar, sharing a meal and playing football on the tarmac. Amelia had quickly integrated herself into the group of adults around her; as much as Penny was a great mom Amelia found that she also liked talking to Phoenix, a great role model for younger girls like her. Penny and Maverick sat back to watch them hand in hand, exchanging a fond look when Bob tackled Payback and everyone cheered for him.

“He’s come a long way,” Penny said. Maverick hummed.

“It shows in the air, too. He’s always had confidence in the air but it’s only grown-“

“-oh, no, I was talking about Rooster.”

Maverick’s gaze tracked around the group, finding his godson with his boyfriend. Amelia approached them and Rooster smiled at her, leaving Hangman’s side to listen to what she had to say.

“I’d say he’s finally found peace,” Maverick agreed. Penny squeezed his hand.

“Have you?”

“Who knows.”

Amelia came running to the two adults, tugging at Maverick’s hand.

“C’mon, Rooster wants to do Secret Santa.”

“Oh, does he?” Penny teased, exchanging a look with her partner. Maverick hefted himself out of his seat.

“We better not keep him waiting. Go round up the others, Amelia.”

She took off to the others, yelling for them. Penny bumped Maverick’s shoulder.

“Do you want to tell me why you’ve been so cagey lately?”

“Me? Cagey? Just trying not to get myself sent to another foreign country, Penny,” he replied. She gave him the look, the same one he’d just seen Hangman give Rooster, and winced.

“I got Rooster for Secret Santa and I’m a little worried about what I got him.”

“You’re worried he’s going to throw another temper tantrum? I really don’t think he’s got it in him anymore, honey.”

“I know... I think. I don’t want to risk it.”

“Okay, well, Hangman’s here, Phoenix is here, I’m here. We’re not going to let him ruin Christmas if that what he feels he needs to do.”

Penny squeezed his hand and they went to join the others who had gathered around the Christmas tree toward the back of the hangar.

“Phoenix.”

“Thanks, Amelia.”

Phoenix took the wrapped present from the younger girl, watching her hand the rest of them around. Rooster’s came as a wrapped large box, whilst Maverick’s was flatter but more rectangular. The others tore into theirs but it took a minute for Rooster and Maverick to pull off the paper. Rooster was the first to pop open his box and he immediately tossed the box on to Hangman’s lap to give Maverick a hug.

“I didn’t know you kept it,” he muttered. Maverick breathed a sigh.

“I found it last week, thought you might want it back.”

“What is it?” Phoenix asked Hangman, who reached into the box and produced a tiny airplane toy. When Rooster returned to his side he took the toy back, keeping it close to him. Hangman frowned but chose not to question it at that moment, instead flipping open the envelope he’d been handed.

“Oh, would you look at that! Longhorns tickets. I wonder who did that?” He said in a way that told everyone exactly what had happened.

“How the fuck did you draw yourself?” Bob groaned at the same time the others laughed. Hangman smirked.

“I’m just that good, Baby on board. I’m so good, in fact, that Rooster-“

“-open yours, Mav, before I have to cover Amelia’s ears,” Phoenix pleaded. Maverick gently opened the box and his eyes softened.

“All these years I thought I’d lost it. Where did you find it?”

At first the team assumed he was talking to Penny, but Rooster was the one to speak up.

“A couple weeks ago, I was cleaning out the Bronco and I found it wedged in a really weird spot. Never noticed it before, thought you might want it back.

“Guys, being mysterious is fun when you’re not pushing sixty,” Amelia groaned. Penny gently swatted her arm whilst the others laughed. Maverick rolled his eyes, holding up what looked like a keyring that had seen better days.

“I bought this when Bradley was born. I don’t believe in luck but this thing went everywhere with me and it kept me safe. The one time I didn’t have it, well... we lost Goose that day and I searched for it every day after. I had no idea it was in that damn truck of his.”

The others went quiet, Hangman reaching subtly for Rooster’s hand between them. Finally, Rooster cleared his throat.

“You never told me that.”

“I know, kid.”

“Is that Tasmania?” Phoenix blurted, standing from her seat and gesturing vaguely toward the desert outside the hangar doors.

“What does that even- oh. Yeah, goddamn, that looks like it! C’mon guys.”

Hangman followed along, gesturing with a (not) subtle head tilt toward the hangar doors. Everyone but Maverick and Rooster made a swift exit, giving them a moment to themselves.

“I’m really glad you could be here this year, Bradley. I’m not upset about Australia, you do know that right?”

“It’s good to hear it,” Rooster confessed. Maverick hummed.

“Let’s start fresh in the new year, huh? Stop running and try talking?”

“Sounds like a plan.”

They shared a look, then laughed.

“I can’t believe you still had it,” Rooster muttered.

“Always. Thought you might want it back, give it to your kids some day.”

“This is a real cockblock, Roos. I’m trying to get laid and you’re staring at that toy?”

“Shush, Jake.”

Rooster lifted the toy to the tent light, showing a crack in one of the wings. Hangman huffed, making himself comfortable against Rooster’s shoulder and sending him a look.

“Why are you so hooked on that toy?”

“My mom said it was the last thing I got from my dad. We went to see him and Mav at TOPGUN and it was only a couple days later that he...”

Rooster cleared his throat.

“You know the story.”

“Wow... what’s the crack in the wing from?”

“I cried for, like, three hours. I was playing with it in the park and some older kid took it, stepped on it, then called me a baby. I was six. It took Mav and mom about an hour to fix it, but when they went to give it back to me I was hiding under Mav’s leather jacket and sobbing. Apparently the crying stopped the second I had it back.”

Hangman laughed, reaching up to press a kiss to his lips.

“That’s adorable; I’ll be telling Phoenix that one later.”

Rooster hummed, finally tucking the toy into his backpack and using his body weight to flip them.

“Sorry, you said something about getting laid?”

“Tell me more,” Hangman grinned.

#G's Dec 2023 Prompts!#Bradley Rooster Bradshaw #Bradley Bradshaw #Rooster #Callsign: Rooster #Natasha Phoenix Trace #Natasha Trace #Phoenix #Callsign: Phoenix #Jake Hangman Seresin #Jake Seresin #Hangman #Callsign: Hangman #Pete Maverick Mitchell #Pete Mitchell #Maverick #Callsign: Maverick #Hangster #hurt/comfort

27 notes · View notes

datura-tea · 2 months

Note

Hi Peri… On the off chance do you remember a fic about Ulysses and Longhorn Ranch? It took place before the start of the game and in the fic, someone came to the ranch and he watched over them but they died, which gave a reason why there’s a grave and radio on the little hill on the ranch. I read it on livejournal but i don’t remember the name. Thanks! :))

hi anon! i think i know the fic you're talking about.... is it the farmer and the viper by anonymous over on the falloutkinkmeme?? the description is:

who is in the grave at wolfhorn—and who would he care for enough to dig it?

and it's really good! it's not just about ulysses, but the viper gang too :) it's a oneshot, but there's 10 parts to it so just expand the comments to get the whole thing. let me know if this isn't the fic you're looking for though

happy reading!

#mail's here #anonymous #my favorite ulysses fic ever ever... i hope a!a comes out and posts this on ao3 one of these days......#so i can bookmark it and give it kudos and comment on it again and again #ulysses #fic rec

13 notes · View notes

dansnaturepictures · 7 days

Text

Five of my favourite flora and fauna photos I took in May 2024, five of my favourite landscape photos I took in May 2024 and month summary

The photos are of; Red Grouse at Lochindorb, Red Squirrel at Dell Woods, Marsh Fritillary at Magdalen Hill, Azure Damselfly and sorrel at Lakeside Country Park, views at Strathdearn and Cairn Gorm, sunset at home and views at Magdalen Hill and Pig Bush in the New Forest.

May was another epic, packed and brilliant wildlife watching and photo month for me. Beginning in the midst of our sensational Scotland adventure many of the bird highlights of the holiday were about to unfold in May's early days seeing Black Grouse, precious Dipper, wonderful Golden Eagle, exquisite summer plumage Slavonian Grebe and Ring Ouzel with stars of the trip first seen inside April on the trip and before that enjoyed again such as White-tailed Eagle, Osprey, smashing views of stunning summer plumage Black-throated Diver, Pink-footed Geese, Red Grouse, Common Sandpiper, Goldeneye, Redstart and Willow Warbler. It was very busy for birds when we returned home to Hampshire this month with Swifts at a few locations, Garganey, Reed Warbler, Whimbrel, Garden Warbler, Hobby, Spotted Flycatcher, Tree Pipit, Roseate Tern and valuable chances to see Stone Curlew again on a guided walk added to my year list mixing migratory species I needed to see and stardust birds; another epitomising this the amazing times I saw Cuckoos this month in Hampshire a bird I heard so much throughout the Scotland trip it's always a privilege to see them and I had some breathtaking experiences with them. Whitethroat, Yellowhammer, Sedge Warbler, Great Crested Grebes, Moorhen including chicks seen well with Greylag and Canada Goose goslings enjoyed a lot on patch at Lakeside Country Park and Red Kite were other stars across the month in what was a fantastic month of birds.

May is one of my busiest months of the year as I've still got plenty of bird species to look for and the butterfly season really gets going. It was an incredible butterfly month for me with dynamic and colourful species seen including Large White, Dingy Skipper, Duke of Burgundy, Pearl-bordered Fritillary, Grizzled Skipper, Painted Lady, Small Heath, Brown Argus, Green Hairstreak, Marsh Fritillary, Small Blue, Common Blue, Adonis Blue, quite early Meadow Brown, Small Tortoiseshell, Red Admiral, Peacock, Orange Tip and Speckled Wood getting my butterfly year into a great place. It was a great moth month too with loads of species seen including The Streamer, Garden Carpet, Mint moth, Burnet Companion, Brown Silver-line, Common Heath, Common Carpet, Pale Prominent, Yellow Shells, Hook-streaked Grass-Veneer, elegant Mother Shiptons, Speckled Yellow, Silver Y and Five-spot Burnet seen.

It was a top dragonfly and damselfly month with some super species seen to get me started including Common Blue Damselfly, Azure Damselfly, Blue-tailed Damselfly, Large Red Damselfly, Banded Demoiselle, Beautiful Demoiselle, Hairy Dragonfly and Broad-bodied Chaser and thrilling moments seeing my first ever Downy Emerald at Bentley Wood. It was a real awakening of beetles for me this month with Violet Oil beetle, Green Tiger beetle and Dor beetle seen in Scotland and at Bentley Wood for the green tiger and many Swollen-thighed beetles and Red-headed Cardinal beetles, Oedemera lurida, Cantharis rustica, Cryptocephalus aureolus, Common Malachite, Woodland Dor beetle, Black-striped Longhorn beetle and Garden Chafer enjoyed once home. It was a really good mammal month with Red Squirrel, Red Deer, Brown Hare (seen in Hampshire too) and Stoat seen in Scotland, Roe Deers seen nicely across the month, Fallow Deer and New Forest Pony foals and cattle at Lakeside charming seasonal sights.

It was a wonderful month of plants again with special flower species seen as they took over meadows and other areas including wood sorrel, coltsfoot, oxeye daisies, yellow rattle, buttercups, greater celandine, spurge, early purple orchid, common twayblade, white helloborine, common spotted orchid, burnt-tip orchids, speedwell, forget-me-not, yellow iris, eyebright, lousewort, wood avens, meadow crane's-bill, grass vetchling, foxgloves, crimson clover, red clover, white clover, black and spotted medick, comfrey, cuckooflower, tormentil, bugle, yellow pimpernel, silverweed cinquefoil, sainfoin, fox-and-cubs, mignonette, common rock-rose, hemlock water-dropwort and bird's-foot trefoil. I took in some mesmerising views and sky scenes this month. Have a good June all.

2 notes · View notes

hangmanbradshaw · 18 days

Note

The place you're staying at in Texas looks like it would be Bradley and Jake's Texas house when he retires from the NFL

Right?? Lot of land, porch overlooking the rolling hills, longhorns on property and a small guest house. All their friends come stay at the 'ranch' for weeks at a time. And sometimes it's just them and their kids, waking up and holding each other on the porch watching the sun come up.

#wah #asks

4 notes · View notes

ravageknight-eternal · 11 months

Text

EON, USA

This place feels old. Older than it has any right to be.

Hidden between cliffs and the plains, under an untamed sky. Civilization feels like a footnote, a temporary blip in pages eons deep. Even with roads and the first tentative electric lights to challenge the stars, even with the iron horses thumping this way and that across so much empty— the town *feels* old. Maybe it’s the land. Maybe it’s the bones of the earth that it lies upon.

Everyone can feel it, the strangeness. It lingers at the edge of their words and in the fringes of their long, quiet looks beyond the boundaries like an omen.

When the wagon trains first came in their droves, there were stories of eerie stalking shapes across distant hills, and scouts puzzled over three-toed tracks big as a man. In the night there were no howls from wolves, just the sound and scent of an ocean long vanished into time; just the feeling of mighty shapes weightlessly swimming overhead.

The farmers have long since turned a blind eye to their mutilated cattle, butchered and battered into scant piles. Whatever it is that eats them can crack iron like frail bones, and eat a longhorn whole. Braggadocious hunters from both coasts have all retreated into quiet extinction, their eager crusades left with no legacy but disquieting nothingness. The cattle continue to disappear down unseen gullets.

The town is old. Weary, creaking. Even in the age of satellites and highways, it remains. Hidden between cliffs and plains, under an untamed sky, smelling of an ocean vanished to time.

#poetry #poem #short stories #horror short stories #aesthetic #ancients #weird #old gods #southwest #southern gothic #fossils #spirits #stones #dinosaurs #creation #small town america #ghosts

5 notes · View notes

spookyspaghettisundae · 1 year

Text

Recording Ends

The following transcript is composed from the first audio file recovered from a personal device of Olivia K. Sutton, resident of Bennett City. As of the writing of this transcript, she is reported missing.

[ ��New Recording” starts. ]

My name is Olivia K. Sutton. I am switching to audio recordings because writing this all out will take too long to document my search, and my camera stopped working after being exposed to water in the Longhorn Hills Memorial Cemetery. I need to know that I am leaving clues behind in case I disappear like the rest of them.

Ever since the entire school bus of children went missing in Longhorn Hills, I have been looking for my son, Nathan. I have yet to find any evidence that would… make any sense. At least any sense in the conventional understanding of sense.

It seems impossible that a bus could go missing in a place it could not very well drive into. A place it was never meant to be in the first place. Not that anybody would believe me without proof.

And I am feeling increasingly paranoid that this entire disaster is being covered up. The video I uploaded was taken down, and I can’t get any answer on why exactly that was.

I don’t know who to turn to or trust anymore.

All I know is that there is a strange history of people disappearing in Longhorn Hills. I learned of this in my visit to the Longhorn Hills Historical Society, and I am now fully convinced that the circumstances surrounding everything can only be described as…

Unnatural.

Following the last known location of the missing bus to the Longhorn Hills Memorial Cemetery, I encountered strange glowing writing that was only visible on video recordings, and I heard the singing of a children’s choir in the distance. This lured me to a mausoleum in the center of the cemetery, where I was visited by… ghouls, I guess. I do not know what else to call them, so I will be calling them ghouls from here on out.

They spoke to me, and I was too terrified to follow what must have been empty and false promises. They claimed that Nathan was with them, which I refuse to believe. I managed to escape the creatures by crossing water from the flooding, which the ghouls did or could not follow me across.

Ever since, I have been plagued by awful hallucinations. I know others in the region have been suffering the same. The authorities attribute it to a chemical leak from a local plant, but I am not convinced. Just like the haunted looks on the face of any police officers I’ve talked to in person, everything they say to placate us rings hollow.

I think it’s all part of a larger cover-up. Contrary to what you might be thinking now, I don’t hope to find proof of that. If there is a conspiracy covering up all these strange events, I don’t want anything to do with that. I don’t want to put myself or anybody else in danger.

I just want to find Nathan.

All I know for sure is that there must be a connection between the unnatural phenomena and the children’s disappearing. This is what guided me back into Longhorn Hills, and to the Historical Society, which is something like a combination between a museum and a library, a repository of all the local community’s collective art and history. Like a few other places in town, it had been spared from the flood because of its location on one of the wooded hills in the area.

The rain has finally stopped, and it has been days since the flood in Longhorn Hills. I was going a little bit stir crazy at home but also dreaded going out again. I was staying away from alcohol and any medication, hoping to keep my head clear. Wherever I looked, I expected to see those slimy, black figures with their white-glowing dots for eyes. Instead, I only saw empty spaces where my son should have been. His chair at the table, his room, his favorite spot on the carpet in front of the TV…

My hallucinations turned those shadows of him into those creatures, whispering to me from the dark, and only vanishing whenever I turned on the lights.

His dad has been calling me, but I have not been picking up. He probably still has no clue about the incident and was just going to beg for money, anyway. Even if he knew, what on Earth was I going to tell him, anyway?

The drive into Longhorn Hills was… eerie. Desolate. Debris littered all roads, and several homes and businesses looked abandoned, even after the flood had cleared. Watermarks staining all structures showed me just how high the flood had reached, and I now consider myself lucky in having gotten out of town that day when I did. There were no fatalities, but plenty of people had been trapped in the top levels of those buildings overnight.

If I had been isolated on some building in the middle of a flood, after the ghouls, and the leeches, I would have lost my mind.

It was like there… it was like there was something else, darker, in the flood’s muddy waters. The stains themselves were like afterimages, ghosts of something buried. I have had recurring nightmares of water since that day. Fleeting in the details, but I always remembered murky waters right after waking up. Not drowning in them—followed by them. Seeing the water stains dredged up the same uneasy feeling those nightmares had been leaving me with.

According to the news, the flood had flushed out and displaced some of the cemetery’s bodies, washing them into town. I have purposely avoided looking into this for now. I have given up on listening to any public statements anyway, for reasons I already mentioned.

The curator at the Historical Society, Mister Holt, is a kindly elderly man dressed in a brown tweed suit. Exactly what you would expect from such a place, in such a town. He was surprisingly spry and helpful, patiently answering all my questions and helping me conduct my research.

Though I didn’t reveal to him what I had been through all week, I could read the doubts on his face, and I knew that my trauma from encountering the unnatural events in the cemetery had taken a heavy toll on me. I suspect that he knew I was one of the mothers of the missing children. Maybe that’s why he was so nice.

That toll… whatever he saw… maybe it is PTSD, coupled with the hallucinations, that make my demeanor so haunted. I can see it in the mirror every morning. I look like I haven’t been sleeping, and I sure as hell feel that way. Looking for ways to quickly escape any place I visit, and feeling watched by shadows, always flitting out of sight whenever I turn. He must have seen it.

The Historical Society’s archives were far more extensive than I had expected, and my research began to paint an unsettling picture.

Longhorn Hills was built upon the riches of Alden Spice. I know, I know. Funny name. But the town’s history was anything but funny.

Spice was a prospector who first discovered gold in the local rivers. As with many gold rush boomtowns, an entire population cropped up out of nowhere as other prospectors flocked there on his heels. They named the place after the abundance of longhorns in the region.

Alden Spice got rich off the gold he found, but nobody else in Longhorn Hills would ever strike out as lucky as he had. Nobody ever discovered any concrete source. Likely, the gold came from elsewhere, washed downstream or something. There are only loose theories.

Spice helped fund many local businesses in the early days of the town, owing another part of his explosive growth in wealth to these investments. Longhorn Hills flourished in its early days, drawing droves of new prospectors and farmers and other folk whose hearts were filled with hope for the future.

All they found was misery instead. That explosive growth in Spice’s wealth continued unabated while the town’s growth floundered.

Beyond his investments in and around town, prospectors found something else instead of gold: they chanced upon coal. Spice, who then had already become the mayor of Longhorn Hills, got in early on coal mining while his rivals were all still burning through their funds to find gold. Spice would end up making a killing on the coal mining business, watching while all his rivals bankrupted themselves into oblivion.

Together with several cattle ranches, Mayor Spice was quickly found sitting on a sizable number of properties and an abundance of wealth. That earned him the nickname of “Lucky Spice”. Meanwhile, articles from the time suggest that the rest of Longhorn Hills was impoverished and miserable. Numerous people were working themselves to the bone in those coal mines and on those ranches, and the wealth pretty much only wound up in the mayor’s coffers and the manor of Lucky Spice.

Things changed after the arrival of Enoch Bell; a Baptist missionary whose fellowship grew as quickly in the squalor of Longhorn Hills as Spice’s riches had grown off the fat of the land. Neither Bell nor the other parishioners ever said it publicly, but I find it likely that some of them had been slandering Spice as a devil-worshiper, feeding into the fact that the magnate never attended church. Some accounts say that townsfolk of Longhorn Hills were arrested for libeling Spice as a witch or warlock, having traded his soul for wealth.

There’s even an unflattering painting in the Historical Society that someone made of Spice that suggests as much. In this rendition, he looks like evil incarnate. The brim of his pitch-black hat looks as sharp as a steel blade, the red on his shirt is drenched in blood dripping from the hat’s edges, and there is a sinister fire in his eyes, almost distracting from a small pentagram on the amulet around his neck.

While I was studying that painting, my hallucinations caught up to me again. Lights started flickering and inexplicably going out throughout the archives. A thin sheen of water covered the cement floors, and I was worried that the rains and flood had returned, when I saw Nathan, standing in the shadows. His eyes glowed bright white, like tiny dots, staring back at me.

He asked me why it was taking so long to come home after work. He said he was hungry and frightened because the power and lights had gone out. Every word came out as a whisper, though it also looked and sounded like hundreds of moths flapping their wings.

His presence felt… so real. I knew it couldn’t be, and fear held far greater sway over me than any motherly instincts. Still, I feel bad that I ran away from this… this thing, rather than towards it. Even if it wasn’t Nathan, shouldn’t I have been there for him?

I bumped into the curator in my panic. That broke the hallucinations somehow. He had brought me more material from other parts of the archives to help complete my picture of the town’s history.

The water, the ghost, none of it was really there. Just in my head.

Anyway, I digress. The history of Longhorn Hills.

One night in 1858, an angry mob of fanatics became responsible for the biggest crime in the town’s history. In the “Night of Fire”, as it was reported in Bennett City papers, these people lynched several dozen innocent souls, accusing them of consorting with Alden Spice and the Devil himself. Countless lives were ended by hanging, drowning, or being burnt alive. With the intent of inflicting upon Spice that same fate, the lynch mob marched upon his manor that night.

A riot of rumors say that they found him alone and dead in his home, bled out in his office after having slit his own throat with a knife. His desk and walls were supposedly all painted in occult symbols, using his own blood. The mob burnt down Spice’s entire estate that night, leaving no trace of the event, and erasing anything that might have backed up those rumors. It is also possible that they murdered him.

Many more innocent people died tragically in the spread of uncontrolled fires, burning down several buildings in town. Other lives and homes were spared by a sudden rainstorm, causing a flood in Longhorn Hills which also claimed more lives. A once-in-a-millennium kind of event, they had believed back then.

Though it would take considerable time to mitigate all damage from deaths, fire, and flood combined, the community of Longhorn Hills in the 1860s recovered, owed in part to the coal mine reopening mere days after the calamity.

Many people had disappeared from Longhorn Hills after that frightful night, either having moved away, or vanished inexplicably. Speculations point to several having evaded lawmen, dodging responsibility for the actions of the lynch mob. No records exist to name anybody responsible in the killings, nobody claimed to know the people responsible by name, nor was any justice ever meted for the incident.

To make penance for the horrors of that dark night, Enoch Bell washed his hands clean by claiming that the church had neither instigated nor condoned such actions. Under his leadership, the town instead established the Memorial Cemetery out in the woods, where the church spent weeks consecrating the grounds. Many graves set up there were empty, serving as reminders to the people lost in the Night of Fire.

In the center of the cemetery now stands the Longhorn Hills Baptists Mausoleum, in which Bell was eventually interred, alongside many other parishioners.

That had to be the same place. Where the ghouls had chased me from.

I do not know or understand how all these things are connected, but I know deep down that they are somehow. Everything—all the events—they feel like symbols, rhyming and repeating across time. Rain and floods, disappearances. Occult symbols, either painted in blood, or glowing in ways that human eyes cannot see.

Are these angry, hungry ghosts? Bound here by tragedy and inhuman crimes? I cannot say for sure. Why would they abduct an entire school bus of innocent children? It made so little sense, and yet… it felt like I had assembled the edges of a jigsaw puzzle. The picture in the center was still missing, but the rest fit together.

I had already started looking into more recent accounts, from the twentieth century, regarding any people going missing in Longhorn Hills, when my research was interrupted.

The sheen of water on the floors had returned, albeit deeper this time. Probably an inch of it at this point, as if it was gradually rising. I only noticed because of the freezing cold of my feet, tearing me out of my concentration, and how I felt how my socks and shoes were soaking wet.

The water was brackish in color and appearance. Brown and muddy, like the flood water I had crossed to escape the cemetery. In this water, too, worms were wriggling beneath the murky surface. And a choir of whispers sounded like children had invaded the library, punctuated by eerie giggles.

I expected to see the ghoulish apparition of Nathan somewhere, but instead stumbled into the curator.

But it wasn’t really the curator at all. It was… something that wore his tweed suit, only the suit was sagging, and littered with holes where the fabric was coming apart. And rather than skin, this thing masquerading as Holt was made of crumbling clay. A gaping black hole was all I could see in place of what should have been his face, with moths crawling out from its impossible depths, fluttering away, and crowding around the lights of the Historical Society.

I fled. I’m not proud of it, but I fled. I could not tell if the hallucinations were clashing with reality. I could not tell if I had hurt the kindly Mister Holt by pushing him in my escape. I pushed very hard to get past that figure.

(Olivia Sutton audibly sighs here.)

On the ride back to Bennett City, images flashed before my eyes, suggesting that I had seen blood. My gun, on the passenger seat, still contained all of its bullets. Had I hurt Mister Holt? I am too terrified to find out, and I will call the Historical Society right now to find out, and then the police if I get no answer.

I cannot keep doing this alone. I need help. I need someone who can help me tell reality and these hallucinations apart. I am not entirely convinced about them being hallucinations, or the result of some chemical leak. I feel like I know the truth is hiding in the shadows between reality and… this. All of this. This… other world.

But who can I turn to now?

[ “New Recording” ends. ]

5 notes · View notes

wwwcalljesusnet · 2 years

Text

HILL COUNTRY GETAWAY!

HIGHLIGHTS: Relaxing/Sleeps 6/Pets/Free Wifi/2br 2ba/Hilltop/Hillview/Secluded/Scenic/Wooded/4 acre Farm/Terrace/Patios/Covered Porch/Free Park/Onsite wooded hillsite hike-camp/Offsite Fishing-Kayaking-Swimming/Entire Home4U on 4 scenic hill country acres wooded nestled in a secluded Hilltop/Austin Area/Marble Falls, Texas!

FURNISHINGS: Home has 2 king beds, 1 twin bed, 1 futon sofa bed, washer/dryer, jacuzzi, firepit, baby high chair, covered porch for small dogs, large upstair & downstair patio dining area w/hilltop scenic view, free parking, ideal for family getaways, home office, camping, hiking, and horse riding.

ATTRACTIONS: 4 min to Turkey Bend canoeing/kayaking, swimming, fishing, camping, 5 min to Balcones wildlife refuge, minutes to Longhorn Caverns, Vanishing Texas River Cruise, Zipline over Lake Travis & Enchanted Rock State Park.

SCENIC DRIVE HOME: After watching the beautiful mountain view driving to the house and parking under the trees, you will see a large covered upstairs and downstairs patio with dinner area on top of the hill overlooking a scenic view of adjoining hills and the valley 100 feet below in a picturesque wooded setting. There is also a covered porch with hill view that is fenced for your small dogs.

Enter through the covered patio door keying in your code in the smart lock and after bringing in your luggage, relax on the eurotop comfort mattress downstairs or upstairs in the king bed or watch the amazing hill view through the large kitchen and downstairs bedroom windows.

HIKING, WILDLIFE and SCENIC VIEWS: You can also enjoy the scenic wooded hill view from the covered porch or take a hike down to the valley or back up the hill where there may be wildlife sightings including deer. Kitchen has a large side-by-side refrigerator and utensils. House is fed by well water and you will feel its freshness when you shower.

Serene, quiet, secluded, natural wooded area adjacent to Balcones Wildlife Nature Preserve. There are no neighbors that can see you without binoculars and you can enjoy the privacy since no one can even hear you if you sing or shout to check your echo. You may see some deer sightings and small silhouette of neighbors houses across the other hills or 1 or 2 down the valley. Watch the beautiful sunset and enjoy the scenic hill view and the fresh air.

PET FRIENDLY-RELAXING: There is also a covered porch with hill view that is fenced for your small dogs. Enter through the covered patio door keying in your code in the smart lock and after bringing in your luggage, relax on the eurotop comfort mattress downstairs or upstairs in the king bed or watch the amazing hill view through the large kitchen and downstairs bedroom windows.

NEIGHBORHOOD: Our home is in a wooded area up the hill about 10 minutes to Lago Vista, 20 minutes to Cedar Park and 30 minutes to Austin. For shopping and restaurants, you can go to Lago Vista, Cedar Park or Marble Falls. To go to Marble Falls downtown for groceries and restaurants plus entertainment, make a left at Shaw Rd and a second left at FM 1431. For Lago Vista or Cedar Park, make a right at FM 1431 from Shaw Rd.

ACCESS: You can use your car, motorcycle or bicycle to drive around or use your ATV to climb 100 feet from house along driveway to Shaw Rd and back.

GROCERIES: Please purchase your grocery essentials like milk, food, bread, etc, from Cedar Park or Marble Falls @ Highway 281, before driving to the house.

CONTACT: Fell free to call me Daniel at 817-894-1357 or text me. My wife, the co-host can also be reached by phone or text at 210-316-4653. You can also email us both or use the airbnb, VRBO or booking.com Pulse app to text.

RESERVATIONS:

https://airbnb.com/h/hilltopviews

http://www.vacations2go.us

http://www.vacations2go.org

http://www.vacationtogo.net

Trip Advisor: https://www.flipkey.com/properties/14618435/

https://www.booking.com/hotel/us/entire-hilltop-view-2br-2ba-home-on-4-acres-wooded.html

Guidebook: https://abnb.me/7UZhifp8Xsb

The hills, valleys, lakes, and rivers throughout the sunny Texas Hill Country offer boundless options for adrenaline-fueled outdoor excursions or relaxing activities in nature. No matter your interests, cabin rentals in Texas Hill Country can be found near craters with water for swimming, fishing, and rope swinging, rivers for kayaking, rafting, or canoeing, lush forests for hiking and mountain biking, and calm lakes for boating, tubing, and waterskiing. For a more laid-back experience, you can stargaze on 4 acres, stroll through the wooded hillside down to the valley, and explore the 4 acre landscape.

With a focus on fresh ingredients and traditional recipes, Texas Hill Country is a foodie’s paradise. From top-notch pitmasters serving classic barbecue to nostalgic mom-and-pop cafés serving mouthwatering pies, this region blends the best of the South with a unique flair all its own. No matter the craving, a new flavor experience can be found in the Texas Hill Country restaurants, eateries, and bakeries just outside your summer rental. The Texas Hill Country is also home to many craft breweries and world-class vineyards with drinks to complement the flavors in the region.

RESERVATIONS:

VIDEO of Home: https://fb.watch/fAP0w-5tNf/

BOOKINGDOTCOM:

http://www.vacations2go.us | https://www.booking.com/hotel/us/entire-hilltop-view-2br-2ba-home-on-4-acres-wooded.html

AIRBNB: https://airbnb.com/h/hilltopviews | http://www.vacationtogo.net

VRBO: http://www.vacations2go.org | https://www.vrbo.com/2996433

TRIP ADVISOR: https://www.flipkey.com/properties/14618435/

FISHING, CAOEING / KAYAKING, NATURAL SPRING POOL SWIMMING, HILL VIEW RELAXING, LAKE TRAVIS SHORES, VANISHING TEXAS CRUISE, MOUNT BONNELL, WATER PARK, WINERY & more --->Guidebook: https://abnb.me/7UZhifp8Xsb

#vacation #hill country #scenicrelaxation #mountains #nature #landscape #forest #scenic beauty #houses for rent #home rentals #housing rental #airbnb #rental #lake travis

3 notes · View notes

jaywinaustin · 19 days

Text

“Violence did not define Austin. To most people, Austin was home of the University of Texas Longhorns. The state Capitol. A typical college town that also served as the gateway to the Texas Hill Country. A serene setting for conferences, conventions and reunions.

That all changed in 1966. Charles Whitman climbed to the top of the 307-foot University of Texas tower and shot 43 people, killing 13 of them.”

From SOULS ON FIRE. The main character is reflecting on his favorite city and worries that the terror attacks hitting the town will change it.

Just $1 at: https://amzn.to/2mbYJuD

#ebook #books #mystery #police #cia #terrorists #aids #austin texas

0 notes

myresilientheart · 1 month

Text

Autism

I was diagnosed with Autism two days before I turned 36. It was a slap in the face. It was validating. It was everything at once. I finally made since to myself. The abuse I suffered across my life finally made sense. The slap in the face? That’s because I grew up with a sister with BPD and FAS. She was violent and erratic. I spent nights sleeping in the back of the van while my parents tried to find her when she ran away from whatever treatment facility she was in. My dad was supposed to go to a field trip with me in middle school. I was so excited because we were going to a Longhorn football game. The night before the game my sister got in a fight with my parents. I don’t mean an argument. I mean axe marks on the door in our storage unit where she swung at my dad. And then later, he tripped running after her down the hill behind our house and got injured. Too injured to go on the field trip with me. My mom went instead. My whole childhood was like that. Abuse, fear, letdowns, and anger. Whether I was sleeping in the backseat of the van or crying while hiding in my room, I was alone. No one saw me. My parents and therapists have told me the same thing, “unfortunately when there’s a child with special needs like that in the family, they tend to get all the attention.” So now, what does my diagnosis mean for that? That’s the slap in the face. But I did have special needs, I was just easy to cast aside and easy to overlook. Why was no one looking out for me or protecting me? My whole life has been full of trauma because no one noticed me, no one protected me, no one cared. I’ve just been alone, out in the world trying to figure things out on my own. I’ve been in countless abusive relationships. I’ve been sexually assaulted and harassed. I’ve been drugged and raped. All because I didn’t know and I didn’t understand. Sometimes I wonder what life would’ve been like if someone noticed me. If I had gotten that diagnosis earlier. But I don’t live there too long because what’s done is done. Still, I find myself wanting to post on social media something like: “I have autism. So for those of you that think I’m weird or rude or judge me, that’s why.” I finally have a why. When I was 14, my boyfriend was 19. I didn’t know why it was weird. I didn’t know why I shouldn’t marry him when I was old enough. I didn’t know I could leave him when he was abusive. I didn’t know I could have said no to the wedding when I knew it was wrong. And 5 years later when he was put in prison for child pornography, I didn’t know why it was weird for me to visit him and was the only one that believed he was innocent. Now everything is starting to make sense. That last one is rough though. Like, oh. I was his first victim wasn’t I? He groomed me and used me. Those realizations, the ones that everyone else around me could see, are the ones that leave me mortified. That boy in 8th grade that wanted to see my underwear. I didn’t know it was malicious. I didn’t know he was taking advantage of me. I thought he, the popular guy, liked me. Right. I’m an idiot. Except I’m not. I’m autistic. I’m not stupid. I’m actually really intelligent. I just don’t understand people. I don’t understand their intentions. I don’t understand subtleties. I don’t understand small talk or how to maintain relationships. Being diagnosed at 36 makes me want to crawl into a hole. It’s like waking up and realizing a lifetime of mistakes and there’s so much shame. I know it’s going to take a while to process this. I’m posting this because I have always felt alone, and if I can help even one person feel less alone in their experiences, that’s enough for me.

#late diagnosed autistic #neurodiversity #autism #trauma #tw sex assault

1 note · View note

roller-coaster-tycoon-classic-95 · 2 months

Text

Roller Coaster Tycoon Classic: Six Flags over Texas

I decided not to go in order, obviously, because I knew that if I did them in order I would lose interest and never get anything done. SFOT is an iconic park for me, and since I’ve been to this park in real life, I can tell you that the layout is hilariously wrong. Rides are closer to other rides than they should be, rides are missing, the park is much more compact than in real life, and there are many sections of this park I know existed in 2002 they just aren’t built in game.

I started this park by fixing the symmetry of the entrance square, things like that bother me, I’m never sure why parks in RCT are built so haphazardly. I moved the swinging ship in Spain to the side, added a circus, and added a train station to this area, making the total 3 train stations (2 felt too little). I did not touch La Vibora. The log flume had to be moved and rearranged a bit for pathway reasons, as there’s now a connecting path from Spain to Titan.

I lowered the station for Titan since the station previously was 30 feet high which is ridiculous, I reprofiled a lot of the ride too, adding some airtime hills. I redesigned the pathways and the area next to Titan, including it in a new area called Wild West. In Wild West there is a new mine train ride since the park wasn’t designed with the pre existing Runaway Mine Train, also a powered coaster called Rodeo.

In the center of the park I’ve moved the Splash Falls ride to the back (East) side of the park, replacing it with a wooden twister coaster called Lone Star. Texas Giant has no chances except for the pathways and the scenery around the station and the train station. I’ve kept the building for Runaway Mountain but thought it was too dramatic of a building for the ride inside it so I redesigned it to be an indoor-outdoor double launch coaster similar to Verbolten at Busch Gardens, with the outdoor section flying over the rapids ride. There was no space for the power towers in their current spot so I placed them in the area behind the Oil Derrick. Shockwave is unchanged.

I’ve made the lakeside to the east of the entrance more enticing and enjoyable, adding boat rides, a fountain, and several picnic areas. Next to Judge Roy Scream I’ve added an inverted shuttle coaster, themed loosely off of Adventurelands Dragon, because it also is between a wooden coaster and a lake. The entire area around Flashback and the Bumper Cars is redesigned to have more of an old park theme, Missile Chaser has been moved here.

The lake where Missile Chaser was has been turned into a normal lake, next to it is a pair of very familiar coasters, a blue launched shuttle coaster called Frostbite and next to that a yellow inverted coaster called Longhorn. Wink wink. They’re a little too iconic as a pair not to at least give a nudge. I filled in the rest of the open area beyond bumper cars with a water coaster themed to medieval Merlin, a few flat rides, and the moved Splash Falls.

Overall this park was super easy, especially since there were fewer rides than SFMM, I made money much faster than SFMM too. This park only took about 20 years to complete. A lot of the existing coasters were built to my standard in this park, so I’ve mainly adjusted only pathways and the areas around these coasters, creating a perfect balance of old and new. I finished SFOT with 42 rides including 14 coasters.

#Roller Coaster Tycoon Classic #Six Flags Over Texas #Extra Group #Blog

0 notes

dankusner · 3 months

Text

Frank Reaugh — Oak Cliff's finest artist

Pastels titled Twenty-four Hours with the Herd depicts an iconic Texas scene: the cattle drive.

Artist Frank Reaugh completed the series in the 1930s, but they portray an earlier chapter of Texas history, when fences had not yet crossed the landscape, and men and cattle moved freely on the open range.

Born in Illinois in 1860, Reaugh moved to Texas when he was fifteen.

His family grew cotton, but young Reaugh was interested in art and nature, and divided his time between the family farm and studying art in St. Louis and Paris.

Reaugh soon gained a reputation for his luminous and impressionistic landscapes.

Several were exhibited at the World's Fairs of 1893 and 1904.

Another favorite subject was the Texas longhorn, which he studied carefully while following the herds along the Red, Wichita, and Brazos Rivers.

His most famous works feature this emblem of the state in its natural habitat, the Texas plains.

Known as the "dean of Texas artists," Reaugh was also a popular art instructor.

He founded the Dallas School of Fine Arts and often led students on sketching trips throughout his beloved Southwest.

A master of color, shading, and detail, Frank Reaugh recorded what he called "the broad opalescent prairies" as he saw them more than a century ago.

His works are on view at the Texas Capitol and museums around the state. In 1890, Reaugh moved with his parents to Oak Cliff, Texas, where in 1903 he and his father built a metal studio, nicknamed “Old Ironsides,” behind the family home.

122 E 5th Street, Dallas TX 75203

Charles Franklin Reaugh — born in Morgan County in southern Illinois 12 miles from Jacksonville on December 29, 1860.

The family's original Irish name, Castlereaugh, was shortened to Reaugh and pronounced "Ray."

Texas Pavillion at the World's Columbian Exposition in Chicago in 1893.

In 1928, Frank Reaugh commissioned a new studio for his work, El Sibil "The Vault".

Located at 122 E. 5th Street in Dallas, the location served as a studio, gallery, school and residence for Reaugh. It still stands today.

Inspired by Mediterranean architecture, El Sibil was largely Reaugh's own design. James Cheek was the principle architect turning Reaugh's design into reality. It incorporated many features of the "Old Ironsides" studio. Lots of indirect natural light, southern exposure, vaulted ceilings and an elevated sleeping area.

In 1966, Medellín opened the Octavio Medellín School of Sculpture in El Sibil, the former home and studio of painter Frank Reaugh.

youtube

What You Don’t Know About Oak Cliff (And Should) By John Merwin | April 1, 1977

The chalky bluff which rises out of the Trinity River bottom suggests something about one-third of our city.

Oak Cliff, population 300,000.

Oak Cliff stands boldly in a defensive position, like a bastion atop a bluff, peering out across the Trinity flood plain at Dallas.

Although a half-dozen bridges link Oak Cliff to Dallas, tying us together as one city, Oak Cliff is still “over there,” across the river.

The bridges serve as landmarks straddling the chasm which separates us, but in many ways the chasm is far more important. It marks a fundamental breach, one that has led “us” in Dallas to talk about “them” in Oak Cliff.

Although corporately we are one. spiritually we are not.

“We” in Dallas tend to envision “them” in Oak Cliff as a different people, which they are, and quite proud to be so.

Racially they are becoming increasingly black, economically they are predominantly blue collar and religiously they are so fundamental that First Baptist Church in Dallas joined in the fight to expel one of Oak Cliffs leading Baptist congregations, Beverly Hills, from the Dallas Baptist Association.

At Beverly Hills they speak in tongues.

In sedate “Dallas” Baptist Churches, such as First Baptist or Park Cities Baptist, they don’t.

Most east-of-the-river Dallasites have forgotten that but for a few votes Oak Cliff might have been looking down its nose at Dallas for the last 127 years.

In 1850 the independent settlements of Dallas, Oak Cliff, and Cedar Springs vied for the official seat of Dallas County.

Dallas received 181 votes, Oak Cliff 178 votes, while Cedar Springs (where Lemmon and the North Tollway now intersect) garnered 101 votes.

In the run-off election Dallas prevailed over Oak Cliff, 244 to 216.

To the victor went the spoils.

Dallas won the county courthouse and has been winning ever since, seizing practically all of the goodies for its side of the river, keeping Oak Cliff residents constantly looking north and east to Dallas.

It seems that most of the traffic crossing those half-dozen bridges which link Oak Cliff and Dallas is generated by Oak Cliff people commuting to Dallas instead of Dallas people visiting Oak Cliff.

The only place of community-wide interest in Oak Cliff is Marsalis Zoo, although once Burnett Field was there, just barely across the levee.

Even the spectators sat with their backs to Oak Cliff, staring over the outfield fence toward Dallas.

Practically everything else wound up in Dallas-east-of-the-Trinity.

Downtown is there, as is Fair Park, Love Field, SMU, White Rock Lake and nearly every major restaurant or entertainment spot worth noting.

Dallas also won the population race, which began on both sides of the river in the early 1840s.

For some reason growth on the Dallas side exceeded that in Oak Cliff both in quality and in quantity.

The most interesting development west of the Trinity occured in the 1850s when a group of several hundred Europeans, mostly French, founded a Utopian colony in what now is West Dallas.

It was named La Reunion, but collapsed within a few years.

Afterward many of the immigrant artisans crossed the river and settled in Dallas.

Local historian A.C. Greene credits the settlers of La Reunion with giving Dallas a cultural breadth it might not have acquired for decades without the Frenchmen’s influence.

Oak Cliff’s first ambitious development was laid out in the 1890s by T.L. Marsalis and J.S. Armstrong, the men who probably popularized the name “Oak Cliff.”

(For 50 years the area had been known as Hord’s Ridge, named for a local landowner.)

Marsalis and Armstrong split soon after the development opened.

Ultimately Marsalis failed in his Oak Cliff venture while Armstrong later succeeded with his sons-in-law in developing Highland Park.

Prestigious developments like Highland Park, University Park and Munger Place grew on North Dallas’ waxy blackland prairie while Oak Cliff struggled along on a beautifully hilly tern in across the Trinity, an obstacle which wasn’t permanertly spanned until the Houston Street Viaduct opened in 1912, forever linking Oak Cliff and Dallas.

Although other formerly independent cities such as East Dallas and West Dallas have merged smoothly into Dallas, Oak Cliff has not.

Even though Oak Cliff residents voted to join the City of Dallas in 1904, Oak Cliff still bears signs, both physical and spiritual, that it remain a city unto itself.

The basic cause of Oak Cliffs independence is the Trinity.

Although many areas of Oak Cliff are actually closer to downtown than are parts of North Dallas, Oak Cliff seems more distant because to get to them, you must cross the river an act which constantly reminds us that Oak Cliff is on the other side.

There’s another aspect of crossing the river that implies a dramatic change.

With the exception of R.L. Thornton Freeway and Corinth Street, every street flowing from Dallas west across the Trinity changes its name.

Houston becomes Zang, Commerce changes into Fort Worth Avenue, Continental into Singleton, Wycliff into Sylvan and Inwood into Hampton.

(Several of these actually cross into West Dallas, which is also west of the Trinity, and by some is mistakenly considered a part of Oak Cliff.)

Once you arrive in Oak Cliff more differences become apparent.

In the heart of Oak Ciff, there art streets named 8th Street, 10th Street and so on, a numbering system which implies that Oak Cliff really is a separate city.

Perhaps the biggest single image problem Oak Cliff fights is its location, wedged between West Dallas on the north, and South Dallas to the east.

West Dallas has never quite recovered from the days when many of its inhabitants lived in refrigerator crates and hovels.

Today it is burdened with the city’s infamous West Dallas housing projects.

For many years South Dallas was the section of town where the city’s blacks were bottled up.

When housing opened up in the Sixties and blacks’ earning power increased, thousands poured into East Oak Cliff from South Dallas, into a community of inexpensive frame houses.

The vast area east of South R.L. Thornton Freeway is now heavily black.

Not long ago blacks began moving west across Thornton Freeway.

Oak Cliff leaders groan when the racial situation is brought up, but nevertheless, it is the major question facing the future of the community.

Many Oak Cliff neighborhoods leaders have responded positively to the black immigration, displaying a determination to make racially mixed neighborhoods work, instead of resorting to the old patterns of white flight.

But not all of Oak Cliff leadership has adjusted so well.

One Oak Cliff bank has gone well out of its way to see that no blacks appear in photographs or film footage shot in the bank’s lobby, an unfortunate reaction considering that the prosperity of Oak Cliff’s banks depends upon the health and harmony of Oak Cliff as a community.

Bigotry exists in North Dallas as well as Oak Cliff, but North Dallas doesn’t yet have to adjust to black immigration.

Oak Cliff does.

As a whole, Oak Cliff residents find themselves in a lower economic bracket than most North Dallas residents.

The results are clear – Oak Cliff entertainment pales beside the offerings in North Dallas.

In Oak Cliff when someone says he is going to the country club, unmistakably that means one place – the Oak Cliff Country Club.

In North Dallas it could mean Brook Hollow, Dallas Country Club, Glen Lakes, Northwood, Spring Valley, Preston Trail, Bent Tree, Brookhaven, the Columbian or a handful of others which are close to North Dallas.

There are really three Oak Cliffs.

The first, east of R.L. Thornton, is black.

The second, west of R.L. Thornton, is blue collar.

The third, also west of Thornton, is middle and upper class white, a group of people that live in some of the most beautiful neighborhoods in Dallas.

The most stunning of these is the Kessler Park-Stevens Park area in north Oak Cliff, nudged up against the Dallas-Fort Worth Turnpike.

Many of the area’s homes are the equal of those in Highland Park, and often sell for half the price of a Highland Park home.

In Kessler Park, for instance, a two-bedroom, one-bath bungalow sells for approximately $22,000.

A similar home in Highland Park sells for at least $40,000 and sometimes as much as $65,000.

North Oak Cliff is also prettier than the Park Cities – the area is built on a series of cuestas – huge beds of rock protruding out of the ground at an angle, forming hills with gentle slopes on one side and steep cliffs on the other. Oak

Cliff’s other stunning neighborhood, Wynnewood Hills, surrounds the Oak Cliff Country Club.

One of the most peculiar aspects of Oak Cliff is its housing patterns.

Quite often by driving a single block a visitor can go from a strikingly beautiful neighborhood to a dumpy one.

There are few smooth transitions from glamorous to gauche.

This phenomenon has provided Oak Cliff with a brand of politics which makes the North Dallas political scene seem a bore.

With one hand Oak Cliff sends Rose Renfroe to city council, while with the other it dispatches Paul Ragsdale to Austin.

Renfroe and Ragsdale have about as much in common as George Wallace and Jesse Jackson.

This mixed bag of politicians arises from Oak Cliffs amazingly different neighborhoods, a marked contrast to North Dallas’ mile-after-mile of three and four-bedroom brick homes.

Draw the political lines any way you wish in North Dallas and there won’t be a dime’s worth of difference in who’s elected. In Oak Cliff, the lines have been drawn (many by Dan Weiser) to carve out constituencies of unique character.

Black Oak Cliff has Paul Ragsdale, Eddie Bernice Johnson, Lucy Patterson and Emmett Conrad.

The affluent areas of West Oak Cliff produced Bill Nicol, Chris Semos and Sarah Haskins.Unlike North Dallas, Oak Cliff is usually primed for a fight in the primary election.

North Dallas is solid Republican, and there’s little chance that the Republicans will pit two candidates of any contrast against each other.

In Oak Cliff, which is as Democratic as North Dallas is Republican, there are two wings of the party, making for some great fights in districts which have a reasonable balance between blacks and whites.

Normally blacks and liberal whites team up to take on the conservative whites – a coalition which has kept Oak Cliff State Senator Oscar Mauzy in office for years.

Already Oak Cliff is buzzing about the possibility of Representative Eddie Bernice Johnson’s taking on Senator Mauzy in 1978, so she can have a hand in the Congressional redistricting of 1981, perhaps carving out her own seat in Congress, much as Barbara Jordan did from the Texas Senate.

They also talk about the probability that Rose Renfroe will challenge County Commissioner Roy Orr in 1978, which could easily develop into the knock-down drag-out political fight of the decade.

What Oak Cliff needs as much as anything else is civic clout, the kind that comes with the managerial class which lives in North Dallas.

North Dallas gets things done because it knows how to get things done.

Part of the reason that the managerial class is absent from Oak Cliff is quite simple – most of the powerful corporations reside in downtown or North Dallas.

To be sure, there are some exceptions. Oak Cliff is home to Dixico, a very successful bread wrapper manufacturer, and to Vernon & James Smith Company, a construction firm which has had an enormous influence on Oak Cliff’s development.

But there are many businesses which sprang up in Oak Cliff, prospered there, then later moved their headquarters across the river into Dallas.

Among them are Republic National Life, First Texas Savings (Oak Cliff Savings & Loan), the Southland Corporation (7-Eleven) and Wyatt Cafeterias.

Oak Cliffs tenure in the Dallas mayor’s chair also underscores Oak Cliff’s shortage of influence.

Only two mayors have hailed from Oak Cliff.

They are the late George Sprague (1937-39) and Jimmy Temple (1947-49).

Today Temple lives in North Dallas, as does Sprague’s prominent son, Dr. Charles Sprague, president of the UT Health Science Center.

One of the most interesting studies of Oak Cliff was completed in 1963 by a local public opinion survey firm, Belden Associates.

Belden asked people all over Dallas what features they associated with Oak Cliff.

The two most commonly mentioned were that Oak Cliff was dry and that it was very religious.

These two images are very much entwined, dating back to 1956 when a group of Baptist ministers led a bitter fight to prohibit sale of alcoholic beverages in Oak Cliff.

They won, 17,000 to 15,000, in a campaign directed against a pack of sleazy bars, most of which fronted Davis Avenue.

Today Oak Cliff remains bone dry, as does practically all of Dallas, but Oak Cliff somehow retains a stigma because of its dryness.

Quite often the dry issue is given as the reason why Oak Cliff doesn’t have first class restaurants, which may betrue in part, but drinks are available at several Oak Cliff restaurant “private clubs.”

The situation isn’t that simple.

Oak Cliff lacks a strong contingent of young singles, young married couples and the affluent, which are the groups usually making up restaurant clientele.

The restaurant shortage is attributable to more than just a simple wet-dry issue; it is attributable to the absence from Oak Cliff of a certain lifestyle.

There is however, a resurgence of young people moving into the nicer areas of Oak Cliff, which might provide not only a livelier atmosphere, but also the basis of a new leadership class which might grow up in Oak Cliff and stay there.

Perhaps the most thorough analysis of why Oak Cliff remains such a well defined entity apart from the other two-thirds of Dallas was written in 1972 by Oak Cliff Chamber urban planner Jack Luby.

Luby pointed out that Oak Cliff in many ways has made a concerted effort to perpetuate its image as a separate city.

Luby opened the Dallas telephone book and found that 137 Oak Cliff organizations used “Oak Cliff in their names, while only 34 North Dallas organizations used “North Dallas” in their names.

He also pointed out that Oak Cliff has its own magazine, Oak Cliff, which is published by the Oak Cliff Chamber of Commerce, and its own newspaper, The Oak Cliff Tribune.

Today there is a second Oak Cliff newspaper, The Oak Cliff Press.

Luby noted that the Oak Cliff Chamber of Commerce, which is 57 years old, has done much to promote the idea of Oak Cliff as a separate entity.

He also observed a certain attitude among Oak Cliff residents, sort of a self-fulfilling prophecy that Oak Cliff would never secure any first class developments and that much of life is “too high class” for Oak Cliff.

What Oak Cliff needs to shatter that attitude, and indeed to wipe out its complex, is a major developer to produce a first class project for Oak Cliff.

Southwest Oak Cliff’s Red Bird Mall is a step in that direction.

What Oak Cliff now needs is a major development at its northern edge, preferably a major project on the west bank of the Trinity, which would blend nicely with the proposed Town Lake.

Town Lake, which could be formed by damming the Trinity just south of downtown, would smooth over the chasm which separates Dallas and Oak Cliff.

A major west bank development could spur redevelopment of all Northeast Oak Cliff.

If it included high-rise buildings, the development would complement the high-rise structures across the river in downtown Dallas.

No matter what happens, it is unlikely that Oak Cliff will ever fade into the background of Dallas.

It is too big, too old and too proud to bow to Dallas, the state’s second largest city.

Oak Cliff, after all, is Texas’ sixth largest city. Whoever heard of a city that size fading away?

#Youtube

0 notes