#i hope every single one of you is chilling in the meadows enjoying a life free of writing-woes

[heartstringsduet]

Do you ever wonder about fandom writers who haven't posted in years? I seriously ache imagining something happened to them.

[thiswasinevitableid]

76. it’s my birthday and you just fucking ruined my party and I don’t even know you

Danbrey, sfw or nsfw, please!

Here you go! I went SFW on this one

“Wow, dude, this is so fancy.” Jake takes in the dining room of Yosemite Lodge, “look, napkins!”

“Jake, we have cloth napkins back home.” Dani smiles fondly; while she’s more interested in the location and the decor, she agrees with her brothers overall enthusiasm.

The rest of Amnesty Lodge, where Dani lives and works, pooled their resources to surprise her with a weekend trip to Yosemite for her twenty-fifth birthday. She would have been happy camping, but they even went to the trouble of booking rooms in the main lodge and scheduling her a birthday dinner in the restaurant that looks out onto the valley.

Mama whistles at the menu from her seat at the head of the table, “damn, this is a good lookin dinner.”

Dani picks up the single sheet of paper, the silver writing informing her the meal with consist of a summer salad, shrimp scampie, and a strawberry rhubarb tart for dessert. When she glances across the table, Barclay is smiling down into his water glass.

“Oh my god, did you request a specific menu just for me?”

Her friend nods, blushing a little, “Head chef is an old friend from my line cook days.”

“Aw, you guys.” She sips the fancy cider Barclay ordered for the table, “you didn’t have to do all this.”

“You ain’t had a real party in years; seemed time to fix that.” Mama’s about to say something else when the fire alarm blares through the room and a server asks that everyone please exit through the side doors into the courtyard.

“Probably just a false alarm.” Barclay leans against a decorative rock.

“Uh, dudes? I smell smoke.”

Dani cranes her neck, tracks the path of the curling smoke through the lights from the windows to the main meeting room on the bottom floor of the hotel. A woman about her age, dressed entirely in red and black with, “The Lady Flame” emblazoned on her sparkly jacket, is talking and gesturing rapidly with disgruntled staff.

Two minutes later, the same woman steps onto the lawn with a sheepish smile.

“Hi everyone! It’s safe to go back in now. I, um, there was a tiny accident with some flashpaper. I think. Anyway, point is, I’m super sorry and there’s no more fire so please come enjoy my show. Oh, but, um, we have to move to the dining room due to some, um, ash.”

Just as she says this, one of the servers whispers in Barclays ear.

“Fuck. Sorry gang, sounds like we gotta postpone until tomorrow; whatever party booked ms fireball over there is gonna take up the whole restaurant.”

Dani sighs, resigning herself to a night of vending machine dinner as they head back inside. Then a hand settles on her arm and she’s locking eyes with the person who just ruined her evening.

“Hey, I always ask the cutest girl in the audience to be my assistant for the next bit. Do you want to-”

She pulls her arm away, “Yeah, hard pass, I’m not in whatever group decided to book you. I’m the person who’s birthday is getting turfed for your party.”

The magician cringes, “EEsh, I’m so sorry, I’ll, um, I’ll just.” She steps back, eyes glued to her black boots. As Dani continues into the lodge, she swears she hears the same voice go, “aw beans.”

---------------------------------------------------------

The spring sunshine feels perfect, the breeze is gentle, and there are literal bluebirds calling around her. Dani feels like a dang disney princess as she naps on a rock near one of the meadows.

Something--a chipmunk, she assumes--munches the grass below her.

“Dr Harris Bonkers, no! This is a national park and I’m not letting my only son go to jail for vandalism.”

Dani rolls onto her side in time to see the magician from last night scooping a massive, orange rabbit from the ground. When she straightens enough to notice she’s not alone, the woman freezes.

“Um. Hi. Again.”

“Hi.” Not feeling like rehashing last night, she studies the rabbit, “should he really be running around out here?”

“Not even remotely. He was supposed to stay in my room, but he gnawed his way out of his carrier, hopped onto the windowsill, and decided to bounce when he saw all the plants out here.” She cautiously sits on the edge of the rock, rabbit in her lap, “I really am sorry about last night. I never used to have problems during my shows, but lately it’s like my flashpaper has a freaking mind of its own. I was kinda hoping it wouldn’t screw with anybody’s plans but mine.”

“It’s fine.” Dani shrugs, “we’re just going to do a dinner re-do tonight.”

The woman bites a matte black lip, “Could I, um, make it up to you?”

“How?”

“Well, it’s your birthday, right? You’re supposed to spend your birthday doing things you like, so I could, like, keep you company while you do them?”

It would be nice to have a hiking buddy. Mama is taking a well-deserved nap, Barclay is off for a swim, and Jake found some rock climbers to hang with. And while the Lady Flame looked good last night, today she’s downright gorgeous. The dyed-red streaks in her curly, black hair, the freckles, black shorts that make her butt look incredible, all of it adds up to someone Dani wouldn’t mind spending the day with.

“Do you have shoes you can hike in?”

She kicks up one leg, showing off her Doc Martens, “I once walked five miles in these with no problems.”

“Great. Let’s get the doctor” she rubs the rabbit’s ears, “somewhere safe and get on the trail.”

--------------------------------------------

The hike’s only three and a half miles, but it’s taking them a long time to complete it. Not because they’re slow, but because Aubrey (as the Lady Flame calls herself) keeps stopping to look at or point out any interesting thing that catches her eye. It’s adorable.

Dani likes when she points out plants, because then she can show off a little.

“Dang, you really know your plants.” Aubrey stoops to take a picture of some Scarlet Monkeyflower.

“I run the teaching garden out back of the Lodge. Uh, Amnesty Lodge, where I live, not this one.”

“Coooool. I keep thinking about making Dr. Harris Boners a little garden when I finally find a place to stay put for awhile, but everything is always about how to keep bunnies out of your garden.”

“I mean, they can really trash it if you’re not careful.”

“I believe it, Dr. Harris Bonkers can take out a whole patch of rug in, like, ten minutes.”

“Herbs would probably be okay, clover too. I guess it depends on how much space you have.”

“Probably not much” Aubrey holds out a hand to help her across a creek, “traveling magicians don’t make much.”

Their talk turns to Aubrey’s life on the road, and her various misadventures trying to transport a fifteen pound rabbit on public transit. When they reach the waterfall that marks the trails end, they slip off their shoes and socks to dip their feet in the nearby pond, shoulders touching as they compare notes on growing up in sometimes stressful family situations.

It’s well after lunchtime when they get back, so they sit in the meadow and split a bag of chips, shooing away several overly ambitious squirrels. Mama joins them for a bit, and Dani smiles when she notices how quickly the older woman takes to Aubrey. Mama can never turn down a stray.

Dani’s already scheming for how to spend the last day of her vacation with Aubrey when the magician turns down her invitation to dinner. She’s a little disappointed, but Aubrey promises she’ll see her later.

Her birthday dinner redux is halfway into its second course when the lights at the front of the room brighten and the ones above her dim.

“And now, as an added, surprise treat for this evening's meal, the magnificent Lady Flame is here to dazzle you all with her astounding feats of magic!” The server at the edge of the room gives a thumbs up and Aubrey bounds into view, smile glittering brighter than her outfit.

To Dani’s delight, Aubrey is an amazing magician; her tricks are interesting, her patter is the same funny, energetic pace that their conversations were this afternoon, and her assistant is adorable. When she declares she needs a volunteer for her next trick, she’s holding her hand out to Dani before anyone else can raise theirs.

The trick turns out to be picking cards and showing them to the audience, though Dani notices Aubrey devotes as much sleight of hand to brushing their fingers together as she does to her act.

“And now, esteemed audience, I will produce a flower from my lovely assistant's hair!”

Dani smiles, then claps along with everyone else as Aubrey produces a spring of Larkspur from thin air. Literally, Dani cannot for the life of her tell where she was hiding it. Or how she was able to get what Dani said was her favorite flower on such short notice.

Aubrey finishes up her act (and doesn’t set anything on fire) to thunderous applause, and Dani spots Mama leaning over to whisper something to Barclay, who nods thoughtfully. It’s only after the magician has taken her last bow that Dani has a horrible realization; Aubrey went to all that trouble to make her birthday dinner memorable, and she didn’t get to eat any of it.

Her white sandals sink into the carpet as she carries a plate down to Aubrey’s room. When her new friend opens the door, she��s between worlds; sparkly jacket on top, red pajama pants on the bottom.

“I brought you some cake. Or, uh, I guess it’s a tart.” She holds out the plate and Aubrey takes it, cheeks going pink, “since you didn’t get the rest of the dinner.”

“Thanks” Aubrey steps back so Dani can join her in the room, “it’s chill that I didn’t get to join you all; I wanted to make up for ruining your dinner last night.”

“You already did way more than that. Aubrey, this was the nicest day I’ve had in months, and most of that is because I got to spend it with you.”

“I dunno, feel weird getting cake from a thing I crashed.” Aubrey is fidgeting with her bracelets, blushing harder every time she looks up and finds Dani still smiling at her.

“Can I give you something else instead?” Dani takes a half-step forward.

“Sure! What-” Aubrey’s words fade into a little sigh as Dani wraps her arms over her shoulders. Then her back bumps into the nightstand as Aubrey throws herself into a kiss.

“Hey” Dani teases, nibbling her ear as Aubrey holds her tighter, “you messed up my big reveal.”

“Aw dang, guess I’ll have to make it up to you.” Aubrey slips her hands down to the small of her back, “how does even more making out sound?”

Dani pulls her towards the bed, heart buzzing with warmth at the sight of her smile and the touch of her hands, “like the best birthday gift ever.”

[falcor-thee-luck-dragon]

Love Cuts Deep

Chapter 11- Fond Memories

Summary: It’s just a memory, but it’s a good one.

Warning: fluff, smut ur welcome

Masterlist

June 21, 2016 - Bucharest, Romania

Wandering down the crowded streets of Bucharest, your eyes casually survey the surrounding area until they land on a little news cart holding the latest universal gossip that may spark a possible interest in the random civilian, among other things.

It’s hot out on this fine summers day, so all you carry on your person is your usual travel boots, black jeans, and a tank top to show off those guns of yours that Bucky loves so much. In your right hand is a plastic grocery bag hung loosely in your fingers, filled with two oranges and a cold lemonade, Bucky’s request. Though it’s slowly losing its chill from the afternoon heat.

As of recently you’ve become the designated grocery store adventurer since it’s the middle of summer and Bucky’s usual attire is to wear pants and a long sleeved shirt with gloves because of well, his arm. And since he doesn’t want to feel too out of place, also considering he’s incredibly cautious about where he shows off his metal appendage. You handle business on the streets, which today happens to be getting some fruit and a cold beverage back home to your man.

Though you’re admittedly a bit distracted by the local newspapers seated comfortably on their propped up stand. Soon you’re at the young teens cart, eyeing up the paper with curious eyes, “Hello miss.” Greets the boy in Romanian as you give a nod in acknowledgment, “That was sure something that happened in Sokovia huh, people still talking about it even now...glad I don’t live there. But uh, I guess the Avengers saved the day, well, most of it I think.”

“No doubt they probably helped cause it.” You add bitterly, eyes scanning over the heroic faces of Ironman and Captain America as they stand with great pose and purpose on the front magazine. Heroes? What a bunch of bullshit and flashy images underlying the darker truth to these people. These so called saviors.

If they truly cared, if real heroes actually gave a shit besides attempting to clean up their own messes, Hydra would be completely eradicated from the face of the earth and trafficking rings wouldn’t exist. But here we are.

“Uh, you wanna buy a paper?” Asks the young boy, smiling a shy yet hopeful grin. 

I’d rather get stabbed, you think.

“No thanks, just here to look.” You add bluntly before turning on your heel and walking away, sauntering down the street as more people pass by you on your way to the apartment complex just over the next block. In no time have you reached the building, heading up the long flight of stairs before at long last do you stop at the front door.

Your relationship with Bucky is still relatively new, so you don’t want to startle him by just bursting in, so instead do you knock a couple times to gather is attention. Hopefully he’s not snoozing again. Taking a step back, you can hear shuffling from the other side before he reaches the door. You smile, knowing he can see you through the peep hole, “I got lemonade.” You add, holding up the bag as he unlocks the door, opening it up a crack before cautiously glancing to either side of you.

Realizing the coast is most certainly clear, Bucky opens the door fully to reveal nothing more then some grey sweatpants and a loose sleeveless black t-shirt hung perfectly against his body, amplifying his beefy muscles that not only could crush a man but can most definitely get you feeling all sorts of ways when used appropriately.

“Yes, get in here Y/N.” Urges Bucky with a humored smile and a small wave as you quickly wander in past him before setting your bag on the far counter near the sink.

Taking the decently cool beverage out, you turn around to face Bucky, who’s standing semi-awkwardly out in the open. A small dust of pink covers his stubbled cheeks as you take him all in. It’s not like you haven’t seen him bare ass naked before, it’s just, he feels comfortable enough to let his guard down with you and that's somethings he’s never truly ever felt before. He gets a little shy sometimes, so what?

“They finally had it. So I snatched this beautiful bitch the second my eyes landed on her. Hope it soothes all your troubles away and sends you on a spiritual journey through the meadows of....uh, wherever this place is from.” You mutter, trying to figure out how to pronounce the name of the company as he walks over to you; giving up on that curiosity, you decide to hand Bucky the drink instead, “Yeah, whatever I hope it tastes good.”

He gratefully accepts, “Thanks Y/N, you’re the best. Seriously.” Praises Bucky as he twists the lid off and takes a drink, face appearing to rather enjoy it as he proceeds to down the whole 8oz sugary bittersweet contents right before your vary eyes.

Well, he certainly wasn’t lying.

He finally pulls the bottle from his wet lips, taking a deep breath as you raise a brow at him, “I’m gonna take that as you finding nothing wrong with it whatsoever.” Licking the sweet wetness from his pink lips, Bucky chuckles before shrugging.

“I haven’t had lemonade since the 40’s so even if it was actually kinda bitter, I don’t think I would have noticed.”

“Damn. That long?” You question as he nods, “Fuck those assholes,” You growl, taking a step closer to Bucky so that he can pull you into his arms as you raise your head to greet him, “now they can never keep you from such rare pleasures ever again.”

Bucky reveals a beautiful white toothed smile, thick arms holding you close as he presses his forehead to yours, “And what would you do if they did?”

Running your hands up and down his muscular back, you gently place a sweet kiss against his plush lips, “I’d fucking gut every single one of them until you’re safe with me, drinking all the lemonade you could ask for.” He chuckles lightly before pressing his lips against yours once again, the taste of sugary lemonade reaching your tongue as he lets you explore his mouth a bit, Bucky doing the same with you.

Hands feeling your enticing vessel up as he takes in everything about you that he could possibly get from this positioning with you wrapped up in his arms, you fully enjoy this wonderful moment with your sweet man. Somedays he gets all cold and withdrawn, nightmares seeping into his scarred mind that pull forth dark memories back out into the open.

He’ll wake up next to you in a cold sweat, breathing heavily as he quickly scans the small apartment for any signs of possible danger threatening himself or even your own life. Then for the rest of the day he’ll stay considerably more quiet then usual, agitated with himself and the general world, though he’s never short with you when he gets like this. You hate to see him when he’s like that, frustrated, distant, and in a low pit of despair from everything Hydra put him through.

But he never once has lashed out at you when he’s having a rough day, he’s well aware how Hydra has toyed with your head and pulled the strings time and time again before you broke from their inky black tentacles. He knows you understand how he feels, and he knows how your mental and physical resilience has aided in your self healing from the trauma they’ve given you.

Although for Bucky, he’s still marked from deep within, everything they’ve ever burned into his brain is still there. Just below the surface. All the memories, all the commands, all the deaths, everything they imprinted on him still clings to him like an unrelenting demon.

But the days when he’s more soft and clingy appear to claim Bucky the most, and those days are your absolute favorite. Sure his handsome face still reveals a bit of that usual Bucky darkness that gives his eyes a tinge of roughed beauty, something that admittedly draws you in even further.

He’ll choose to speak with you on his own accord, tease you if he’s in the mood, and hold a part of your body that intrigues him the most for that length of time. He gravitates in your direction when he’s having a good day, seeking out your attention in any way conceivable and making it an absolute necessary goal of his to give you as much loving as he possibly can try in a single hour.

You love days like this, you love feeling wanted and appreciated for your very existence when so many would rather see you dead. You love having those big beautiful blues studying every single curve, muscle, and blemish on your skin like a student to their books. He practically drinks you in, making it his mission to hold you close and speak sweet nothings that will be remembered for a hundred years more.

So when you have to leave for supplies or pay the rent, Bucky feels like a lonely and lost old house cat with nothing to do all day except wait as patiently as he can until you arrive home safe and sound. He obviously doesn’t slip this to you about how he feels when you must vacate the premise and venture out into the unknown for however long it takes.

But you know, if it wasn’t already evident on his face when you greet him after such travels. The way his face lights up in excitement and relief once he finally sees you, the telltale crinkle in the corner of his eyes, and the way that his lips pull into a positive grin that could make you swoon in an instant.

You could absolutely just about die happy, you’ve never been more catered to and loved on in your entire life since you’ve started living with Bucky in Romania, well, since your once fragile relationship took a turn for the best. Resulting in whatever beautiful thing you two have going on now, though neither of you have outwardly labeled your growing relationship.

It’s more so an unspoken thing that’s adherently mutual, the both of you clearly understanding this isn’t some friends with benefits type shit. Oh no, definitely far from that. So what you have with Bucky right now is something so deeply special and bound by so much more then physical love and personal feelings.

You two have lived a past like no other, survived like beasts of war for masters who threw the command and controlled the reigns. Fought together, bled together, and kept imprisoned by Hydra together. Your pasts are blooded and heavy, but it’s only worked to make your relationship stronger. And perhaps that’s the only positive of what those fuckers did to you, without them, you’d never have met the Winter Soldier.

Without them, you’d never have lived this long to find Bucky Barnes, never have been given the opportunity to see him for all that he’s worth. And to you, he’s worth more then all the stars in the sky.

Your lover kisses your lips once more as you smile into the soft embrace, causing him to laugh as you pull away, “What’s so funny?” Wonders Bucky, revealing his own beautiful smile that could light up the darkest room.

Raising your hands to gently touch the sides of his stubbled cheeks, you give him a small peck, “You taste like lemons.” You muse.

“Oh, is that good then?” He asks, brow raised as you give him another quick kiss in reply before he smiles a lovestruck grin back down at you, “I think I’ll take that as a yes.”

You smile brightly before tugging on a lock of his dark shoulder length hair, “You plan on turning into the wolfman soon? It’s touching your shoulders now.”

Bucky side eyes your fingers laced through his admittedly long hair, “I guess......maybe it needs a little cut.” He begrudgingly admits, “But only a little cut, okay. Not a lot.” Worries your sweet man as you let go of his dark mane to pull away from his muscular vessel.

Hands outward and forming the shape of a square as you size him up for a photographic image sent directly into your brain, “Yeah. I can work with this, you got the looks. The face, very nice. Body, oh dear lord is it fine. Mhmm hmm, and that hair? Absolutely glorious, a lot of volume, shiny, good bounce to it....oh yeah I can work with this...”

“Are you done?” Chuckles Bucky as you drop your hands to your thighs.

“What? I was just pretending to be your photographer, was I not convincing enough?”

“Well..”

You take a step forward, gently touching the bottom of his chin before making a cheeky face and turning to wander towards the bathroom, Bucky slowly following your lead in curiosity as you explain, “I’ll have you know Barnes, I once convinced some high end Bulgarian official that I was actually a Russian princess in hiding. He believed it too.” You mutter while rummaging through the drawers under the bathroom sink. Bucky leaning against the doorway as he watches you intently.

“Honestly, it was rather pathetic too. Old fucker was so drunk I could have told him I was a pixie from the realm of toxic waste baskets and he would have believed me.” You add, searching for wherever the fucking scissors went, “Of course his idiot companions were none the wiser and I got the intel I needed out of him. How you ask?” Grabbing the silver coated utensil from out of the drawer, you rise to your full height.

Cutting the air, you throw him a wink as you move to wander past him, “That information is top secret. But let’s just say he never made it back to his friends.” You smirk, setting the scissors on the small center table before snatching the tiny plastic trash can and taking it with you over to the table once again.

Bucky watches as you pull the two chairs to face opposite of one another, placing the trash can in the center of the two wooden seats as you bring your bum down on to the flat chair. “Now sit. This may get messy.”

Bucky snorts, moving to do just that, “I don’t wanna see any blood, Y/N. I know how you are with sharp objects.” Jokes your man with a telling smirk as you simply roll your eyes before pulling your right leg up, leaning it against your left thigh as you begin unlacing your boots. “Whatcha doing there Y/N?”

Tugging on the sides of your boots to loosen them up, you throw him a side glance, “Getting comfortable.”

Bucky nods, “Of course. This is serious business.”

You chuckle, pulling off your boot and throwing it to the side before exchanging your one leg for the other, “Gives you more time to check me out.”

Biting his bottom lip, Bucky leans his metal elbow against the table as he shamelessly watches you do your thing, “Well, no.....I wasn’t doing that, definitely not....but uh, I like your socks. Very interesting choice.” Points Bucky while you toss your other boot to the floor with a small thud. Shaking your head while Bucky makes fun of your current socks that reach above your ankles, a multitude of cartoon rainbow kittens dancing all about with a solid grey background. One tiny worn down hole showing some skin on the back of your heel that would most likely have blistered by now if not for your healing capabilities.

“Huh? Oh, these fuckers?” You snicker, sticking one foot close to his face as he leans back to avoid your teasing, “Fought them off a homeless guy in the park.”

Bucky makes a humored expression ranging between slight disgust and great amusement at your theatrical antics, reaching his flesh hand out to catch your ankle before you can smack him with your extremity. “I’m sure you kicked his ass.”

Setting your foot down, you nod, “Oh I did, you should have seen it, I’m sure you could have learned a thing or two.”

“Okay.” Mutters Bucky sarcastically whilst rolling his eyes, “At least I’m not the one in the care-bear socks.”

You raise a brow at him, legitimately impressed by this reference, “I’m surprised you even know what that is.” You tease before sticking your one foot out and pointing both hands in its general direction, “These. Are cat socks for your information....but no one ever said pretty people were smart so I won’t hold it against you.”

“Ouch.” Laughs Bucky, “Take a look in the mirror hot stuff.”

Smacking his metal arm, you pick up the scissors, “Okay smartass now I’m going to give you a weird haircut for that one.”

“I said you were hot.” Protests Bucky with a laugh as you slice the scissors in the air menacingly, “Forgive me.”

“You implied I was lacking in smarts so now you’re getting a shitty haircut you dumbfuck, come here you coward!” Bucky leans backwards towards the table as you press your freehand on his chest, your other hand held upwards by Bucky’s metal fist as you practically lean your whole body against his. Scissors snapping in the air as he attempts to restrain you.

“Y/N! I’m sorry please don’t cut my hair weird I’ll never leave the apartment again.” He pleads through amused giggles as you playfully let him keep you from doing any sort of damage to his beautiful dark locks.

“You don’t leave the apartment to begin with!”

“That’s true but still!”

“Let me go and I will be nice about it.” You reason, “I promise.” Bucky gives you a half nervous glance before letting go of your wrist, smiling down at him, you slide off his body before seating yourself back down again. “See, not so hard. Now take your shirt off and turn around.”

Bucky’s brows raise instantly while he breaks out into a suggestive grin, “Y/N, that’s kinky.”

Rolling your eyes, you bite your bottom lip to keep from giving him the satisfaction of a genuine smile, “Do it or I’ll hurt you, and not how you like it.” Bucky snorts as you break out into a smile, “Come on muscles I wanna see some skin.”

“Is this really necessary?” Wonders Bucky as he grasps the bottom of his shirt.

“Yes.” You reply, watching as he removes his tank top with ease before setting it atop the cold surface of the table, “It’s so you don’t get hair all over your shirt Barnes, and don’t say it’s not a big deal cause I know you’ll get itchy.”

“Whatever. Just don’t cut me.” Grumbles Bucky as he shifts around in his chair so that you have a clear view of the back of his head and all that glorious hair just screaming to be snipped to perfection. “Seriously be careful.”

Scooting your chair closer so that your legs are parted for a better angle, you semi-roughly tug down on his dark locks causing the super soldier to grunt in pain, “Y/N!” Grumbles Bucky through clenched teeth, “What the hell?” He whines as you chuckle mischievously from behind him.

“Oh shut it you big baby, I know what I’m doing.” Bucky’s mouth opens to protest, but before he’s able to throw something witty at you to counter your sass, you’ve made a loud snip snip sound with the scissors.

“Careful.” Worries Bucky as you hold a chunk of his hair before letting the utensil slice right through the brown follicles like a knife through some soft chocolate cake. Soon more and more tuffs of discarded hair fall into the wastebasket as you work around the back of his head. He doesn’t say a word the whole time as you skillfully cut your way to a half-descent haircut.

After a good five minutes, you lean back to examine your work, “Okay, looking good.”

“Can I see.”

“No.” You deadpan with a small chuckle before pressing the handle of the scissors to his bare back, “Turn around wolfman I need to do the front.”

Sighing, Bucky shifts, turning around to finally face you. Both your legs staggered side by side now as he looks into your eyes like a beaten down puppy, “Oh don’t look at me like that Barnes. Your torture session is almost over.” You add before kissing your fingers and pressing them against his lips for a brief second of silent affection.

Bucky cracks a handsome grin while your left hand messes up his long bangs, “Must you do that too.” Complains your grumbly lover in annoyance as you slice some areas near his face. “Yep. I’m not cutting all of it, I’m just giving your eyes some trim to see. Bucky you’ve been putting your hair up in buns for a week now.”

“Okay fine.”

“I mean, I like it. But you need a cut, I miss seeing your pretty face.” Bucky closes his eyes as you make quick work of his hair, deciding it best to just keep his thoughts to himself and let you do your masterful work, hopefully resulting in a decent job well done.

Soon he hears one last snip before you dramatically gasp causing his eyes to shoot open, “What did you do!?” Worries Bucky as you start smiling like an idiot.

“Oh my...ha, you look so good!” You affirm with an excited squeak of joy, setting the scissors down on the table before reaching your hands out to dive your fingers through his soft mane like an excited child petting a furry cat for the first time.

Bucky’s hands wrap around your forearms as he smiles, “Okay, okay, Y/N...” Starts Bucky as you take your hands and gently push his hair back to see his handsome face.

“Why, hello there Mr. Barnes.” You slyly jest as he studies your smirking face, “Don’t you just look absolutely dashing.”

“Am I free to look now?” Implores your lover with a shy smile as he rests his hands to either one of your thighs, squeezing lightly while you nod. “Go for it.”

He lets go, getting up from the chair to saunter on into the bathroom to observe your skilled work as a terribly underpaid hairdresser. In the meantime, you’ve cleaned off the few stray hairs coating the table and dumped them in the small trash can. Setting the chairs back into their normal positioning as you place the trash back in it’s usual spot by the window.

A mischievous grin coating your features as you stand causally by the fridge, awaiting Bucky who soon walks out of the bathroom. Smile on his beautiful features before his face falls into a confused yet oddly amused expression. “Y/N what are you doing? You look like Hitler.”

“What? No I don’t!” You protest, removing Bucky’s discarded lock of hair from your upper lip and tossing it in the trash, “Well you look.....uh, you look like uh.....I don’t know. You look really hot, I’m kind of distracted not gonna lie.”

Bucky smiles, cheeks dusting a light pink color as he walks closer to you. Noticeably still lacking an actual shirt which is doing wonders to your swirling thoughts that are turning a bit dirty, and those grey sweatpants? Hanging dangerously low on his beautiful body, you can see his famous V line in your peripheral vision as you strain to keep your eyes locked with his.

Oh he is challenging you big time.

Bucky, too observant for his own good, takes the hint that you’re starting to get a little hot and bothered with him looking like that all shirtless in the room and whatnot. Fresh haircut, low pants, and nothing better to do on this fine summer evening.

He raises an intrigued brow, “I know that look.” Muses Bucky with a knowing devilish grin as you shake your head at him, eyes darting to the newspaper covered window. You hate getting caught.

“Nope. What would make you think I’m thinking of...of, whatever you’re thinking. Alright listen, my mind is all pure and good up in here...so I, I have no idea whatever the fuck you’re talking about.” Bucky chuckles, chest rising in little spurts as he humors you, taking a couple more steps closer as you bite your lip in anticipation. Shit, he’s got you right where he wants you.

Ever so gently does five metal fingers reach up to caress the side of your cheek, trailing sweet icy lines down to your chin as his bare chest presses sweetly against your clothed breasts. Flesh hand holding your lower back, pressing you into him, “Y/N.” Whispers Bucky, sounding more like a genuine question as he tilts his head to the side, “What’r you thinking of?”

Pursing your lips together to keep from revealing a full grin to give him that proud satisfaction of turning you on without much effort, you raise a brow, free hand reaching downwards to gently palm him through his sweats that are indeed beginning to tent.

“Hmm. Guess I got you too, and all I did was stand here.” You proudly conclude, slipping a hand into his pants as you trail your fingers up and down his hardening length, causing Bucky to groan in arousal at your playful teasing. “Fuck me I could listen to that voice for a thousand years and never get tired of hearing you moan Buck.”

Bucky grabs your hand currently exploring his neither regions, pulling it out as he takes both your hands with his, face leaning in real close to yours, “I was not moaning.” He confirms with a sly grin, “This...is a moan.” And a second later he’s pressing his flesh digits into your clothed heat, rubbing your growing arousal with the pads of his skilled fingers as your face shifts with pleasure.

“oh.” Softly escapes from your parted lips, the sound coming out as more of a breathy gasp of air then anything really comprehensible.

Soon a large grin has found its way onto your flushed features, “You bastard.” Bucky chuckles at your less then heated curse given freely to him before removing his fingers from their pleasurable assault on your sensitive area that’s calling for some real attention, you kiss him again before muttering, “Come on Barnes....”

His lips dance in time with yours as he keeps you from speaking anything otherwise witty back at him, flesh and metal hand trailing up your body until they find the lower rim of your tank top. He pulls the material upwards, breaking the kiss for but a swift moment to let the fabric completely slide right off of your body and onto the floor below.

Lips on yours in an instant as his nimble fingers skillfully unclasp your bra, you’d have praised him for the semi-troublesome work if not for the fact that he’s now using those talented hands of his to knead your naked breasts like the most valuable and sweetest dough in all the land. Touching them with the tenderness of a skilled lover who knows just how to get his lady feeling all sorts of good.

Trailing your digits up and down his bare back, you shift your face to the side so he can keep stealing away more kisses while you try and form a sentence, “Buck...mhmm....mmmm.....Bucky, I need you, mhmm, I need you in me...right, right now.” You mutter in between moans while Bucky’s hardness rubs through his sweatpants and onto your thighs.

His hands trail up to gather the sides of your face in his palms, lips finally parting from yours as his beautiful blues gaze lovingly into your blissful expression, “I think that’s a fantastic idea Y/N. Now if you could lay on this table so I can take your pants off that’d be great.” Softly adds Bucky as you quickly steal a kiss in reply before scooting yourself upon the wooden table.

Leaning your body back as he quickly removes the clothing from your lower half, underwear sliding off next to leave you in nothing but your wit and will, and naked everything. His lust filled eyes trail hungrily down from your protruding breasts to your soaked neither regions hot and ready for his willing member.

“Enough drooling over me Barnes, I wanna see what you’ve got.” He chuckles at getting so easily caught; listening to your inquisition, he swiftly removes those annoying grey sweatpants before slipping off the tight boxers with ease.

Your eyes widen in excitement at the hardened length dripping in precum, his king jewels swollen and ready to send you into a world of wonders soon enough.

Bucky, noticing how your eyes swirl with hunger, takes a step forward, placing his hand on your knee, “This angles kinda weird so...can you turn around?” Asks the super soldier apprehensively, you two have never done it this way before. It’s pretty tame all things considered, but it’s something you’re more than willing to try.

You nod with a mischievous grin, “That’s a little kinky.” 

Bucky rolls his eyes, snorting with laughter nonetheless, “Why are you..never mind.” Muses your lover while you swiftly scoot your naked bum off of the table before kissing his cheek and turning around. Laying your stomach against the warmed surface of the wood as you bend over for Bucky to begin his godly work.

Soon his hands are feeling up your beautiful bum before wandering to your sides, “This good? Are you comfortable like this, just tell me if we need the bed instead and I can..”

“Bucky just fuck me.” You quickly interrupt, pushing your ass against his member that’s quite literally poking provocatively at your naked cheeks. “Yeah, okay, right on that.” Replies your man as he holds your left hip in place, flesh hand steadying his cock as he approaches your slick folds.

You can’t see him from this angle, relying on sounds and feel alone; you’re soon pleasantly relieved of the lack of contact when his manhood finally touches the surface of your two mounds before Bucky pushes himself into you.

Spreading you wide open and bare unto him as his length slides completely into your dripping core that’s heated and buzzing with your arousal. He feels good, really good. The slight discomfort gone in an instant as you quickly adjust perfectly in tune with his fullness and girth that stretches your walls so beautifully.

Bucky lets out a pleasant sigh before gently squeezing your hips, “Y/N are you good?” Wonders your sweet man, balls deep inside you but still making it important that you’re feeling as fantastic as him. How considerate.

With one hand gripping the far edge of the table and the other one thrown back to smack affectionately against his hip, you nod while face is pressed against the flat wood, “So good Buck....so good.” You mutter happily.

Taking this as a positive sign, Bucky smiles joyously before pulling a good ways out of you and thrusting himself back in again. Replicating this wondrous action for a good thirty more seconds as he draws your vessel into a new plane of pleasure with each fantastical stroke.

You’re left with soft moans reaching Bucky’s ears while the poor table attempts to keep in its place as Bucky thrusts full force into you over and over again, the legs of wood scraping against the flooring with each pump into your core. Grunting with effort not gone unnoticed by you in the slightest.

Nothing in the small apartment is heard except for the familiar skin on skin contact associated with this or any type of lovemaking, though right now, this angle, and those beautiful groans dripping off of his tongue sets this scene as more of a good fucking between the two of you if you’re being completely honest here.

Bucky’s cock pulses and twitches in excitement as he pulls in and out of you, hands tightly gripping the sides of your hips enough to bruise when all is said and done, luckily for you, quick healing is one of your attributes. Paying no mind the dull ache of his fingers against your flesh, you grip the edge of the table as the titular coil of growing pleasure begins its usual act upon your womanhood.

Bucky’s relentless, pushing himself into you just right with that delicious cock of his, sliding in and out of your slick walls as he works his magic. “oh God Buck...” You moan in absolute bliss, brows raising upwards at the growing sensation building up into your persistent climax.

He smiles to himself, proud of his fruitful efforts to turn you into a moaning mess underneath him, soon he’s picking up the pace with vigor and palpable stamina that you’re all to willing to match. “Buck....oh fu...fuck, I’m so-I’m so close....mhmm..” He slams into you harder now, causing the table to slide across the floor as he continues his pleasurable assault on your core that’s bringing you quickly to the edge of paradise.

“Ah shit.” Mumbles Bucky, realizing this current positioning is messing up his groove since this damn table keeps annoyingly moving in time with his thrusts. A second later his metal arm his lifting your stomach upwards, body to much of a mess to protest, you’re soon pleasantly surprised when your naked back falls flush against his sweaty toned torso as he holds you close.

His metallic hand slides up to hold you in between your breasts as his flesh hand trails down your body until it finds your sensitive bud, Bucky’s skilled fingers rub deliciously against the swollen flesh as he thrusts up into you vigorously. You suppress a whiny moan as your one hand grips tightly onto his forearm holding you to his body. While your other hand reaches up to take a fistful of hair as his head drapes over the side of your shoulder, plush lips planting wet kisses all along your heated skin.

“Mhmm you taste so good.” Praises Bucky as he licks your naked flesh before gently biting down playfully, leaving more love marks as he continues to play with your clit as the coil inside you threatens to unwind.

“Buck, I-I can’t...I’m gonna...” Bucky listens as you begin mumbling incoherent Russian when your orgasm finally hits you full force now, your warm walls tightening around his cock as you emit a plethora of loud moans. Tugging on his hair as he smiles against your skin for the work he’s done.

Your fingers quickly slip from his thick dark locks as you fight to keep your legs from giving out at the intense rush of pleasure flowing through your vessel as Bucky’s fingers spell circles on your sensitive bud. You’re soon getting overstimulated when suddenly he pulls his hand to wrap around your stomach as he finally cums inside you.

The beautiful sounds of Bucky’s low groans and moans filling your ears as he spills himself up into you, cock twitching as he releases it all. The feeling of his cum rushing into your hot center never fails to turn you weak, especially when his body shakes with pleasure as he subconsciously holds you closer while riding out his orgasm.

He thrusts into you a couple more times just to feel it through as he unknowingly sparks more electricity into your already fucked out core that’s now dripping with not only your natural arousal but his hot liquid. Bucky’s head falls into the crook of your neck as he stops pumping into you, plush lips kissing your heated skin as he just embraces the moment of standing butt-ass naked in the kitchen balls deep in you, his loving and beautifully fuckable girlfriend.

He stands like this for about forty whole seconds until you reach a hand up to tug playfully on his hair, “I think we need a shower now.”

Bucky’s lips smile against your skin as he picks his head up, kissing your neck while he pulls himself out of you. His cum slowly trailing down your inner thighs as he turns you around to face him, “I think you’re right. Let’s go before that gets on the floor.” Chuckles Bucky as he takes your hand and walks you into the bathroom.

You stand by the sink as he turns on the shower, fumbling with the settings while you snatch a tissue and begin cleaning yourself up a bit until he turns around, “Wait Y/N, let me do that.” States Bucky as he takes the tissue out of your hand, kneeling down to get a better angle, “It’s kinda my fault anyways and you’ve done enough...”

“I could handle it Buck, but I mean yeah, go for it.” You muse as he whips off the milky liquid trailing lines down your inner thighs, “I don’t doubt you know how to clean a crime scene.”

“This isn’t a crime scene.” Asserts Bucky as he whips away the last of it while you chuckle at his confused facial expression.

He stands as you saunter past him, taking a step into the shower before looking over your shoulder, “Well, guess you’re just gonna have to murder this pussy again and we’ll find out how well your clean up really is.” You tease with a knowing wink before disappearing into the plastic curtains.

Bucky’s brows raise in surprised excitement as he quickly follows you in, soon his hands are feeling you up in all sorts of places. Drawing soft moans of the sweetest sounds into the sexually charged atmosphere, no doubt riling you up for round two. God you love him so fucking much.

Waking with a start, you’re surprised to find your heartbeat racing a mile a minute. Then the wonderful memories of last nights dream hits you like a truck, that wasn’t just a dream, that was a real memory with Bucky. One of the many fantastic ones between the two of you before Zemo happened, before Tony tried to kill him, before Wakanda, and before Thanos ruined it all with a simple snap of his goddamn fingers.

Just a fucking dream. Another good memory. That’s it.

-

Tagged: @diegos-butt @minigranger @bibliophilewednesday @holyhumorliteraturelight @lilacs-lavender @a-girl-who-loves-disney @starkssnarks @vikingqueen28 @bizarrebibitch @atomicpersonacheesecake @jmstz @staygoldsquatchling02 @marvelbros-oneshots @shawnartmendes @mischiefmanaged71 @jckie94  @iamasimpingh0e @mjaudrey  @thescarlettvvitch

[incorrect-ikevamp-quotes]

I'm back again (what a surprise lol), if you feel up to it would you mind writing hcs for Jean with the letters Q,T, Y & Z? If that's too much please feel free to take a letter or two off! Tysm 💖

Haha, no worries!! I could gush about Jeanne all day, I really loved writing these!! 💕💕💕 Under a cut because of length (we all know I’m a verbose thot 😂😂😂):

Fluffy ABC headcanons listed here for requests!

Q = Quality Time (how does he like to spend time with her?) 

Jeanne loves to do anything MC wants to do (within reason). Any amount of time with her anywhere fills him with bliss. (The heartbreaking alternative to this is that, while he understands they both have things to do that require them to be apart during the day, he misses her presence dearly.)

She wants to bake? He will sit there in the most embarrassing apron and chef hat known to man, and he won’t give a single fuck as long as MC is genuinely delighted and having a marvelous time. In a meadow overflowing with flowers? He’d enjoy the atmosphere alone, but the feeling is just multiplied a thousand-fold at the sight of MC weaving little flower crowns. She places one on his head and excitedly tries to show him how to make one himself, and he just smiles fondly. She wears the crown he makes no matter his lack of skill for the delicate task, and her insistence fills him with such unabating warmth. He struggles to do more mundane tasks and doesn’t really understand where all her energy comes from sometimes, but even so it brings him endless amounts of joy. Will escort her anywhere she wants to go without a single complaint; theater? You got it. Concert? Sure. Watching paint dry? Sick, time to get out the sword polish and chill. (It’s like Netflix and chill, only worse.)

The only places he will ever hesitate to bring her are places that are potentially dangerous; let’s say the black market, or the local casino, Vlad’s castle, etc. etc. He doesn’t like to expose her to unnecessary risks, but he also won’t stop her if she has a good reason/really wants to go. He’ll just glare at every potential threat and stick to her side like glue.

His personal favorite way to spend time though is in settings where they have quiet and privacy, where it’s just the two of them. Whether they’re in the gorgeous field full of lilies behind the mansion or cuddling in their bedroom, he is at his most comfortable and content wherever she is in his arms and they are left alone. (Let it be known that he doesn’t hate others, he just can’t help that he finds larger groups of people exhausting to keep up with--and he’s always on guard to ensure MC’s safety.)

T = Time (how long did it take them to get together?)

(I’m going to preface this by saying: I’m well aware that ikevamp speeds things up but I tend to see that as a narrative necessity; I think a lot of the men would work up to their romance more slowly, ideally.)

With Jeanne it’s a little funny because he develops affection/intrigue for people fast, so it’s fairly obvious when he starts crushing on MC. (I can’t stress enough, Sebas and Mozart are BOTH lenny face from like the first fucking day, it’s the funniest thing in the world. ANYWAY--). He’s similar to Leonardo in that way; there are certain qualities he inherently finds appealing, so he naturally gravitates to people that reflect them. However, a more abiding love--the desire to form a romantic bond with someone--takes more time for him. He and Sebastian share this quality (ISXJ amirite); they fall more and more deeply in love with the person they cherish as they form consistently pleasant memories in their proximity. More than anything, these two stoic characters need somebody that makes them feel safe, appreciated, and profoundly seen.

Her relentless desire to reach others in a positive way is the first thing that attracts Jeanne’s attention, but otherwise he is absolutely a slow burn when it comes to being committed to another person. He needs time to fall in love with all the little parts of his MC (all of which he finds endearing uwu), to develop trust and see that his MC can handle him, too. He knows he’s...a lot...so he can’t really be comfortably intimate without having the other person see the best and worst of him. If MC can face his past with sensitivity and earnest concern--without being overwhelmed--then he will well and truly be a goner for them. That’s the thing about Jeanne: he needs time to feel comfortable with his decision, but when he has decided he’s one of the most devoted lovers in existence. 

Given his necessity for security, he needs somebody who can see him at his most vulnerable without panicking and gently bring him back to himself--someone who doesn’t mind his wooden nature and difficulty expressing himself. I would say getting together would take at least a year and a half, at minimum. He needs somebody that, for all of his reticence and power, recognizes that he means absolutely no harm to anyone so long as they aren’t hurting him or anyone else. Under normal circumstances (rather than expedited ones), I imagine those difficult topics wouldn’t come up that quickly.

If we’re talking together as in hanky panky, I think it would take him a little while beyond that--but that would depend on his partner, too. If she needs time or doesn’t want it at all, he will wait any length of time or not engage at all. If she’s more desirous, he will engage faster and with more frequency. He likes being intimate and close to her, but would never insist on it if it made her unhappy. 

Y = Yes (how would he propose to her?)

When it comes to Jeanne, I think his proposal would be simple, direct, and entirely expected--but no less heartfelt and deeply romantic. He’s a man of few words, but whatever he lacks in eloquence he makes up for in charged brevity. He doesn’t much understand the social conventions/expectations tied to marriage in this era (and he does not listen to Comte either) so I imagine it comes to him naturally in the course of being with her.

It’s a few years into their relationship, and he’s smiling because she’s dazzling--whether it’s humming in the garden, or staring at the stars, or curled up close to his heart in his shared room; he just knows. Whether it’s a sin, or unconventional, or something he doesn’t deserve--none of those things are strong enough to deter him anymore. He wants to be the one that she turns to always when in need, wants to protect everything that she is--a sweet beacon in a world where he knows how easily that kind of brave light is snuffed out. Honestly more than anything, she just makes him feel like it’s okay to hope again, that it’s okay to want good things for himself and the future. He was a soldier once branded a traitor, but that isn’t who he has to be anymore. Now he has a choice; he’s free to move forward however he wishes. She taught him that.

“MC?” 

Bright eyes turn to him, smooth skin glowing in the moonlight beside him. She’s beautiful; he doesn’t think any amount of time will ever be enough to fully appreciate the blessing of her existence. As if she could hear his thoughts, she encourages him to share. She was always like that, always so perceptive and patient, no matter how much he struggled to articulate something. He much preferred the sound of her voice over his any day. “Is something on your mind, love? Something good happen today?”

He was fully aware he had none of the wit or charm that other men possessed, and while he wished he could be that for her--it simply wasn’t within his capabilities. So he used the words he understood best, following his direct nature: “Will you marry me?”

Her eyes widen a little, but the surprise is muted; it was more a matter of time than anything else. Even so her eyes glisten, and before he can try to calm her (her tears dissolved all his good sense, sent his heart into chaos), her arms are tight around him. He can hear her heart racing, even faster than his own.

“Of course I will! Yes, Jeanne!”

He’d hoped she wouldn’t hate the idea but her excitement, the tenderness that lingers in the way she cradles him close, makes him smile against her shoulder. His arms tighten around her, and he renews his vow to be her sword--the one and only man to protect her until the end of their days. (Yes, Mozart later drags his ass to the jeweler’s to get a proper ring 😂😂😂)

Z = Zen (what makes him feel calm?)

There are very few things in this life that bring Jeanne peace, but I think the highest things on that list would be MC’s voice/presence in general and his little babie Cherie (bonus points if the two are playing together, he just melts Mon Dieu 😭💖💖💖 ). 

He’ll often ask MC to read to him, if she’s so inclined, when his literacy improves. He loves the soft sound of her voice, and he wants to keep improving on his ability to communicate with more clarity. It makes her so happy when he leaves her coherent notes and manages to convey his thoughts with greater accuracy, so it really motivates him to keep striving. He likes it even better when she gets really into a reading, doing silly voices or changing the dynamics of her voice to fit the piece’s mood. It makes him smile; so excitable and cute. Though alternatively, she could be reading the phone book for all he cares; it’s enough to soothe him right to sleep. Sometimes--and especially when he’s had bad nightmares, retraumatizations, or when he’s overstimulated--she’ll fit him gently in her lap and just talk until he falls asleep. She’ll sing, read, talk about things they’re looking forward to, talk about things she needs to do tomorrow, talk about silly shenanigans that happened in the mansion recently; anything that will bring him back to her and her love. It really works to center him, to situate him back in the present moment instead of rattling around in his own head.

It’s honestly much like the sea and the shore, though there may be tides--the water recedes and surges--she will always be there to meet him.

Cherie is his baby girl and such a sweet kitty that he can’t help but smile whenever she bounds over to him. A little ball of energy, he’s always getting her toys, toting her around, and petting her gently. Whenever Cherie and MC are together in front of him, his heart about explodes from the uwus of it all; they’re his most cherished ones, and he loves to see them get along. MC will usually be giggling and cooing at the pretty tiger, and Cherie soaks up the affection with obvious glee. Just watching them is enough to make his heart so light--he can’t think of anything else that makes him relax down to the marrow.

He will also find a lot of calm after lovemaking, which is something that surprises him--something he never expected. Jeanne has a hard time connecting with other people; not because he doesn’t care, but because emoting in conventional ways can be a challenge for him. He doesn’t have He Who Must Not Be Named’s charm, he doesn’t have Napoleon’s easy confidence, he doesn’t effuse Vincent’s natural warmth. He’s aware of how little he emits tangible humanity according to the perceptions of others. It leads to him feeling isolated everywhere he goes, even if people don’t particularly dislike him. Even so, his MC knows that for all his struggle to express himself, he possesses a deep, fiery wealth of emotion and passionate feeling. He cherishes her willingness be vulnerable alongside him; to embrace the good and the difficult parts of him in stride. He is left awestruck by the extent of her fervor and loving heart every single time, and in the aftermath he finds himself at such startling peace with his existence. No pain, no hollowing loneliness, no guilt, no intrusive thoughts--just her warm body against his, so trusting--as she sleeps. He’s grounded in the moment, he feels tethered to her, and he doesn’t know how to handle the full feeling in his chest, the way his heart feels too many sizes too big. He spends many nights adjusting to that feeling of fulfillment, reveling in this new boon--among the dozens she’s already given him. Will wonders never cease?

[cardigantaylor13]

malina appreciation week / day 4: song or lyrics

hello again! here are 3 of my favorite malina songs and an indepth explanation about each of them because i have uni work to do and i’m procrastinating <3 this is gonna be long long, so buckle up if you’re interested and i won’t blame you if you scroll.

(beware of spoilers!)

willow - taylor swift

I'm like the water when your ship rolled in that night / Rough on the surface but you cut through like a knife / And if it was an open-shut case / I never would've known from that look on your face

they should’ve known!!! from the moment they saw each other when they were kids!!! in the field!!! looking at each other like they were the only ones that mattered!!!

The more that you say / The less I know / Wherever you stray / I follow

they will literally go wherever the other one goes. and they more you say!! the less I know!! I can’t explain it but just sound so THEM

I'm begging for you to take my hand

need I explain? they’re always always reaching for each other 🥺

Wreck my plans / That's my man

she chose him!!! over the darkling!!! (was he ever an option?) and over nikolai!!! she chose him! THAT’S her man. THAT’S the one she wants.

Life was a willow and it bent right to your wind

I think this goes both ways. they both adjust their life according to the other, and they’d go to the ends of the earth for each other.

Head on the pillow, I could feel you sneaking in

thinking about when they both were reaching for each other even when they were miles apart

As if you were a mythical thing

they are both literal mythical things. she’s a sun summoner. he’s the last morozova amplifier.

Like you were a trophy or a champion ring / And there was one prize I'd cheat to win

mal says he’ll spend the rest of his life trying to deserve her!!

You know that my train could take you home / Anywhere else is hollow

they’re each other’s true north 🥺🥺

Wait for the signal and I'll meet you after dark

this reminds me their last days together when they think mal is gonna die, how they would always get away from the others to be together and enjoy the little bit of time they have left

Show me the places where the others gave you scars

firstly: their matching scars!!!

secondly: they’re best friends!!! they’ve seen each other for through it all!

and thirdly: that scene when alina is taking care of mal’s wounds!!

Now this is an open-shut case / Guess I should've known from the look on your face / Every bait and switch was a work of art

they really should’ve known from the beginning, but every single twist and turn lead them to each other.

smithereens - twenty one pilots

TELL me this is not the most malyen oretsev song in existence. you can’t.

You know, I've always been collected, calm and chill

he’s a good soldier!! reminds me of mal’s long lost letter 🥺

And you know, I never look for conflict for the thrill

(except in s&b when he’s hurting and being self-destructive)

But if I'm feeling someone stepping towards you / Can't describe just what I'm feeling

he would do anything to protect her!! and she would do the same!! when she was taken away, he would halfway through ravka to get back to her!! and he can’t even explain why he does it except for the fact that he wants to see her safe

and in one of the flashbacks, she protects him with a letter opener from an older boy!! soulmate energy!

For you, I'd go step to a dude much bigger than me / For you, I know, I would get messed up, weigh 153 / For you, I would get beat to smithereens

this man!!! is willing to go against the darkling!! the most powerful man in existence!!! to protect alina!! he was willing to die to give her the chance to win!!

You know, I'll be in the corner taking notes

specially in s&s, mal is pushed to the side while alina tries to help nikolai. and at first he doesn’t even mind it, because the only reason he’s there is for her (she’s his flag! she’s his nation!).

I got your six while you're working votes

he’s pushed to the side but he has her back while she tries to do all this political stuff and strategies!!

happy hunting ground - maisie peters (feat. griff)

Now interlaced / For worse or for better /My bird of a feather

they’ve been though the good and the bad together. also my BIRD of a feather? 👀👀👀

This could be your happy hunting ground / Everything you wanted, well, you've got it now / So don't take it for granted /I love you, don't take advantage

for me this is what alina thinks in the first book!! she’s been in love with him for a long time, and she thinks she could be the right person for him. but she’s also scared of getting hurt because she thinks her feelings are unrequited (I love you, don’t take advantage)

This could be your happy hunting ground / Everything we dreamed of is falling out the clouds / So careful where your boots tread /Oh, protect the love that you get

this part however!!!! reminds me of the epilogue, because they truly truly got everything they wanted. the ordinary life they always dreamed of. “protect the love that you get” seems like a warning because of how much they lost — protect the love that you get, because even if you lose everything, this love is the one that will hold you up.

And you know I'll be here / 'Cause we've got it all to lose /That's you included

with the war they literally have everything to lose, and they both think the other is gonna die at some point. “He watches her the way Harshaw watches fire. Like he’ll never have enough of her. Like he’s trying to capture what he can before she’s gone.” and then when they discover mal is the third amplifier, she realizes she’ll have to kill him in order to defeat the darkling.

Oh, so tie up the lace of your boots / Before we trip and forget / With every hope that we've ever had

them trying not to forget their meadow!! and where it all started 🥺🥺

And we got way too much to lose here, don't you think so? / It's too good, yeah, just to let it slip on by without a pause / And we've been stacking up the boxes trying to reach for what we wanted

like i said, they have each other to lose but all they ever wanted was an ordinary peaceful life 😭💔

Don't look down, oh, I know it was worth the cost

mal reassuring alina that his death (the cost) was worth saving everything!!!!

I'll have you and then a bit more

they can never get enough of each other 🥺🥺

—————————

soooo that was that I guess. hope you liked the songs I chose, you should definitely give them a listen if you haven’t!! and if you want more malina songs, I have a whole playlist on spotify <3

https://open.spotify.com/playlist/19ZrmZtob9KxBSVYsvqMGJ?si=RSerU24cT3SfDneku4mGdg&dl_branch=1

see you tomorrow with a surprise for the last day of malina week! 💕

[mordoriscalling]

The Colour-Magic Theory (1/?)

Intro

Here comes part 1 of me playing with magic and giving myself Geraskier feels. Hope you enjoy! (Also, no beta, pls have mercy.)

***

From a look, a song and unwanted friendship, new lives are born. The stack of firewood is swallowed up by flames the moment Geralt casts Igni.

“Oh, I love that trick,” Jaskier says and puts his hands close to the fire, warming them after his fingers got stiff from playing the lute in the chill of the autumn evening. “Why don’t you use it every time, I wonder?” the bard asks, observing his companion sitting across the bonfire. “It’s so much easier.”

The witcher only grunts in reply, as is his way, and continues munching on a strip of beef jerky. Jaskier, however, isn’t deterred by the silence, and continues staring at Geralt expectantly. His questioning gaze is like a physical touch. It sends a tingling sensation down the witcher’s spine, the way it always does.

With a resigned sigh, Geralt answers, “I usually want to save my magic for when I really need it, but you were whining so much about the cold that I just wanted to shut you up quicker.”

Jaskier gasps and lays a hand on his breast, about to dramatically take offence, but doesn’t voice his hurt in the end. Something else intrigued him. “Save your magic?” he asks, “what do you mean?”

The witcher measures the bard with the blank “no more questions” look for long enough that any sane person would give up. Jaskier isn’t exactly sane, in Geralt’s (and some others’) opinion, and stares at the witcher right back, unmoved. When it comes to stubbornness, their relation is a diamond cut diamond type of situation.

Finally, Geralt gives in, huffing in irritation. “Magic always has a price. When you take power from Chaos, you have to give something back. The give and take tends to affect your physiological well-being, especially when the stakes are high.”

“So...” Jaskier begins, confused about his understanding of the matter, “casting signs weakens you and that’s why you don’t use magic often?”

“No,” the witcher answers, confusing his companion even further, “My extra mutations... they must’ve changed it. Using magic doesn’t have any effect on my body at all.”

“Fascinating,” Jaskier replies, then immediately gets up to rummage through his travel pack. He comes back to sit across Geralt with a notebook and a pencil in his hand. “What is the price you pay, then?” he asks the witcher and starts writing something in the notebook without waiting for a reply.

“Jaskier,” Geralt growls, “I haven’t told anyone about this.” The bard’s head snaps up and he stares at Geralt in shock. Then, understanding dawns on his face. “Oh.” He clears his throat. “Alright.” The next moment, the page is torn out of the notebook. It lands in the bonfire and turns into ash. Geralt stares into the flames silently while Jaskier waits for him to speak up.

“My powers deplete themselves,” the witcher says, “It takes time for the magic to return.”

“Peculiar,” the bard remarks, “And a pretty shitty deal, too. I’d rather have it affect my physiology than have to wait after every silly spell.”

Geralt shakes his head. “There’s something else. It’s... hard to explain. In a way, I can negotiate with Chaos. Make my magic not exhaust itself as quickly as it should. It’s useful when I’m in a fight.” His mouth sets into a grim line. “I still haven’t figured out the price I pay for that, though.”

Jaskier smiles a wry little smile, not commenting for once, and Geralt lets himself look at the bard, who meets his eye squarely. The bright gold connects with the cornflower blue and time stands still. Just between the two of them, the colour of the bard’s irises is suddenly so vibrant that it alerts Geralt’s witcher instincts. Jaskier tends to have that effect on him. The bard is always full of energy  – all flutter and movement, brightness and sounds – and it’s too much not to be suspicious. Too much for Geralt’s heightened senses as well; Jaskier’s constant chatter almost gives him a headache every day. His singing is even more bothersome, considering that Geralt’s medallion reacts to it.

“Maybe the price is putting up with you,” the witcher jokes, deadpan. “You!” Jaskier cries, directing an accusing pointing finger at Geralt, “You bastard! I’m a delight and a gift to this world!”

Geralt huffs out a laugh but does nothing to deny it. Jaskier may be annoying and strange but he’s a blessing all the same. Since he joined Geralt two years ago, he’s been working relentlessly on improving Geralt’s image and changing the public perception of all witchers. The bard wants him reborn as a hero, which is a fool’s errand, but he’s grateful for it anyway. The thank-you gets stuck in Geralt’s throat whenever he wants to say it, even though he’s already less spat at in villages. Thankfully, Jaskier seems to understand. Many things pass between them with little words.

Later, when they lay down to sleep, Jaskier’s quiet question reaches the witcher’s ears.  

“Geralt?”

“Hm?”

“Thank you.”

“Hmm.”

*

The bard walks a few steps ahead of Geralt, who follows him on his horse’s back. Jaskier is composing. He’s always in front of Roach when he’s preoccupied with the creative process. The song about the healing of the Striga that he’s working on is in the middle stages – the first version of lyrics is ready but every single line needs perfecting. This is exactly what Jaskier is doing now: trying out the sound of every word and looking for ones that fit the melody better.

The bard is so engrossed with the task that he doesn’t notice the obvious – how the nature around him moves to get closer to his voice. Geralt’s keen eyes notice the way each straw of grass and every leaf lean in, just a touch, to “listen”. The air has gone completely still and the meadow is eerily silent; even Roach seems to be holding her breath. Geralt’s medallion vibrates.

The witcher decides that this moment is as good as any to confront the issue.

“You’re not human.” Jaskier freezes in his tracks, his body going rigid with tension. The acidic stench of fear fills the air and Geralt shifts in the saddle, disturbed by the smell for the first time in decades. “I am not,” Jaskier replies, his back to the witcher. “Do you want to tell me?” Geralt prompts, his voice gentle like it almost never is.   The bard turns to face him, face pale and hands trembling. “You really don’t know what I am?” “You should be the one to say it,” the witcher answers softly. Jaskier releases a shaky breath and nods. Stepping off the path, he walks into the tall grasses and strums his lute. When he opens his mouth, he sings in a language which the witcher has never heard in his long life. The tongue consists mostly of croons, trills, whistles and swishing sounds, and it’s enchanting even to Geralt’s ears. The air becomes thick with power immediately. It’s not Chaos, however. It’s a whole different type of magic.

The fae are creatures of nature – they are born from its energy. Guarding its Order and sustaining its sacred rhythms is their ancient task that they’ve always been fulfilling, hidden away in their own dimension of the world. They belong to the magic of nature and they don’t move out of it. Usually.

Jaskier didn’t belong anywhere, not until recently. His rhythm has always been too fast. He flutters from place to place, both quickly bored and immensely fascinated with everything and anything. The skies have always drawn him in the most – he still dreams of being a bird and flying anywhere he wants. In the end, Jaskier’s Queen found his temperament unbearable enough that she didn’t clip his wings any longer and allowed him to mingle with mortals.

Jaskier’s done his fair share of that, along with quite some mischief, but his life of adventure truly began only when he saw the brooding loner in Posada. The man’s restrained disposition and the guarded gold of his eyes were arresting, intriguing. Jaskier instantly wanted to know what secrets the witcher held. A few years later, he’s sure he won’t ever grow tired of uncovering them – every little bit of information, of understanding Geralt better, sends a thrill of rightness and belonging through his being.

Freeing his magic puts him at ease, lets him truly breathe. And so, the bard carries on singing, not afraid anymore. He smiles, radiating happiness. His glamour has dropped a bit and his sharp fangs are showing but the witcher only smiles back with the tiny upturn of his lips. Jaskier laughs in between the lines because from this moment on, he’s well and truly safe.

When the song ends, the meadow is completely silent for a moment, then the buzz of insects picks up anew and the gentle gust of wind returns.

“You’ve said enough,” Geralt remarks, and that’s all he has to say on the matter.

After that, the bard opens up to his companion even more, if that’s even possible. Geralt has a suspicion that Jaskier’s chatter was to serve as a distraction from his magic. Now that it’s out in the open, Jaskier’s silences, previously almost non-existent, has got longer. The bard doesn’t shy away from using his power around the witcher, too, and uses it in various ways to make their lives easier. He enchants a client into compliance when they don’t want to give Geralt the promised pay, or asks plants and animals to tell them where the nearest shelter is. When Geralt has a restless night, Jaskier’s humming puts him to sleep. The witcher’s medallion always vibrates then but Geralt isn’t alarmed by it any longer. It’s become a welcome thrum.

Their dynamic changes but they don’t look for any ways to describe it; they simply live the new way and enjoy it. The lazy, warm afternoons are the most pleasant, when Geralt stretches out in a shade of some tree and dozes off to the sounds of Jaskier's lute. Other times Geralt uses Aard to toss some object and Jaskier tries to catch it, laughing, his giggles lovelier than the tinkle of silver bells. Chaos and Order swirl around them, the sky is blue and the sun shines bright on the lush green grass. It could mean nothing or it could mean the world but what matters is that they both find peace. This is why Geralt doesn’t call Jaskier his friend – the word doesn’t fit.

Then Cintra happens and they part ways for three whole years.

TBC

Part 2

[blissfulalchemist]

41 for the kiss asks for Mary?

Thank you for asking Anon! Now I am not entirely sure if this is what you were looking for since there is only one AU timeline where the Mary identity is fully embraced. To see that happen please read this piece here. 

Either way I do hope that you enjoy this piece!

41. Kisses shared under an umbrella/canopy

When Catlina was a child she used to believe that sometimes the weather would reflect her mood, for it seemed that when she was sad the skies were grey and rain fell against the windows. Childish beliefs, ones that Mary had tossed aside once she was older, for if there was any truth to it then the rain falling on them now would have been here since she first arrived in this place. It wasn’t even that cold of rain to her as she looked around to the few that had shown, bundled in warm clothes, her short sleeved dress a stark difference among the crowd. It seemed to be fact that they all assumed that she moved with ice in her veins now as she stood listening to the muffled sounds of Pastor Jerome. Her eyes couldn’t leave the near matching caskets for very long, only one thought passing through her mind: There should have been three caskets, not two. 

Someone near her, it looked to be Nick and Kim, sniffled, holding back tears. Mary glanced up seeing Nick’s arms around his wife, rubbing her arms in comfort. Mary’s jaw clenched, teeth grinding together, how dare they cry for them. They didn’t know anything about them, not like she did. They didn’t love them the same way that she did, it was all an act. All an act for neither of them could feel the pain she felt when it was three am and she laid awake looking to the stars, her mind replaying the memories of them….of him. 

Rafael, the archangel of healing, a shared name and by the lord above did he live up to it. God really had sent him to her, let him heal her broken soul, but as is the cruelty of God, he took him away. Even going as far as to take away the calming meadow she nurtured and cared for, dead and buried next to his friend. Oh what a pair they made, how much joy the three had experienced in the short time they had together, she had hoped for more of that time with them when this was all over. It was never going to be over now.

Mary heard her old name mentioned, looking to meet Jerome’s dark brown eyes, “Would you like to say something?” Say something. What could she tell these people? A story on how she found a kindred spirit in Wes, who like her, wanted nothing more than to be loved and accepted as they were, but fearful in ever letting the real them out into the world. How her favorite memory was of them playing cards when the power went out during a thunderstorm, leaving the handmade pizza doughy in the center, all because it was easier to read the cards in the dim lighting of flashlights. The deep conversations they had as they played mind numbing games of War, finding that they were people that were always meant to be friends. 

Say something. Tell them all how Rafael gave her an all consuming love that burned hot and bright when it started and still burned once it cooled down. How she believed another love far from her grasp, came back the first moment their eyes met and she felt everything again. She could never pick a favorite memory with him, there were too many, each one playing out in the back of her mind as she kept a steady gaze on Jerome. Each memory was too precious, sacred, to share with others that were never worthy of him in the first place. She shook her head turning back to face the six foot deep holes, lips tingling as some rain caught her face despite the umbrella, one of the last moments of true intimacy between the two of them playing in the reflection of the glossy casket. 

“How do you manage to have exactly what’s needed every single time it’s needed,” Cat laughed, standing on her tiptoes reaching for the lowest branch.

“It’s called being prepared, Conejito,” Raf’s smile was warm, some wet curls falling to his face, “You should try it some time,” his laughter was her favorite song as she smiled, loosely tying her corner off. 

She made her way under the canopy arranging the blankets and pillows on the ledge, “Hey I was prepared. I brought all the comfy blankets and pillows for us tonight.” Her heart raced as his eyes met hers, the pull in her abdomen getting stronger, she just wanted to have his arms around her, but of course it had to start raining. Moments like these felt rarer since deciding on how they would finally bring John into the fold, safe, and with the ability to be with Wes the rest of his life. “I even managed to snag some of the good wine from John’s cellar,” Cat said, holding up the bottle for Raf to see.

He gave her a quick kiss as he moved to the other side to re-secure the canopy that she couldn’t reach, “And I thank you for that mi amor.” Cat blushed as she worked on stripping herself of her shoes and wet jacket, catching Raf’s eyes looking her over, “We’re staying here all night right?” She nodded, pulling him closer to the center once he finished, removing his shoes and wet jacket. His fingers traced along her jawline tilting her chin up towards him, bringing his lips to hers, stopping just short of full contact, “I love you,” he whispered.

Cat smiled, whispering, “I love you, too,” she pressed her lips against his, feeling his arms wrap around her, her hands holding on to the sides of his face. Their kiss deepened as Rafael held her close, moving them closer to the ground. He laid Catlina on her back against the makeshift bed of blankets, pulling away.

Her breathing was heavy as he looked into her eyes, a hand running up the curve of her hip, “Promise me forever, Conejito. That we will always have forever.”

Cat’s fingers ran down his neck and chest nodding, “We’re going to have forever. I don’t want forever with anyone else but you, Raf.” Their lips met again, the heat from their bodies all that was needed in the chill of the rain that night. 

The memory ended as it always did, feeling like the last time she’d think of it again as their bodies were laid to rest. Mary was no longer that woman, she never would be again. She turned leaving quickly as people approached to throw dirt over them, there was no need for Mary to partake in such traditions, they were already gone. She also didn’t want to face the lingering sympathy some held for Catlina, it should have been obvious by now that she was dead too. 

Mary stayed silent, looking out the window, Lance driving her to the church, radio shut off. It was a rare moment that she missed Lance’s ability to speak to her, maybe see warmth and care in his eyes again. She pushed the thoughts out of her head, it was those kinds of things that brought about Cat’s death, it was a weakness. The church appeared empty, everyone taking shelter from the rain, as the two approached the car being parked in the back of it. Lance stepped out of the car first, grabbing the umbrella to hold over her as he helped Mary out of the car. She gave him a smile, eyes blank through the soaked red ski mask, following dutifully behind her. 

“Mary,” Joseph greeted her, stopping her just outside the doorway, “I didn’t think you’d make it.”

“Why wouldn’t I Joseph,” she responded, wary as he leaned down to hug her, invading the small space under the umbrella. Her skin still crawled where he touched her, that was the only thing that lingered of Catlina, the thing that Mary couldn’t seem to let go. 

He pulled away, hands still on her shoulders, “You do not have to join us tonight sister. I know that loss can be a difficult thing, the people of the church will understand if you miss the service tonight.” 

She was about to respond when Joseph placed a kiss on her forehead, something that family would do under similar circumstances, not this one. They weren’t family. She grabbed onto his throat quickly, nails digging in as she pushed him against the door frame, his eyes widening for just the briefest of moments. “Don’t you ever dare put your lips against me in any form ever again,” Mary growled, eyes narrowed and teeth grinding. “We aren’t family. You will never be my family. I am here for one thing and one thing only,” she tightened her grip, hearing the small gasp for air, “to serve my purpose. Once that is done I will leave,” it felt too easy to just push against his neck until it snapped, “Do I make myself clear?” Her nostrils flared as she waited for him to respond in some way. Finally he nodded, Mary letting go, his hands rubbing where she had held him.

She pushed past him into the building, Lance following behind closing the umbrella, composing her face to the one she needed for the followers. Joseph’s time was coming. If she was to rid the world of its cruelty and pain, he would have to go also, but she needed him still. She needed him and so he was slated to be the last before she ended her own life to repent for her own wrong doings against humanity.

[coneygoil]

Walking Wounded, part 4

Caryl AU. The waitress at a diner Daryl decides to start frequenting catches his eye, but things are complicated. Now, Daryl is the only thing standing between her and her abusive husband.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Daryl had assumed most of his life that he was a loner. Merle was company enough. The guys he sometimes hung out with were just drinking buddies, and they caused more trouble in his life than what they were worth. He tended to keep to himself. He concluded that this was how the universe planned for him to be and he accepted that.

Daryl enjoyed talking with Carol. Their conversations came naturally. He found he also enjoyed her quiet company. They didn’t need to fill in the quiet space around them with unnecessary words.

Sophia worried him though. She hadn’t spoken a word out loud in front of him. When she talked to her Mama in his presence, she’d pull her mother down and whisper in her ear. Daryl did hear her speak a few lines that night when Carol and Sophia – adorn in their secondhand pajamas – had retired to the bedroom. He stood in the hallway and listened to the little girl speak – softly like her Mama. He reckoned it’d take a while for her to trust him. Her father had shattered any trust the poor kid had in men or maybe anybody.

Daryl didn’t know how long his guests would be there. This was only the second night, and emotions were still ramped up from the encounter at the diner. As he sat in the living room, gazing around at the clean kitchen and the blanket folded neatly on the couch and all the little touches Carol already left in her short time there, he hoped they’d stay for a long time.

***

“Do you work?”

Daryl had held down odd jobs from the moment he was legally able to work. Merle didn’t know how to keep a job more than a few weeks, so Daryl had taken it upon himself to keep what little income he could flowing in. He rather liked his latest job and the fact that it was the longest job he’d ever held down.

“I work at a garage as a mechanic,” he answered Carol as they ate breakfast the next morning. “Mostly work on bikes, but I dabble with trucks and all. I go in when I get called.” He shrugged a shoulder. “Don’t pay much, but it’s enough to get by.”

Carol rolled the deer sausage absently around on her plate. Something was on her mind. “I-I don’t know if I’ll be able to work anytime soon. I have nowhere for Sophia to go even if I could. I can’t go back to the diner.”

“I should make enough. You and Sophia already got a week’s worth-a clothes that we paid like $15 bucks for and all the bare necessities you need. I can bring home more meat when I hunt. If you don’t mind eating things like squirrel or rabbit or raccoon. The landlord keeps a vegetable garden. We can talk to him about tradin’ or somethin’. We should be okay.”

Carol didn’t look appeased. “I want to earn my keep for staying here. I can clean and cook and do laundry. I’ll mow grass if I have to.”

“Naw, don’t worry about the grass. That’s what the neighbor’s goat is for. Don’t have to pay her. The grass is all she asks for in return.”

Carol laughed – a true laugh. Daryl couldn’t help the smile that crossed his face at the lovely sound. He looked forward to hearing it again. A moment passed and her frown returned.

“Sooner or later, we’ll need to look for a place for me and Sophia to live. We can’t live here forever.”

Daryl’s stomach churned at the reality. She couldn’t stay at his place forever. Carol wasn’t his wife. She wasn’t even his woman and probably never would be. There was the matter that Ed was out there and that she was very much married to him by law. Legalities would have to come into play. Daryl wasn’t sure if she’d wish to press charges against her husband. She’d need a lawyer to divorce him…if that’s the direction she wished to proceed. It was the only route Daryl could fathom that would help move Carol and her daughter into a better future. But, all this depended on what Carol wanted.

Daryl stared at the bottom of his coffee cup as if it held the answers he sought. “Not saying you have to make up your mind today or this week, for that matter, but you gotta decide what you wanna do. Press charges against your old man. Be legally separated. Figure out what you’re gonna do with your life after all of it.”

Without prompting, Carol grabbed the coffee carafe and filled Daryl’s cup three-fourths to the rim. He now knew why she was such a diligent waitress. Her husband trained her to serve his needs well. Daryl thanked her for the refill.

Carol slipped back into her chair. She stared straight ahead, lost in thought. He heard her swallow a lump in her throat. “I can just…be for a little while. Give me some time to collect my thoughts. I’ve been under Ed’s thumb so long I don’t know how to function without him over my shoulder. I feel like I need to relearn how to live again.”

“I understand. I want you to have time for that. But you can’t wait too long. If there’s anything I know about men like Ed, he’ll be on the lookout for you.”

Her next words spent a chill down Daryl’s spine. “Wouldn’t expect anything less from him.”

***

Daryl couldn’t stay cooped up in the trailer all day. He wasn’t sure what Carol and her daughter did at home when Ed was at work, but he had a hunch they didn’t get out much. He was thankful there was land between his trailer and a fair amount of space between next door neighbors. Him and Merle were tucked away in the farthest corner of the trailer park with woods surrounding them, the way they preferred. The landlord was one of those Christian men who’d offered help to his brother multiple times to break his addictions. The landlord had dealt with his own addiction a long time ago from what Daryl gathered. The landlord didn’t so much as blink when Merle cursed him from his offers to better himself. As long as Merle didn’t cause disruption or damage within the community, they wouldn’t be evicted.

Daryl led the way to the trail he’d pounded out when they’d moved in, Carol and Sophia in tow. Sophia stuck close to her mother’s side. She kept her gaze straight ahead and squeezed Carol’s hand with an iron grip. Daryl pointed out various trees and bushes just to keep conversation going, including Sophia into his dialogue hoping to continue to show her he was an okay guy. The trail eventually opened up into a meadow. Dark orange flowers dipped with yellow tips blanketed the knee-high grass.

Daryl stole a glance at Sophia and it was in that moment he caught the wonder spreading across her face. Her grip lessened on Carol’s hand. She reached out to touch the petals of one of the flowers. Her amazement was so great, Daryl wondered if she’d ever touched a flower in her life.

“These’re called Indian Blankets,” he informed, “but sometimes they’re called Firewheels.”

Sophia tilted her face up at Carol and a shock shot up in Daryl at her murmured inquiry, “Can I, Mama?”

Carol glanced at Daryl in question, and he nodded. She shook Sophia’s hand, playfully. “Sure you can, baby.”

Sophia released her mother’s hand and trotted off into the blanket of wildflowers. Daryl watched her then looked at Carol. The most radiant smile graced her lips, as if this was the happiest moment of her entire life.

Daryl didn’t know what over came him. He barely registered his actions before he’d plucked up a flower and extended it to Carol. She stared at the flower offering, bewildered. He raised his eyebrows and gave a little nod as if to say for you. She smiled warmly at him in thanks, taking the flower delicately in the tips of her fingers. He’d never given a woman a flower before, never had the desire or the woman to do so. But if it made Carol happy, he’d give her a flower every day for the rest of his life.

***

Carol couldn’t remember the last time she felt joy. She’d nearly forgotten the emotion existed. Today reminded her of its presence.

Daryl had taken her and Sophia for a walk in the nearby woods. She hadn’t traversed that close to nature in years. Daryl seemed to be at home among the trees. His knowledge of the woods astounded her. He told them what every tree and bush were named. He showed them how he tracked wildlife and pointed out deer tracks that would have been completely lost to the naked eye.

When he brought them to the meadow, Carol’s breath caught. Dozens upon dozens of flowers blanketed the grass. The sight left her in awe. Her throat tightened when Sophia quietly asked her if she could wander through the flowers. The sunlight gleaned on Sophia’s blonde head, the flowers surrounding her, creating a beautiful memory that Carol would cherish.

Then, Daryl presented to her a single flower. Their silent exchange spoke more than any words ever could. Ed had given her flowers before. He’d come traipsing in with whatever bouquet he could snag at the store. He’d shove it at her, slide his palms roughly up and down her arms, and grunt out a ‘didn’t mean to’ for whatever atrocity he’d laid upon her the night before. It’d been 5 years since he’d made an effort to even do that.

Here was Daryl. A man she’d met two months ago. A man that saved her and promised to take care of her, though it was the farthest from being his responsibility. Here he was, shyly giving her a flower in the spur of the moment. She was practically a stranger to him, but he’d given her more in a few days than Ed had in their 10 years of marriage.

Carol gazed at the two Indian Blanket flowers extending from the neck of the beer bottle on the nightstand. Sophia had picked a flower, proudly presenting it to her after she’d seen Daryl give her mother one. Seeing her daughter smile was the greatest gift she’d received. Daryl helped make that possible.

With one last gaze at the flowers to etch into her memory, Carol switched off the lamplight and snuggled close to her daughter. For the first time in years, Carol could believe in a brighter tomorrow.

[herald-divine-hell]

Clarity

The Inquisitor sipped the filled goblet of silver, encrusted with hints of shimmering gold, and sighed. The wind came light and chilled, curling from the east, beneath a stilled sky of a bruised black-violet. Scatter blots of silvery-white shone faintly, while a smear of golden-silver beat bars of moonlight upon the world, with it’s light touch casting a rim of white over the shadow-clad mountains. 

Night had descended gently, something almost unfamiliar to Inquisitor, in a way. Often than not, by this time, she would had been her desk, weaving ink on parchment with only a soft glimmer of candlelight to help see through the darkness. But for the first time in many years, Trevelyan had little to nothing to do. Of course, she had some work to be done - paperwork was a presence that could never entirely go away, it seemed - but work that she could easily finish the next morn. 

Twirling her goblet, Trevelyan leaned across the stone railway, the cold still seeping through her velvet sleeves, and watched the moon as it marched west, certain of it’s course and readily taking it, barring off any obstacles, such as a wandering cloud, to absurd it’s journey to the horizon. Trevelyan smiled and mused. Ah, if mortality has such clarity as you, my silvery friend, Corypheus could had been defeated by now. 

She sighed, again, and hung her head, eyes falling closed. She knew that it was a silly hope, but it was a hope nevertheless. Humanity marched through the darkness without light to guide them or a path certain to take, but too arrogant to believe that they were wrong. “Every race seemed to follow onto that path,” Trevelyan murmured. 

“What path?” came a voice, as clear as the amber dawn, and as accented and sweet like lilacs. 

Leliana came to her as quiet as winter, feet barely uttering a single noise to raise the back of Trevelyan’s neck. The Spymaster wore little, already prepared for rest. A loose, large shirt that came to kiss to top and back of her knees, bellowing from her chest, and the Inquisitor was sure that was her own shirt that Leliana was wearing. A warmth blossomed to her cheeks, like fire coming to life in a hearth. 

Her chin-cut copper hair was touched with hints of a faint silver glow from the moonlight, melting in the crimson like snow melting into the green grass. Her pink cheeks, which were seemingly natural in their blush, redden with the cool touch of the wind, and drew out the freckles that sprinkled across her cheeks, nose, and forehead like the stars. Trevelyan fought the urge to tuck a rebellious strand that fallen out of place near her ear, and instead clenched her hand into a lazy fist. A smile touched the corners of Leliana’s lips, soft and light, and there was a twinkle in her brown-shot blue eyes, paler in the silver glow. 

“Did you hear that?” asked Trevelyan, the flames at her cheeks burning hotter, crawling down her throat. 

“You were not exactly the most quietest, ma cherie,” said Leliana, and there was an amusement in Leliana’s voice that rose the brown-haired Free Marcher’s heartbeat. “Do not worry, I enjoy that about you.” The twinkle in her eyes grew.

At this point, Trevelyan believed that her cheeks were erupted in flame, tearing away any white in her skin for crimson; and that seemed to bring Leliana more enjoyment, since she leaned over and laid a barely grazing kiss to the Inquisitor’s cheek. “I was just...um...having a moment?”

That brought out a laugh from Leliana, and Trevelyan swore it was the most beautiful sound in all the world, like the chiming of bells and the summer wind breaking from the horizon to dance light across meadows. “You always seem to have one.” She leaned closer, and Trevelyan caught her scent, wafting lightly from the wind: incense touched with rosewater. “But do not worry, I don’t mind it too much.”

Trevelyan smiled, warily. “At least one of us does.” Almost naturally, her arm, which before was clenched into a fist, wrapped around Leliana’s waist and pulled her close. Leliana rested her head onto Trevelyan’s shoulder, than slipped it so it was tucked more closer beneath her jaw, her nose nuzzling into her neck. “Does this get anymore simpler?”

“Finding clarity?” hummed Leliana. “No, sadly. If it does, do tell me.” Her voice came out barely as a whisper. Trevelyan felt a kiss be laid onto her neck, and her grip on Leliana’s waist tightened. She could feel Leliana’s lips curl further into a smile. “Do not be too distress, ma cherie. That is why Josephine, Cullen, Cassandra, and I are for, to help you find that clarity...in admittedly varied results.”

A chuckle passed between Trevelyan’s lips before she could even stop herself. “Then you are my stars,” said Trevelyan, smiling, “for they guide the moon toward it’s resting place near the horizon, like how you guide me to peace and tranquility.”

Leliana swat at Trevelyan’s chest, playfully. “My love, that was one of the worst I heard yet.” She laughed again, only to muffle it into the crook of the Inquisitor’s neck. 

“My lady, I am offended! That was me at my best!” 

Leliana’s arms wrapped around Trevelyan’s waist, and she pressed herself flush against the Inquisitor’s forms. “It was endearing, to be it lightly.” Another kiss was placed onto the pale skin of her neck. “And I appreciate them for all of their worth, ma amour.” 

And if there was one clarity Trevelyan could find was that Leliana was certainly more bright than any of the stars that guided the moon. 

[pheraescourage]

Continued from here.

@just-here-to-fight

The ring that was tucked away in Hector’s pant pocket barely weighed anything, but in that moment, it was the only thing that he could focus on. The small but delicately made metal felt like it weighed a thousand pounds to him because of the figurative weight that Eliwood’s answer had for the two of them and their future relationship.

He had known that Eliwood was the person that he wanted to marry since their first date. He was the only person who had ever made him feel like he was accepted for who he was and never felt like the other wanted him to truly change who he was. Even though he prided himself on being able to be the protector for the other, Eliwood always provided a sense of calm and purpose for him. He knew that most people assumed that he provided more support in their relationship based on his size alone, but he truly didn’t know what he would do if Eliwood wasn’t in his life. He knew for a fact that he wouldn’t be the person that he was today without him being there for him every single step of the way.

He drew in a breath, hoping that Eliwood wasn’t paying attention enough to hear as he guided the other through a small clearing of trees that opened into a beautiful meadow of daffodil flowers. He knew that it was the others favorite flower, but also felt like the meaning of the flower was perfect for what he was about to do. He hoped that they would be able to start a new beginning and this particular flower both symbolized rebirth but new beginnings as well.

The sun rays were peaking through the meadow, bathing the both of them in soft light and warmth. Eliwood looked breathtaking in that moment and Hector felt his heart starting to beat even faster as he looked over at the man that he loved. He stepped in front of him, taking both of his hands into his own as he smiled lovingly at him, just allowing this moment to etch itself into his mind.

He slowly got down on one knee, taking out the ring from his pocket, trying as hard as he could to make sure that he didn’t drop it amongst the flowers. His hand was trembling lightly as he tried to collect his thoughts and remember what he was going to say.

“Eliwood, I’ve loved you since we were children. You’ve always been the one who has stuck by me. You challenge me and have never been afraid to put me in my place, even when other people have been. You push me to be a better person and I thank the goddess every day that I get to have you in my life. I don’t know what I would do without you because you are my source of strength and courage. I want to be able to grow old with you, wake up every morning with you in my arms, and love you until my last breath.” His face was flushed lightly and his palms were sweating as he shakily asked, “Will you marry me?”

With his hands nestled into the comfortable pockets of his jacket, Eliwood combated the brisk chill of spring air while relishing the warmth of the sun on his faint pink cheeks. Hector’s arm was locked around his own, and his lover guided him along a path in a cozy silence. That morning, as the two were sipping their morning beverages and reading the paper, Hector requested that the two of them go for a walk in the local metroparks. Though Eliwood was not a fan of the cold, he was eager to experience some sunlight, and agreed without hesitation. And so, after exchanging playful kisses as they readied themselves for the day, giggling and poking fun at one another, the two had arrived at the park and begun their stroll.

A homely silence had fallen between them as they continued deeper through the woods. Quietness had never been a source of contention for their relationship--even as friends, the two could enjoy one another’s company simply by presence alone. Feeling the warmth of Hector’s body lean into his own, Eliwood smiled to himself, and rested his head against his boyfriend’s arm as a gesture of affection. Moments such as these were precious to him. Hector was often a boisterous energy; Loud, sometimes even obnoxious. Yet, there were times like these, reserved for Eliwood alone, in which he was pacific and tender. He relished that more than anything.

After walking for some time, the pair finally break through the trees, arriving at a meadow hidden away from the typical trail. Within it, wild, colorful daffodils were scattered without rhythm or consistency. Seeing his favorite flowers in bloom in such a grand volume was breath-taking and for a moment, Eliwood stood frozen in place as he marveled them. Finally, he turned his head to Hector, his eyes alight with delight.

“Oh Hector, this is so beautiful...how did you ever find them?” He wondered, presuming his lover had found these and thought of him specifically. His question fell upon deaf ears as Hector instead stood before him, drawing his hands from his pockets and taking them into his own. His fingers were calloused, but protective and gentle. He lifted his head to meet Hector’s expression, soaking in a rare, beautiful smile he had gifted him. Eliwood found himself smiling in return, squeezing his lover’s hands gingerly.

Then, the peaceful moment drastically shifted as Hector lowered himself to a single knee. Eliwood swore he felt his heart stop then and there, only to begin thumping against his chest rapidly. Words had yet to be exchanged, but somehow he already knew Hector’s intentions, and feel overwhelmed with emotion.

Hector proposed. 

Eliwood, ever the natural speaker, found himself at a loss for words. Hector, pledging his love and desires for him, was a rarity. His beloved had never been able to express his emotions efficiently, let alone in words. Hearing him say something so affectionate, so heartfelt, made him feel as though he couldn’t string any words together that would match the strength of Hector’s ultimate declaration of love.

He didn’t realize it until the tears had already run down his face and dripped off his cheek, but Eliwood was crying. To be so loved and cherished by someone that meant the world to him...he couldn’t describe the emotion in words. 

“Yes, I will.” His answer was simple, but came without hesitation. He crouched down, taking Hector’s shaking hands in his own. He kissed his lover’s knuckles, ignoring the tears that had surely dropped onto the back of Hector’s hand, before he placed the ring onto his finger to signify his response. Then, he embraced him as tight as he could muster.

“I love you.”

[faegents]

Sleeping Beauty Pt II

Part 2 of the Magic & Mischief Sleeping Beauty AU, co-written by @agent-annabelle, editing and put together by yours truly. Enjoy!

Years sped by quickly. She was five years old now, and her name was hidden even from her. Her caretakers agreed it was best, and they called her Briar Rose. On a sunny day, she was out in the yard playing as her three ‘aunts’ tended the garden. She had no idea they were fae, or that they could do magic. She had no idea she was a princess. All she knew was that there was a butterfly flying around her and she wanted to catch it. Even if it meant not paying attention to where she was running.

Kieran had been traveling through the forest realm all day, tending to his many 'fairy groves', where his people would come out and dance at night, wild and free to the music of pipes and harps. He feared he’d ventured too close to the cottage where the princess is kept, and was about ready to vanish away into the shadows when he saw the little girl go tripping past, chasing a butterfly. At first he elected to ignore her. Until he realized which pathway she just took.

The cliffside path.

"Aaaaah, shite..." he groaned, taking up his staff and running. Sure enough, she was only feet away from the ledge. He swooped in and picked her up, carrying her back a safe distance.

"You really need to watch where you're going, little one." he chided, taking her by the shoulders and giving her a gentle shake. Her big green eyes stare up at him, wide eyed and slack jawed. Who was this stranger? He didn't look like her aunties. Or dress like them. She couldn't even ask him what he was, she was utterly shocked and maybe a little afraid of him.

“What is your name, child?” he asked, kneeling down to her level to try and not look so intimidating.

“Briar Rose…”

"Stay away from the cliffs, little Rose. Chase your butterflies elsewhere, little one. Like the meadow." He turned her around and gave her a nudge. "Go on, child. And don't tell a single soul you saw me. Swear it."

“Cross my heart.” She whispered, visibly trembling. She turns her back to look at him for a few more seconds. He dressed funny. And something about his smile felt vaguely threatening. She shivered as a chill settled over her heart. Then she ran off back towards home. Nobody had even noticed she was gone.

***

More years passed, and the girl was now thirteen. She spent her days both inside and out, even though if she had her way, she would dance in the groves, sleep under the stars, and bathe in the river. While her aunties were trying to teach her to sew and be a lady, she wanted to be outside, climbing trees, tending the garden. It was one day when she escaped from her tedious lessons that she ran into a raven. It's feathers were almost iridescent in color. Her voice was soft as she slowly reached out to it. "Hello there, bird...C'mere, I just want to pet you..."

Kieran smirked inwardly. Now that the child is older, might as well try to have some fun. The raven hopped backwards on the branch, always out of reach, until the princess was in danger of the branch breaking off with her on it. She certainy was determined to pet this bird. How odd that it hadn't flown away yet. "Such a pretty bird...I have some bread? Here, try it, you might like it" Rose slowly reaches into the pocket of her skirt and pulls out a crust she had been saving for her lunch.

The raven looked tempted, but it glanced down to see its master watching them.

"Well? Are you going to let her feed you or not? I'm not going to tell you no, silly bird."

The voice startled Rose. With a shriek, she lost her balance and fell out of the tree. Thankfully, it wasn't too far of a fall, resulting in only a few scrapes and cuts.

Picking herself up and dusting herself off, she looked up to see a strange man. It felt like she had seen him before. "I...I'm sorry. Is she yours?"

Kieran smiled. "She is, even though she'll deny it. Worse than cats, ravens are. Are you hurt?" He asked softly. Where was this concern coming from? He hated this child, her family and everything she represented.

A small smile crossed her face. "I'm fine. It could have been a lot worse. The branch could have broken or I could have been higher up." Her eyes flicked down as her feet shuffled. "I just really wanted to pet your bird. I love birds...I take care of a several, their wings were broken, or they were nestlings who fell, but I’m trying to help them mend..."

"Then she can visit you sometimes. Just leave her a place to perch, and some dinner scraps. She'll be your friend in no time." The raven fluttered down and landed on Kieran's shoulder, preening.

Her head shot up and her eyes gleamed bright. "Really?" She patted her skirt to see if there was any bread left. Only a bit, but she fished it out of her pocket. Standing slightly on tip-toe, she reached her hand out with the crust. "Wanna be my friend? I can promise more than food, if you're ever in trouble.”

The bird turned to her, making a strange trilling noise before making the jump from Kieran's shoulder to hers.

"Looks like that's a yes. Now please, no more unnecessary risks. I would hate to have to bring you back to your aunts with a broken arm or worse..."

"They fret over the smallest injury. Even when learning to sew, I have to wear thimbles on every finger. It's like they're afraid of me pricking myself." She gave a small laugh as her hand gently stroked the bird’s wing feathers. If only she knew. Kieran nodded in agreement.

"A young lady's hands should be soft, no scars." He told her quietly. "But enough chatter. They'll be looking for you. Come back tomorrow, I can show you around the forest a bit more...but we cannot wander far. They'll get suspicious."

“Very well.” she agreed. She walked back home, petting the bird happily. This was the best day of her life! The next day came and she sneaked away again. She stopped under the tree she fell from and looked around. She wished that she knew the name of that strange man.

After an hour or so of searching, she went back home crestfallen. "I didn't dream him. There's no way..." She fed the bird little scraps of food when she got home. "If he wasn't real, how'd I get you?” Inside the house, Rose heard her name being called. "I have to go. I'll see you tomorrow, my little friend!" She stood up slowly and ran into the house.

The raven watched her go. After circling the house a couple times, she flew off, back to Kieran. She found her master hunched over his desk, poring over an ancient-looking book. Tortured expressions had always been a good look on him, but now she feared for him. She stretched out her wings and transformed into her more human-looking self.

"M'lord, what are you doing?"

"I have to undo the curse. The child. She...she's innocent. What a fool I was. And now I can't take it back. I have to find a way. Sinead-" he croaks, looking distraught.

"I'll do my best to help." She promised, kissing the side of his head, and almost dancing over to the bookshelf.

The years passed by. Rose spent as much time in the forest  as she could. But as she got older, her aunties kept a closer eye on her. She was a beautiful young lady. And beauty provoked thieves more easily than gold.

She had run into the forest, hoping to find Kieran. He had been a constant companion through the years. The more she grew, the more... Different she felt about him. The thought of him felt like a thousand butterflies in her stomach. If what her aunties had told her at breakfast was true, her time here in the forest was limited. The very thought made her upset. But through her tears, she didn't even notice that she wasn't alone.

"Why, what's a pretty lady like you doing all alone in the forest?" Thieves and bandits were all too common in the forest nowadays.

"I don't have anything. Please just leave me be..." She really needed Kieran now.

"Oh ho, I don't think we'll be leaving you alone, dearie." said the second ruffian said, stepping out of the shadows, and taking her by the arm. "Such a pretty thing. Might take some breaking in, but you'll fetch a small fortune, I should think..." Her eyes started to dart around. She would have to find a way out of here. Looking up, she saw a raven sitting in the branches above her. Sinead! Kieran had to be near. If she made enough noise, maybe he would hear her...

"Unhand me! I will not be disrespected by the likes of you!" Even if she didn't know it, even if she had spent only her first year at the court, her voice still held a commanding note. Even if commanding them was futile.

"Oooh, she's a feisty one..." he hooted, starting to drag her away. But then the raven swooped down, flying at her attacker's face. A swarm of ravens followed her, and chased after the second bandit. In his panic, the ruffian let go of her, and who should catch her but Kieran. He covered her with his cloak and vanished them away to some place safe.

"Are you all right? Did they hurt you?" He asked, checking her over for any wounds.She was only a bit shaken.

"N-no... But, I..." Rose burst into tears again, collapsing into his arms. "Kieran, they're taking me away! I don't want to leave here!"

"Taking you away? But you can't leave..." he said softly, a little taken aback by the affectionate gesture, and troubled by her tears. He can't let her know that he was the reason she was raised here in the first place.

Rose pulled herself closer to him, his embrace comforting. "They said that on my eighteenth birthday, I'll be going to live in the castle. I, I... I don't want to go! I don't want to be a princess! They say my name isn’t Rose, they...they call me Alessia now. I do like it better, but-" Her grip tightened around him ever so slightly. "I want to stay here."

"But it is your birthright. You'll make a lovely queen one day." He said softly. Each word felt like a dagger in his heart. "Just don't forget your old friend Kieran, eh?" She can't possibly mean that she's fallen in love with him. The second she set foot in that castle, he knew that his curse would begin to work, in spite of the safety measures that the king had enacted. Kieran had ordered it so. And he still hadn't found a way to nullify the curse.

Her tears had slowed. "I have about a year left. I don't know how much time I'll be able to spend with you. You have... You have been so very kind to me. Sinead too." She couldn't think of living without them. Especially Kieran. But from what she had learned from her history lessons, the King... Her father... He wasn't overly fond of the fae. Would he even allow Kieran to visit?

"Don't worry. I have ways, Your Highness, not even all the king's men would be able to stop me from seeing you. That is my promise to you." He smiled, holding her close. It just feels right, in spite of everything else being wrong about this.

Being held in his arms sent her heart a flutter. It was like she was made to fit into his arms. She never wanted to leave.

Once her tears stopped, she pulled away slightly to look at him. He was only a few inches taller than her. If she just stood on tip-toe... No. It would be wrong of her and much to forward... "Promise me that we'll make the best of this year?" she breathed

"We will. I swear it." He saw that look in her eyes, and may the gods strike him dead if he denied that he felt the same. But he settled for a kiss to her forehead. "Courage, your highness. I'll always be here."  Her eyes fell shut at the feeling of his lips on her skin. If only he knew how much she longed for a real kiss... But it would be pointless. Her aunts told her that as a princess, she would marry another royal. Her parents more than likely already had a husband picked out for her to marry when she returned. And she hated that.

"No more talk of the future. I can't stand another moment of it.Take me to one of your faerie groves or gardens? I would love just one dance with you."

"As you wish. There's some flowers blooming at my garden yet, I think you should see them; I planted them especially for you."  A smile started to creep across her face, her cheeks turning just the slightest hint of pink.

"For me? I... I would love to see them." Kieran grinned.

"Then let's be off. Before your aunties think someone stole you away." He took her by the hand, and in a rush of green and purple light, they appeared in the middle of his clifftop gardens overlooking the valley where the king's castle was.

She was going to miss this view. She wondered if there was one just as good at the castle. Looking down, she saw the beautifully colored flowers in the garden.

"Oh, they're gorgeous!" She went to her knees to get a closer look, gently stroking their deep pink, almost purple petals. Alessia had always loved nature. It was part of why she ran to the forest when upset. Trees and flowers had always brought her more comfort than walls.

"You like them?"

"I love them. I'm going to miss them..." Her shoulders sagged. "I wonder if the flowers down there will ever compare..." No matter how hard she tried, her mind always wandered back to the news she had been given.

"The day you are crowned, I will bring you a gift, every plant you love the most, I'll bring them to you and give you a garden of your own. And it'll rival the garden of any other king or queen this world will ever see." He promised gently. In all reality, he knew that he was more likely to be planting these flowers around her tomb once the curse is complete.

A small smile spread across her face, totally unaware of Kieran’s inward struggle.

"I would like that... One thing that I will definitely change when I am Queen, all folk will be welcomed. Human, fae, there will be no difference in how they are treated." She was still so naïve, but her intentions were good. "Maybe you could even be an advisor. I... I would like you nearby..."

Kieran looked away. "It wasn't always the way it is now. And it is what it is, for very good reasons. But that doesn't make the pain of my exile any less. You will learn, your Highness."

"Don’t call me that!" Every time he refused to use her name made her heart ache. She didn't want to be reminded of her future. "You know my name, please use it." Alessia didn't mention that she wanted to hear him say it as often as she could. His voice was so gentle around her, calming. She supposed that he must be absolutely terrible and frightening when he was upset. But fortunately, she had no recollection of his terrible temper.

“Alessia." He corrected himself, fighting the urge to bow. "Take some of the flowers home with you. They might wilt a little overnight, but that just means you'll have to come back to get more tomorrow." He teases, his smile coming back a little stronger.

"I think I'll only take one. I would hate to take so many that there are none left for you to care for... Something to remember me by when I get locked away behind castle walls."

"It'll take more than you taking all these flowers to make me forget you." He whispers, reaching for her hand. She gave it gladly.

"Still, they belong here. Where they can be free. Not cooped up in a vase or- or behind walls." A few tears come to her eyes. "I wish the same for myself..." Her voice was quiet. Kieran sighed, sensing more that she wasn’t telling him.

"Speak your troubles, Alessia, you know I've heard everything else. Always here to lend an ear. Something else is bothering you. And it's not just you leaving." He knew her so well. She wanted to tell him everything, how she was to be married off to a stranger from a different kingdom, how she would likely never be allowed to leave the castle walls unguarded, never see him again, her oldest friend, and her secret love. She took her hand slowly out of his, wrapping her arms around herself.

"I can't... Not this time."

"Perhaps tomorrow, then. Or the day after that." He said evenly. Time was running out, though.

"Maybe..." She looked over the kingdom, her kingdom she supposed. "I should probably head back. They're probably worried sick about me." They always were.

He helps her to her feet once more. "Sinead will guide you back. Then you'll know how to find your way next time."  A small, sly smile crossed her face.

"If I know how to get here, I might just never leave. Run here the night before my eighteenth birthday. Stay here... With you."

"Oh, wouldn't they just be in a right tizzy over that?" He chuckled. "We have a deal, my darling." Her smile widens. This would be her escape.

"Thank you, Kieran." She wrapped her arms around him, holding him tightly. Sinead hopped onto her shoulder. "All right, I should be on my way. Lead on, Sinead." The raven cocked her head to on side, chirping a little and flitting off.

"Be safe, Alessia." Kieran kissed her forehead once more before retreating back into his castle.

She lingers for a while, even after he's gone. "I will..." She whispered to the air. Alessia heard Sinead caw after her once, twice, three times before she could finally move.

Kieran saw Sinead come back late that evening, and sighed. So she was safe home. That was good. He wanted the princess to stay so badly. Perhaps if he kept her here, hidden away, the curse would fall flat, and they could be safe together.

As winter approaches, he began to feel that time was running out. If only there was a way to end the curse, or perhaps destroy the spindle he had saved...

Months passed. All without seeing Kieran. It made her heart ache in the worst way. It wasn't until there was snow on the ground that she had the ability to sneak out and see him again. Dressed in her warmest clothes, she made her way into the forest, covering her tracks as best she could.

"K-kieran?" The cold was starting to seep through her clothes. "Kieran?" She called out just a tad louder. She walked up to the door, knocking loudly, praying that he would hear her.

Sinead came to the door, looking pale and worried.

"I am sorry, Alessia. My master is unable to entertain visitors. I'm sorry...he is unwell." She said, at least bringing her into the foyer, out of the cold.

“Sinead, please, I- I don't have much time left. I have this winter and then spring comes... I will soon be gone. I don't know how many more times I will eh able to visit. Please, tell him it's me." Her eyes were pleading with her.

"I will tell him, but he is very ill, I can't go against what he said..." Last night she had found him sprawled across the floor of the uppermost room in the tallest tower, reeking of drink and sobbing over his inability to undo the curse. She had tried to move him to his room, and he had struck her. Obviously, he had felt remorse, and suffered himself to be led away. But he was still recovering.

Her heart broke, just the smallest fraction. "Alright... Tell him... Tell him that I came. That I miss him. Please."

"I will." Sinead wishes she could do more, but there's no use...The girl standing before her would die, and her master would follow soon behind her, courtesy of a broken heart.

"Well... Good day, Sinead. I wish to see him in good health soon." Pulling her cloak around her again, she made her way back home.

Sinead watched her go before locking the door, and making her way up to where Kieran lay resting.

"Sinead?"

"I'm here, master."

"I don't want her to die." He whispers. She sat beside him, raking her fingers through his hair.

"Don't dwell on it. You will be well, and she will be fine. I dreamt of you two. She was queen; I wager the curse will not last."

"Do not give me false hope, woman..." Kieran whispered, on the verge of tears. He slowly started to fall asleep as Sinead tends to him. Once he's asleep, she transforms into her raven form and perches on the bedpost to sleep, her head tucked under her wing.

[eternalstereksecretsanta]

The House of Wards

@atroposclash | AO3 | Hope you enjoy your story. -smiles-

[5/5] Mature - combat, nudity

Stiles and Derek get an epic level of couple’s therapy in the form of a cursed object and an ancient world long lost to war and bloodshed.

“Stop here.” An elderly hand came out from under the shawl and pointed to the window set in ancient stones that was lightly frosted from the night’s snow in the long hallway of windows in this wing of the abbey.  His breath, coming out in thin white wisps of smoke as he spoke, drifted around him like a miniature fog.  The chill of winter’s embrace in the air hanging heavy as night waxed on, even behind the glow of magic at the window. “Elder… are you sure?” A tall young man said from behind his robes of white that hid almost all of his being.  His hands on the handles of the Elder’s wheel chair as they stopped at the Elder’s favorite spot.  Over the last few years this spot had been where he had stopped as the Elder’s attendant the most. “Yes.  I want to see the midnight rose one last time.” His voice was weak but adamant as he looked at his reflection in the glass.  There was sadness in those old eyes that hadn’t been this bad in a long time. “Elder…” The note of worry in his attendant’s voice made the Elder look back at him. “They’ll know where I am.” He gave a sigh.  “Besides it’s not like the council doesn’t keep track of my movements.” The man drew back his robes to reveal a face of someone who had lived a long hard life and he sat in his wheel chair where he could see out into the night where the snow had turned the field beyond the window into a blanket of white with only a single rose bush growing untouched by the weather in the center of it all.  The single bloom at the top poised to bloom soon. “Will it bloom… after…” His attendant started to say but cut himself off.  The way he held himself clear that he felt he’d crossed an unspoken line between them, and wasn’t sure how to proceed now on this side of the taboo. “After I’m gone?  Is that what you wanted to ask me Alec?” The Elder turned his head as much as his old age and robes would allow.  “The truth is I don’t know.  I’ve had a life time of learning the ancient and arcane arts and the one thing I have figured out, is that I can’t know everything.” The elder settled back in his chair. “Yes Elder.” The attendant bowed his robed head. “Besides, where’s the fun in always knowing everything?” He smirked playfully, even if the joke was a little flat, and he could see how little it did to assuage Alec’s sense of propriety. “Y-yes, Elder.” The attendant looked out of the dark folds of his robe and seemed to see into the old man in a strange way. “Alec,” He sighed. “I’m sorry for a great many things in my life.” He reached out and held the cloth covered hand of his attendant. “But I’m most sorry that I haven’t been able to instill my sense of humor into your keen mind.  I am glad that the council heeded my request and gave you the exam to move up after I’m gone.” “I have no business advancing..” His shoulders slumped, the soft roll of his cotton robes sloping his body with in their confines as he all but huddled in on himself. “Alec… you just can’t see what you have to offer yet.  Not everyone can when they’re just starting out.” “Elder… I’m… I’m not blessed…” He looked down trying to find a polite way of saying it. “None sense.  And just because some of the older Elders and Masters use that term, Do not use it around me.  My best friend was a bitten werewolf, and the love of my life was a born wolf.” “I didn’t know that.” Alec looked up slowly. “Oh yes.  That rose is the spot we professed our first love… and where he died.” The Elder looked out the window at the rose as it began to slowly open.  “Back then I wasn’t The Elder.  I hadn’t forged my own house.  I hadn’t even entered the war yet.  Back then I was just a boy, younger then you are actually,” He chuckled. “I wondered why they assigned me to you.” Alec looked down.  “I always figured with some of your history you wouldn’t like having…” “If you were about to call yourself a demon, don’t.  You are not a demon.  You’re a werewolf, a lycan, a wolf, or hell even a shifter.  Any of those are acceptable.  But I’ve fought for nearly eighty nine years for lycan rights here, I refuse to think of them as demons.  That sort of thinking is what led to the war in the first place.” He sighed, looking at himself in the mirror of the window glass, taking in his white robes with the black sash down the front.  He could remember a time when it was a black robe with a white sash.  It felt strange to be the Elder now. “Yes Elder.” If Alec knew how much he missed his old name. “You know… that wasn’t always my name.” “I know.  You had a name of the unranked.” Alec nodded. “A given name, Alec, that’s what it is called, or was.  I always forget how much of my world bled over into this one over the years.” He shook his head.  “At any rate, I had two given names, one that belonged to my maternal grandfather, and one to my paternal grandfather.” “I am named after the first wolf in my family.” Alec nodded. “Alec Velt was a good wolf.  And one of the people for insuring the treaty of houses held.” The Elder put his hand on Alec’s glove.  “Be proud of your heritage.” He nodded.  “Even if there are some in this place who would think less of you for it.  They’re what I like to call, wrong.” He smiled. “Yes Elder.” A smile crept into Alec’s voice and eyes. “Much better.” He sat back in the wheel chair as the rose began to bloom.  “I miss it sometimes… back before I came here.” “Before?” “I wasn’t born into this world as you were.  No… me and my werewolf lover were dropped here… it was our own fault.  Too stupid to know any better we trapped ourselves here.  But there are days… when I miss him.  And days when I miss that life.  I can’t imagine how my father lived without me.” He sighed heavily before breaking down into a coughing fit that made his chest burn with pain. “ELDER!” Alec knelt before him, a circle of magic forming under his hand as he lay it on the Elder’s chest.  Slowly his breathing returned to normal. “You paid attention to the healing spells.” He panted, his voice weak from his fit. “You taught me well.” Alec said softly. “You were easy to teach, you’re a fast learner.” The Elder held Alec’s hand. “You were talking about life before coming here?” Alec asked quietly, trying to not draw attention to himself. “Yes… a world away from here, completely different, from a time back when I was just a boy named Stiles.”

***

“YOU SPOILED LITTLE BRAT!” Derek growled. “You say that now Sour wolf but you know I’m right.” Stiles walked past him to the bookcase to pull down a spell book. “YOU’RE NOT DOING IT!” “Am.” Stiles rolled his eyes as he cracked the book open and began looking something up. “STILES!” Slammed his fists onto the table hard enough to crack the finished wood.  Stiles was glad he hadn’t sprung for metal now.  Easier to clean, but a bitch to buff fist shapes out of.  He reacted with an eye twitch as he shouted back. “DEREK!” Stiles slammed his hands down on the table on either side of the book and leaned over the table to glare at the werewolf who was standing there with his amber eyes glowing at him.  Stiles’ eyes flickering down to the crack in his table, Derek’s eyes followed and softened. “Don’t.” Derek backed down a little. “It’s one spell.  It’ll unlock the nature of the artifact and we can deal with that.” “We don’t know what it is, or where it came from.” “Yeah.  Hence the spell.” Stiles shrugged, gesturing at the book. “I said no.” “Derek, you’re not in charge of me.” Stiles went back to the shelf. “Yes I am.” Even Derek could hear the petulance in his own voice as he said that. “Please, Scott put you in charge while he’s out of town for the week.  But he and you both know that doesn’t cover me.” Stiles went back to getting supplies, reading down the list and going after different things. “STILES!” Derek growled, his hands slamming on the table that groaned angrily at the harsh treatment. “Derek.” Stiles sighed.  “How would you have me do this without a spell?” “I… I don’t know but that doesn’t…” “Derek.” Stiles turned and looked at him.  “I am aware you care about me.  You know I care about you.  I know you can smell how much I care about you.  But that doesn’t mean I’m going to stop doing my job as pack Emissary.” “Stiles… I.. I don’t trust this.  That thing just appeared in the middle of a city park.” He glanced at a helmet that bore some odd marks. “Yep.  So either it came from another world or a point in time, or the other side, or some where we don’t even know about yet, and without a direction to look, we’re kind of stuck.  And it’s better to know what we’re up against or at least part of the rules.” Stiles looked at the list and picked up the next few herbs and started adding them to the mixture.  Had he been paying attention he might have noticed the change in page that had been caused by Derek’s pounding fist. “It’s still too dangerous.” Derek was following him now, a clear sign he was moving to bargaining. “Yes, it is dangerous.  It’s magic.  It’s not skipping through meadows kissing puppies and drinking rainbows.  There’s blood and death and a hundred horrible things waiting to kill me so they can wear my soul like a trophy belt or something.  The point is, it’s never completely safe.  Even with all the wards I have on this place.” Stiles pointed to the runes in every known language and a few from other realms and worlds that he’d discovered as he got to this point.  “You don’t want to know what I had to do to get those shadow runes.” He pointed to a series of large glyphs that made odd patterns throughout the other symbols.  “I try to keep this room, this space, as safe as I can make it so it contains whatever I might be working with from hurting anyone in the pack or the outside world.” “And what about you?” “Me… I’m a 198 pounds of sarcastic wit, who knows the most spells of any Emissary in the next 164 miles.” Derek looked at him with a scowl.  “There’s an Emissary who’s territory starts about 164 miles that way.” Stiles pointed.  “She knows like two more spells than me.” He sulked back to the shelf to get the next ingredient.  “But that’s not the point.” “Why don’t we call her?” “You did not just say that.” Stiles stopped, the bottle he’d been carefully measuring pouring more in then he meant to.  “Seriously, how thick…” He slammed the bottle down.  “Out.” “What?” “OUT OF MY LAIR!” Stiles yelled. “Why… wait… your lair?” Derek blinked “Damn it.” Stiles hung his head. “You seriously call this your lair?” “I toyed with laboratory but that felt too … not this place.  I’m still working on it.  But can you just go and let me work.” Stiles sighed. “How would Scott handle this?” “He’d probably make me use the rune of other and…” “The rune of what?” “Damn it.” Stiles hung his head again.  “The rune of other.” He walked over to a book and opened it and showed Derek a complicated looking bind rune.  “I took a series of bind runes and created a named rune for myself.  I call it the rune of other.  It binds me and one other person so that we can always find each other and we can sense each other.  And to a limited extent it lets me share a wolf’s healing factor.” Stiles crossed his arms. “What do you need to do it?” “Your arm, some ink, and a blow torch.” “So a tattoo.” “Yeah.” “Great.” Derek rolled up his sleeve. “You’re really not going to just let this go, are you.” “Nope.” “Gods damn it.” Stiles went and got his kit. “How long does the tattoo last?” “Till it’s used up.” “What’s that.. FUCK!” Derek hissed as Stiles set the blow torch onto his forearm while he began to use a wand to apply the ink onto his arm.  Twenty minutes and two tattoos, one for each of them, later, Stiles sighed and went back to finishing off his information spells. “You could have warned me.” “And you could have stood outside the door and let me work.” Stiles shrugged. “Stiles.” “Working.” He started stirring the ingredient. “How does this work?” “I mix this together, I pour it on the helmet, I saw a few words, and it tells us what it is.” “How’s it tell us anything?” Derek frowned, Stiles looked up at him from the book he was glancing at before. “Honestly?” “Let’s start there.” Derek crossed his arms. “No clue.  Sometimes it’s a voice, sometimes its pictures, sometimes the object grows lips, one time an object became a person.  Frankly while magic has scientific elements to it, it’s more interpretive art then hard science.” “Great.” Derek shifted uneasy, favoring his new tattoo. “Also you’ll feel a tight pinch when I do magic.” “okay?” “Scott takes it like a man.” Stiles challenged. “A tight pinch where?” Stiles smirked before throwing the powder on the battered helmet.  “Stiles…” “Reveal unto me the truth of your truths, reveal unto me….” “where…” “… your origins…” Stiles talked over Derek. “…come from…” Derek talked over Stiles, but Stiles stopped talking and was looking at the neon blue helmet.  “What?” “Derek you talked over my spell…” “So…” “The tattoo makes you part of the spell… you just asked this thing to reveal where its origins come from… you…” He didn’t get to finish the statement as they were pulled away from one another in a blinding furry as the world peeled away leaving stark white everywhere and hurtling Stiles against a tall leafless tree in the middle of a winter forest. “crap..” He winced, glad for the healing factor as he staid still waiting for his ribs to finish healing.  “DEREK!” He shouted, wincing from his pain but didn’t get any answer.  “Great.  Just fucking great.” Stiles picked up his phone out of his pocket and dialed but couldn’t get a dial tone.  “Even better.” He pulled his sleeve back to look at the tattoo and frowned.  The other half of the tattoo was gone.  “Okay so magic here works wonky.  Our world we each get a separate tattoo, here we each get half the tattoo.  Good to know.” He struggled to get to his feet, looking around and shivering.  It’d been spring on Earth, but here it was winter.  He’d freeze if he didn’t get warm.  Looking around he quickly dragged out a circle in the snow with his feet, making it roughly five foot across, once he finished the circle he stood back. “Up and life!” He flicked his hands up and the snow within the circle lifted up forming a dome from the edge of the circle.  He lifted his hands up and the dome raised into the air, he sat down on the snow free leaf covered ground and gestured to seal the snow back to the earth at the edge of the circle.  It was like an igloo only a couple inches thick, but it’d keep him warm.  He shaped air holes along the bottom so he’d have fresh air. “Moss of the earth, be my coat…” He pulled at the moss under him and it came away, knitting itself into a red hoody that he slipped into.  Once wearing that he pushed the leaves and sticks together into a pile.  “Embers of life lost to winter’s death, spring forth and consume.” The glowed with an inner fire as the pile of objects gave every bit of warmth they’d absorbed in their lives out now.  It wouldn’t make smoke or burn him in his sleep; it’d just keep him cozy for now. “Okay… so that’s basic needs for tonight…” Stiles sighed as he drew a circle in the ground.  “This is the world.  The world is round.  I am centered here.” He made a spot.  “Show me Derek.” Nothing happened.  “Point me to Derek.” Nothing happened. “Damn it.” Stiles sat back.  “Point me the other half.” Stiles held up his rune towards the map but nothing happened.  “Damn it.” Stiles flopped back and laid on the dirt with growing dread.  “Maybe it works differently here…” Stiles wiped the circle and drew a bigger one.  “This is the world, the world is round.  Point me.” Two dots appeared within the circle.  “Okay… so you say I’m in two places at once.  That’s lovely.” Stiles laid back.  “Now I just have to find Sour wolf.” Stiles sighed, glancing at the map.  “Wait… which dot am I?”

***

It took a couple days before Stiles figured out which dot on the make shift map he was, and before he noticed any real change in movements.  It didn’t help that Derek didn’t stay put. He was clearly trying to find Stiles and was making it harder to track him by magic.  The little bits of magic to make sure some of the plants he found were safe enough to eat hadn’t filled his belly enough to catch up to Derek and he was starting to go faster then Stiles could.  Every night he’d make his little hut of snow and camp out, turning on his phone and watching videos of Scott and their friends he had on his phone.  He also wrote instant messages to everyone.  Not that they’d send from here.  Maybe someday he’d get out of here… and they’d all send and they’d know he was thinking about them. But as the days turned into his second week in this winter location surviving off of boiled roots, Stiles was starting to get cranky.  He’d tried the return home spell he had memorized, but quickly realized that since the portal that brought him and Derek here was in his apartment, the spell couldn’t work because he was, for all intents to the magic, in his apartment.  He’d tried seventeen variations.  Only one of which had moved him.  Back to the exact spot he had fallen into when he first entered this world.  Two week’s travel lost he gave up on teleportation spells.  Three days into making this his new home for now, he’d worked out a decent trapping spell to catch what he assumed passed for rabbits in this realm.  They were like rabbits but, had tiny crystal horns and when he cooked one, he realized their bones were made out of diamonds.  Stranger creatures, but at least he was finding a use for their bones as tools and storing what he hadn’t used in his pockets. He’d tried several communication spells but every time he tried to aim it at both himself and Derek the message always came to him instead.  It was like the magic here couldn’t make up its mind how it wanted to be so it’d be contrary to itself every other minute.  At least he was surviving for now.  He’d gotten better at tracking and setting up traps but he was starting to wonder if this was all his life was going to consist of.  A life of hunting for food and struggling to survive in this alien world, Stiles wasn’t sure if that would be a bad thing or not.  But as seemingly peaceful as this was, he couldn’t leave his dad alone forever.  He just couldn’t stand the thought of his dad never knowing what happened to him. “Maybe I can try opening the portal again…” Stiles sighed as he lay back, trying to get comfortable.  He shut off his phone and put it away in his jeans pocket.  Plunged into darkness, Stiles listened to the night sounds around him.  It was quiet for a change. His eyes shot open.  It was quiet.  Not one night while he was here had it ever been quiet.  Shit, something was out there, and whatever it was, was scaring the crap out of everything that normally moved in the dark of night.  Stiles was just starting to move when something stabbed through his wall of snow and with a spring like motion opened up and pinned around on either side of his neck. “HEY LET GO!” Stiles shouted, trying to raise some magic but nothing coming.  Frowning he thrashed as more of the containment staff came down and held his limbs still.  Stiles struggled but then he heard them chanting.  It was a low droning sound that seemed to swallow up the world before he was falling through darkness only to land on a hard marble floor in the middle of an intersection of hallways. “Welcome child.” Someone in black robes with a white apron stood before him, as did someone in white robes and a black apron. “Where am I?” “Welcome to the House of Wards.”

(read the rest on AO3)

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11 questions

I was tagged by @onthedriftinthetardis a while ago to answer these 11 questions. Thank you for tagging me (♥♥), I’m so sorry it took me so long to do this! I’m guessing, it is now my turn to answer your 11 questions, right? Weeelll, allons-y then!

Tropes you’d like to see more of?

This is a difficult question. I am quite sure I have something to say to this but since I mostly don’t really think of the things I’d like to see as “tropes”, it is difficult to think of some and even name them now. But I guess one thing I definitely like to see more often, are unconventional masculinities? You know, men who, for example, let themselves cry and are rather shy and really sensitive in general? Also, different sexual orientations or gender identities just not being a big deal. Like, they are casually mentioned and nobody makes a fuss. I’m sure there’s more but that’s all I can think of right now...

What would constitute your perfect Saturday night?

Well, obviously my girlfriend has to be there and we’d first have an unconventional dinner like fish fingers and custard and then cuddle on the couch while watching an episode of a great show or a fantastic movie. And afterwards, we discuss the movie/episode and watch some more TV. So basically Netflix and chill, but literally? :) 

What’s your favourite outdoor experience? 

There are many things I really love. Walking somewhere in nature where there is a great view, like, somewhere you can see the sea (see what I did there?) or exploring a city and walking from one amazing place right to another (like, you know, a movie/TV show locations rally) or picnicing somewhere on a meadow or near a lake... also walking around a city in a Cosplay, all the while being 100% in character... and so much more ♥

What’s one thing you want to do this summer?

Well, I am going to do an internship and I guess I also really want to do it. I also want to (or should/need to... uh) write at least two of the four seminar papers I’ll have to write for this semester, since I won’t have much time to finish them during the next semester since I’ll be abroad (in the UK)... uh. Yeah, apart from that, I guess I want to find some time to relax, some time I can spend with my friends, since I will do the internship in the city I used to live in. Many people will want to spend some time with me and it’ll be great :)

Who do you admire most? What is it about them that inspires you?

I really admire my best friend. She’s already been working on a cruise ship for half a year and she said it helped her grow out of her insecurities quite a lot. She seems so self-confident to me. She grew stronger, she is more relaxed about her future and her life choices in general. And while being so experienced at such a young age, she’s so grounded at the same time. She somehow manages stuff, she embraces challenges, they help her get out of her shell and don’t scare her deeper into it. It’s kinda fascinating to me how she combats fear and worries. And she can train herself to stop thinking a certain way. Like, when she detects a way of thinking about things that is harmful, she tries to cope by telling herself that thinking like that if of no use and to better stop thinking like this. And it works. I tried working on myself in the same way because I found her techniques so impressive. So far, it’s helping me quite a lot :)

What’s your favourite thing about your current primary fandom(s)?

Oh gosh, I dunno? The characters mostly? They are fascinating. Also, there’s a lot of fanfiction potential. Like a lot. Doctor Who for example is such a great universe (literally) and you can speculate so much. Also I love the way sexual orientations and gender identities are spoken about in (RTD era) Doctor Who. Just like it should be done. No big deal, no big drama :)

If you could take one trip anywhere in space & time and then safely return, where and when would you go?

Fuck, time and space. Uh. Damn. I guess, I’ll have to be boring and pick the 1920ies. I really kinda like that time period. Yes, I’d like to see England in the 1920ies, you know the later Downton Abbey England. I like the hairstyles and fancy dresses (at least some of them)... and I generally like England. Very much. So, there’s that xD

After a long day of work/school/life, what do you like to do to relax?

I like to just throw myself onto my bed or onto the couch and either read or just lie there and scroll through tumblr on my phone and/or listen to my Spotify songs. Sometimes, after an exhausting day, it can be the best to just lie there and stare. Just doing nothing. Dolce Farniente. 

How do you feel about vegetables?

Since I am a vegetarian, it would kinda be rather bad if I didn’t like them, wouldn’t it? I honestly like most of the vegetables I know of and I regularly eat them. I just don’t like cooked peppers or even peppers in salads. I don’t know, the only way I enjoy eating peppers is raw and pure... Hm. I really eat as good as every kind of vegetable. There is none I can think of that I really despise with a passion. I mean, I don’t eat every single kind of vegetable with a passion but I eat them. Some with more enthusiasm than others. ;)

Where is your favourite place to shop?

Uh. I could name a few shops but I don’t think they’ll be known to most of you people on here. So, let me just say, I rather shop in some pedestrian area in Italy (or wherever) than in some bigger shopping centre. Smaller shops mostly have the greater things. More unique. More special somehow :) 

Do you play any video games? If so, what are your all-time favourites?

I’m afraid I have to disappoint in this regard. I don’t play any nor have I ever played any video games, at least not regularly. I am horrible at them. Well, I did play some Lego Whatever X-Box/Wii games with my brother, those were the only ones I didn’t suck at completely (Like Lego Indiana Jones, Lego Star Wars, Lego Harry Potter, Lego Pirates of the Caribbean, Lego Batman,... come to think of it, we had quite a few...). I also like playing those classical Wii games like Wii Party, Wii Sports (Resort) and Wii Fit... I’m sorry if those don’t count, but I really don’t play anything else. I mean, I had a Nintendo DS and I played Nintendogs and some Super Mario sometimes but... I guess that doesn’t count either? Uh.

And now I have to think of 11 questions, correct? Uh... I hope you don’t mind if I simply ask some of yours again and also take some of those you were asked... I’m bad at making up questions haha

My 11 questions:

What would constitute your perfect Saturday night?

What’s one thing you want to do this summer?

Who do you admire most? What is it about them that inspires you?

What’s your favourite thing about your current primary fandom(s)?

If you could take one trip anywhere in space & time and then safely return, where and when would you go?

Tell me about one tradition in your country you regularly partake in.

What is one thing you love about your family?

What is one essential trait of a good friendship?

Do you have a tattoo? If so, what do you have? If not, do you want one?

What is one song you currently listen to on repeat?

What is one song that always makes you happy? Tell me about the memory you associate with it. 

I just realised, I forgot to tag people haha... sorry! So, I’ll tag: @chocolate-and-fandoms, @joi-in-the-tardis, @julibellule, @wordstothewisereaders, @jem-scribbles, @madabouttennant, @curiositykilledtheslug and @mrslydiaholden :)  

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No Matter What!! Baseball

No Matter What Baseballs

No Matter What Baseball Bats

Support Shiryu on Patreon: Donations are welcome: - Shiryu Music - Bandcamp: https://shiryu. What is the most you would have to turn a baseball (no matter how you grab it), to make sure you have an ideal 4 seam grip for throwing across the infield or from the outfield? A) 1/2 turn of the baseball; B) 1/4 turn of the baseball; C) 3/4 turn of the baseball.

Major League Baseball Opening Day.

No matter what they tell you (No matter) No matter what they do (No matter) No matter what they teach you (No matter) What you believe is true (No matter) And I will keep you safe and strong (Ooh-Ooh-Ooh) And sheltered from the storm (Ooh-Ooh-Ooh) No matter where it's barren (Ooh-Ooh-Ooh) A dream is being born (Ooh) (.) No matter who they.

Just typing that phrase makes me feel a bit better. I mean it. Mentally and physically better. I cannot sufficiently explain the way the game is good for my soul, but I know that it is. I take pleasure from the game, and I am thankful to God for that pleasure. Opening Day certainly involves optimism as fans attempt to convince themselves that their team has at least a chance this season. Of course, as an Atlanta Braves fan, I know such thoughts are currently an empty sentiment, but I still enjoy the mental dance.

My delight in the game came to me the way it has for many—my dad loved the game, and passed that love down to me one ground ball, fly ball, game of catch and batting practice at a time. Baseball is a communal and conversational sport that cannot be played or practiced for much benefit in isolation. My parents bought a house, in part, because it was next to baseball fields when I was young. I had a makeshift-pitching mound in the backyard where my father catechized me on the finer points of pitching. I played baseball informally and formally, as often as possible, under a sunny Alabama sky.

Baseball is not simply a sport that I enjoy. The game is baked into who I am. What I have learned from the game, and just being around it, affects the way I lead, husband and parent. Now, do not get me wrong, baseball is just a game, but our games can be formative, and none are more so in American history than baseball. It was former Major League Baseball pitcher Jim Bouton who said, “A ballplayer spends a good piece of his life gripping a baseball, and in the end it turns out that it was the other way around all the time.” I am creeping close to having lived half a century, and I find myself just as eager and excited for Spring Training and Opening Day as I have ever been.

A shared passion

Growing up, morning breakfast always included checking the Braves box score of last night’s game and family talk of the game to come. My dad would throw with me almost every day the weather permitted, and thankfully in central Alabama that was most days. Now, my wife and I laugh about one of our sons who was homeschooled and wore a full baseball uniform almost every single day for about five straight years. This is the way a passion for baseball, a love for the game, is passed on to the next generation. I know there have been days in my life I have not thought about baseball, but I do not remember them, and I suspect the same will be true for my sons.

Roger Angell has written, “Baseball and memory come together so naturally.” In what other sport are children playing today able to recall the games heroes of the past? I have tried asking kids on a youth basketball team if they knew who Wilt Chamberlain was, only to be met with blank stares. The same was true when I have asked young football players if they knew who Jim Brown was—nothing but silence. But, there is always a kid on a youth baseball team who knows of Ty Cobb, Babe Ruth or Willie Mays. Faq. Baseball encourages its participants and followers in the discipline of communal memory.

When I meet someone for the first time who loves and knows the game, then they are not entirely a stranger to me because we share a common history and language. One of the amazing things about baseball is its consistency. It is essentially the same game that was played in earlier eras. Unlike most major sports, if you were able to take a couple of fans out of the stands of a major-league baseball park in the 1940’s and transport them to a park this opening day, they would be at home because they would still understand and enjoy the game they were watching.

A lesson in American history

I teach my children American history using baseball as a touchstone. Before the Civil War, baseball was played recreationally in communities. After the Civil War, professional teams started forming. The roaring 20s were the end of the dead ball era, and the Great Depression was the era when Babe Ruth starred and the home run became a significant part of the game. Baseball historian John Thorn contends that the 1940s was baseball’s greatest decade, which was the coming of age for the generation some call the greatest. The 40s produced Joe DiMaggio, Ted Williams and Jackie Robinson. Robinson, along with Branch Rickey helped the growing the Civil Rights Movement by breaking the Major League Baseball color barrier in 1947. The Negro Leagues existed prior to the Civil Rights era and ended a few years before passage of the 1964 Civil Rights Amendment. The 70s and 80s were the era of disco, parachute pants and big hair. The scene was equally bad in baseball with artificial turf, the DH and multi purpose stadiums.

A constant source of encouragement

As this season begins, I have been more discouraged about the American cultural landscape than I have been in a while. The American culture seems to be descending into moral chaos at warp speed. The tone of the current political rhetoric would be considered childish, petty and crass on a fifth grade playground. The modern cultural dialogue also resembles a rival sports team chat room where the goal is to vilify, castigate and humiliate one’s opponents without mercy or reason. Consequently , my soul needs the familiar sights and sounds of spring and Opening Day because, even in the midst of it all, baseball is still baseball. Pitch-by-pitch, out-by-out, inning-by-inning, game-by-game, baseball marches on for a wonderfully rhythmic 162-game season that is built into the very fabric of our lives until the chill of fall.

No Matter What Baseballs

Though there are plenty of things I am not happy about in the game today—the DH, instant replay and that absurd single-game wildcard that mocks the integrity of the regular season—it is still baseball, and my family is ready for the journey of a new season. My love of the game cannot be separated from other cherished realities in my life: Baseball brings to mind memories of my Mom and Dad and Joe Marshall Field in Montgomery, Ala., where I grew up playing the game. I think of friends like Rusty Cone, who I played the game with from six-years-old through college, and Buddy Boyle, who took batting practice with me in the snow. More recently, I think of my wife Judi, who has grown to love the game, and of course, I think of my eight kids.

Sasha fergisonamerican meadow's equestrian center seating chart. Now they breed and show horses along with rescuing the ones in need. AMEC has been in Neil's family for generations, although it wasn't always called AMEC. His daughter Renee named it American Meadow's Equestrian Center after she decided to get rid of the cows and bring in the horses.

No Matter What Baseball Bats

I think one of the reasons baseball means so much to me is because it is so rooted in my life; it helps me remember who I am. And I haven’t even paused to point out the way baseball serves as a metaphor for what is of ultimate importance to me, my Christian faith. Words like hope, delight, rhythm, community, passing on to the next generation, rootedness and history are also the language of my faith commitment. I understand the sentiment of theologian Stanley Hauerwas when he writes, “No matter how bad things get, I have always thought, at least we have baseball.” I am confident that some of you will identify with that sentiment as well. Play Ball!

[birdsofchristmas]

Chapter 3: A Moose in the Hoose

My aunt and uncle are city folk by origin, though you could hardly tell from their outdoorsy lifestyle punctuated weekly by drives to the mountains outside Banff and Canmore, excursions to Thailand and South America, and shelf upon shelf of books on skiing, mountaineering, and paddling.

It makes sense that the house they chose to live in had just the right balance of city and nature. Last year they’d bought a house in a new development in Northwest Calgary previously occupied solely by herds of moose, white tailed deer and elk. A 20 minute walk from their property reached down to the mighty bow River, fed by glaciers by way of lake Louise and winding through the busiest metropolitan areas of downtown.

“Hands over your heart for the mighty bow” my uncle was often known to say everytime we drove over a bridge from one river bank to the other, telling us stories of the Blackfoot who had settled and hunted and fished in the foothills, pointing to a few clearings where archeology students from the university of Calgary had found evidence of their habitation.

Like it or not whenever you settle down to build a place to call home something or someone is always displaced to some degree. In Vancouver when new condos are built residents in the former run down buildings are sent packing, sometimes to homelessness and other times to a cycle of one insecure housing arrangement to the next.

Further out towards suburbs and outlying bedroom communities trees and forests are the ones displaced. One day you might find yourself walking in a meadow enjoying solitude in nature, the next a mysterious sign with pictures of new houses and roads appears on the edge of the forest property, by the next year the forest is all but disappeared and replaced with scores of new single family houses, in a neighborhood named after the very forest areas demolished to accommodate them- names like “Maple Meadows”, “Eagle Mountain Ridge”, or “Aspen Grove”.

You don’t have to look too far back to realize the truth that for every settling there is an unsettling. In the case of my aunt and uncle’s neighborhood it was the home of a large population of moose being redeveloped. On the bright side it meant if I wanted to see a real live moose up close I wouldn’t have to look very far, or stray too deeply away from my family to do so.

This past winter was their 3rd year on the property, and I was visiting again for Christmas. “Well, nature always finds a way,” my uncle was telling as we drove out of the airport, “When we first moved here there was a controversy because the development was built right near a forest known with hundreds of moose. But now they’re starting to move back in because all the places they eat are here- see if you look to the right here, all those bushes have twigs and rosehips the the moose eat, it’s amazing really a creature that big survives just eating twigs!”

We drove past rivers, natural ponds and rolling hills while he continued, “And you see those patches of aspen trees? The reason the tree trunks are all dark brown near the bottom and still white on the rest is that elk and deer come along and eat the bark, and they can only reach up the tree so far!”

The development couldn’t have asked for a more respectful or appreciative couple to call it home as my aunt and uncle. At some point in every conversation we’d had since they’d moved in the topic of a new animal they’d seen or story they’d heard about the area’s history would come up.

When we arrived at the house my aunt greeted us at the door with coffee. It was early in the morning and she was off to work at their post office while my uncle was on his way to his carpentry work. I rested at the house, took a long nap, and woke in the early afternoon for a walk.

It was -23 and chilly. There was daylight and full visibility but I could hardly see the road. In my mind I’d decided this was less a walk and more a mission to locate the wild moose populations and befriend them. I’d start by introducing myself from 200 metres away, the next day I’d move 180 metres away, slowly making my presence known and creating a sense of familiarity until one day like Jane Goodall’s communing with chimps they would welcome me as one of their own.

I don’t know why I thought this plan would work for finding moose or elk, it hadn’t worked so far with raccoons, rabbits, or coyotes, and had only marginal success with cats and dogs. I spotted a few moose but didn’t get nearly close enough to be regarded as anything even close to familiar. Plus with the cold and wind chill my patience dwindled quickly. At one point I was tracking a set of hoof prints in the snow in a clearing. I walked about 10 feet into the clearing when my left foot broke into a patch of ice sinking knee deep in seconds! I caught myself and fell flat on my face with an OOOF, turned on my back and dragged myself to the shore half-soaked and muddy.

It just figures it was my real foot that fell into the ice, the foot that still feels cold and pain and stubbing and sharp pebbles in the carpet and frostbite! My fake foot meanwhile sat happy and content in a dry shoe the whole way back to the house.

I must have been walking for close to an hour before I fell in the ice because it felt like hours walking home chilly and embarrassed. Was I lost I wondered? No, it’s just over that hill… over the top of the hill there were more hills, more houses, more streets and cars and former wildlife habitats because everything in Calgary looks the same! Having learned my lesson from many previous visits and countless hours being lost I turned on my phone, opening the GPS and google maps. My heart sank as I realized I’d walked 6km in the wrong direction.

My heart sank further when I dragged my feet into the driveway when I also realized I’d forgotten to close the double doors at the rear of the house. Then I noticed there were two sets of footprints in the snow leading to the backyard. There were my footprints and what looked like ones belonging to a clown walking on stilts… with hoof marks…

Now I’ve heard the expression ‘like letting a bull loose in a China shop’ sometimes used to describe my siblings and I in a candy store, but I’d never heard the term 'like letting a moose loose in the kitchen!’ I’d probably just assume the moose would cook brunch and watch a hockey game because I have a strange imagination.

When I walked carefully and quietly into the house and into the kitchen I did not see a moose cooking brunch or watching hockey. I saw a moose trying to open a cupboard with his nose.

The moose must have thought I was a wolf when he smelled me, because at that point he tried to find the nearest exit and use it as such, first slamming his 450 pound body against a wall then bouldering towards the living room! I ran through the kitchen down the hall and upstairs to safety secure in my hope that mooses didn’t know to climb stairs!

I knew the only way to release the moose back into the wild would be to scare him out through the back doors, but that I would probably lose my life doing so. But how do you scare a moose? I knew the way to scare a black bear was to make a ton of noise, the way to scare a cougar was to open your jacket and make yourself look big, the way to scare a cat was turning on the vacuum, and there was no way to scare a grizzly bear so the best thing to do if I saw one up close was to make peace with God.

I took off my coat and paced back and forth in the hallway upstairs trying to think of what to do. Meanwhile the moose casually sauntered back into the kitchen and went back to work on opening the cupboard.

I decided eventually the best idea would be banging a pot until I could open the double doors and scare the moose out, only I couldn’t reach a pot since the moose was occupying the kitchen… then I remembered there was a stainless steel heron ornament in the corner of the staircase I’d bought my aunt as a housewarming gift. I didn’t have a wooden spoon upstairs either, so I opted for my bamboo toothbrush instead.

I crept down with stairs with the heron in one hand and the toothbrush in the other, slowly at first, then I started stomping and yelling in a mad rush to face the forces of nature head on and prevail! Shocked and wild-eyed the moose barreled back into the living room and in a burst of energy I bolted into the hall leading to the back garage door pounding the open switch and rolling under and out into the front yard!

My pace never broke as I rounded the house to the front picture window. I looked up, huffing and puffing, and there in the window was the moose, calmly and serenely beginning to eat scraps of evergreen off the Christmas tree. I banged on the window but the moose didn’t stir an inch. I tried the front door and it was locked, so I ran back to the garage door, arriving just in time to hear a wooden thud as the automatic gear had closed it. I stomped towards the double doors in time to hear them slam closed too, blown shut by the wind leaving me stranded in the cold. I reached for my keys and remembered they were in the left pocket of my coat!  

When animal control arrived I was turning almost blue except for my prosthetic leg which was a consistent silver shade from the titanium and carbon fibre. One of the neighbors had called the RCMP telling them he had seen a crazed man running out of the house yelling and waving a sharp looking metal object. At first he thought it was a domestic dispute until he saw Bullwinkle sitting in the front picture window contentedly picking away at the Christmas tree, and if mooses could smile and chuckle I was sure the moose was doing that too.

And just as you’d imagine how the aftermath of a bull in a china shop would look, the clean and meticulously tidy house looked just like a giant moose had bumbled through it, made himself breakfast and fell asleep in the living room before being lead back to the woods, complete with muddy hoof marks on the carpet and scrapes on the wall from the wild heron. My aunt eventually returned home to see me sitting in the back of a police cruiser in the driveway, trying to warm up and think of how I was going to explain this to her and my uncle.

I imagine the moose had every right to tromp through the house uninvited. In fact there’s a good chance the moose was born in the very yard the house was built. Perhaps he recognized the smell of the soil, or the way the breeze rolled off the plains towards the lawn, down a certain series of hills before settling down in a location that catches a certain amount of good sunlight, where the best tasting rosehips for miles just so happened to grow well in abundance. The moose may have remembered the spot from his childhood, returning there as often as the sun rose to rest in the shade of the new house. And lucky him that day, the owner of the house left the door open inviting him in.

I felt that day I was a guest in the moose’s house instead of the other way around. I was happy to enjoy the moose’s hospitality, even happy to return to meet him again on occasion, meeting his family of other young mooses who would grow to regard my aunt and uncles’ neighborhood with the same instinctive fondness their ancestors had, before any of them had ever heard of humans or front lawns or rows and rows of nearly identical houses lined with lights on every tree.

[hikertracks]

Hidden Wonder in Manning

E.C. Manning Provincial Park’s Skyline Trail - not to be confused with Jasper National Park’s rather more famous Skyline Trail. (’Skyline’ is a relatively popular name for a trail and I believe that there are probably several more in the world than just these two here in western Canada.)

Most people who pass through E.C. Manning Provincial Park or even spend a few days in its beautiful front country never realize the true majesty which this park hoards. Over the course of my life thus far, I’ve been to Manning a few times, but until this hike, I never had an inkling of what the place was concealing beyond the reach of its average visitor. If you’re just there for a camping trip to play in Lightning Lake, you’ll never know what is waiting just a few kilometres away, ready to surprise you. Even on the popular Heather Trail, you don’t quite get an inkling of what’s here, but hike up the Skyline Trail II, and suddenly you’ll see that Manning is actually home to scenery equal to anything found in the Rockies.

Manning’s iconic front country - in this case, the trail alongside beautiful Lightning Lake, Manning’s most famous body of water.

E.C. Manning Provincial Park is located between Princeton and Hope on Highway 3 in the far south of British Columbia and it is easily accessible from either the lower mainland or the Okanagan. You can get there by driving via the Okanagan Connecter, cruising down the magnificent Okanagan Valley itself, or by taking the Coquihalla, so there are many options for reaching the place. On this trip, I took the scenic route through Penticton to avoid poor conditions elsewhere and took advantage of the late season quiet in the park by spending the night at its normally packed Lightning Lake Campground. After setting up camp (aka, parking my Subaru,) I took a warm-up hike along the shores of the Lightning Lake chain to loosen up my muscles for the next day and get an idea of the conditions. Delighted by the mist drifting across the lake and the sight of brilliant golden larch trees upon a distant slope, I went to bed excited about my hike the next day.

Distant larch trees herald fall, and make me dream of future hikes among their golden ranks. I’ve always loved larches in summer, but to see them up close in fall when they are reputedly at their most resplendent is a goal which escaped me this year - but at least I still got to see them from afar!

Frost gilded everything the next morning and a fresh dusting of snow coated the ground. After raiding the campground toilet for toilet paper (having intelligently forgotten to pack Kleenex,) I made sure that my pack was ready before abandoning my front country camp for the trailhead. Arriving at Strawberry Flats, I went through my usual routine of forgetting to grab important articles such as my trekking poles from my car before finally locking up. Bidding my noble vehicle adieu and feeling rather miserable because my silly hands* were on fire from the cold despite my two layers of gloves, I set off, morbidly thinking that if circumstances didn’t improve, I’d be turning my long-awaited backpacking trip into a day hike. 

A mule deer doe perused the picnic tables in Lightning Lake’s campground the morning of my hike. 

Strawberry Flats Trailhead sign - my first destination was the Skyline II Junction.

My first appreciated taste of sunshine that day came after a couple of kilometres.

I normally don’t get excited about ascending, but at the first sight of a hill I happily charged forwards, desperate to warm up my suffering hands with hot blood from my heart. For the first few kilometres I was locked in the embrace of the frozen forest, but after a while things began to open up, the snowy trees reminding me happily of a ski resort. My uphill efforts began paying off, the sun also doing its part, and by the time I reached the top of that first ascent with my first true views (which were nothing compared to what I would see,) I was down to my baselayers, my formally beleaguered hands once more content. With views of Manning Park Ski Resort, I plunged back into the forest and along a slope, never expecting to see what awaited me at the first opening in the trees.

As I climbed higher the land began to warm up a little - although not by much!

The sun calls me forward.

Suddenly, square ahead to my right was a magnificent dog-toothed peak, its handsome point sticking up over a ridge – and, it had friends. I stopped in my tracks, shocked that this was here in Manning and examining the situation, I dared to hope that the trail might take me closer to it. Back into the forest along the slope I went, within a few minutes finally reaching the junction of the Skyline Trail I and the Skyline Trail II where I paused for a snack of cheese and granola bars, stunned by an elaboration of my previous view. Eager to continue onwards, I gulped down my calories and plunged on, within minutes finally reaching the edge of the forest. Breaking out into subalpine meadow made golden by autumn, I suddenly found myself surrounded by panoramic views of jagged glacial peaks and rugged mountains. Hiking further, I came to the peak of Snow Camp, where I encountered my only fellow hikers of the day and an unobstructed view of Mount Hozomeen, the sharp peak which I had previously spotted. All around me was splendour and I was glad that I hadn’t turned around. 

My first introduction to the star of this hike, Washington’s Mount Hozomeen. The Skyline Trail would soon take me into the bald alpine patch to its right in this photo.

It’s impossible to tell that this much gorgeous exists just a few kilometres into the backcountry.

My incredible lunch spot.

Spectacular Mount Hozameen, with the incredible completion of the Lightning Lake Chain’s valley. Seen below is Thunder Lake.

As the day hikers turned back for the trailhead, I was left completely alone in that magnificent quiet wilderness. The air was chill but this only made the conditions better for hiking, and the blue sky made enjoying the epic scenery surrounding me easy. I reached Mowich Camp at exactly 3 PM and with the azure skies persisting overhead, I set up my tent before continuing on to Hozomeen Ridge, where I was treated to pristine vistas of the untouched Skagit Valley as well as vantages of the grand mountains of Washington’s spectacular north Cascades, where Mount Hozomeen itself presides. It stunned me to think that I was looking into the States, and it ignited a flame for future, more close up studies of Washington’s stone serrations. I returned to camp racing the last dregs of daylight, hurriedly layering up and stuffing a hot dinner of Backpacker’s Pantry Pad Thai into my mouth before swiftly scrabbling into my sleeping bag burrow like some shivering fox.

My abode at Mowich Camp; I was completely alone there.

The magnificent utter wilderness of the Skagit Valley, which is definitely calling my name!

That night I learned a great deal about the sleeping equipment which I had brought; namely that my unisex Mountain Hardwear Hyperlamina Flame sleeping bag was insufficient for the subzero temperature with my female biology (women are factually colder than men.) I thus spent the majority of that frigid night dressed in every single one of my layers and staring at my pack beside me. My bag kept me alive, and protected me from hypothermia, but I wasn’t warm enough to rest, so for hours I had nothing to do apart from wait for morning. Thankfully, my Thermarest Neoair Xlite mat was up to the job of life support and protected me from the frozen ground, keeping my situation from being any worse, but I’ll be taking a warmer sleeping bag on my next shoulder season overnight jaunt! 

I awoke to wildly different conditions from the day previous; I was treated to sunshine no longer, and instead enjoyed the drama of Manning’s encroaching winter.

Despite the lack of views, weather like this is actually great for hiking, since it’s easier to regulate your body temperature without the sun roasting you. (There’s only so many layers you can remove - on the other hand, if you’re cold then you can layer up to your heart’s content!)

After lingering as long as I could in my tent, I left camp without eating breakfast, subsisting as I often do on bars while on the move. Frozen mist and light flurries greeted me, veiling the expansive mountains which had proudly heralded themselves the day previous. Climbing back to higher elevations, I was treated to a more personal, moody view of Manning’s nearer mountains which could have proven deadly had I been ill prepared, but past experience had informed me well. Spindrift blew freezing sleet across my path and the fading foliage was encrusted with delicate hoarfrost which crunched beneath my hiking shoes. Mount Hozomeen hid coyly from me in the clouds and I descended through the cold, feeling distinctly blue because my final backpacking adventure of the season was coming to an end. This feeling only increased as I reached my car, especially as I had cut my adventure short by a day (having accomplished all that I wanted to do much sooner than expected,) and I was contemplating either taking a day hike or beginning the gloomy roadtrip home when something made me turn. 

A reclusive Canadian Lynx decides that not only am I Not-a-Threat, but that I am entirely uninteresting.

Standing just fifty metres down the road from me stood one of the most rarely sighted animals in Canada; a lynx. She met my gaze, contemplating my peculiar presence in her frozen kingdom of snowshoe hares and sleeping trees, then she continued on her way, completely unconcerned with my existence. The fire in my spirit rekindled, I drove home, feeling glad that I had come and happy to be alive.

Hozomeen, you glorious wonder!

The Skyline Trail II:

- It is 12.5 kilometres to Mowich Camp on the Skyline Trail II, but you can actually follow the trail further, up over Hozomeen Ridge and down into the Skagit Valley to Ross Lake. 

- Not feeling up to sleeping in the backcountry? No problem; you can day hike to Snow Mount instead, or do the Skyline Trail I loop. There are excellent maps on the official government Manning Provincial Park page to help you with this. 

- That’s also where you need to go to buy your backcountry permit if you intend to spend the night out in the wilderness.

- Don’t feel like doing either? There’s scenic trails throughout the park – you just can’t see the same majesty which you can from the 20.4 kilometre (loop) Skyline Trail II. The 21 kilometre (one way) Heather Trail is a great introductory backpacking trip, with lots of options on distances and where to camp.

The Northern Terminus of the 4,265 km (2,650 mile) Pacific Crest Trail, is another sight to see in Manning for the dedicated hiker. I was one of the last people to see the old version of the monument this past July 2018; it has since been replaced by a new one (which looks exactly the same but without the weathering.)

Getting There:

- Obviously, the easiest way to get there is by car. If you don’t have one, then it is best to rent one.

- The closest airport to Manning Provincial Park is in Penticton.

- There is currently no bus service to Manning as there once was, although it may be possible that the new Ebus will provide this.

This snowshoe hare was enjoying the relative lack of tourists in autumn for going about its business.

When I Was There: Early October

Temperature Range I Experienced: -8 to 5 ºC

Manning is gorgeous, and worth a visit any time of the year - even if you can’t make it out into its amazing backcountry!

Always Remember: Be prepared! The mountains don’t listen to the weatherman - definitely look at the forecast, but take it as law to your folly. Always bring rain protection (at the very least a $2 plastic emergency poncho,) warm layers, food, water and a first aid kit, no matter what. Your first aid kit doesn’t have to be fancy - mine pretty much consists of leukotape, duct tape, pain killer, tiny scissors, a sewing needle, thread and vet wrap. Always study (and carry,) a map of your trail to predict availability of water and pay attention to trail reports - on the Skyline Trail II there is very little available so it was important to carry extra, but on the northernmost end of the Pacific Crest Trail there’s water every few hundred metres, so extra water wasn’t necessary for that section. Similarly, there was copious water on the West Highland Way in Scotland, so carrying extra beyond the two litres which I was drinking daily there was the definition of silly - however hike somewhere hot like the Mohave Desert and you may find yourself having to carry several day’s worth of drinking water. Once again, be prepared!

* My fingers are the victims of six years of frigid newspaper carrying in -30 ºC conditions with terrible hand protection.