#apple valley inn | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

scifrey · 1 year

Text

Keepsakes

Status: Ongoing Ficlet collection; unbeta'd

Series: the Hob Adherent series

Fandom: The Sandman (TV 2022) Includes some comics canon, and some cameos from the wider Gaiman-verse (including the Good Omens and Lucifer television shows), but it’s not necessary to know to enjoy the story.

Rating: Mature-ish.

Warnings: Discussions of grief and in-canon character death. Some sexytimes. Some whomp and hurt/comfort.

Relationships: Morpheus | Dream of the Endless/Hob Gadling, Eleanor | Hob Gadling’s Wife/Hob Gadling (past)

Characters: Dream of the Endless | Morpheus, Hob Gadling, Patrick the Bartender, Harriet Butler, Matthew the Raven

Summary: Short ficlets set in the Hob Adherent world, based on prompts received from readers. Feel free to DM me or leave prompts in the comments, and if it resonates with me, I may write up a ficlet! Thank you for the inspiration in advance.

Set amid the events of Cling Fast and Carpe Diem

READ ON AO3 OR READ BELOW:

Postcards

"So, a sword in Buckingham's army, a bandit, a printer, a shipwright and then a merchant middleman for the dockyards, a knight, a beggar, investment broker--"

"Slaver," Hob interrupts Harriet as she counts off his professions on her fingers one slow, sunny afternoon at The New Inn. "Call the thing what it was."

Hari offers him a sympathetic smile. They're the only ones in the pub proper today, as Patrick is off to tend his ailing mother, Dee doesn't come in Mondays, and Morph is having lunch with his editor.

"After which you were an MP and staunch abolitionist, a soldier again in America for the North, an industrialist and labor rights advocate, a yuppie and silicone valley early adopter--"

"Apple paid for most of this," Hob agrees, selecting a glass and checking it for water spots or lipstick stains.

"--and now a professor and publican. Am I missing any?"

“Oh!” Hob remembers as he pulls a pint for her. "And I was ruler of Hell."

She leans across the bar from her stool, and thwacks his arm. “Fuck off, you were not, you old liar,” Hari laughs.

"Was so!" Hob protests, setting her beer down in front of her. "Ask my husband. He was there. I was ruler of Hell for thirteen minutes and seventeen seconds on my six-hundred and sixty-sixth birthday."

Hari raises a challenging eyebrow at Hob over her pint glass as she takes a sip. "I won't believe a thing the Prince of Stories tells me," she says decisively, when she sets the beer back down. "And I don't believe you."

Hob pulls a postcard from L.A. off the bar back, where it's been pinned to a corkboard among a handful of others, all from the same city. This card depicts a cartoon devil drawn over a photo of the Hills, lounging on the iconic Hollywood sign. It says "Greetings from Sin City!" in bright yellow font.

Hob hands it to Hari to inspect. Her face gets drawn as her eyes flick over the handwritten note on the back.

"To my fellow former ruler of Hell; I did it! I opened a nightclub, just like you suggested. Visit me at LUX any time you'd like, Hobsie. xxx Lucifer Morningstar," Hari reads in a voice that grows increasingly strangled.

She hands the card back to Hob with trembling fingers. Then she shotguns the rest of her pint.

"So hell is real, then," Hari warbles.

Hob shrugs. "Everything is real. Humans create gods, not the other way around. If someone believes in it, it exists."

Hari nods thoughtfully. "I suppose you would know, being married to a god."

Hob chuckles. "Well, former god-ish. And don't worry, only people who believe they deserve to go to Hell actually do. Self-punishment or fulfilling prophecy, or something. I try not to think to much about that Celestial stuff."

Hari nods again, and without asking, Hob refills her pint glass. He has a feeling she's going to need it.

"But it is something I'm going to have to worry about," Hari says softly, accepting the drink with a nod.

"Not any time soon, I hope," Hob says, folding his arms on the bar top and leaning close to offer her a comforting look. "And when it does happen, I can promise you that my sister-in-law is gentle and kind. You have nothing to worry about."

Harriet runs her arthritis gnarled finger up and down the side of the glass, collecting up the condensation. "You know, that is actually a comfort." She looks up at Hob with a wicked little grin. "Especially knowing your husband."

Hob throws his head back and laughs.

#losyark #cling fast adjacent #cling fast #carpe diem #the hob adherent series #hob adherent #hob gadling #hob x dream #dream x hob #dreamling fic #dream #dreamling #lucifer morningstar #lucifer #gaimanverse #sandman hob #retirement!Dream #keepsakes

188 notes · View notes

fateinthestars · 3 months

Text

Star-Crossed Myth Fluffbruary Fanfic (29th Feb): Starlight (Scorpio/MC)

Title: Starlight

Fandom: Star-Crossed Myth

Genre: Fluff

Rating: T

Pairing: Scorpio/MC (MC’s name left blank so you can fill it in with whatever you wish in your head)

Word Count: 805

Written for Prompt: February 29 : breakfast | valley | sign for @fluffbruary

February 29th: Starlight (Scorpio/MC)

___ sighed softly to herself as she headed over to the breakfast buffet at the inn in the valley where she was staying with her work colleagues and a handful of planetarium patrons. She had not been surprised when her boyfriend had made it clear that he wouldn’t be able to accompany her on this work outing, too much work of his own to do, but still silly little things were reminding her of him and how she probably wouldn’t be seeing him for a few days.

Take now for instance: It was still extremely early as they were hoping to catch a meteor shower, but unlikely to have time to head back here in time for the inn’s usual breakfast time they had agreed to set a buffet up in the early hours of the morning instead. Really she should either be looking forward to watching the spectacle in the skies or wanting to go to bed as she hadn’t had much sleep, but what she was actually thinking was:

They have apples as a breakfast option on this buffet table. I’m sure if he was here he’d demand I turn one into ‘those things’.

A loving smile unconsciously crept across her face and she picked up an apple to go along with the cereal she had already picked out.

After eating her breakfast, she turned her attention back to the apple once more. Now she had it in her hand, what had come over her before felt silly. She didn’t really want to eat it but…

“___?” Hiyori asked with concern. “Something wrong with your apple?”

“Huh? Oh, sorry, no. It’s just…” she hesitated, unsure how she would even explain any of this to her or the others. “I don’t suppose anyone has a knife?”

“Don’t fancy biting into it whole? Can’t say I blame you,” came a chuckle from one of the older patrons of the planetarium. Reaching into his pockets he handed ___ a pocket knife. “Hopefully this’ll be good enough.”

“Thank you!”

***

A while later, ___ looked up at the sky as they settled down on the grass to look at the meteor shower that was due any minute. Her eyes widened: Instead of being greeted by vague outlines of stars she could clearly make out the scorpio constellation. She smiled brightly to herself, feeling very touched. ___ hadn’t been sure Scorpio had even taken in the details she had told him about this trip but he had clearly been listening intently. There was no doubt in her mind that he had deliberately enhanced his own constellation to let her know that he was thinking about her, even if he could not be here right now. So entranced by looking at the sky, she was scarcely aware of someone putting their hand on her shoulder.

“Tch, like I would ever do anything as ludicrous as that,” came a familiar voice from behind her. “Here must be just a good view point.”

___ turned her head sharply to look over her shoulder as she heard Scorpio’s voice, trying not to smirk as she saw the way he was blushing despite his very vocal denial. “Sure, sure, and I guess you were just passing for a Punishments job? I thought you couldn’t make it this weekend?” she retorted, keeping her voice low so the others didn’t overhear their conversation.

Scorpio smirked at her. “I said I couldn’t make the whole weekend. Doesn’t stop me from coming down here briefly.”

“So you were thinking of me too!”

“Don’t be stupid, woman! I just…” Scorpio trailed off, his eyes widening: partly as he realised she’d used the word ‘too’ meaning she had clearly been thinking of him, but also because he had just noticed something sticking out of the top of her bag. “Is that…”

___ initially frowned at his unasked question, then blushed as she recalled what she had randomly done that morning and what it was he could see. Opening her bag properly, she took out the rabbit apple and handed it to him.

“Why did you make one of these?” Scorpio asked as he took it, grinning at her. “Don’t tell me you were missing me that much?”

“... What if I said yes?”

Scorpio’s face went bright red. He glanced away from her. “Tch… I told Zig I’d only be a few minutes… I guess from his parting words about being able to manage for a while he knew I’d never be able to keep to that… what have you done to me?”

___ laughed lightly and tugged at his hand, getting him to sit down beside her on the grass.

Leaning her head onto his shoulder, ___ glanced back up at the sky as the meteor shower started, smiling softly to herself as Scorpio wrapped an arm around her waist.

#scm fanfic #star crossed myth fanfic #scm #star crossed myth #scm scorpio #scorpio x mc #fluffbruary 2024

17 notes · View notes

oldshowbiz · 5 months

Text

Roy Rogers’ Apple Valley Inn

#roy rogers #franchise #apple valley

21 notes · View notes

awlimagines · 7 months

Text

A Polaroid Pickup - Rock

You enjoyed the fresh air as a kid. Your father’s farm was full of it if you could look past the natural stench of livestock. Things you didn’t fully understand occurred when you were small, and your mom whisked you away to the city. Now, you were far more used to the harsh yells, massive crowds, and vendors trying to make a sale. You stifled a yawn as you passed your ID card over the sensor to allow you entry to the office building.

It stretched into the sky, reaching for the heavens while swallowing hundreds in neat, bright offices. Those who sat at the top of their companies’ pyramids enjoyed sweeping city views and sunlight. The lowly peons like you got erected cubicles in the building’s belly. The company you worked for was nice enough to allow you to pin pictures into the fabric walls. You had only a few of your mother, an old pet, and an even older boyfriend. You needed to throw away that picture. You didn’t even know the boy pictured alongside you anymore.

You throw your bag under your desk to sink into your seat and swivel to face a black screen and phone. That was when the deck of cards caught your eye. Those weren’t yours. As your manager swept past, you scrambled, sliding the cards haphazardly from your desk to hide them. This was your first job. You wouldn’t risk losing it or having a mark against you for some cards. The cards left all thoughts as the phone began to ring.

It wasn’t until lunch that you remembered the cards. You reached into your bag to pay for the bland cafeteria lunch when your hand brushed the stiff cards instead. Fumbling past them for money, you juggled the tray to pay and hurried to a seat at the packed tables. You squeezed into an empty chair and rapidly shoveled your food down. As people around you left, you pulled the cards from your bag. They looked pretty new. The bent corners were probably from being shoved out of sight rather than from any use. You flipped through the cards, enjoying the stylized kings and queens.

A small Polaroid picture of you replaced the Queen of Hearts. Your blood ran cold at the sight. You were wearing the same clothes you had on now, and you sat in the same cafeteria. Bile rose in your throat as you fought back panic when a man slid into the seat across from you. His dark brown roots bled through his blonde. His blonde hair, tinged with orange, screamed the young man wasn’t experienced with dyes.

“You're a queen. Let my face be your throne,” he remarked, winking a finger-gun at you. You held up the cards and picture, asking the young man if this was from him. He eagerly confirmed it was his idea and asked if you were impressed. You almost felt bad for how quickly the HR department removed him after you reported the harassment. The young man couldn’t have been over twenty and probably just made a horrible decision.

Years later, the company suffered and downsized. You were cut from the job and traveled to Forget-Me-Not Valley. The farm was about all you had left, and you had to make it work. Takakura introduced you to the inn owners who had mentioned their son Rock when a clattering noise on the balcony above caught your attention. You glanced up in time to see the doors snapping shut.

“If you were a fruit, you’d be a fine-apple,” Rock smirked, shooting you a wink and finger gun as you gathered the fall apples.

“Did you ever work in the city?”

A look of horror swept across Rock’s face as he mumbled about how he didn’t think you had recognized him. Any hint of suave he had disappeared as Rock struggled to explain his past behavior.

“I didn’t. Not until the terrible pick-up line,” you chuckled. “It’s water under the bridge, but I have to know. How did you get a picture of what I wore that day and in the cafeteria?”

“Pfft, that’s easy. You wear the same clothes like clockwork even now,” Rock brushed off, gesturing to your clothes. The blonde ran from your farm laughing as you threw apples after him, your face red.

#story of seasons #harvest moon #story of seasons a wonderful life #sos awl #bokujou monogatari #harvest moon a wonderful life #hm awl #awl imagines #awl rock #awl rock x reader #partially inspired by kinokoshoujoart's glasses day post #it'd be the transition from his awkward school years to mr cool stud #unfortunately his pickup lines never improved

15 notes · View notes

petercookportlandtoalaska · 7 days

Text

Day 2, Sat May 18, 2024, Portland, Oregon to Leavenworth, Washington, 350 miles.

Wake up at 7:00 excited to get on the road. Slade and I head out to IHop for breakfast, then head back to the hotel for a ride out to MotoQuest where we pack our day bags on the bikes, dump our luggage and fire up our Garmins.

Fortunately, Darren has done this ride a number of times and knows all the roads. After a short highway jaunt to get out of Portland, we turn off onto the backrooms and start twisting, winding, and climbing our way to Yakima.

We have a quick stop at the 70-mile mark for a coffee under the distant shadow of snow cobmvered Mt Hood. Then, it's back on the road again following the Columbia River to Canada. The Columbia River Valley is always windy, and the river is full of people boating, fishing, and wind surfing.

Around 1:00 we stop for lunch. The roads and weather have been perfect for riding, and our only challenge seems to be working on our riding callouses as I notice a lot of people starting to shift around in the saddle and stand up to get some hinder relief.

After lunch, we continue northward through the Cascade Mountains, lush green valleys and apple, cherry, and pear orchards through to Yakima and Ellensburg beyond, stopping only for quick breaks and gas. By 5:30, we're in Leavenworth, a small Bavarian styled tourist town of circa 2,500 approx. 150 miles from the Canadian border

Parking our bikes at the Bavarian Inn, we unpack our bags and head out to Rheins Haus for some German beer and bratwurst (with fabulous spicy mustard).

No partying tonight. It's been a long, perfect day, and most of us are ready to head back to the hotel, read a bit, or blog, and hit the sack. Tomorrow, we hit the border, Canada, and the Okanagan Valley.

2 notes · View notes

beardedmrbean · 1 year

Text

Homeless veterans have been booted from hotels in upstate New York to presumably make room for the growing influx of migrants flowing from the southern border, according to a nonprofit working with the veterans.

CEO of the Yerik Israel Toney Foundation Sharon Toney-Finch told the New York Post she was notified by veterans that they were getting kicked out of the hotels they were being housed at as they waited for more permanent housing options.

Although they were not told explicitly it was due to the migrant surge, she said that was evident given the timing as officials battle the border surge and spillover amid the end of Title 42.

New York State Assemblyman Brian Maher, R., slammed the Biden administration and New York officials for allowing them to be kicked out of their hotels during "Fox & Friends First."

"So the Biden administration, Governor Hochul, and the city of New York, they all have a part in this, and it's a total embarrassment," Maher told co-host Joey Jones Monday. "It's a slap in the face to veterans, to citizens of New York in this country, who are really being cast aside to allow for asylum seekers to come here."

"At the end of the day, when it comes to this particular situation, you had combat veterans who were homeless, who were told to get out of their hotel," he continued. "After one day, Sharon and her team scrambled to find them locations, and right now, what we've tried to do is let those veterans know we appreciate them. We're embarrassed by what's happened to them, but we have their backs."

There were reportedly 20 veterans who were told they would no longer receive temporary housing at the hotels – 15 of those former service members were at the Crossroads Hotel in Newburgh.

This is the same hotel migrants arrived at last week in New York City Mayor Eric Adams' attempt to alleviate the impact of the southern border surge on the Big Apple's already-strained resources.

The other five veterans were at either the Super 8 or the Hampton Inn & Suites in Middletown. Since the calls, the veterans were re-housed at a Hudson Valley hotel about 20 minutes away.

The surge is even derailing weddings, with one Florida couple reporting the hotel canceled rooms previously booked for her out-of-town guests.

"We just know about 20 veterans, and we know about weddings whose parties have been canceled," Maher said. "We don't know how far-reaching this is, and what Sharon has been hearing is throughout the country, other veterans organizations and other organizations that really help at-risk Americans are coming forward and letting her know, hey, it's happened to us, but they're afraid to speak out."

Toney-Finch, a disabled veteran who began the nonprofit to raise awareness on veteran issues, said the individuals were only at the hotels for a couple of weeks when they were told they had to leave.

They were originally supposed to stay there for up to four weeks until the group was able to secure more permanent housing options.

"Sharon spoke out, and now she's getting hate messages. She asked me to handle this interview today because she wants to focus on the veterans," Maher said. "And by the way, one of these veterans, 30 years old, he was there for the Afghanistan pullout. For me, one of the most embarrassing moments for our country in our history. And after getting home, he was kicked out of this hotel trying to reintegrate back into our society."

Adams previously said the city will weigh "all options" to house asylum seekers as it grapples with housing potentially hundreds of migrants arriving each day, coinciding with the end of Title 42.

He has bussed the city's overflow of migrants into upstate New York against the wishes of city officials, as the fallout from the ending of the COVID-era policy continues.

#nunyas news

15 notes · View notes

bookgeekgrrl · 1 year

Text

My media this week (5-11 Mar 2023)

📚 STUFF I READ 📚

😊 The Home For The Holidays Job (aurora_atalanta) - 61K, Leverage OT3 AU inspired by that 'fake date' craigslist ad - Eliot-focused & cute

😊 Inside the River (yeaka) - 44K, Spirk, canon-divergent arranged marriage AU - loved the setup for this

😍👂‍The Return Of The King (The Lord of the Rings #3) (J.R.R. Tolkien, author; Andy Serkis, narrator) - I even did appendices A and B, with Andy reading it to me 😆

🥰 wanna hurt you just to hear you screaming my name (DotyTakeThisDown) - 57K, Steddie AU - Eddie's a professional Dungeon Master (of the kink kind) who takes Steve as a client - good stuff!

💖💖 +91K of shorter fic so shout out to these I really loved 💖💖

The difference between a poem and a love letter (thismomentintime) - Stranger Things: steddie, 5K - super adorable meet cute!

Mission Impossible (AggressiveWhenStartled) - MCU: shrunkyclunks, 20K - very funny

The Truth Shall Make Ye Fret (laiqualaurelote) - Ted Lasso: trent/ted, 20K - absolutely delightful post-s2 canon-divergent getting together fic

📺 STUFF I WATCHED 📺

Maine Cabin Masters - s7, e9

Schitt's Creek - all s1 & s2, e1-2

Ted Lasso - s1, e1-5

Hot Ones - Pedro Pascal

🎧 PODCASTS 🎧

ICYMI Plus - The Internet Hates Hogwarts Legacy

Into It - Are the Oscars Into Blockbusters?

Endless Thread - Return of the Aunties

The Atlas Obscura Podcast - Ouija Board 7-Eleven

Vibe Check - Everything Has Led to This

ICYMI Plus - The Internet Should Be Fun

⭐It's Been a Minute - Marilyn Monroe was more than just 'Blonde'

The Atlas Obscura Podcast - Big Apple Inn

⭐Switched on Pop - How John Denver got huge in Asia

The Sporkful - Should Fine Dining Exist?

Song Exploder - Kenny Beats "Still"

Ologies with Alie Ward - Detroitology (DETROIT) with Aaron Foley

The Atlas Obscura Podcast - The Dedan Kimathi Post Office Tree

99% Invisible #420 - The Lost Cities of Geo Redux

Into It - What If 'Top Gun: Maverick' Wins Best Picture? And Other Oscars Predictions

Endless Thread - Owl pursuits

The Atlas Obscura Podcast - More Wonders in Your Backyard

Richmond Til We Die: A Ted Lasso Podcast - Ted Lasso S2E12: You Gotta Follow Your Bliss, Right?

Our Opinions Are Correct - Episode 125: Silicon Valley vs. Science Fiction, Part I

You're Dead To Me - Vital Electricity

Off Menu - Ep 182: Joe Cornish

🎶 MUSIC 🎶

The Very Best Of Chicago (Only The Beginning) [Chicago]

Hair Metal Hedonists

Rob Zombie

Past Selves [Sub-Radio]

Heavy Industry

I ❤️ Heart

Iron, Wrath & Metal

The Essential John Denver [John Denver]

Presenting James Taylor

Godsmack

4 notes · View notes

chrisryanspeaks · 18 days

Text

Dehd Releases New Single 'Dog Days' from Upcoming Album 'Poetry' - Tour Dates Announced!

Just before launching their new album, Poetry, Dehd has released the lead single "Dog Days," which made its debut today on Zane Lowe's Apple Radio show. Rolling Stone highlighted this track as an "exhilarating opener" in a recent in-depth profile on the band, noting its captivating chorus that makes you want to grab your friends and shout along. The release of "Dog Days" is complemented by a music video, directed by the band's regular collaborator Glam Hag. The video features an intricate one-shot sequence in a vintage Honky Tonk bar, brilliantly reflecting the artistic vision of frontman Jason Balla for the song. Jason Balla shared his thoughts on the single, describing "Dog Days" as a tribute to life's chaos and the quest for companionship. He explained, "It’s about embracing vulnerability, experiencing rejection, and the complex dance of human relationships. This song is for those navigating the tumultuous journey of love, making mistakes, and living passionately. It's an anthem for those riding the same emotional rollercoaster." Following the album's release, Dehd will embark on a busy schedule, including a major North American festival run, appearances at radio shows during the summer, and a nine-city headline tour across Europe. They will then return to North America for an extensive tour, featuring a notable performance at Brooklyn Steel in New York City and wrapping up with two nights at Thalia Hall in Chicago. Tickets can be purchased at dehd.horse. You can listen to "Dog Days" now. Below, find more details about the tour and the album, and keep an eye out for more updates from Dehd. Upcoming Tour Dates Festivals: 5/26 - Napa Valley, CA @ BottleRock Music Festival 5/31 - Durham, NC @ Durham Bulls Athletic Park 6/1 - Northampton, MA @ Field Day Music Festival 7/27 - Portland, OR @ Project Pabst Festival UK/EU: 7/1 - Leeds, UK @ Brudenell Social Club 7/2 - London, UK @ Village Underground 7/4 - Werchter, BE @ Rock Werchter 7/5 - Cologne, DE @ MTC 7/6 - Amsterdam, NL @ Paradiso Tolhuistuin - IndieStad 7/7 - Kraggenburg, NL @ Wilde Weide 7/9 - Paris, FR @ La Maroquinerie 7/10 Biel, CH @ Pod'Ring 7/12 Berlin, DE @ Berghain Kantine North America: 8/10 - Green Lake, WI @ Avrom Farm Party 10/17 - Toronto, ON @ Lee’s Palace 10/18 - Montreal, QC @ Les Foufounes Électriques 10/19 - Boston, MA @ Brighton Music Hall 10/20 - Brooklyn, NY @ Brooklyn Steel 10/22 - Philadelphia, PA @ The Foundry @ The Filmore 10/23 - Washington, DC @ The Howard Theatre 10/25 - Atlanta, GA @ Terminal West 10/26 - New Orleans, LA @ Chickie Wah Wahs 10/27 - Houston, TX @ White Oak Music Hall 10/28 - Austin, TX @ Scoot Inn 10/31 - Phoenix, AZ @ Crescent Ballroom 11/1 - Los Angeles, CA @ The Belasco 11/5 - Vancouver, BC @ Rickshaw Theatre 11/6 - Seattle, WA @ The Neptune Theatre 11/8 - Salt Lake City, UT @ Urban Lounge 11/9 - Denver, CO @ The Oriental Theatre 11/11 - Minneapolis, MN @ Fine Line 11/12 - Chicago, IL @ Thalia Hall 11/13 - Chicago, IL @ Thalia Hall Read the full article

0 notes

audiofuzz · 18 days

Text

Dehd Releases New Single 'Dog Days' from Upcoming Album 'Poetry' - Tour Dates Announced!

0 notes

scifrey · 1 year

Text

Keepsakes: Postcards

Status: Ongoing Ficlet collection; unbeta’d

Series: the Hob Adherent series

Rating: Mature-ish.

Warnings: Discussions of death and the afterlife.

Relationships: Morpheus | Dream of the Endless/Hob Gadling, Eleanor | Hob Gadling’s Wife/Hob Gadling (past)

Characters: Hob Gadling, Harriet Butler

Set directly following Carpe Diem.

READ ON AO3 OR READ BELOW:

Postcards

Inspired by a comment from Yoon_joee.

"So, a sword in Buckingham's army, a bandit, a printer, a shipwright and then a merchant middleman for the dockyards, a knight, a beggar, investment broker--"

"Slaver," Hob interrupts Harriet as she counts off his professions on her fingers one slow, sunny afternoon at The New Inn. "Call the thing what it was."

"After which you were an MP and staunch abolitionist, a soldier again in America for the North, an industrialist and labor rights advocate, a yuppie and silicone valley early adopter--"

"Apple paid for most of this," Hob agrees, selecting a glass and checking it for water spots or lipstick stains.

"--and now a professor and publican. Am I missing any?"

“Oh!” Hob remembers as he pulls a pint for her. "And I was ruler of Hell."

She leans across the bar from her stool, and thwacks his arm. “Fuck off, you were not, you old liar,” Hari laughs.

“Was so!” Hob protests, setting her beer down in front of her. “Ask my husband. He was there. I was ruler of Hell for thirteen minutes and seventeen seconds on my six-hundred and sixty-sixth birthday.”

Hari raises a challenging eyebrow at Hob over her pint glass as she takes a sip. “I won’t believe a thing the Prince of Stories tells me,” she says decisively, when she sets the beer back down. “And I don’t believe you.”

Hob pulls a postcard from L.A. off the bar back, where it’s been pinned to a corkboard among a handful of invoices and shopping lists. This card depicts a cartoon devil drawn over a photo of the Hills, lounging on the iconic Hollywood sign. It says “Greetings from Sin City!” in bright yellow font.

Hob hands it to Hari to inspect. She flips it over. Her face grows drawn as her eyes flick over the handwritten note on the back.

“To my fellow former ruler of Hell; I opened a nightclub, just like you suggested. Visit me at LUX any time you’d like, Hobsie. xxx Lucifer Morningstar,” Hari reads in a voice that grows increasingly strangled.

She hands the card back to Hob with trembling fingers. Then she shotguns the rest of her pint.

“So hell is real, then,” Hari warbles, wiping a trace of foam from her fear-thinned lips.

Hob shrugs. “Everything is real. Humans create gods, not the other way around. If someone believes in it, it exists.”

Hari nods thoughtfully. “I suppose you would know, being married to a god.”

Hob chuckles and tugs his ear shyly. “Well, former god. Ish. And don’t worry, only people who believe they deserve to go to Hell actually do. It's all about self-punishment or self-fulfilling prophecy, or something. I try not to think to much about that Celestial stuff, to be honest with you. What happens after... well, after, isn't something I need to worry about.”

Hari nods again, and without asking, Hob refills her pint glass. He has a feeling she’s going to need it.

"But it is something I'm going to have to worry about," Hari says softly, accepting the drink with a nod.

Hob throws his head back and laughs.

PREVIOUS | NEXT

#The Hob Adherent Series #Hob Adherent #Cling Fast #Carpe Diem #Keepsakes #Dreamling #Dreamling fic #Dreamling Fanfic #The Sandman #Sandman #Sandman fic #Sandman Fanfic #hob gadling #hob x dream #dream x hob #Lord Morpheus #Lucifer #gaimanverse

9 notes · View notes

m58 · 1 month

Text

new work from David Wolf

Yielder

Yardage forgotten, solstitial fade, as I reimagine that old severing song leading me to polka right out of ballroom dance class. Ginsberg offered a spontaneous revision to one of my haiku. Sure.

Got a postcard from the Sandhills. Turned it into a found poem: “Everything’s fine and dandy. / Bought myself a mobile home. / Two bedrooms, living room, the works. / All worn out from digging a ditch / 5 feet by 25. / Fell into it last night in the dark. / Shit. / Write soon. / B.” To be clear, America is not my favorite summer movie (things passing in and out of the mind, mind passing in and out of things). Unfair work— that is, the empire—stretched right on through evensong.

With my in-laws, looking for their ancestors in an English graveyard, watching a young family load into their car, I thought of an idea for a short story. The title: “Writing is a Form of Discovery.” A man discovers he is not the moon, possessing, as he always has, a bad sense of chronology, a scratchy faith in kismet, an indifference to Keats’s “Bright Star,” and, like most, a pedestrian sense of oneness.

Again a general cry: the past eight hours! Thanksgivings (oh please!)! And lately? Just hanging at Cap d’Ail. Year’s end, more Googlism, mileage, meaning, lonely, lonely. Hey! The sublime’s fogging to blue, a distillation of roses, knowledge in review, grand allusions filling the French triptych smeared with tankas in drippy translation.

To wit, t’ tweet, to whom it may concern. Sing it. Bah, oui. Creative nonfiction followed me from Savannah to Charleston. Welcome (better late than . . .). On the cab ride to the Camelback Inn Resort and Spa, I spun for the cabbie my now forgotten Killarney Trilogy.

Words listing, I tried to remain upright, riffing another intro, a morning in May exercising fragments, good interpretations, a memoir of one autumn and its remembrance of faux horse sense. Please pass the cookies. Marvelous. And the vin ordinaire.

Echovox stew: meaning matters, before and after and back at you doling out Benjamins like comparisons trumping loosey-goosey, still projecting memories of the latest shooting in sonnet form, cutting across the OK panhandle in the paisley seashore rain, proverbs glowing red and gold in spring’s promising air. Must be the beans. Or Dad’s favorite golf balls bouncing around the interior of the old noodle. Pick up the pen and call it a poem, not an institutional rubric, filler like success, a testamental ambience, a selfie earnest as any treasury of emptiness, variation in the wind yapping. Zurpreeze!

A gathering erasure of firsts strewn along Hackney Pass. How to know precisely how the memo’s useless distraction fouls the pin’s fall into the bin. Tuppence for your thoughts? Well, just the sorry boom of ye olde avant-garde, a shouldering of pesky trite tropes.

Yarner

Turn out the artifacts of your imagination. Tea? illspreoogud. ; ; ature. Hark! Back to some steaming order? Crawling from my solarium to my data turret, I went in search of the nightmare’s measurable outcomes. train whistle blowing in thick fog, echoing up the river valley a third-tone higher, muted I read the critical introduction explaining what is going on in the work. I annotated the sunrise slipping across the page. I may be addressing you soon, fair thoughts for the fair, procedural sludge for the decimators. Feeling mixed, a bit of alachrymosity as I count the embedded chimes springing through June foliage. Waiting for that singular narrative to emerge, endlessly revisable, worthy of memory’s revisitation, I framed the present. Gathered some lavender and white phlox . . . and now on my sox I’ve got burrs that clingle-tangle-stingle. Cool it. Going nowhere. Like the apple that rolled a promising distance from the pear tree. Like the toss that sent it further, into the chaparral. Why the tire swing doubt? I’ll trust the pattern in the rope, the weave, the braid, the tale. Nascence tells me something is still quaking in the lost meadow on the cutting room floor. Eternity, I apologize for all the cuckoo figuration. Hastening to find some peace of mind, I’m up. Understandably sweaty. Maybe I’ll return to the fading climate of wonder. I watch the haze hang. Dry winter endurance, forgotten scratch. Imitation’s theatrics yawn. tree-trunk shadow—drooling a squirrel

Fabler At The Lucky Duck gastropub we see no duck on the menu but of course that’s why they call it The Lucky Duck—cheers! A fly lands on the page I am typing up, less obtrusive than my remembered cat. It will only take a wave of my hand to send the fly on its way. The shoe that was on the other foot has now dropped—after some effort. Brushed a croissant flake from my trouser leg— before a butter stain could set in. The sparkling lights of Nice at night across the bay have given way to the sparkling morning sea— as Black Sabbath’s “Hole in the Sky” plays in my head. Idling, we encounter the road ahead: three signals: red, yellow, flashing yellow: two directions down to one lane: no green. And now a motorbike speeding past that sounds like a weed whacker. through the canicular haze: snow-streaked Alps Got a jolly reprimand—got a real cheerful. Sapped of light and patience for the itch to resolve, we caught the coast lining through the haze and stupefying heat. The level sea, pine, palm, tourterelle, gull’s bark, diesel, rampart ruin— the tableau of morning offers a fine napkin to wipe away the dirt of ardor. “How are you today?” “Fine, can’t complain, no use complaining anyway, I mean, no one’s listening.” “Did you say something?” “I said—.” “Yes, I heard you. Just a little joke.” “Yes, a little one.” “Have a nice day.” “Another joke. ‘Nice day.’ You’re a funny one.”

Teller Love made me want to cry like a ladle dripping acid fog. Cold as . . . mice. Dead, test-rattled mice. Cat-rattled? No. Keep it human. Though once true at heart, the youthful enthusiasms felt now like distant fictions, delusions. Any gleam off the fossil, artificial. I begged the lily to shadow me through the highlands. The narrows of attachment proved easily cast. Harrowed to the last. I stand supplanted in the clearing, in the heraldry of sun and stone, a shiftless relic eked from aught. Guessing as always, I follow the lost eclogue balancing before nebulous ease. Rail, yaw, as we must. As the monuments rot in the pale rushes, the drafts of indolence dim the turn to inward solace. Supple revelry. Supplicatory. Applicable. Billable neglect. Needlework. The air bluffs composure, fleet as honey. The jewel found in the knapsack shines its naysayer’s music. Open, peony bud, we cannot help thinking. Quarried. Time upstages a whiff of Xanadu. What a wind. What a zeal-zoned moment. Late summer afternoon—an owl hooting— on the lookout for an early bird special? All leeward these leanings, roughing up the dimming afterglow, shed, deciduous as sanity. Levity enrages. Almost dawn. Time scuffs the overwrought you in youth. Apropos, out to pasture, no pie dish in the sky pooling rain either. Care insinuates an aperture, a tithing of effortless chirping. Comfort, oscillating most frivolously, outraged rhetoric’s tambourine. Zoning optics neutralized effervescence. What to expect. A dry field, mole mounds, stone cross stretched in pale grass, keep your eyes on your path, your way across, look out for dog shit. Do a little quickstep, quirkstep, quiet as the stardust in the blade, as sunlight on skin. It’s not a lack of this but of that that’s causing it. A lack of that but this. While this. You are busier than you think, which is why you forgot to finish reading that must-read. Must be it, must be the reason, you tell yourself as if you were two. In the flow of it. Dreams free of recent hauntings. Ghosts in the old family home just up the hill. Why did you buy a place so close? You weren’t thinking? Live for the swim beneath the cliffs, the trees. Live for many reasons. Now you are thinking.

We still have plenty of cereal for breakfast. No need to thaw the muffins just yet. If the manual says to hold the button for three seconds, that means three seconds, not a quick count of three. Evasive answers return in several layers of erasure. Unintended meaning of something you said occurring. Power just went out. It’s back. What was I saying? Hardy mums. The word. Took a chance, showered during the thunderstorm, had to. Made it quick. As fern thorns snagged an opening drape.

Closer Open up, said the season. In exchange for the word, I was sent on maneuvers with a love letter from Michigan in my pocket. After the great quarrel, abiding, wincing at the figure “damaged goods,” I penned a poem, an aubade of sorts. What could be done against it all?

Sunday overslept. Meanwhile legend after legend frayed like all the great love poems do, mid-August every year as we put off unpacking, thunderheads thirty miles east. Poems fizzled, frizzled then fizzled. Random gales delivered more origins to the sodden brain. “Indian Summer”?

Golly, hear that report? That’s not dialogue. You and your bear claw were such a sight. So much a live poem, and who needs to write it down, just take it in. Sure I get bored. What’s up tonight? We could start earlier to avoid the question. “Vinny, Vinny, Vinny,” I said, “no solution will redevelop lost spring trees in early leaf or my old Olivetti.” It’s like a hometown layover, a snapshot too brief to consider going home, coming back. A holiday beckoned, the glint of momentum missing from my morning inventory. Poems, some aphorisms, Venice—the lists can be endless. If you regard tourists as fantasizing emperor moths, you may gain some insight into the landfill of “civilization.” Lakeshore love song, glacial teardrop, help move us along to rest down by the river of sapience. Again we were foiled, which prompted me to say, losing all patience, “I ask you, is that your banana on the counter or is it the intersection of Hope and Wisdom, a lost zone demanding lidless ignorance?”

David Wolf is the author of six collections of poetry, Open Season, The Moment Forever, Sablier I, Sablier II, Visions (with artist David Richmond), and Weir (a micro-chapbook from Origami Poems Project). His work has appeared in numerous literary magazines and journals, including BlazeVOX, Cleaver Magazine, dadakuku, decomp, E·ratio, Indefinite Space, Lotus-eater Magazine, New York Quarterly, Otoliths, and River Styx Magazine. He is a professor emeritus of English at Simpson College and serves as the literary editor for Janus Head: Journal of Interdisciplinary Studies in Literature, Continental Philosophy, Phenomenological Psychology, and the Arts.

#poetry #m58

1 note · View note