#pristine snow twisted mountains

[windtooth-plane]

{Hey there!}

{I'll just get right into the rules and notes. Below said rules and notes will be lore, extra stuff and reference sheets.}

{1. Uploading may vary from time to time as my motivation is rather silly if you want to put it that way. Please do not expect updates in small periods of time, and please do not pressure me to upload anything.}

{2. This blog is run by @nixii-sabre , however, multiple other characters belong to @chaoticgoober and chickenboi on discord- and non-frequently a few other folk. If you have any technical questions or other questions feel free to ask me.}

{3. Suggestiveness is occasionally allowed, however please do not overdo it. No complete NSFW. Most heavier suggestive asks will be deleted or answered if the ask belongs to one of my closer friends who actually know the lore as well as various other inside jokes.}

{4. If your question specifically takes place at a different time of the story, please say if it does. If you don't say, I will immediately assume where it is in the timeline.}

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{6. Some asks will be answered with simple text, some drawings or doodles here and there, or sometimes full illustrations and/or comics. Please do not expect absolute top-notch with every ask.}

{7. Fanart and giftart is completely always allowed. If you can. @ me (the moderator) whenever you make it! I'd love to see it. However please do not claim any of the characters here as yours, do not copy designs or trace any artwork shone. Just simple art rules n' stuff.}

{And finally, for lore and reference sheets, read under the cut!}

Endless Moving Nights He/They 3rd Gen Endless Moving Nights is usually referred to as "Nights" or more commonly "Endless" as for short. He majors in Biological mechanics and his facility status is currently collapsed after Hidden Niche of Pearls sent a large squad of scavengers and used highly reactive explosives. Before the collapse, Endless had severe insomnia and tended to stay up late into the cycle to work on finding the solution to The Great Problem. He (somewhat) found the solution to, but it was far too dangerous without testing. He had contacted his friend, Witch of Twin Stars to test it out for him- as it was technically a way to save her from the immense rot in her superstructure. She was dying, and what Endless was offering was a body switch into a slugcat subspecies. The subspecies being the only bipedal smart enough in Endless' facility that could be rewired to comprehend the ability to bodyswitch- Bottomfeeders. He sent one of his Bottomfeeders to Witch's can- in which Witch enacted on the instructions Endless had given to her. It was a success, however due to the 'solution' being far too close to being against the self-destruct taboo itself- they both kept it a secret. One of Endless' personal logs stored in a data pearl was 'accidentally' delivered to Hidden Niche of pearls- the iterator being extremely lawful. After the collapse, Endless' half-dead puppet was brought to Pines' can where he was hooked up to an emergency port for an umbilical.

Clock of the North She/Her 3rd Gen Clock of the North- formally known as Clock that Forever Points to the Northern Sky or a simpler short name just being Clock. She used to frequently learn more and more about botany and alchemy- however one time, her potion created The Rot in her superstructure. It spread, and she eventually soon collapsed. The rot had gotten partially cleaned up by a squad of slugcats sent by Green Pines, however, when Clock was kidnapped it simply invited itself back in. A large prehistoric slugcat named Memory had taken Clock to an iterator's facility from another local group, which has since been resolved. She was taken to Pines' can for a short amount of time before deciding to leave to beeline from there, to Chime's can, to her own can to finally get back to. She's close friends with Emerald Leaves of the Pines and Endless Moving Nights.

One Last Chime He/They 2nd Gen One Last Chime, commonly known as Chime or Chimes. One Last Chime is best friends with Endless Moving Nights, WAS friends with Howling Winds over Bronze Seas, and is either neutral to everybody else or hates everybody else. Ever since Clock of the North was created, it was rather obvious Chime had a big fat crush on her. He talked to her almost every cycle trying to engage her in conversation, frequently showing that he cared about her and just liked talking to her in general. That was until he accused Pines of simply wanting to use clock and claiming he was untrustworthy- and also accidentally slipped out that he loved her. Clock cut off all communication with him for many cycles. They only started talking again- just as friends- when Clock was transported to Pines' can. Chime still has often arguments with Pines, however, he is beginning to become good friends nowadays. Chime is now beginning to realize he has a crush on Endless now which is gonna end fine and dandy! (it's not)

Hidden Niche of Pearls She/They 2nd Gen Hidden Niche of Pearls- normally known as Pearls or more commonly as Niche. Niche is an extremely lawful neutral iterator with a high sense of regal and betterness. She understands her place in situations, however enjoys being formal- especially with other iterators. Niche likes to indulge in cultural study from the ancients to her own scavenger colony. Her colony of scavengers respect her and see her as their caretaker and leader, however, there's one particular scavenger- Cookie- she has a direct bond with. Cookie is a young scavenger working to become an elite with her siblings Sylvester and Natalie, and she occasionally pays Niche a visit. They'll talk a lot and Niche lets her guard down whenever with the little scavenger. She feels like a mother figure to Cookie, and Cookie feels like a child figure to Niche. Pearls is slightly antisocial as she would rather spend her time studying or talking to Cookie- and she also has mild paranoia due to a certain fallacy from another iterator which had lead to her breaking her morals.

Emerald Leaves of the Pines He/Him 2nd Gen Emerald Leaves of the Pines- almost always referred to as Pines. Pines is an authoritive yet layed back iterator with a set of his own code and morals. He frequently got into heavy arguments with the iterator Howling Winds over Bronze Seas- one day Winds sent him a file that was supposed to help him find the solution. Pines was grateful but suspicious of the hospitality- and rightfully so. The file contracted rot that quickly spread through Pines' superstructure. He was silent for a long time, however in that time had been readying a slugcat colony. The slugcats had cleared out almost all of his rot, and 40-50 of them had been sent to take out Winds for what he had done. Only one of them came back alive, however the mission was successful. After word was out that Pines had murdered Winds, most iterators banned him from chats and/or simply resented him. However Clock of the North believed his intentions were good. She didn't have a good relationship with Winds either, as he tended to be rather hostile. Later on in time, Pines began to rebuild his reputation back up and became friends with most iterators in his local group. He cares dearly for his colony of slugcats and hopes for them to continue advancing without the constant threat of rain above the clouds on his superstructure.

Witch of Twin Stars He/Her 2nd Gen Witch of Twin Stars- the slugcat now encompanying her puppet is referred to as Kasume, however the iterator who body switched with the slugcat is simply reffered to as The Witch or just Witch. After being body switched, Witch set off to head to the Void Sea where she would then attempt to ascend and see if the solution was truly plausible. Along the way, she met a fluffy yellow slugcat named Sunny- and the pup they took care of, Junior. While travelling, Witch had not told Sunny about her intentions, nor was she sure if the slugcat friend could comprehend it. She began growing a close bond with Sunny, and when it came time to dip into the void sea, she came back up. She couldn't do it. She couldn't leave what she had behind. She headed to Endless' can without telling Sunny or Junior where she was going only to find he had since collapsed. Witch found a pup of her own that she treats as her son- Smoky. They have since been living in Pines' colony.

Karmic Obnoxious Inaccuracy She/It 1st Gen Karmic Obnoxious Inaccuracy, almost always referred to as Koi. She isn't technically a part of Windtooth Plane as she's a bit farther away with no local group of her own, though was originally created to be a part of it. She has no communications with the local group, however she does have communications (occasionally) with her brother Endless. Her facility is submerged underwater, so her arrays and different parts of the superstructure constantly get flooded- making communications somewhat unreliable a lot of the time. She's a bit of an aggressively caring iterator with a strong protectiveness over her brother. She doesn't talk to many other people, however, she has had a word or two with One Last Chime.

Howling Winds over Bronze Seas He/Him 2nd Gen Howling Winds over Bronze Seas, sometimes referred to as just Winds. Winds is a highly 'lawful' iterator who frequently antagonizes most others. Despite having administrator privileges before he was murdered, he worked in illegal arsenal manufacturing- weaponry, essentially. Most iterators were neutral toward him, however he had a personal vendetta against Emerald Leaves of the Pines. The only two people he conversed with as friends were Endless Moving Nights and One Last Chime, however Chime moreso tolerated him than not.

(FYI, the second and third image are NOT alternate outfits. The second one is what's underneath the cloak.)

Angel of Dominance She/Her 3rd Gen An iterator who was kidnapped by an iterator of her own local group. She had many experiments done on her and eventually was found dead by Pines' slugcats. She was brought to the facility and temporarily revived but due to a large surgical cut from her hips to her chest, she was in constant pain. The temporary revival was taken away as they did not have the resources to keep her puppet maintained. Eventually, her puppet was rehooked up to the structure when Endless effectively left. She hopes to one day go back to her can in Loveless Meije, however with it being left unattended for some time there's a chance it'll collapse soon.

OTHER ITERATORS

Eight Islands Under Storm Clouds He/Him 2nd Gen An iterator in Windtooth Plane who's extremely antisocial. They haven't said a word to the local group other than Niche. He was created for the purpose of making explosives.

Two Rocks Eroding He/Him 2nd Gen Another iterator who's not necessarily in Windtooth plane, but is in the area. They haven't spoken to anybody.

Pristine Snow, Twisted Mountains She/They 2nd Gen An iterator who was previously conceived as dead from a power surge. Their facility was built on top of a snowy mountain that has heavy snowfalls. They have spoken to the local group a few times here or there but has mostly talked to Emerald Leaves of the Pines. Their 'death' was soon discovered as faked. She has broken many taboos- almost all of them, to be exact.

Misguided Information Any/All 3rd Gen INFORMATION CLASSIFIED

{ Clock of the North and One Last Chime both belong to @chaoticgoober . Emerald Leaves of the Pines, Howling Winds over Bronze Seas and Pristine Snow, Twisted Mountains all belong to chickenboi on discord. Two Rocks Eroding belongs to King STAZE on all platforms (mostly). Eight Islands Under Storm Clouds belongs to my brother, SomethingUnusual (on all platforms). Everyone else belongs to me. }

[nixii-sabre]

We are SO BACK chat. At it with yuri antics

[scoutofmymind]

Hiii, I’m not entirely sure if you do au one shots, but if you do please write a princess x knight trope with Luigi. Him looking out for you during his night shift, watching you with the fiancé your father chose for you despite you two being madly in love.

Your writing is gorgeous, btw! In awe <3

I’m Your Man — {Luigi x Reader}

Content: NSFW— MINORS DNI, kissing, p in v, virgin Luigi, fucked up kingdom politics, reader is a princess with an evil king father lol, this is NOT alpha/Omega or whatever, Luigi was raised as a wild animal killing machine, once again inspired by Mitski

Wc: 6,143

Notes: Like a wolf with its leg in a trap, he'd said, that familiar cruel smile twisting his lips. They'll tear through their own flesh to survive. Imagine what they'd do to yours.

Pain shapes them. The cold hardens them.

A common solider dies for his kingdom, a Grimguard kills for it.

AN: Thank you so so much for this request 💕 I once again took this and ran with it. It actually wasn’t my first Luigi x princess reader request sitting around in my inbox, so come one, come all! I have an inkling I might have questions about this one, so lemme know! I enjoyed writing this very much x

Ps: in order to keep this Drabble length and not fic length, I definitely cut out some backstory . But I hope despite that, it’s easy to follow along xo

You're an angel, I'm a dog

Or you're a dog and I'm your man

You believe me like a god..

I'll destroy you like I am

— I’m your Man, Mitski

Ironmere lies suffocated beneath its winter shroud, the castle's hundred hearths cold and dark save for one — your father's study. You've no choice but to seek its warmth, sprawled across a leather chair that's seen generations of royal lectures.

The fire pops and hisses, each crack of burning wood another tick in your mental count, anything to dull the familiar sermon.

"I must remind you," your father says, pipe smoke coiling around him. His shadow stretches across the study walls, cast by flames that paint the room in shades of amber and gold. "That the Grims are bred for loyalty, my dear." He turns to study your face, but you keep your eyes fixed on the dancing flames, refusing to meet his gaze. "Can be no more your equal than a well-trained dog."

The fire swallows his words, and you wonder if it, too, finds them bitter.

Since catching you at your balcony, tracing the Grimguards' movements with hungry eyes, your father has waged his own quiet war; each day brings a new warning, each meal seasoned with thinly veiled threats meant to plant fear where fascination grows.

But seeds of warning find no purchase in frozen earth.

"Speaking of which," he says, abandoning his chair to stand before the frost-kissed window. Beyond the glass, the Ironmere mountains pierce the steel-gray sky, their jagged peaks collecting snow. The ancient evergreens bow beneath their white burden, branches dripping crystal daggers of ice. "We've taken a new pup out of training. Young one, but promising. He'll be stationed near the South Tower."

They're bringing in a new generation again, stealing youth and binding it in black armor and cold metal muzzles.

Your father's cruelty wears a gentleman's mask, polished and pristine as the rings that adorn his fingers. Time has taught you to see beneath it, to recognize the calculated malice hiding behind words like duty and tradition.

The South Tower stands like a frozen sentinel, eternally facing winter's fury. It's where your father plants his fresh seeds of war, watching come morning with clinical interest as frost either hardens them into soldiers or claims them for the grave.

No coincidence leads new Grimguards there.

They either wake to see another dawn, their breath clouding behind their muzzles, or they join the nameless others whose bones might still rest beneath the tower's foundations.

This is how he plays at being divine — selecting who lives and dies with the casual interest of a man trimming roses; Nature's selection, he calls it, as if nature ever intended for young men to be bound in iron and left to freeze.

"Another child?" The words slip past your guard and your head turns toward him, though the fire still claims most of your attention, its warmth a mockery of comfort.

"No younger than yourself, my love." The endearment falls from his lips like frozen honey — sweet, yet somehow wrong. He speaks of sending a boy your age to stand in winter's cruelest depths, guarding a tower that has stood empty since before your grandmother drew breath. "We've discussed this before," he says, finally abandoning his view of his frost-touched kingdom to fix you with that measured stare. "You ceased being a child the moment you became heir to Ironmere."

You answer with silence and the loud protest of leather against leather as you shift in your chair.

Let him interpret the sound as he wishes — rebellion or resignation, it matters little. In this moment, you think of another young man who whose breath will freeze behind a muzzle while you sit before this fire, counting the ways your father fashions cruelty into crown.

"The muzzle ceremony is their rebirth." His voice takes on that familiar, aristocratic lilt—the same tone he uses when discussing wine vintages or the value of old tapestries. As if he speaks of art rather than chains. "This one's training scores are exceptional. He'll serve the crown well."

You've watched these ceremonies before, hidden in gallery shadows. Seen how they strip away names and replace them with numbers, how they forge living flesh into living weapons. The muzzles aren't just metal — they're shackles of status, marking each Grimguard as something less than human but more than beast. A perfect servant for your father's perfect kingdom.

In your mind, you see another humans eyes, bright with unshed tears as cold iron meets warm skin — another soul bound to Ironmere's frozen heart, while your father speaks of service as casually as one might discuss the weather.

Through frosted windows, you've studied their brutal dance since childhood.

The Grimguards train in Wolfdens outer courtyard where the stones are perpetually slick with ice, where one misstep means more than just a fall. They move like shadows given form, their black armor drinking what little sunlight winters here permit.

The training starts before dawn, when breath freezes mid-air and fingers can barely grip steel. They fight with those peculiar curved blades — somewhere between sword and sickle — that have become as much their signature as the muzzles that cage their faces.

The weapons are deliberately unwieldy at first, designed to strain muscle and test resolve.

Many break their own wrists learning to wield them.

You've counted the phases of their training through seasons.

First, the endless drills until their movements become reflex, then the sparring that leaves red droplets crystallizing on white snow. The masks come early — crude training ones at first, heavy iron things that make it hard to breathe, harder still to see. They learn to fight half-blind, to rely on instinct over sight.

To become creatures of pure reaction.

But it's the endurance training that haunts your dreams.

They stand for days in the bitter cold, perfectly still, until ice forms on their armor. They run barefoot through snow until their feet bleed, then run further still, and some disappear during these tests, their names never spoken again, as if Ironmere itself had swallowed them whole.

Your father calls it necessary refinement.

You call it what it is.

The systematic breaking of human beings until all that remains is loyal steel wrapped in obedient flesh.

It was the whimpering that drew you from your chambers — a sound so foreign in these stone halls where weakness dares not echo. Your footsteps fell like fresh snow as you traced that desperate keening, following it until it transformed into a metallic chattering, silver bars rattling as violent tremors wracked a body fighting to remember warmth.

He doesn’t turn when you found him in the South Tower's breezeway, though surely he heard you.

His silhouette matches the template they all conform to eventually — broad shoulders carved by endless drills, frame solid as the mountain itself, training blacks clung like a second skin, running from throat to wrist in an unbroken line of shadow. Only his gloved hands betrayed movement, fingers flexing and unflexing in a rhythm that matched his shivering.

The new muzzle catches what little moonlight filtered through the frost-laced windows, shaped like a snarling dogs snout, throwing silver patterns across the walls. Too new to have darkened with use, too rigid yet to have molded to his face.

Another wolf being broken to the bit, another hound learning to embrace his cage.

The closer you drift toward him, the more your father's warnings drum against your skull.

Never approach a new Grimguard alone. They're most dangerous before the muzzle takes hold.

The metallic chattering quickens like a death rattle, and the cold seems to deepen, carving into your marrow with ancient teeth, and memory washes over you as you recall exactly what they become — watched them train in the courtyards below your window, witnessed how they move like poetry written in violence, how they strike with the precision of winter's first killing frost.

But this one.

This one still trembles.

His control fractures with each shudder, and you remember how father once told you that a Grimguard is most lethal in the moments they're breaking.

Like a wolf with its leg in a trap, he'd said, that familiar cruel smile twisting his lips. They'll tear through their own flesh to survive. Imagine what they'd do to yours.

Pain shapes them. The cold hardens them.

A common solider dies for his kingdom, a Grimguard kills for it.

"Are you cold?" The whisper escapes before wisdom can catch it, and the transformation is immediate — his trembling ceases as if frozen in time, muscles locking into place with military precision.

Whether it's training or pure shock that stills him, you can't tell.

These new ones are always unpredictable, balanced on a knife's edge between their old instincts and their new purpose.

"I heard you whimpering," you continue, the words hanging dangerous and delicate in the space between you. Through the silver teeth of his muzzle, his breath comes in short, controlled bursts, each exhale creating ghost-white clouds that dissipate against the metalwork.

The pattern is deliberate now — mechanical — as if he's forcing each breath through a carefully memorized cadence, the same measured rhythm you've watched the veteran Grimguard use during their drills, when they're trying to master pain.

You wonder if he's already learning to lie with his body, or if he's simply too terrified to show weakness.

You hover in the uncertainty, unsure what response you're seeking.

The Grimguard are like shadows given form and function — you've spent years watching them from windows and walkways, learning their peculiar language of violence and restraint.

They move in packs through the fortress halls, all lethal grace and barely contained aggression, but you've also witnessed the moments they think no one sees.

A Grimguard pressing their muzzle against a packmate's shoulder after a brutal training session, the silent comfort shared between two hounds who lost their third to a snow bear's claws at the North Gate, and there’s something almost gentle in how they lean into each other then, these weapons your father has forged, finding warmth in the spaces between their brutal purpose.

But those moments are never meant for outsiders' eyes.

They're certainly not meant for the kings daughter, whose very presence reminds them of the hand that holds their leash.

You've seen how quickly they can shift from deadly grace to deadly intent, how the muzzles hide everything except the truth in their eyes.

He turns — slowly, deliberately — and you catch your first glimpse of eyes behind the silver latticework.

They're brown, almost gold in the dim light, and far too lucid for comfort. Not yet hollowed out by more training, not yet carrying that vacant winter-wolf stare that marks the veteran Grimguard.

These eyes study you with an unsettling clarity, as if cataloging every detail of your presence.

His head tilts, just slightly, reminding you of the hunting hounds when they catch an unfamiliar scent, and the motion is too natural, too human. Somehow that makes it worse, as most Grimguard move like they're reading from a manual of precise angles and measured steps.

The muzzle shifts as his jaw works beneath it, and you realize he's trying to decide if he's allowed to speak to you. New recruits often struggle with this — the complex hierarchy of who can command their voice and who must be met with silence.

The princess falls into a grey area their training hasn't covered yet.

Finally, his gloved hand rises, not toward you but to his own throat, fingers pressing against the high collar of his blacks where you know the control runes are etched.

The control runes are your father's masterwork — ancient symbols seared into the skin at throat and spine, binding each Grimguard to the fortress's will.

You've seen them during the marking ceremonies, watched how they burn with a cold blue light as they're carved, how they fade to silvery scars that pulse with each heartbeat.

They serve as both leash and collar, limiting how far a Grimguard can roam from the fortress walls, how much force they can use, who they can harm.

"My Lady." The words emerge like broken glass wrapped in velvet — smooth on the surface but jagged underneath. His voice carries that telltale distortion all new recruits have, as if speaking through layers of frost, but there's something else there. A tremor of defiance, perhaps, or desperation. "The cold is necessary. Part of our conditioning."

He swallows hard, the muzzle's intricate metalwork shifting with the motion. The runes must be burning now — you can see how his fingers dig deeper into his collar, tendons standing out against the black leather of his gloves, but he holds your gaze, those amber eyes still too present, too aware.

Most pups learn to lower their eyes by now.

You notice a tension in how he stands, like a bowstring drawn too tight, and you recognize the stance from watching new recruits, called the Unblooded, in the training yards.

"Necessary," you echo, tasting the word's bitter edge. You've heard your father use that same justification countless times in his workshops, watching dispassionately as fresh recruits screamed through their first exposure to the killing cold. The cold that reshapes them, hardens them, strips away everything warm and human until only the Grimguard remains.

His breathing hitches — just slightly — at your tone.

The runes pulse again, brighter now, a steady rhythm like heartbeats beneath his collar. You notice how his other hand has curled into a fist at his side, leather creaking with the strain, Fighting the compulsion to kneel, perhaps, or fighting the instinct to run.

Both would be equally futile.

"And who told you that?" The question slips out softer than intended, almost gentle — It's dangerous, this curiosity about their lives before the muzzles, before the markings. Your father has warned you repeatedly about seeing them as anything more than what they are now: tools, weapons.

But there's something about this one's eyes, about the way he still holds himself like he remembers another life, that makes you reckless.

You can hear the slight scrape of metal teeth as his jaw clenches beneath the muzzle. When he finally speaks, his voice has splintered, "The Keeper himself, my Lady. Your father."

You hear the sound of boots approaching, the groundslurkers making their rounds to assure everything is just-so.

"Inside," you murmur, touching the frozen door behind you. Not a command, but an invitation. A dangerous one. No Grimguard is allowed in the royal quarters unless specifically ordered by your father.

The punishment would be severe.

He knows this.

You see the conflict ripple across what's visible of his face, the way his fingers twitch toward his turtleneck collar, but the patrol's footsteps are getting closer, and you've already seen too much.

You push the door open wider, letting candlelight spill onto the frost-rimed stones. "Choose quickly."

For a moment, he's perfectly still, like the ice sculptures in the winter garden, then he moves — one fluid step through the doorway, silent as snow despite his armor, and you close the door just as the patrol rounds the corner, their heavy boots echoing past without pause.

In your chambers, he looks desperately out of place.

The black armor and cruel angles of his muzzle stark against the rich tapestries and furs. He stands rigid, carefully not touching anything, as if afraid his mere presence might taint the warmth of the room.

In all your life in the palace, you've never dared to get this close. The Grimguard are your father's shadows, his weapons — to be glimpsed from afar, never examined.

But now.

You circle him slowly, studying the way frost creeps along the joints of his armor, how it crystallizes in delicate patterns where leather meets metal. Up close, you can hear the soft crackle of ice forming and reforming with each breath, see how the cold radiates from him in barely visible waves that make the air shimmer.

The muzzle is even more intricate than you'd imagined.

Delicate silverwork overlays darker metal, creating a lattice of thorns and frozen vines that cage the lower half of his face. You can see now why they call it a muzzle rather than a mask — it's fitted precisely to his features, allowing just enough movement to speak when commanded, but designed to remind both wearer and observer of its purpose.

Control.

Your hand lifts before you can stop yourself, drawn to the impossible intricacy of it. His whole body goes rigid, but he doesn't step back. This close, you can see the minute tremors running through him — fighting against something you don't fully understand, or reacting to your proximity, or both.

"Does it hurt?" you whisper, fingers hovering just above the metalwork. "All the time, or only when-“

"Yes." The word comes out rough, barely above a whisper. He hasn't spoken this long without a command in who can say exactly how long. "Always. But more when..." He trails off, eyes flickering to your still-raised hand, then away.

More when fighting whatever's been done to him, you realize.

More when showing any trace of humanity.

Your hand trembles slightly, caught between pulling back and closing that final distance. The cold radiates against your skin, a warning or an invitation— you're not sure which.

You've never heard one of them admit to pain before.

They're not supposed to feel anything at all.

But he does feel.

He hurts.

His eyes widen, a flash of something — fear, hope? — breaking through their frozen surface.

"Let me help you," you say softly, reaching for the intricate clasps of the muzzle nestled in his wavy, black hair. "Just while we're here. No one will know."

"You can't," he says, the words strained. Even this small act of refusal seems to cost him. "The cold will hurt you. And if the Keeper—"

"My father isn't here," you interrupt, your voice steady despite the way your heart pounds. "And I'm not afraid of the cold."

You're close enough now to see how the metalwork digs into his skin, how even the simple act of speaking makes the thorns beneath the sides of his muzzle bite deeper.

All these years, you never knew the muzzles were lined.

Never wanted to know.

His breath catches as your fingers brush the first clasp, but he remains perfectly still, caught between what he's been made to be and what you're offering him — a moment of freedom, no matter how brief.

The clasp comes free with a sharp click, and his whole body jerks as if struck. A soft sound escapes him — pain or relief, you can't tell, as frost spreads rapidly across the metal where your fingers made contact, but you refuse to pull away.

"I'm sorry," you whisper, working on the next clasp. "I'll be quick." The cold bites into your fingertips now, sharp and hungry, but you can see how the muzzle's grip has already loosened slightly, allowing him to take a deeper breath. “Are they all like this?”

His hands clench at his sides, trembling with the effort to remain still, and each release of a thorn seems to send shockwaves through him, as if the very act of being freed is its own kind of agony. But he doesn't stop you, doesn't pull away — and that tells you more than words ever could.

The facade of silver and shadow begins to come apart under your careful touch, revealing glimpses of what lies beneath; you try not to think about how long it's been since anyone has seen his true face, or why your father thought it necessary to cage him so thoroughly.

"No," he manages, voice tight as you work on another clasp. "Not all. This one is special." There's a bitter edge to the word that makes you pause.

The implications sink in slowly. Your father must have designed this one specifically for him — more thorns, more pain, more control. Because he was different somehow. Because he fought back.

You examine the cruel metalwork with new understanding, noting how the thorns are positioned to punish speech, expression, any hint of defiance, your fingers tracing a particularly deep puncture mark, and he goes completely still, hardly breathing.

"Almost done," you promise, though your hands are nearly numb from the cold now. Each clasp reveals more evidence of long-term torture disguised as restraint. The more you see, the more questions burn in your throat, “Why’d they give you one like this?”

He's quiet for so long you think he won't answer, the final clasp coming free under your trembling fingers, but he makes no move to remove the muzzle completely.

"I remembered," he finally says, "Something I wasn't supposed to. My name." His eyes meet yours, and there's something terrible in their depths — not just pain, but knowledge. "They take everything when they make us, but I kept one thing."

He stops abruptly, as if even this small confession costs him dearly, and you can see the thorns pressing deeper as he speaks, drawing pinpoints of darkness that might be blood, might be something else entirely, yet he hardly reacts.

The pain hardly registers.

A weapon isn't supposed to remember who it used to be.

But this one does.

“What’s your name?”

His breath catches at your question, and you can see him fighting against years of conditioning, against the very magic that binds him, and the room grows colder, frost crystallizing on the windowpanes.

"L-" he starts, then gasps as if the very attempt causes him physical pain. His hands clench. "Luigi," he finally manages, the name coming out in a rush of frozen air.

You repeat the name softly, testing its weight, and he shudders at the sound of it from another person's lips. How long has it been since anyone has called him by his real name? How many years of being nothing but a number, a weapon, a Grimguard?

This is where it began.

And soon, you find yourself inventing excuses to avoid Duke Aldrich of Brindsborough's tedious evening calls. Instead, your nights belong to these stolen moments; you and Luigi seated on the floor of your chambers, knees touching, sharing whispered confessions in the candlelight.

He teaches you how the Grimguards sleep — bodies intertwined for warmth in the cold stone kennels, finding comfort in the press of limbs and shared breath. The first time he shows you, hesitantly arranging your bodies so your back fits against his chest, you understand.

It's not just for warmth — it's about trust.

You learn to read the minute changes in his expression, the things he can't say even without the muzzle. He learns your tells, too — the way you twist your rings when you're anxious, how your laugh changes when you're truly happy versus when you're playing the perfect princess.

These evenings become your refuge whilst the rest of the castle prepares for your upcoming marriage to a man you barely tolerate, you and Luigi build something fragile and precious in secret candlelight.

You tell him about the time you were seven, and you snuck your injured falcon into your bedroom instead of letting the gamekeeper "take care of it." You'd splinted its wing with strips torn from your favorite dress and fed it scraps from your dinners for weeks. Your father had been furious when he found out — not because you'd ruined the dress, but because you'd shown weakness.

Mercy was unbecoming of a princess.

The next memory stands out sharp and clear — that particular night when everything shifted.

You'd barely managed to secure the door's heavy lock before Luigi abandoned his usual restraint, muzzle yanked off. One moment you were turning, the next your back hit the floor with a soft thump, driving a surprised laugh from your chest.

His movements were pure instinct, almost feral — nothing like the rigid control the Grimguards usually displayed. Cool lips and nose traced your neck once you’d pulled his muzzle away, your collarbone, your hair, erasing every lingering trace of Duke Aldrich's cloying cologne. Each brush of contact sent shivers down your spine, not from cold but from the intensity of his need to claim, to possess.

"Marking your territory, are you?" you whispered through breathless giggles, fingers threading through his hair. The words made him pause, and you felt him tense — caught between embarrassment at his display and a deeper, darker urge to continue.

You could feel his breath against your throat, quick and uneven. When he finally spoke, his voice was rough. "He touched you. I could smell him on you all evening. I couldn't. I can't-“

Instead of pulling away, you tugged him closer, understanding flooding through you. This wasn't just possession — it was protection, desperation, love transformed by whatever magic had remade him into something wild and fierce. "I'm here," you whispered. "I'm yours."

A sound rumbled deep in his chest — not quite human, not quite animal—and his grip on you tightened almost painfully. The temperature plummeted, frost blooming across the flagstones in intricate spirals, but you weren't cold.

Not where he touched you.

"Mine," he breathed against your skin, the word holding years of denied wanting. His control, already fragile, splintered further. You felt the magic that bound him surge and twist, fighting against this claiming that went against everything they'd bred him to be.

Grimguards weren't meant to want.

Weren't meant to possess anything but their duty.

Yet here he was, trembling above you, eyes dark with need as they met yours. One hand cradled your face with impossible gentleness, even as the other gripped your waist with bruising intensity. The contradiction of him — deadly weapon and tender protector, ice and burning want — made your heart race.

"Say it again," he pleaded, voice rough with desperation.

You reached up, traced the scars where the muzzle had been, and watched his eyes flutter closed at your touch. "I'm yours, Luigi," you whispered. "Only yours."

The moment your fingers trace those scars, Luigi shudders violently, a full-body tremor that sends cascades of ice crystals shimmering through the air. His breath hitches, catches — no one has ever touched him there, not with such tenderness, not since they first bound him.

But then he does something that steals your breath — he leans into your touch. Like a half-wild thing learning trust, he presses his face against your hand, nuzzling into your palm.

His skin is cold as ever, but his breath comes hot against your wrist. When his lips brush your skin — tentative, questioning — you feel the ghost of frost patterns blooming up your arm.

"Warm," he murmurs, sounding almost drunk on the sensation. "You're so warm." His eyes are half-lidded now, tension melting from his shoulders even as his grip on your waist remains possessive, and the contradiction fascinates you — how he can seem so dangerous and so vulnerable in the same moment.

You trace another scar, and this time he makes a sound that's almost a purr, deep in his chest. The ice spreading across your chambers takes on a soft, pearlescent glow, as if reflecting his pleasure. It's intoxicating, this power to gentle him with just your touch, to make the fearsome Grimguard melt like snow in spring.

When his eyes open to meet yours again, they're heavy with an emotion that makes your heart stutter. The gold in them has darkened to midnight, pupils blown wide. "More.” he whispers, and it's both a plea and a demand.

With trembling fingers, you map the constellations of his scars, each touch drawing new sounds from him — soft gasps and broken whimpers that make your chest tight. The marks are smooth beneath your fingertips, silver-white against his olive skin. You trace them all; the deep grooves where the muzzle's straps cut in, the lighter marks across his jaw where they tested different bindings.

His control slips further with each caress, and frost flowers bloom and fade on your skin where his hands roam, leaving trails of delicious cold that make you shiver. When your thumb brushes the corner of his mouth — where the metal once forced his silence — he catches it gently between his teeth, eyes locked on yours as he presses a kiss to your fingertip.

"They told us we couldn't feel," he murmurs against your hand. "That the binding stripped everything but duty.” He presses his forehead to yours, breathing ragged. "With you, I feel everything."

You curl your fingers into his hair and pull him down, eliminating the last space between you. His lips are cool against yours, but they warm quickly as you show him this new way to be close, to trust, to want.

He learns fast, desperate and eager, like a man who's been dying of thirst finally given water.

You feel it in every desperate roll of his hips, that untamed creature beneath his skin — the one the Grimguard could never fully bind. It surfaces in the frost that spreads beneath his palms where they bracket your head, in the way his breath comes in ragged pants against your neck, hot despite his perpetual cold.

He's beautiful like this — composure shattered, cheeks flushed an impossible pink against his beautiful skin, and his eyes are blown wide, that ethereal chestnut brown nearly swallowed by black, and they catch the light like stars when he gazes down at you.

There's something almost painful in his expression — wonder and desperation and disbelief all tangled together.

The friction between you draws broken sounds from his throat, primal and unrestrained. His movements are instinctive, graceless — so different from his usual precise control, each roll of his hips against your thigh becoming more frantic than the last, his whole body trembling with need.

"Please," he gasps, though you're not sure what he's begging for. You’re almost certain he doesn't know either. His fingers curl against the floor, "Please, I can't- I need-"

You reach up to thread your fingers through his hair again, drawing him down until his forehead rests against yours, and he whimpers at the contact, hips stuttering in their rhythm.

This close, you can see every emotion flash across his face — vulnerability and hunger and love so intense it steals your breath.

The wild thing in him recognizes its match in you, and neither of you want to tame it anymore.

His voice trembles as he tries to find the words, years of enforced silence warring with raw need. You cradle his face in your hands, thumbs brushing his cheekbones.

"Tell me," you whisper. "I want to hear you say it."

"I-" he starts, then breaks off with a shaky exhale.

"I need to be closer.” He whispers, his movements between your legs desperate and juvenile, but there’s something so, so sweet about it.

He’s reduced himself to raw and visceral need, and cares little for how it makes him look, this feared Grimguard, a hound who sleeps in piles with his pack, a weapon of mass destruction, a human being. He’s flayed himself open for you, guts spilling forth, red hot and oxblood — this primeval need, this unfiltered want.

It simply is not something you’d ever find in anyone else.

Specifically the Fiancé your father has hand-selected.

Luigi groans as you guide him where you need him, the sound low and broken against your throat. Your nightgown rides higher, silk cool against fevered skin. His grip on your hip tightens instinctively, and you gasp at the perfect pressure of frost-touched fingers.

Each roll of his hips is hungry, instinctive — like his body remembers what his mind was forced to forget. You wonder if he dreams of this, if behind those crystalline eyes he imagines all the ways he could unravel you. If during those long, cold nights in his chamber, thoughts of you haunted him like this.

The friction builds a delicious heat that makes your head spin. You arch against him, chasing more, and his breath hitches at the way you move. His eyes are wild when they meet yours — desperate and wanting and almost afraid of how much he needs this.

The etiquette mistress would faint if she knew the thoughts that filled your head during lessons now — memories of frost-touched skin and desperate sounds and the way Luigi says your name like a prayer.

You guide Luigi beneath you, and he goes willingly, eyes wide with wonder as you settle above him, his hands tracing paths of up your thighs, mapping you like something precious, something sacred, each touch leaving ghostly patterns on your skin that fade like morning mist.

The silk of your dress whispers between you as his fingers trail higher, catching on your collarbone where your necklace rests, transfixed by the way the pendant rises and falls with your quickening breath, by how the gold warms against your skin while his touch remains winter-cold.

"Closer," you echo, fingers curling in the hem of his black shirt. You draw it up slowly, exposing him inch by inch, the moonlight streaming through the window catching on old scars that map his abdomen like constellations — some precise and surgical, others jagged and cruel.

Your heart aches at their implications, but now isn't the time to count his wounds.

Not when he's looking at you like this, like you're everything he was told he could never have.

His breath hitches as your hands explore the newly exposed skin, and the temperature drops further with each touch, frost spiraling out beneath him in intricate patterns that match his racing pulse.

"Please," he gasps, and you're not sure if he's begging you to stop or never stop. Maybe both. The wild thing in him is closer to the surface than ever, making his eyes glow like arctic stars in the darkness. "I need- I don't know how to-"

You lean down until your foreheads touch, breaths mingling in the frost-edged space between you. His skin radiates winter's chill everywhere except where his heart beats strong beneath your palm. You can feel him trembling, power barely contained.

"Let me show you," you whisper against his lips, cradling his face. His eyes are luminous in the darkness, filled with vulnerability and desperate trust. The temperature drops as his control frays further, delicate patterns of frost blooming across every surface.

"I've never-" he starts, voice breaking.

You silence him with a gentle kiss. "I know," you breathe. "I've got you. You're safe, Lu."

His fingers flex against your arms as emotions war across his face — years of isolation and fear battling with his need to be known, to be accepted exactly as he is. The wild thing in him strains closer to the surface with each passing moment. "Let go," you tell him softly. "I got you."

You pour all your love into another kiss, wet and hot, showing him that he's worthy of gentleness, of care.

That he doesn't have to hold himself back anymore.

And he doesn’t.

You watch in wonder as his composure fractures, that usually fixed expression melting into something vulnerable and raw, his hands grasping you like an anchor as his careful control slips further.

The temperature drops with each shared breath, but you've never felt warmer.

His face — usually so guarded, bearing scars that speak of battles fought alone - is transformed. Open. Trusting. His lips part on silent pleas as his eyes lock with yours, glowing like arctic stars, and the wild thing in him is closer to the surface than ever.

You've never seen anything more beautiful than this proud, powerful man allowing himself to be soft for you. To be vulnerable. His fingers flex against your skin as another tremor runs through him.

"You're safe," you whisper, rocking your hips against his in a slow rhythm that allows the both of you to adjust. "You're mine."

The sound he makes is something between a sob and a prayer, raw with years of loneliness and need. You kiss him deeply, showing him with every touch that he's worthy of this — of pleasure, of care, of love freely given, and he takes just as his heart desires.

It hardly takes him any time before he’s got the hang of it, raw and needy, soft but strong.

He shoves his face in your neck once you’ve been laid on your back again, his teeth biting gently into the soft flesh of the curve in your shoulder, his instincts still lingering, but you welcome them and each mark he leaves against your skin, the rhythm of his hips sloppy and wild but achingly free, your own body cherished as if he’d come undone at your altar.

He worships you, just as the Grimguards are meant to worship their Keeper — his devotion raw and unfiltered, his gaze defiant and steady, “I love you.” He says, the words feeling like a foreign language, but one you had taught him to speak. “So much it hurts.”

[lilipens]

✧. UP THE BREEZE.

Synopsis: It’s a simple trip to hike up the mountains. Jade’s dragged you to examine some mushrooms for the winter, but it takes an unexpected twist.

Pairing: Jade Leech x Gender Neutral!Reader

Warnings / Genre: None! Just tiny bits mention of injuries and blood. Nothing too excessive. Fluff + Wholesome-ish

Word Count: 1.2k

A/N: omg... this is my first time writing for twst ever again because my twst phase is slowly returning lmao. i chose it to be kinda christmast-y because this christmas didn’t feel like it so why not pen up a drabble! happy holidays to people who celebrate it and it’s nearly new years haha i’ve proofread this myself multiple times to the point my eyes are dry so sorry if you see a typo just ignore it TT but aside that, i hope you guys enjoy and comments are appreciated hehe <3

A light snowfall drifts lazily through the air, coating the trail with a fine dusting of white. You’re not sure what you were expecting when Jade invited you on this ‘winter’ hike, but it certainly wasn’t this. 

Jade’s figure ahead is a stark contrast against the white backdrop. His smooth and calculated movements seem almost effortless, as though he’s done this a hundred times before. And maybe he has, given his obsession with mountains, and, of course, mushrooms. He’s practically a living advertisement for the Mountain Lover Club, and you are now a reluctant member of his personal expedition. His coat is pristine, scarf neatly arranged, and his boots are perfectly suited for this kind of weather.

And you? You look like a snowman that’s been abandoned mid-construction. Your scarf is tangled, your boots are already soaked, and the damp chill’s creeping into your bones. Not to mention—your nose is so red you feel like Rudolph auditioning for a low-budget Christmas special.

It’s not like you were his first choice. Oh no. Floyd would rather chew on a rock than be anywhere near mushrooms, so he was out of question. Azul? Too busy with the Mostro Lounge, managing business affairs, and probably coming up with new ways to charge students for Christmas-themed smoothies. No, Jade had no one else to drag into this winter wonderland, so naturally, he picked you. The person who couldn’t say no.

The trail stretches endlessly before you, a winding path bordered by skeletal trees. “I hope you’re enjoying yourself,” Jade’s voice rings out, effortlessly cutting through crisp air.

Enjoying yourself? Your legs ache, your lungs are on fire, and the backpack you’re lugging might as well be filled with bricks. Regardless, you summon the strength to respond, albeit weakly. “Yeah, totally.” You reply, quite strained yet trying to sound convincing. A hum follows, one that carries far more amusement than you’d like. It’s almost as if he’s pleased by your persistence, even if he knows it’s a façade.

“Fascinating,” he murmurs, turning his attention back to the path ahead. “Most would find such conditions challenging, but you seem to be persevering admirably.”

Is that praise? Mockery? You can’t tell, and, frankly, you’re too cold and miserable to care. 

Further along the trail, his pace slows down. Jade crouches suddenly, and gestures toward a patch of snow-covered bark. “Ah, look at this. A specimen of a Flammulina velutipes,” he explains with a sharp-toothed grin, voice laced with delight. 

You squint at the area he’s pointing to. Nestled against the bark is a cluster of delicate golden caps, their surfaces glistening faintly under a thin veil of frost.

“They’re more commonly known as the Velvet Foot,” he continues, brushing a dusting of snow with the back of his glove. “Certainly a rare find. These mushrooms thrive in cold conditions like this, their resilience ensuring survival even when everything dies off. Intriguing, don’t you think?” 

“Uh, I mean… they look… really unique?” You shrug, hoping your disinterest isn’t that visible. Speaking of mushrooms, your knowledge of them barely extends beyond “edible” and “not edible”. However, from how Jade speaks with a note of reverence—makes you almost feel like you’re missing something profound. It's how he patiently waits for you to respond lowkey intimidates you. “Their adaptability is incredible,” he rambles on with interest, and you’re too lost in the moment to catch up with what he’s speaking of.  

In a short amount of time, you start to feel the cold seep in a bit deeper now, your legs being uncomfortably stiff. Basically, your whole body’s protesting against the hike. You swallow and glance down at the winding trail. Maybe it’s time to head back. “Hey, Jade,” you call out tentatively. “I think we should head back soon. My legs are about to give out.” 

It takes a few minutes for Jade to shift his focus back to you, blinking as though emerging from a trance. He straightens, the calm expression he usually wears returning, along with a smile. “Ah, of course. I suppose it's been quite a long hike.” With a nod, he turns to begin the descent. You follow closely behind, eager to start heading back.

Gosh, the dive should have been easier. Should have been. Gravity was supposed to do half the work, right? The path ahead was clearly worn with soft snows and uneven rocks. Tall leafless trees lined the track casting long silhouettes over the way. 

One wrong step on a loose rock sent you lurching forward. "Ouch—!" You yelp, hitting the ground with an unceremonious thud. Pain flares in your knee sharply. You sat there, stunned, staring at the fresh scrape now blooming across your skin. Blood wells up, bright and angry against the dirt-smudged surface.

Jade's footsteps came to a halt. For an instant, there was silence. Then, a shadow loomed over you. “My my,” he crouches beside you with his familiar unsettling calmness. “ A misstep, I see.” 

“No kidding,” you mutter, wincing as you try to straighten your leg. His keen eyes zeroed in on your knee. “Hmm, quite the scrape. Nothing serious but…” He tilts his head slightly, a look of contemplation crossing his features. “You’re trembling.”

The pain from your knee shoots up, and your throat tightens. Before you could stop it, your eyes prickled with tears. “I’m not trembling,” Except you were. Swiping your eyes hastily as your cheeks flush in embarrassment. “It’s just… It hurts, okay? Leave me alone.” 

Jade blinks, flickering to your face. “Oh?” he murmurs, faintly amused. “Interesting indeed,” he observes, although he doesn’t move away. Instead, he leans in closer. “Humans are truly remarkable creatures. Such a small injury, yet it brings you to tears… How delicate.” His words should sting, but he sounds more intrigued than condescending. And it’s worse that way—like you’re some puzzle to him. 

“Are you just going to stand there and analyze me, or are you going to help?” You snap out of frustration. To your surprise, he merely chuckles. “I apologize. Allow me.”

With eerie precision, Jade pulls a small first aid kit from his bag—as expected, he always has one around—and sets to work cleaning the scrape. "This may sting," he warns, and there's an unmistakable gleam of excitement in his eyes as he dabs at the wound with antiseptic. "Gee, thanks for the warning," you quip, flinching anyway. 

He hums in response, focusing entirely on the task. For someone so unnervingly serene, he’s surprisingly gentle. When he finishes, he scores a bandage over the scrape with a flourish. “There,” he declares, straightening up. “Good as new.” 

You glance at the bandage, then back at him. “You’re weirdly good at this.” A wide smile forms across his face. “One must be prepared for any situation, don’t you agree?” You let out a sigh, deciding to leave that question unanswered. 

“Can you stand?” he asks, offering a gloved hand.

You hesitate for a moment, unsure if you want to stand up in front of him or just stay sitting in the snow. But staying on the ground feels worse, so you take his hand, letting him pull you up with ease. His grip is firm, steady as ever, and his touch feels strangely reassuring.

“Thanks,” you mumble, brushing the snow and dirt from your pants.

Before you know it, his grin’s growing bigger and there’s something almost unsettling in the way he looks at you. “Of course. Shall we continue? I’d hate for the mountain to claim another victim.”

You roll your eyes with a faint tug of your lips, trying to brush off the ticking annoyance. You follow behind him again, the misstep lingering in your mind. Yet, you can’t help but feel like this little mishap only entertained Jade more.

© lilipens

[rillils]

i hate my angst loving self so much sometimes

think about a confused and not-entirely-there bucky screaming at steve, asking him why he left him there on the snow, asking why he didnt come back for him, telling him how long he waited for him to come and save him

FINE HONEY, YOU WANTED ANGST, I'LL GIVE YOU ANGST. AND I'LL CRY ABOUT IT 😭

warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, tw: suicidal thoughts, very mild gore, nightmares, post-catws, angst is definitely not my thing what am i even doing here asjdhsjdh wordcount: 3815 a side note: while the language here is used in accordance with steve's profound sense of guilt, it doesn't reflect the author's personal beliefs on the matter - aka IT'S NOT HIS FAULT SKDLKS MY POOR BABY 😭😭

It always starts off quiet, like the darkened hall of a theater in the split second between the curtain opening over the stage and the actor’s first line. Silence, please. The show is about to begin.

The scenery changes sometimes, but it’s the mountains Steve sees most often in his dreams: the soulless gray of stone, and the blinding white of snow coating everything, from the peaks, to the valley, to the copse of fir trees, huddled together like children in the cold. Just like he remembers from that day in the Alps. No one knows how to torture him better than his own mind.

The wind rises sharp and icy, lifting sleets of frost with it, and a chill rolls down Steve’s spine. It’s not the cold, though.

It’s fear, congealing like a dead weight in the pit of his stomach. The show is about to begin. And he’s watched it all to the end countless times before.

“Steve?”

His head whips around, and Bucky’s right there, like he always is. A fixed point, unchanged, unmovable, his boots sinking soundlessly in the thick layer of snow beneath them.

He looks so beautiful, so oddly alive against the backdrop of his desolate place; a man at the peak of his youth, the pink of his cheeks nearly glowing next to the deep blue of his uniform, his hair combed to a movie-star shine, parted neatly to the side. It’s cruel, how perfect he is. Preserved like a cherished heirloom in Steve’s mind, never fading, never aging; a living picture, soft and rosy-cheeked. He belongs in a dance hall, in a crowded street, in the cheerful chaos of the fourth of July, in the color and noise of fireworks, in the tangle of ooh’s and aah’s under the firelit sky. He doesn’t belong here. But he’ll never leave this place.

“What are you doing here?” Bucky’s head tilts to the side, confused. “You left a long time ago.”

“Bucky,” Steve tries to say, but the name dies on his lips.

The light in Bucky’s eyes dulls to a flicker, carrying a heavy gloom over his features. He looks so sad, all of a sudden. He never looked sad when Steve was around, Steve remembers that – and Steve never learned how to make it better.

He can never make this better.

“Steve.” All the color’s draining from his cheeks, quickly, leaving only the paleness of death behind. His eyes – they pierce right through Steve, empty and cold, so cold, and Steve shudders from head to toe.

“I waited for you for so long,” Bucky’s blue lips say, with a mournful lilt Steve used to hear in his mother’s voice when she would sing to him, all those heart-twisting songs about a home she’d never see again. “Where were you?”

Something dark spreads from within across the pristine blue of Bucky’s coat, dripping slowly from his shoulder, black like ink–

blood

– smothering the rich color underneath, reaching down, down–

he fell

– down along Bucky’s arm, until it’s streaking the back of his hand–

blood, it’s blood, he fell, he’s going to fall

– pooling ruby-dark at Bucky’s fingertips.

Soon the drops will spill all over the fresh snow, staining it red, too.

“You left me here.”

Steve can’t breathe.

“Why did you leave me here, Steve?”

Steve can’t breathe.

“I’m so sorry,” he gasps, and the next breath stings in his lungs, ice-cold and merciless, “I’m so sorry, Bucky, so sorry. It’s all my fault, all my fault,” he chants, hands clawing at his own chest. But what will it help? He can’t undo this. He can never undo this. “I should have held onto you,” he sobs brokenly, and it’s strange, how he can never tell when he starts crying in his dreams, but he always feels the tears streaming down his face, real as his grief is real, clogging up his throat. “I never should have let you fall.”

Bucky steps forward, dark blood trailing behind him on the ground. Steve’s heart jolts like a spooked horse, pounding loud and fast with adrenaline.

“Why didn’t you look for me?”

He sounds so gentle. So devastatingly sad.

“Did I mean so little to you?”

Steve shakes his head, No, no, no, everything, you meant everything, always, I swear, tears flicking off the edge of his jaw to be lost in the snow-packed wind. “I t-thought you were dead,” he sobs, like he’s still curled up into the blown-up flank of that train, like he’s still got his face pressed to the ice-burn of its metal and praying for everything to end, now, before reality can reshape itself around him and tell him that Bucky is gone forever.

Something mean slithers behind Bucky’s eyes. “And you would have left my body to the wolves?” he says, his voice dangerously sharp over the moaning wind. “You didn’t think I deserved a proper burial?”

It’s snowing on the outside, but it’s inside that Steve feels ice gripping at his guts.

“You could have sent me home to my folks.”

It burns.

“To my sisters.”

It burns so bad, the shame crackling under his skin.

“At least then my family would have had a body to cry over. But it never even occurred to you, did it.”

Steve’s tongue feels glued to the roof of his mouth. “I’m so sorry,” he pushes out uselessly, “I’m so sorry, I should’ve–”

“Or did you think that I was like you?” Bucky presses on, a cruel sneer forming on his white face. “Is that it? You fooled yourself so nice, you really thought I was like you? Like poor little Stevie? With no one left in the world who would miss me? No one who would even care if I was dead or alive?” He pauses, lips curling as though a new and amusing thought only just occurred to him. “Oh. Stevie, no. Did you think you were my whole world? Are you really that pathetic?”

“No,” Steve rasps, swallowing back tears and still drowning, drowning in them, “I never thought, I never– Please, Buck, I’m so sorry–”

Bucky’s silhouette blinks in and out of sight, and when he comes back, one moment later, he’s standing right before Steve, so close he need only reach out to touch him. His sneer is gone, but the depth of hurt in his eyes slices at Steve’s heart just as sharply.

“They took me, Stevie. You left me behind and they took me. Look,” he says, showing Steve the torn flesh where his left arm used to be – it was here just a moment ago, it was, Steve could swear it, it was right here – the bloody pulp of it, a frayed shard of white bone jutting out through the ripped muscle, sickening. His mouth, when Steve can finally look back, is curled back to show his teeth, the smile almost kind if it didn’t feel like a knife tearing at Steve’s own flesh. “This is all your doing. Isn’t it pretty?” Bucky tells him sweetly. “Tell me it’s pretty, Steve. Tell me it’s pretty.”

Without warning, Bucky’s hand darts up to clamp around Steve’s chin, gripping his face viciously. His touch is like ice, searing painfully into Steve’s skin, and Steve staggers in place, helpless but to look right into Bucky’s wide, desperate eyes.

“I was so scared,” Bucky whispers, hot tears spilling over his deathly pale cheeks. “I was locked in that place for so long, I couldn’t tell day from night anymore. It was so cold, and I was so alone, so alone without you, Stevie.”

His fingernails claw into Steve’s skin until they’re drawing blood, and Steve can only sob, can only take it, can only hope this will sate the hollowness he sees in Bucky’s eyes, if only for an instant. But it won’t, he knows it won’t. It never does.

If he could kneel at Bucky’s feet and beg for his forgiveness, keep him warm with the heat of his own tears, wash the blood away–

“I thought I was going to die. Every time they dragged me back to that table, I would tell myself, this is it. This is how it’s going to end,” Bucky tells him gently, nodding his head. “Sometimes, I even thought I should end it myself, before they could. But do you know what the worst part was? I didn’t die. No matter how bad I wanted it, none of the stuff they put me through ever did it. Hope kept me alive,” he snarls, soft through his bloodied smile. “That was my curse. I believed in you. I thought you would find me, save me. I told them you would come for me, and they laughed in my face, Stevie! They knew better.”

The sound that spills from Bucky’s mouth is the twisted, poisoned imitation of a laugh, emptied of all feeling, sharp like fingernails scraped across a blackboard.

“Don’t say that,” Steve whimpers, shaking his head, “please, don’t say that, no.” And he’d cover his ears if he could, lock that ugly truth out of his mind forever, but no muscle in his body will move until Bucky’s done with him.

“Do you know what happened then, Steve? You do know, don’t you?” Bucky asks, thrusting his face into Steve’s until only mere inches separate the tips of their noses – his eyes staring into Steve’s, a creeping echo of insanity gleaming from their depths. “They took my arm first, and then they took everything else.”

Hell. This is Hell.

“Because of you.”

This is what true torment looks like. No fire and brimstone, no howling souls of the damned, no blazing hail raining down upon him.

“It was always because of you.”

Just him and Bucky’s ghost, and a winter that never thaws.

“Bucky...”

The snowstorm rises against him with violence, angry, roaring in Steve’s ears, spreading frost over his chest, his arms, his bare face, freezing the tears caught in his eyelashes. Quiet, it demands. Don’t you speak to me. You have no right to speak to me.

But the yawning hole in Steve’s chest won’t stop screaming at him, starved for forgiveness, for a respite, for a mercy he never earned.

“Please, Buck... please...”

Bucky’s hand guides him down, pushing him to his knees. He crouches over Steve, gaze locked with his, heedless of the blood dripping dark and thick between his fingers; leaning in like he’s about to share a secret.

“I held out until I just couldn’t anymore. I tried to be strong, for you,” Bucky says in a harsh whisper. “But you never came.” His face, twisted by grief, wet with new tears. Steve cups it in his palms, but it’s no use: he can’t soothe this hurt. It’s too late now.

“Bucky, Bucky, sweetheart, forgive me– please, forgive me...”

Bucky’s grip on him relents; his fingers smear red over Steve’s cheek, four bloody streaks, and he strokes his knuckles over them, unbearably gentle.

“I waited for you for so long,” he says, mournful. His face is as cold as ice between Steve’s hands, stinging, burning. “Why didn’t you look for me?”

It hurts, it hurts so bad, so deep inside Steve’s heart.

“Why didn’t you look for me?”

The wind surges up around them, rattling Steve’s bones from within. The snow’s soaking into his pants, swallowing up his knees, colder, colder, the blizzard’s smothering him, blinding him, only Bucky’s eyes bright in his vision, crying, accusing, screaming, screaming, screaming–

“WHY DIDN’T YOU LOOK FOR ME?”

-

Steve jerked awake in the darkness, gasping for breath, a handful of sheets clutched dangerously tight in his fist. He barely even registered the soft, alarmed noise coming from the other side of the bed.

“Steve? It’s all right, you’re safe now.”

His eyes scoured the dark bedroom frantically, fighting through the chilling veil of ice still creeping at the edge of his vision. His heart hammered loud like thunder in his ears, pulsing so wildly in his throat, he thought for a moment that it would burst out of his body.

“Steve.”

Where was he?

The mountains–

“It was just a dream. You’re safe now, I promise. You’re home.”

His gaze focused on the only source of light: the faint glow filtering in through the blinds, the familiar orange hue of the street lights in their neighborhood, casting a striped pattern on the floor. A rug, there was a rug there – and a pair of slippers flicked just a bit too far from the bed.

“Come back to me, baby.”

The crumpled lumps of two discarded socks, that never made it to the hamper – oh, Bucky hated it when he did that.

“Sweetheart, can you look at me?”

A flicker of white–

– snow–

– Alpine, uncurling from her favorite spot and slipping soundlessly out of the room.

“Can you look at me? Steve.”

He turned his head towards the sound, staring wide-eyed into the shadows until finally, the outline of Bucky’s body emerged, sitting only an arm’s length away from him.

“That’s it, that’s good, Stevie.”

There was kindness in his voice, but his brow was creased with worry. His torso was half-twisted towards Steve, his body poised as though ready to reach out for him, but Bucky hadn’t touched him yet. Good, that was good. No. It hurt. That hurt.

Steve swallowed.

“Breathe with me, sweetheart. Can you do that? For me? Slow and easy, c’mon, with me.”

It was only then that Steve became aware of his own heavy breaths, the harsh sound of which filled up the room, gasp after gasp. He let go of the sheets and lay his hand on his own chest, where he could feel his pounding heartbeat, and tried to match Bucky’s calm, measured breathing as best as he could. He thought he was going to throw up.

“That’s it, just like that,” Bucky encouraged him.

Bucky–

Something flashed before Steve’s eyes; a fragment of a pale white face, with sneering lips and blood-stained teeth, taunting him with its cruel laughter.

You left me behind and they took me.

“It’s okay. It’s okay. It was just a dream, it wasn’t real.”

Bucky shifted minutely on the bed, and a fleck of light caught the metal plates of his arm, a silver gleam darting quickly in the night.

Steve’s chin trembled. His throat closed up.

They took my arm first, and then they took everything else.

The tears came back before he could stop them, gathering hotly behind his eyes, pressing urgently to spill over.

“Bucky,” he choked out, and in the next moment he was crawling into Bucky’s open arms, curling his shaking body into Bucky’s sturdy frame. Bucky cradled him close, rubbing a soothing hand between Steve’s shoulder blades as Steve sobbed freely, pouring all of his anguish in the crook of Bucky’s neck.

“W-when you fell,” Steve stammered pitifully, clutching at the back of Bucky’s t-shirt with the desperation of a drowning man, “I should have come looking for you, I should’ve been there, should’ve– should’ve brought you back, I–”

“No, no, Steve,” Bucky rumbled, rocking him gently in his arms, “don’t do this to yourself. Please, baby, I’m begging you.”

Steve shook his head no, hiding himself deeper into the nook offered by Bucky’s neck, just beneath the hinge of his jaw. His chest felt too tight, too full – like a balloon filled with water and straining to contain it, the paper-thin skin tense to the point of bursting.

“I should have come for you, they – they never would have taken you, I wouldn’t have let them,” he stumbled on helplessly, “I would have died first! God, I would’ve... I would have died first, I swear, Buck, I swear...”

Bucky stroked his hand over Steve’s hair, kissing the spot above the shell of his ear, dark with cold sweat. Steve felt the dampness of it across his whole body, under the clinging cotton of his pyjamas, the unpleasant moisture cooling on his skin and leaving him to shudder in Bucky’s embrace.

“Look at me,” Bucky called softly. It was a simple request, laced with just the same gentleness Bucky would use sometimes to coax Alpine into his arms, but still Steve felt panic pool in his stomach.

He couldn’t. He couldn’t bear to look Bucky in the eye, not like this. Not when the truth – Because of you. It was always because of you. – was out at last.

What a scam he was. A whole lifetime spent preaching bravery, and the one time it truly mattered, he couldn’t even be brave enough to face the consequences of his own mistakes.

Please, don’t hate me, he sobbed silently against Bucky’s neck. You should. You have every right to. But please... please...

“Sweetheart, please, look at me.”

It took more strength than Steve had ever even known he possessed, but slowly, hesitantly, he let himself be pulled out of his hiding spot, and lifted his gaze to meet Bucky’s, if only for a fleeting moment.

Bucky’s flesh hand reached up to cup his jaw, working his thumb tenderly over Steve’s skin to wipe his tears away – a sweet, but fruitless endeavor, as more salty tears rolled down Steve’s cheeks, relentless.

“The truth is, neither of us could have known I would survive that fall,” Bucky said.

Steve shook his head, his eyes screwed shut against the flood of fresh tears. “I should’ve tried anyway, I should have come to you. I should have been there with you.”

Bucky grasped him by the arms, barely squeezing at all. The force wasn’t in his touch; it was in his voice, quiet to match the nighttime gloom, but firm nonetheless.

“What if they had taken you, too? What if they’d made you like me, what then?” he said, an edge of desperation coloring his voice, as if he couldn’t bear the very thought. “Do you think you could have lived with yourself, if you’d woken up one day to find that you had the blood of innocents on your hands?”

Steve’s head snapped up then, heat flashing fiercely in his chest. “What would I have cared, when you were there with me!” he cried out, panting heavily in the wake of that outburst.

Perhaps he couldn’t call this bravery; but when Steve could breathe again, their eyes finally met again.

If he’d feared he would see hate, or disdain, or resentment looking back at him, he didn’t find any of those. What he did find instead, staring at him from Bucky’s ever-familiar face, was the stubborn mark of love, shimmering brightly in Bucky’s eyes.

“Of course you would have cared,” Bucky whispered fiercely, cradling Steve’s face in both of his hands. “It would have killed you, and it would have killed me too. I could have never, ever forgiven myself, if they’d gotten their filthy hands on you because of me.”

His voice wavered, heavy with the weight of unshed tears. Steve could see the glossy sheen of them, threatening to spill over Bucky’s cheeks any second now, and felt his own heart split in two at the sight.

“Bucky,” he rasped, wetly, clasping Bucky’s wrists with his own hands to hold onto them, turning his face into those beloved palms to kiss them helplessly, one and then the other. Bucky never stopped holding him.

“Listen to me,” he said urgently, “listen to me now. We can’t change the past. We can’t, Steve.” A new sob ripped itself painfully from Steve’s throat, one he couldn’t have helped if he wanted to. “We can’t. It’s done, it’s there, we can’t take it back. And God, do I wish we could, believe me. But I want you to hear me when I say this: I am so grateful for what we have now. In the present. Our present.”

He took a deep, shuddering breath that rippled through his whole frame, as he openly struggled to keep his words clear and his voice steady. He was always the braver one, Steve thought, thrusting one of his hands out to grab a fistful of Bucky’s t-shirt, right over his breastbone.

“Steve. God, could you have ever dreamed that we could have this? I never even dared to hope for something like it, not even on my best days.”

He paused. Steve clung to him, his chest tight with emotion.

“The way we got here... Would I have chosen that? If I’d been given a choice, would I have wanted it to happen like that? No, of course not,” Bucky continued. “But if you asked me now, would I do it all over again, just for a chance to be here with you? I would say yes.” Steve whimpered, shaking his head, tears rolling down his face; but Bucky held him firmly, looking him right in the eye and nodding just as stubbornly, a watery smile on his lips. “Yes, Steve. Yes. A million times yes.”

He broke at last, and Steve lost what little control he had of himself. He tugged Bucky forward by his shirt and threw his arms around him, crushing their bodies together as if his life depended on it. Bucky returned the embrace with that same urgency, holding him tight as Steve muffled his sobs against Bucky’s shoulder, and buried his face in Steve’s hair in return.

The pinprick-like sensation of Bucky’s tears wetting his skin, as Bucky trembled quietly against him, felt like a bruise to Steve’s naked heart.

“Forgive me,” he begged, and he couldn’t have said what it was that he was seeking forgiveness for: if the pain he had caused Bucky now, or the one he couldn’t prevent so long ago.

“There is nothing to forgive,” Bucky murmured in his ear, his voice thick. “But I’ll say it, if you need to hear it.”

“Please,” Steve whimpered.

Bucky hugged him impossibly closer. “I forgive you. Always, sweetheart.”

The tightness within Steve’s chest unraveled, and in that moment, he breathed anew. Relief washed over him – and he cried, and cried, like a person cries when they’re gifted with kindness for the first time in a very, very long time, he cried until he thought he’d exhausted all his tears.

Bucky laid them both back against his pillow, chest to chest, shushing Steve’s hiccupping breaths with whispers of sweet nothings, never once letting him go.

“All that’s left to do now,” he said softly then, pressing a kiss to Steve’s brow, “is for you to forgive yourself.”

Steve burrowed deeper into his warmth, spent.

It would take a long time for that, and a tough, strenuous walk on the tortuous path towards that healing place. In the meantime, though, he could wrap himself into the safety of Bucky’s arms, and slip into a dreamless sleep for once.

[wetcatspellcaster]

Not only do I love your writing, with many a snippets living rent free in my head, and now you are spoiling us with these DVD commentary posts! Oh, and here's on:

As her arcane vision opened, and she was greeted by a hexagonal chamber, wrought from white marble. The proportions of the chamber were briefly dizzying, and off-putting enough to require adjustment to - its walls were high, suggesting a tower, with long, thin, arched windows and a mural in the domed ceiling. Everything was deathly still, and quiet.

And at the chamber's centre, a pristine white coffin.

Its lid was carved into an ornate frieze of flowers, foliage, and winged birds. All its fastenings were pale white gold, the clasps inlaid with rubies. Rose felt her consciousness tugged like a boat anchored, as the hairpin focus called her forward.

When Rose approached the coffin, she heard stifled, harried breathing within. This was truly Astarion’s resting place, then - and close enough for him to cross planes in the time it had taken them to make it to their own sanctuary. He was already inside, recovering from the death she’d willed upon him. If she’d been real, in this moment, Rose would’ve laid her hand upon the surface of the casket.

Echoing from within the coffin, came a long, gravelly groan, that ended in a series of stuttered breaths.

Ah, Rose thought, skin burning in the material plane. Not in too much pain, then.

And... definitely Astarion.

She hastily backed herself away from the coffin, rising up through the centre of the strange, pristine room to the nearest window. It seemed the quickest way to find out more information on their current location, and to leave him to whatever… that was. She felt the connection finesse itself and stretch taut, finding the limits of her own concentration as she drifted up-

Rosalie felt the temperature drop drastically as she came up to the arched window. Its glass was rimed with frost, small glittering starbursts of ice lining the edges and patching the view in places with fronds of glimmering crystal. Beyond, a pale, snow-covered landscape with no signs of life, only mountains that were impossible to scale, and a sky that was brutally dark. A night blue as ink with not a single star to light it, only pulses of colour in an aurora of paler blue and deep, bruise purple, fluttering in and out of existence and rippling through the endless, dark sky like a wave.

Rosalie did the disembodied, arcane equivalent of pressing her ear against the glass. The metal of the window frame felt so cold, it burned across her mind like flame. Though the air inside the chamber was still, she thought she heard the high, roaring howl of a merciless wind.

...why did I not realise that when I offered up DVD Commentary the 'is he wanking in his coffin' segment was bound to come back to haunt me :-)

Curse you, anon (affectionate).

I spoke a lot about where I wanted to put the coffin in the endnotes, but there are many spoiler-y reasons why I decided on Cania as the ideal place, to the point where it caused me to ignore the fact that it technically broke Scry. I'm going to try and give teasers here for the fun of it, but unfortunately a lot of my commentary on this section is going to be [REDACTED] bc it's setting up some (I think) very fun and sexy plot-twists later. Maybe I'll just use this space to be really indulgent and point out some instances of foreshadowing just to annoy readers into guessing what they might mean.

I really love the Hells in general in D&D - I'm not just brain poisoned by the House of Hope, I've always been obsessed with the very D&D specific distinction between Lawful Evil and Chaotic Evil and what Hell, as the Lawful Evil plane, looks like as a result.

Cania is Mephistopheles' domain, I based the choice that they would be in contact not just on the fact that the Black Mass is Mephistopheles' plan, but also on that one line in Ascendent!Astarions dialogue with spawn!Tav when he mentions 'Mephistopheles' gifts', as if they're on first name terms and pals now.

The description of Cania was based on what lore I could glean from online searches and also Descent Into Avernus. Cania isn't actually spoken about in great detail to be honest, it's basically lifeless, cold, and barren. Which...was already prime Gothic vampire imagery, tbh, but then I found this line on the wiki: 'Preserved corpses were frequently uncovered after collisions between glaciers.' I see Ascended!Astarion essentially, at this point, as a 'preserved corpse', particularly when contrasted to Rose's aging, so I figured it was fate.

Also idk if people have googled Mephistopheles but based on his wiki description... it seems like him and Ascendent!Astarion would get along :)))))

The flashes/aurora in the sky are meant to be a sign of arcane activity, Cania is characterised by Mephistopheles 'overseeing endless experiments with arcane magic [...] conducted throughout the wastes of the layer.'

The inside of Astarion's infernal palace registers to Rosalie as warm, but the world outside is very, very cold. There. That is my only piece of foreshadowing that I can highlight here. Make of it what you will.

Also.... yes, he was wanking in the coffin :') at least, in my vision as an author. But tbh the responses in comments were so valid, and I now also have a very funny image of it being a combination of a wank and a panic attack, which... you know... if you're an invulnerable, all-powerful vampire who's become alienated from your own humanity and your own emotions, maybe being scared *does* get you off?

Also shout out to the commenters who imagined what she overheard was actually just a Blood of Lathander style temper tantrum. Imagining an alternative version of this scene where Rosalie goes over to the coffin, here's a tea kettle high voice going "Power Word Kill! Power Word Kill!!" and goes "...ah, that's Astarion alright. Just like the old days." and then moves on with her life.

DVD commentary ask

[cabsule]

Exploring the Scenic Beauty of Haridwar to Chardham Yatra by Car

The Haridwar to Chardham Yatra by Car is not only a spiritual journey but also a visually stunning one. The roads leading to the sacred Chardham temples take you through breathtaking landscapes, from rolling hills to lush green valleys and snow-capped mountains. This scenic drive enhances your pilgrimage experience and creates lasting memories of nature's beauty. Here’s what to expect as you explore the scenic beauty of the Haridwar to Chardham Yatra by Car.

1. Haridwar to Rishikesh: A Tranquil Start

Your journey begins in Haridwar, and as you leave the city, the roads take you to Rishikesh, often referred to as the "Yoga Capital of the World." The drive is peaceful, with the Ganges River flowing beside you and a backdrop of the majestic Himalayas. The route is dotted with small villages, and you’ll witness serene landscapes filled with lush greenery and flowing rivers, setting the tone for your spiritual journey.

2. The Drive to Yamunotri: Majestic Views of the Mountains

The first major stop on your Haridwar to Chardham Yatra by Car is Yamunotri, and the journey there is nothing short of spectacular. As you drive deeper into the mountains, the roads twist and turn, offering incredible views of rugged landscapes and deep valleys. The journey to Yamunotri is particularly scenic, with lush pine forests and meandering rivers enhancing the sense of tranquility. You will notice the pristine beauty of the region, with small waterfalls and high cliffs along the way.

3. Gangotri: A Route Filled with Mystical Charm

After visiting Yamunotri, your next destination is Gangotri. The road leading to Gangotri is equally awe-inspiring, as it takes you along the Bhagirathi River, whose crystal-clear waters shine brightly against the surrounding mountains. Along the way, you can stop at several viewpoints to admire the stunning vistas. The dense forests, cool mountain air, and picturesque villages make this stretch of the Haridwar to Chardham Yatra by Car especially memorable.

4. Kedarnath: A Drive to the Heart of the Himalayas

The journey from Gangotri to Kedarnath involves a challenging yet rewarding drive through rugged terrain and steep mountain paths. However, the views are worth every twist and turn. As you ascend higher into the Himalayas, the landscapes become more dramatic with towering peaks, alpine meadows, and glacial rivers. The drive allows you to get closer to the untouched beauty of nature, and every stop presents an opportunity to admire the grand scale of the mountains surrounding you.

5. Badrinath: The Final Leg of Your Scenic Journey

The last leg of your Haridwar to Chardham Yatra by Car takes you to Badrinath, one of the most sacred pilgrimage sites in India. The road to Badrinath climbs through the higher altitudes of the Himalayas, where you are surrounded by snow-covered peaks, deep valleys, and beautiful alpine lakes. The breathtaking scenery of Badrinath’s surroundings makes the drive incredibly scenic, with a sense of peace and solitude that enhances the spiritual nature of the pilgrimage.

6. Himalayan Flora and Fauna

Throughout your Haridwar to Chardham Yatra by Car, you will pass through various ecosystems, each offering its own unique flora and fauna. The lower altitudes are filled with lush forests, while the higher reaches offer alpine meadows and stark, rocky landscapes. If you’re lucky, you might spot wildlife like the Himalayan Monal, snow leopards, or Himalayan black bears, adding an element of adventure to your journey.

In conclusion, the Haridwar to Chardham Yatra by Car is not just a pilgrimage; it's a journey through some of the most scenic landscapes in India. The beauty of the mountains, rivers, forests, and villages will stay with you long after the trip ends. To experience this unparalleled journey with comfort and safety, book your Haridwar to Chardham Yatra by Car with Cabsules. We ensure that your journey is not only spiritually enriching but also filled with breathtaking views every step of the way.

[crazyriders]

Leh Turtuk Leh Bike Tour

Are you ready for an exhilarating journey through one of the most spectacular regions of India? The Leh Turtuk Leh Bike Tour is the ultimate adventure for thrill-seekers, nature lovers, and cultural enthusiasts alike. Crazy Riders invites you to embark on this unforgettable journey, where every twist and turn of the road unveils breathtaking landscapes and unique experiences.

The Route: A Ride Through Paradise

The Leh Turtuk Leh Bike Tour takes you through the majestic landscapes of Ladakh, a region renowned for its pristine beauty and rugged terrain. Starting from Leh, the heart of Ladakh, this route traverses high-altitude mountain passes, serene valleys, and charming villages before reaching the picturesque Turtuk, one of India’s northernmost villages.

Here’s a glimpse of the key highlights along the way:

Leh

Your journey begins in Leh, a quaint town nestled in the Himalayan foothills. Leh serves as the perfect starting point to acclimatize to the high altitude. Explore the vibrant markets, visit iconic landmarks like the Leh Palace and Shanti Stupa, and soak in the tranquil vibe of this enchanting town.

Khardung La

The route to Turtuk takes you across Khardung La, one of the highest motorable roads in the world. Standing at an altitude of 18,380 feet, Khardung La offers awe-inspiring views of snow-capped peaks and valleys. It’s a dream come true for every biking enthusiast.

Nubra Valley

As you descend from Khardung La, the mesmerizing beauty of Nubra Valley welcomes you. Famous for its sand dunes, double-humped Bactrian camels, and lush greenery, Nubra Valley is a stark contrast to the rugged mountains. Spend time exploring Diskit Monastery and capturing the serene beauty of the region.

Turtuk

Turtuk, a hidden gem on the Indo-Pak border, is a charming village that feels like a world of its own. Known for its apricot orchards and Balti culture, Turtuk offers a glimpse into a way of life that remains untouched by modernity. Stroll through the village, interact with the locals, and savor the simple yet delicious cuisine.

Return to Leh

The journey back to Leh is equally captivating. Retrace your path through Nubra Valley and Khardung La, cherishing every moment of this incredible adventure.

Why Choose Crazy Riders for Your Leh Turtuk Leh Bike Tour?

Crazy Riders is not just a travel company; it’s a community of passionate bikers dedicated to creating unforgettable experiences. Here’s why Crazy Riders is your perfect companion for the Leh Turtuk Leh Bike Tour:

Expertise and Experience

With years of experience in organizing bike tours across Ladakh, Crazy Riders ensures a well-planned and seamless journey. From route planning to accommodation and permits, every detail is taken care of.

Quality Bikes and Equipment

Crazy Riders provides well-maintained bikes and high-quality safety gear, ensuring a safe and comfortable ride. Choose from a range of bikes, including Royal Enfields, perfect for conquering Ladakh’s challenging terrain.

Local Knowledge

The team at Crazy Riders consists of seasoned riders and locals who know the region like the back of their hand. Their expertise ensures you get to experience the best of Leh, Turtuk, and everything in between.

Personalized Attention

Crazy Riders keeps group sizes small to ensure personalized attention and camaraderie among riders. Whether you’re a solo traveler or part of a group, you’ll feel right at home.

Tips for the Leh Turtuk Leh Bike Tour

Acclimatize: Spend at least a couple of days in Leh to acclimatize to the high altitude.

Pack Smart: Carry essentials like warm clothing, sunscreen, a first aid kit, and a good-quality camera.

Stay Hydrated: Drink plenty of water to prevent altitude sickness.

Follow Safety Guidelines: Always wear protective gear and follow the instructions of your tour guides.

Respect Nature and Culture: Keep the environment clean and be respectful of the local culture and traditions.

When to Go

The best time for the Leh Turtuk Leh Bike Tour is between June and September, when the weather is pleasant and the roads are accessible. During this time, Ladakh’s natural beauty is at its peak, with clear skies and vibrant landscapes.

Contact Us

We’d love to hear from you! Whether you have a question, feedback, or just want to say hello, feel free to reach out to us. Here’s how you can get in touch:Phone: +91 705-300-7000 Email: info@crazyriders.in Website: www.crazyriders.in

[captureatrip25]

Chasing the Horizon: Epic Bike Ride from Manali to Leh Ladakh

The Manali to Leh Ladakh bike ride is one of the most thrilling and unforgettable adventures for any motorcycle enthusiast. The journey takes you through some of the most rugged, breathtaking, and remote landscapes in India, making it an ultimate experience for bikers.

With high mountain passes, winding roads, and serene valleys, this trip is truly a ride through paradise. If you're considering this incredible journey, here’s a detailed guide to help you chase the horizon from Manali to Leh Ladakh Bike Trip.

Why Choose the Manali to Leh Ladakh Bike Ride?

The Adventure of a Lifetime

Riding from Manali to Leh isn’t just about reaching a destination; it’s about the experience. The journey spans across various terrains, from lush green valleys to barren, high-altitude deserts, making it a biker's dream. It’s not only about the road but about the challenges and excitement that come with each twist and turn of the path.

Scenic Beauty Beyond Imagination

As you ride through the Himalayas, the views are nothing short of spectacular. From the mist-covered mountains to the vast, open desert landscapes of Ladakh, the ride offers some of the most beautiful scenery you’ll ever encounter. Every mile presents a new visual delight, whether it’s a mountain pass or a pristine river.

A True Test of Your Riding Skills

The Manali to Leh ride is not for the faint-hearted. The route is challenging, with high-altitude passes, narrow roads, and ever-changing weather conditions. But that’s what makes it so rewarding. Each day brings a new adventure, and by the end of the trip, you’ll feel a deep sense of accomplishment.

Best Time to Ride

Summer (June to September)

The most ideal time to ride from Manali to Leh is between June and September. During this period, the roads are clear of snow, and the weather is relatively mild. This is when most bikers embark on this journey.

Winter (October to April)

Avoid riding during the winter months, as the routes can be blocked due to heavy snowfall and extreme cold. The high passes, including Rohtang Pass and Baralacha La, are often closed during this time, making the journey dangerous and inaccessible.

The Route: Manali to Leh Ladakh

Manali to Rohtang Pass (51 km)

What to Expect

The journey begins in Manali, where you’ll start your ride with an exciting climb up the famous Rohtang Pass. The roads are a bit challenging, but the ascent will reward you with stunning views of snow-capped mountains and the green valleys below. Rohtang Pass, at an altitude of 13,050 feet, marks the beginning of your high-altitude adventure.

Highlights

Solang Valley: A beautiful spot to stop and take in the views. You can also try some adventure activities here, like paragliding.

Atal Tunnel: Opened recently, this tunnel connects Manali to Lahaul and Spiti, cutting down travel time considerably.

Rohtang Pass to Keylong (115 km)

What to Expect

After crossing Rohtang Pass, the ride will take you through the rugged terrain of Lahaul Valley. This stretch is filled with winding roads, rivers, and villages. The landscape here is desolate, but beautiful, as you begin to feel the serenity and isolation of the Himalayas.

Highlights

Keylong: This town is the perfect place to rest. You’ll find a range of guesthouses and cafes to unwind.

Tandi Village: Known for its petrol station, Tandi is the last place where you can fill your tank before heading into the barren lands of Ladakh.

Keylong to Sarchu (130 km)

What to Expect

The next leg of the journey takes you through one of the highest mountain roads in India. As you make your way to Sarchu, you’ll encounter the Baralacha La pass, which stands at a towering 16,040 feet. The roads get even more challenging, but the views are breathtaking.

Highlights

Baralacha La Pass: A major highlight of this journey, Baralacha La offers a beautiful, challenging ride. The pass is often covered in snow, making it a thrilling experience.

Sarchu Campsites: Sarchu is a great place to stop for the night. You can find tented accommodations with breathtaking views of the surrounding mountains.

Sarchu to Pang (80 km)

What to Expect

As you move towards Pang, the landscape transforms into a barren and mystical terrain. The altitude continues to rise, and you may start feeling the effects of the high elevation. However, the sense of adventure keeps you going. The ride gets rougher, and you’ll have to be extra cautious on this stretch.

Highlights

Gata Loops: A series of 21 hairpin bends that make for a thrilling ride. It’s a great place to stop, stretch, and take in the surroundings.

Pang: A remote area offering small campsites where bikers often stop to rest for the night.

Pang to Leh (150 km)

What to Expect

The final stretch takes you across some of the highest and most iconic passes in India, including Tanglang La and Naki La. As you descend towards Leh, the landscape becomes more desolate, but the thrill of nearing your destination makes up for the tough ride.

Highlights

Tanglang La Pass: At an altitude of 17,480 feet, this is one of the highest motorable roads in the world.

Leh: Your destination! Leh is a beautiful town with Tibetan culture, monasteries, and stunning views. It’s the perfect place to relax and explore after completing your journey.

Preparations for the Ride

Choosing the Right Bike

For the Manali to Leh ride, a sturdy and reliable bike is a must. Many bikers prefer using Royal Enfield motorcycles, especially the Bullet or Himalayan models. These bikes are built to handle rough terrains and high altitudes.

Gear and Safety

Riding at such high altitudes means the weather can change suddenly. Here’s what you’ll need to pack for your ride:

Helmet: A good quality helmet for safety.

Riding Jacket and Gloves: A jacket with proper padding to protect you from the cold winds and potential falls.

Knee and Elbow Guards: For added protection on rugged roads.

Boots: Comfortable and sturdy boots to give you proper control on uneven surfaces.

Rain Gear: Since weather conditions can change quickly, carrying rain gear is important.

Thermals: Nights can get cold even in summer, so pack some thermal wear to stay warm.

Permits and Documents

For the Manali to Leh ride, you will need to carry the following documents:

Inner Line Permit (ILP): Required for specific areas in Leh Ladakh, like Nubra Valley and Pangong Lake.

Vehicle Documents: Ensure your bike’s registration, insurance, and pollution certificate are in order.

Health and Safety Tips

Acclimatize to High Altitude

Since you’ll be riding at altitudes of over 16,000 feet, altitude sickness can be a concern. Spend a day or two in Leh before heading further into Ladakh to allow your body to adjust.

Stay Hydrated

Keep yourself hydrated throughout the ride. At high altitudes, the air is thin, and dehydration can occur quickly.

Take Breaks

The roads can be tough, so it’s important to take regular breaks. Stop for a few minutes every hour or so to rest and take in the surroundings.

Must-See Attractions in Leh Ladakh

Pangong Lake: Known for its striking blue waters and serene surroundings.

Nubra Valley: Famous for its sand dunes, camel rides, and monasteries.

Khardung La Pass: One of the highest motorable roads in the world.

Conclusion

Riding from Manali to Leh Ladakh is more than just a bike ride—it’s an adventure of a lifetime. The challenges of the rugged roads, the beauty of the landscapes, and the sense of freedom make this ride something every biker dreams of. If you're ready for the challenge, chase the horizon and embark on this epic journey

[soulofarabia]

Thrill-Seekers Guide to Dune Bashing and Sandboarding

For adventure enthusiasts and adrenaline junkies, the desert offers a playground unlike any other. With its towering sand dunes, golden expanses, and dramatic landscapes, it’s the perfect setting for two of the most exhilarating activities: dune bashing and sandboarding. Whether you crave the rush of a high-speed ride over rolling dunes or the satisfaction of carving through pristine sands on a board, these experiences promise thrills, challenges, and unforgettable memories Dubai desert safari

Dune Bashing: A High-Octane Adventure

Dune bashing is one of the most popular desert activities, combining the power of 4x4 vehicles with the thrill of off-road adventure. It’s a heart-pounding ride over the dunes, where every twist, turn, and drop brings a new surge of excitement.

What is Dune Bashing?

Dune bashing involves skilled drivers maneuvering 4x4 vehicles, such as Land Cruisers or Jeeps, across the sand dunes. The activity requires precision and expertise as drivers navigate steep inclines, sudden descents, and sharp curves at varying speeds. The vehicles are specially equipped with features like roll cages, deflated tires, and reinforced suspension systems to ensure safety and performance.

What to Expect on a Dune Bashing Adventure

Your journey begins with a briefing from your driver, who will guide you through safety protocols. As the vehicle sets off into the desert, you’ll feel an initial rush of anticipation, which quickly turns into exhilaration as you ascend and descend the towering dunes.

The unpredictable nature of the terrain keeps every ride unique and exciting. The rhythmic motion of gliding over the sand, punctuated by sudden bursts of speed and sharp turns, creates an experience that’s both thrilling and immersive.

Sandboarding: Surfing the Dunes

If you’re drawn to board sports like snowboarding or surfing, sandboarding offers a unique twist. This activity lets you glide down the slopes of a dune, feeling the rush of the wind and the satisfaction of mastering the desert terrain.

What is Sandboarding?

Sandboarding is a sport that involves riding a specially designed board down the face of a sand dune. Unlike snowboarding, sandboarding doesn’t require cold weather or snow; all you need is a dune with a smooth slope and the right gear.

The Sandboarding Experience

After selecting a dune that suits your skill level, you’ll strap yourself onto the board and prepare for your descent. Beginners often start by sitting on the board, sliding down in a seated position to get a feel for the motion. Once comfortable, you can stand up and carve your way down the slope, using balance and subtle movements to control your speed and direction.

The sense of freedom and connection with the desert makes sandboarding an unforgettable experience. It’s a test of skill, balance, and courage, but it’s also incredibly rewarding, especially when you conquer your first big dune.

Where to Go for Dune Bashing and Sandboarding

Many deserts around the world offer exceptional opportunities for these activities. Here are some of the best destinations:

Dubai, UAEThe vast dunes of the Arabian Desert make Dubai a top choice for dune bashing and sandboarding. The towering dunes of the Lahbab Desert, also known as the Red Dunes, are particularly famous for their vibrant color and challenging terrain.

Namib Desert, NamibiaThe Namib Desert offers some of the highest dunes in the world, providing a thrilling backdrop for sandboarding. The towering Dune 7 is a must-visit spot for enthusiasts.

Erg Chebbi, MoroccoLocated in the Sahara Desert, Erg Chebbi is known for its golden dunes and stunning landscapes. This area is a favorite among thrill-seekers looking for an authentic desert adventure.

Great Sand Dunes National Park, USAIf you’re in North America, this park in Colorado offers incredible sandboarding experiences against a stunning mountain backdrop.

What to Wear and Bring

To fully enjoy your desert adventure, it’s important to dress appropriately and pack the right essentials.

Clothing: Wear lightweight, breathable clothing to stay cool during the day. Opt for long sleeves and pants to protect your skin from the sun and sand.

Footwear: Closed-toe shoes with good grip are ideal for both dune bashing and sandboarding. Avoid sandals, as the sand can be scorching and difficult to remove.

Accessories: A hat, sunglasses, and a scarf or bandana will help shield you from the sun and blowing sand.

Sunscreen: Apply sunscreen generously to exposed areas, as the desert sun can be intense.

Water: Stay hydrated by drinking plenty of water before, during, and after your activities.

Safety Tips for an Unforgettable Experience

While these activities are thrilling, it’s essential to prioritize safety.

Trust the Experts: Always book with reputable tour operators and follow the guidance of experienced professionals.

Wear Safety Gear: Use seatbelts during dune bashing and protective gear like helmets for sandboarding.

Know Your Limits: Start with smaller dunes if you’re new to sandboarding and avoid attempting stunts beyond your skill level.

Stay Alert: Watch for changes in the terrain and weather, as shifting sand and wind can impact your experience.

Why These Adventures Are Unmissable

Dune bashing and sandboarding are more than just thrilling activities; they’re a way to connect with the desert’s raw beauty and untamed spirit.

The adrenaline rush of racing over dunes or gliding down sandy slopes is balanced by moments of awe as you take in the vast, golden expanse around you. These activities challenge your limits, reward your efforts, and leave you with stories to tell and memories to cherish.

Whether you’re navigating the dunes in a powerful 4x4 or mastering the art of sandboarding, every moment spent in the desert is an adventure worth savoring. So gear up, take the plunge, and let the desert awaken your inner thrill-seeker desert adventures tourism dubai

[sikkimtaxisin]

Why Renting a Car is the Best Way to Explore Gurudongmar and Yumthang

Nothing can beat the comfort level of hiring a private car for North Sikkim. It not only provides comfort but also ensures safety and security on your most awaited adventure trip to North Sikkim’s two wonders – Gurudongmar Lake and Yumthang Valley. Get your North Sikkim car rental at the best prices from a reliable Sikkim travel expert.

To get the most out of your trip to these far-flung locations, hiring a private car is the safest option. This is the reason:

Freedom and Flexibility

The pristine attractiveness of Yumthang Valley and Gurudongmar Lake, which are distant from busy tourist destinations in Sikkim, is what draws people there.

You may plan your route without following set timetables when you rent a car. On your way to North Sikkim (Lachen / Lachung) from Gangtok, explore the scenic waterfalls. Spend some time there, take photographs, and leave for your destination. Every desire may be included in your journey when you have your own rental car.

Comfort in Challenging Terrain

Navigating twisting mountain roads and steep inclines is necessary to reach Yumthang Valley at 11,800 feet and Gurudongmar Lake at 17,800 feet. A smoother, safer journey is a must when you rent a sturdy SUV or a 4x4 car. The majority of Sikkim car rental companies provide cars that are suitable for this kind of road, together with skilled drivers if necessary, to ensure a stress-free and enjoyable trip.

Accessibility to Remote Gems

There are more lesser-known but no less captivating locations along the way to these places, including Chungthang, Lachung, and Lachen. You may explore these distant treasures with a rental car with personalization.

This gives you the opportunity to come across quaint towns, unspoiled streams, and colourful rhododendron forests. Hire your North Sikkim rental car from a trusted travel agency in advance, especially in peak seasons.

Avoiding Public Transport Hassles

In North Sikkim, public transit is limited and sometimes unavailable, particularly in rural regions. Reliance on shared taxis or jeeps can result in crowded transportation, lengthy wait times, and a lack of control over your speed. Renting a car keeps you from all these concerns and ensures secure and enjoyable travel.

Photography Opportunities

The region of North Sikkim offers breathtaking views of snow-capped peaks and lush valleys along the roads leading to Gurudongmar and Yumthang. There are many chances to pause and take in the beauty of these settings when you rent a car. You won't miss a single moment worth photographing, whether it's a sunrise above the mountains or yaks grazing by the river. Avail of budget Sikkim car rental from a reliable travel agency in the state.

Local Information

Choosing to hire a car with a driver on your North Sikkim trip might improve your vacation by providing you with priceless local information. These local North Sikkim drivers, who are more often locals, may take you in the direction of the greatest vantage points, suggest regional specialties, and tell you interesting tales about the history and culture of the area.

Two of India's naturally magnificent places are the Yumthang Valley and Gurudongmar Lake, which are tucked away in the virgin highlands of North Sikkim. Travelers are enthralled by these famous locations' unmatched beauty, tranquil calm, and distinctive scenery. Book your customized trip with a budget North Sikkim car rental.

[strengervinay]

Find Calm in Kareri Village: Where Your Journey Begins!

Nestled in the enchanting Dhauladhar range of Himachal Pradesh lies Kareri Village, a serene escape for those seeking tranquillity amidst nature. This quaint village serves as the starting point of the Kareri trek, a mesmerizing journey through dense forests, glistening streams, and picturesque meadows. As you embark on this adventure, expect a perfect blend of natural beauty, cultural immersion, and challenging trails that lead to the magnificent Kareri Lake.

Kareri Lake Camping: A Unique Himalayan Experience

The Kareri Lake trek distance is approximately 10 km from Kareri Village, making it an ideal adventure for trekkers looking for a moderate challenge. Along the way, you'll be greeted by pine forests, rhododendron blooms, and sparkling mountain streams. As you ascend, the trail reveals breathtaking views of the snow-capped Dhauladhar peaks, leaving you in awe of nature’s artistry.

Camping at Kareri Lake is an unforgettable experience. At an altitude of 2,950 meters, the lake offers a tranquil setting surrounded by alpine pastures. As the sun sets, the clear night sky unveils a blanket of stars, making it an idyllic spot for stargazing. Remember to pack warm clothes, as the Kareri lake temperature can dip significantly, especially at night.

Weather Wonders: Understanding Kareri Lake

One of the most captivating aspects of the trek is how the weather transforms the landscape. The Kareri lake temperature during the day ranges from 12°C to 18°C, while nights can be freezing, with temperatures dropping to -6°C. This dramatic change adds an adventurous twist, requiring trekkers to be well-prepared with warm clothing and gear.

Why Choose the Kareri Lake Trek?

Nature at Its Best: The trek offers diverse landscapes, from dense forests to open meadows, and the pristine Kareri Lake is the perfect culmination.

Cultural Insights: Exploring Kareri village allows you to experience the warmth and traditions of Himachal's local communities.

Accessibility: With its proximity to Dharamshala, the trek is easily accessible, making it a popular choice for both beginners and seasoned trekkers.

Thrilling Yet Manageable: While this Dharamshala trek poses a moderate challenge, it’s suitable for anyone with basic fitness and an adventurous spirit.

Kareri Trek: A Trek to Remember

The journey to Kareri Lake is not just about reaching a destination; it’s about the experiences and memories you create along the way. From the charm of Kareri village to the thrill of trekking through untouched landscapes, every moment is a step closer to nature and self-discovery. Whether you're camping under the stars or marvelling at the lake’s serene beauty, the Kareri Lake trek promises an adventure you'll cherish forever.

Ready to begin your journey? Book your trek today with Universal Adventures and let the magic of Kareri unfold!

[thedeamriders]

Why Bhutan is the Ultimate Destination for Motorcycle Enthusiasts?

For motorcycle enthusiasts, the thrill of the open road and the allure of uncharted landscapes are irresistible. Few places on Earth combine breathtaking natural beauty, cultural richness, and challenging riding terrain as perfectly as Bhutan, the Land of the Thunder Dragon. Here’s why Bhutan should top every rider’s bucket list.

1. Scenic Beauty Beyond Compare

Nestled in the eastern Himalayas, Bhutan is a visual masterpiece. Its rugged mountains, lush valleys, and pristine rivers offer an ever-changing panorama that’s best experienced on two wheels. As you navigate the winding roads, you’ll pass through dense pine forests, terraced rice fields, and dramatic cliffside vistas. Imagine cresting a hill and seeing a traditional Bhutanese dzong (fortress-monastery) silhouetted against snow-capped peaks—a moment you’ll cherish forever.

2. Roads Made for Adventure

Bhutan’s roads are a dream for adventurous riders. While some routes are paved and well-maintained, others are rough and challenging, making it perfect for thrill-seekers who crave variety. The famous Dochula Pass, at over 3,000 meters above sea level, offers 108 chortens (stupas) and jaw-dropping views of the Himalayas. The twists and turns of Bhutan’s mountain roads are as exhilarating as they are scenic, providing a perfect mix of technical riding and awe-inspiring surroundings.

3. Unique Cultural Experiences

Bhutan’s rich cultural heritage sets it apart from other destinations. On a motorcycle tour, you’ll have the chance to explore ancient monasteries, interact with locals in traditional villages, and attend vibrant festivals like the Paro Tsechu. The country’s deep-rooted Buddhist values and commitment to Gross National Happiness make it a place where every interaction feels meaningful.

As you ride through Bhutan, you’ll experience the harmonious coexistence of modernity and tradition. Villages still follow centuries-old customs, yet the warmth and hospitality of the Bhutanese people are timeless.

4. Environmentally Conscious Adventure

For riders who value sustainable travel, Bhutan is a trailblazer. As the only carbon-negative country in the world, Bhutan has taken extraordinary steps to preserve its natural environment. Motorcycle enthusiasts can feel good knowing their adventures align with the country’s eco-friendly ethos.

5. A Safe and Welcoming Destination

Bhutan’s well-maintained infrastructure and commitment to tourism regulations ensure a safe riding experience. While the country restricts the number of tourists through its high-value, low-impact tourism policy, this exclusivity means uncrowded roads and pristine landscapes for those lucky enough to ride there.

Additionally, organized motorcycle tours in Bhutan often come with expert guides who know the best routes, ensuring you don’t miss hidden gems like the stunning Bumthang Valley or the iconic Tiger’s Nest Monastery.

6. A Rider’s Spiritual Retreat

Bhutan is more than just a ride—it’s a journey of self-discovery. The serene landscapes, sacred sites, and meditative atmosphere make it a perfect destination for motorcyclists seeking not just adrenaline but also inner peace. The country’s spiritual energy, coupled with the rhythm of the open road, makes every journey deeply transformative.

Conclusion

Bhutan motorcycle tour offers a blending scenic beauty, cultural immersion, and thrilling roads in a way that few places can match. For riders looking for something truly different, Bhutan promises not just a destination, but an unforgettable experience. Whether you’re navigating mountain passes, stopping at ancient monasteries, or simply soaking in the serenity of the Himalayas, Bhutan will leave an indelible mark on your heart and soul.

Pack your gear, rev your engine, and let Bhutan take you on the ride of a lifetime!

[tourmyholidayholiday]

Top 10 Must-Have Experiences on a Chopta Tour

Chopta, a serene hamlet in Uttarakhand, is a paradise for adventure enthusiasts, nature lovers, and spiritual seekers. Known for its lush greenery, breathtaking views, and thrilling treks, Chopta offers an unmatched travel experience. Whether you're on a budget trip or a corporate outing, the destination has something for everyone. Let’s explore the top 10 must-have experiences on a Chopta tour, enriched with insights about Chopta Tour Packages, Trekking Tour Packages, and Camping Packages.

1. Trek to Tungnath Temple

No Chopta trip is complete without visiting the iconic Tungnath Temple, the highest Shiva temple in the world. The Tungnath Temple Trek is a moderate 4 km hike from Chopta, making it ideal for both beginners and experienced trekkers. The snow-laden trails in winter add a magical touch, and the spiritual aura of the temple makes the journey unforgettable. Opt for Chopta Tungnath Trek Packages to make the most of this divine experience.

2. Summit the Chandrashila Peak

For adventure lovers, the Chandrashila Summit Trek is a must. This trek takes you 1.5 km further from Tungnath to an altitude of 4,130 meters. The summit offers panoramic views of the Himalayan peaks, including Nanda Devi and Chaukhamba. Many Chopta Trekking Tour Packages include this exhilarating trek, ensuring you witness the breathtaking beauty of the Himalayas.

3. Experience Deoriatal Camping

Nestled amidst dense forests, Deoriatal is a serene high-altitude lake that reflects the snow-clad peaks. Camping here is a once-in-a-lifetime experience, offering tranquility and adventure. Choose Deoriatal Camping Packages to enjoy stargazing, bonfires, and peaceful nature walks. It’s an excellent spot for photography enthusiasts and those seeking a break from the chaos of city life.

4. Enjoy Camping in Chopta

Camping in Chopta is an experience in itself. Imagine waking up to the sight of majestic mountains and enjoying the warmth of a bonfire in the chilly evenings. Chopta Camping Packages cater to solo travelers, families, and corporate groups. Winter camping adds an adventurous twist, allowing you to immerse yourself in the pristine beauty of Chopta’s snow-covered landscapes.

5. Opt for Budget-Friendly Adventures

Traveling on a budget? No worries! Budget Chopta Packages offer affordable yet fulfilling experiences, including treks, camping, and local sightseeing. These packages are designed to provide the best of Chopta without burning a hole in your pocket, making them ideal for students and backpackers.

6. Participate in Group Tours

Group travel enhances the joy of exploring Chopta. Group Chopta Tours and Chopta Group Tour Packages are tailored for friends, families, or like-minded adventure enthusiasts. These packages include guided treks, camping, and group activities, ensuring a memorable and fun-filled trip.

7. Corporate Team-Building Experiences

For companies looking to combine work and leisure, Corporate Chopta Packages are a fantastic option. These packages include team-building activities, trekking, and camping experiences, making Chopta an ideal destination for corporate retreats.

8. Embark on Winter Treks

Winter trekking in Chopta is a surreal experience. The snow-covered trails leading to Tungnath and Chandrashila are a trekker’s dream. Choose Chopta Winter Trek Packages for a guided adventure that ensures safety and comfort amidst the challenging terrain. Whether you're a seasoned trekker or a beginner, winter trekking in Chopta offers unmatched thrills.

9. Explore Adventure Trekking Opportunities

Chopta is a hub for adventure trekking in Uttarakhand. From easy trails to challenging climbs, there’s something for everyone. Adventure Tours in Chopta include guided treks to Tungnath, Chandrashila, and Deoriatal, ensuring an exciting and well-planned trekking experience.

10. Follow a Customized Chopta Trek Itinerary

To make the most of your Chopta trip, follow a well-planned Chopta Trek Itinerary. Here’s a suggested 4-day itinerary:

Day 1: Arrival in Chopta

Arrive in Chopta via Chopta Trekking Packages from Delhi.

Check into a campsite or guesthouse.

Spend the evening relaxing around a bonfire.

Day 2: Tungnath and Chandrashila Trek

Begin the Tungnath Temple Trek early in the morning.

Continue to the Chandrashila Summit for panoramic views.

Return to Chopta for an overnight stay.

Day 3: Deoriatal Camping

Trek to Deoriatal and set up camp by the lake.

Enjoy stargazing and nature walks.

Day 4: Departure

Return to Delhi with cherished memories.

Why Choose Chopta for Your Next Adventure?

Chopta offers a perfect blend of adventure, spirituality, and natural beauty. Whether you’re trekking to the Tungnath Temple, camping by Deoriatal, or summiting Chandrashila, each experience is unique and fulfilling. With numerous Chopta Tour Packages, including Budget Chopta Packages and Chandrashila Trekking Packages, you can plan a trip that suits your preferences and budget.

From corporate outings to solo adventures, Chopta caters to all kinds of travelers. Its serene environment, thrilling treks, and budget-friendly options make it a top choice for winter trekking in Uttarakhand. Book your Chopta Trekking Tour Packages today and embark on a journey of a lifetime!

[bright-side-resort]

Tirthan Resort

Experience Tranquility at Brightside Resort, Tirthan Valley

Nestled amidst the serene beauty of Himachal Pradesh, Brightside Resort in Tirthan Valley is a hidden gem for nature enthusiasts, adventure seekers, and those yearning for a peaceful getaway. This charming resort combines comfort, sustainability, and breathtaking landscapes, offering guests an unforgettable escape from city life.

A Retreat in the Heart of Tirthan Valley

The Tirthan Valley, known for its lush green landscapes, pristine rivers, and proximity to the Great Himalayan National Park (a UNESCO World Heritage site), provides the ideal setting for a resort like Brightside. The resort’s architecture blends with the natural surroundings, utilizing eco-friendly materials and designs that harmonize with the valley’s untouched beauty. Every room and corner of the resort promises stunning views, creating a tranquil space to rejuvenate and reconnect with nature.

Accommodation: Comfort in Nature’s Lap

Brightside Resort offers a selection of cozy, comfortable accommodations ranging from traditional cottages to well-appointed rooms with modern amenities. Each room is designed to allow guests to immerse themselves in the beauty of the valley while enjoying the conveniences of a high-end resort. The balconies and large windows frame scenic views, allowing guests to wake up to the sight of the sun rising over the mountains and the soothing sound of the river nearby.

Adventure and Activities

From hiking trails to river rafting, Brightside Resort is a gateway to adventure. Guided treks to the nearby Great Himalayan National Park introduce visitors to the region's unique flora and fauna, while angling and bird-watching are popular among guests who enjoy the valley's rich biodiversity. The Tirthan River offers crystal-clear waters ideal for fishing and seasonal activities like river rafting.

Dining: Local Flavors with a Gourmet Twist

The resort’s restaurant is dedicated to showcasing local Himachali cuisine alongside a selection of Indian and international dishes. Fresh, locally-sourced ingredients add authenticity and flavor, while the cozy dining area, often open to breathtaking views, makes every meal a memorable experience.

Sustainable Tourism and Community Engagement

Brightside Resort is committed to sustainable tourism and eco-friendly practices, supporting local communities and minimizing its environmental impact. From waste management initiatives to sourcing ingredients from local farmers, Brightside emphasizes the importance of giving back to the community and preserving Tirthan Valley's natural beauty.

Best Time to Visit

The best time to visit Brightside Resort depends on the experience you're seeking. Summers (April to June) offer pleasant weather and are ideal for outdoor activities. Monsoons (July to September) enhance the valley's lush greenery, though some activities may be limited. Winters (October to February) bring snowfall and transform the landscape, making it perfect for a cozy, snow-covered retreat.

How to Reach Brightside Resort

Brightside Resort is accessible by road from Delhi and Chandigarh, making it a convenient destination for weekend travelers. The nearest airport is Bhuntar, about 50 kilometers away, and the closest railway station is Joginder Nagar. Taxis and private cars can also be arranged for the journey through the scenic hills of Himachal Pradesh.

Why Choose Brightside Resort?

Whether you’re an adventure lover, a nature enthusiast, or simply looking for a place to unwind, Brightside Resort offers the best of Tirthan Valley. Its serene setting, focus on sustainability, and wide range of activities make it a versatile destination for families, solo travelers, and couples alike.

Brightside Resort is more than just a place to stay; it’s a place to experience Tirthan Valley’s unique charm.

To know more about tirthan resort, Visit our Google profile and Website

[globetrottergurus]

10 Hidden Gem Destinations in the US You’ve Probably Never Heard Of

Exploring popular destinations is amazing, but sometimes the true magic lies in those lesser-known places just waiting to be discovered. From secluded beach towns to scenic mountains and small cities with a unique charm, these hidden gems offer an unforgettable experience far from the crowds. Here are 10 lesser-known destinations in the US you’re going to want to add to your bucket list.

1. Bisbee, Arizona

Nestled near the Mexican border, Bisbee is a quirky, artsy town with an old mining history. Wandering its steep, colorful streets feels like stepping back in time. The historic architecture, unique art galleries, and the Queen Mine Tour give this town its personality. For an unforgettable stay, check out the local vintage hotels and haunted inns. Bisbee is the perfect place for travelers who crave history, art, and an offbeat adventure.

2. Eureka Springs, Arkansas

This Victorian-era town hidden in the Ozark Mountains feels like a storybook village. Known for its natural springs, unique boutiques, and tree-lined streets, Eureka Springs is a blend of historic charm and quirky attractions. The entire town is a historic district, with winding streets lined with Victorian homes and an unexpected art scene. If you’re up for an eerie twist, don’t miss the haunted Crescent Hotel!

3. Cape May, New Jersey

Cape May is a coastal hidden gem known for its charming Victorian architecture, pristine beaches, and historic feel. This beach town is ideal for anyone seeking a relaxing escape with a side of history. Take a stroll through the historic district, explore the lighthouse, or simply unwind on the sandy beaches. Its coastal charm and preserved Victorian homes make it a one-of-a-kind spot on the Jersey Shore.

4. Great Sand Dunes National Park, Colorado

Imagine finding the tallest sand dunes in North America at the foot of snow-capped mountains. Great Sand Dunes National Park is a surreal landscape that most people don’t realize exists in Colorado. You can try sandboarding, hike up the dunes, or simply marvel at the dramatic contrast of sand against mountains. It’s a destination for those craving an adventure in a landscape you’ll hardly believe is real.

5. Marfa, Texas

This small desert town has gained fame for its minimalist art installations, mysterious Marfa Lights, and bohemian vibe. Located in West Texas, Marfa is an unusual blend of art and desert landscape. The most famous attraction is the Prada Marfa installation—a tiny replica of a Prada store in the middle of nowhere. It’s a must-visit for art lovers, stargazers, and anyone who loves exploring eclectic places.

6. Lanesboro, Minnesota

Located along the Root River, Lanesboro is a charming small town known for its outdoor adventures and artistic community. With more than 60 miles of trails, it’s a hotspot for cyclists and nature enthusiasts. The town’s Main Street is packed with art galleries, local theaters, and cozy cafes, making it a relaxing spot to escape to. It’s perfect for a scenic Midwest getaway with small-town charm.

7. Mendocino, California

This coastal town in Northern California is a hidden treasure with breathtaking views of the Pacific Ocean and stunning coastal cliffs. Mendocino offers a quieter alternative to California’s more popular coastal towns. With its Victorian architecture, rugged coastline, and incredible natural beauty, Mendocino is a slice of paradise. Hike the coastal trails, explore nearby state parks, and stay in a charming inn for a romantic retreat.

8. Joseph, Oregon

Surrounded by the Wallowa Mountains, Joseph is a little-known town with big beauty. Known as the “Little Switzerland of America,” Joseph has stunning alpine views, a vibrant arts community, and endless outdoor activities like hiking, fishing, and boating on Wallowa Lake. Art lovers will appreciate the bronze sculptures scattered throughout town, while nature enthusiasts can enjoy the pristine landscape and fresh mountain air.

9. Lake Rabun, Georgia

A serene lake surrounded by the Blue Ridge Mountains, Lake Rabun is one of Georgia’s best-kept secrets. This peaceful spot is ideal for boating, fishing, and enjoying the lush forest landscape. Stay at a cozy lakeside cabin or historic lodge, and be sure to explore nearby waterfalls. Lake Rabun is the kind of place that invites you to unplug and unwind in nature’s beauty.

10. Harpers Ferry, West Virginia

Located at the confluence of the Potomac and Shenandoah rivers, Harpers Ferry is a historic town packed with scenic beauty and rich Civil War history. You can explore the preserved 19th-century village, hike up Maryland Heights for panoramic views, or visit Harpers Ferry National Historical Park. This charming town is a mix of history, outdoor adventure, and scenic vistas.

Discovering Hidden Gems

These hidden gem destinations are proof that you don’t always need to follow the crowd to experience something extraordinary. Each of these places offers a unique glimpse into America’s diverse landscapes and cultures, giving you the chance to explore beyond the typical tourist spots. So, next time you’re planning a trip, consider venturing off the beaten path and uncovering the US in a way that few have.

Whether you’re craving a beach escape, a mountain retreat, or an artsy adventure, these lesser-known destinations have something special waiting just for you.